#this one has been haunting me for months I'm glad to have finally brought it to life although there's a lot of room for improvement still

[1singulargrape]

first kiss between 2 idiots

[ghostbustermelanieking]

Number 17 (kissing to hide from bad guys) for the fic prompts? Bonus points if it's from one of the earlier seasons (maybe when they're still actively researching statements?) but the choice is entirely yours

so this is set in s3, sometime after 102. (possibly an au... who's to say!!) as such, warning for references to jon's kidnapping in 101, and scenes of people think they might be taken/killed/etc.

17. Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys

" Here, " Jon whispers in a panic in Martin's ear, and pulls him abruptly towards a shadowy spot in an alley. Martin goes along immediately, pressing towards the wall while also trying to push himself in front of Jon. Jon's breathing is sharp and frantic, his hand tight where it's clutching at Martin's arm, and the footsteps of their pursuers are still echoing slowly down the street. 

This was meant to be a work trip—or whatever passes for that these days. Another attempt to locate the ritual site for the Unknowing. Elias had suggested Jon go, and Martin hadn't wanted him to go alone. That's the last thing Jon needs, after everything, after being held captive for a month… Martin hadn't been willing to risk it, the possibility of Jon being taken again. 

It wasn't supposed to be dangerous, Elias had said. Just a simple scouting, it probably wasn't the site in the first place, the Stranger might not even be there, surely the fact that Jon had escaped so easily meant they wouldn't come after him again… 

This is clearly not true. They'd been spotted, inside the warehouse where they'd been searching. Martin can remember the moment with a shocking clarity: Jon's sharp intake of breath as he'd reached out to grab Martin's arm, his nails digging frantically into Martin's skin, the slow way Martin had looked up and seen it. Them. Things that looked wrong, inhuman, in a way that Martin can't even describe.

They've come after them. Followed them out of the warehouse, onto the street, and of course no one is around to see them, and Martin knows they should've gone for the rental car, should've immediately gone for the rental car, but they'd taken some wrong turns, frantic to get away from the blank-faced figures (the cheery voice calling for the Archivist and asking about his skin, and Martin is going to throw up). And now they're here, hiding in some alley while these things pretending to be human are searching for them, coming for Jon all over again. 

Jon's breathing has gone shaky. He's pulling at Martin's arm like they can get any further into the wall. Martin's got an arm in front of Jon, like they're in a car about to crash, and he's staring out at the alley, waiting for those things to catch up, and he says the first thing he can think of, in a whisper: "I-I won't let them take you again." 

Jon's breathing goes tighter somehow. "Martin, you can't… "

"I'm not going to let them take you, Jon!" Martin hisses, his voice pitching too high for a moment. Jon squeezes his arm frantically and he backtracks, quieter: " Sorry, sorry, it's just… I'm not letting that happen to you again!"

"They'd kill you," Jon whispers. "They wouldn't hesitate , Martin, and I am not… I am not losing anyone else!"

The footsteps echo closer; the echoing sing-song-y voice comes again, calling for Jon. Panic slices through Martin like a knife and he presses closer, as if physically shielding Jon will do a damn thing. (Maybe it will. You never know; maybe it will.) "W-we should run for the car," he says. (Although at the moment he has absolutely no idea where they parked it.)

"We'll never make it," Jon murmurs. Martin turns a little in time to see Jon, who's staring off into the distance with wide, haunted eyes. "We need to hide. " 

Martin looks back towards the street, at the approaching shadows. "I'll distract them," he says—one last ditch effort to at least get Jon to safety. "A-and you run."

"What? No. Martin." Jon's voice is pressing now; his hand slips from Martin's arm down to Martin's hand, intertwining their fingers. Martin looks back, startled, and finds Jon staring at him nervously. "Martin, do you trust me?" he says, voice wavering. 

Martin blinks a few rapid times. "Wh-what?" he says, caught off guard; he holds tighter to Jon's hand, suddenly worried that Jon is going to run out and distract them so Martin won't have to. 

Jon exhales frustratedly. "It's just that… I have an idea of how we could hide, and i-it's a little unusual, and stupid, a-and so I wanted your… to make sure you are all right with it first…"

The voice is getting closer. Panic snaps through Martin, and he hisses frantically, "Yes, whatever, it's fine, j-just do it before…" 

Jon lets go of Martin's hand and moves, in a flash, to cup the side of his face, both hands, and Martin only has a moment to wonder what the hell is going on before Jon rises on tiptoes, pulls Martin down a bit, and kisses him. 

Martin's brain shorts out for a moment—stuck between the marvel of him kissing Jon, Jon kissing him—and the panic of the fact that they're being chased by mannequin-things that will probably skin them. He makes a muffled, startled sound into Jon's mouth. Jon's hands are trembling on his face. 

Then the pieces start to slide together—Jon's doing that movie bit, where you kiss to hide from the bad guys. Quite possibly ridiculous, but it's something, something more than one of them being bait. (And to be entirely ridiculous for a moment… if they're both about to die, Martin's glad he's gotten to kiss Jon before he's done it.) So Martin plays along. He leans down and turns them a bit, so Jon's in the corner between the Dumpster and the wall, and his back is blocking the both of them from view; he'll look more inconspicuous than Jon will. 

And then he kisses Jon back. Tentatively, at first (just because you kiss someone to hide from monsters or whatever doesn't mean you actually want to kiss them), and then a little deeper. The way he's wanted to kiss Jon this whole time, as long as he's ever thought about it. He brings a hand to Jon's face, too, thinking to hide it from the Stranger. Pushes a little bit of hair behind Jon's ear. Jon leans into the touch; his right thumb moves, slowly, over Martin's cheek, and Martin has to hold back something that might be a sob. He leans closer, their foreheads almost touching, trying to focus on the fact that there are things trying to kill them, and not just on the fast that he is kissing Jon… 

Jon breaks away abruptly. Pulls back just far enough that their mouths aren't touching anymore—his hands still on Martin's face—and says, "I… Martin, I-I think they're gone now." He is breathing hard, his eyes darting over Martin's shoulder and then back. 

Martin is probably breathing hard too. He is drawing a blank; his hand is still in Jon's hair. "They're… they're gone?" he says, still in a whisper. His voice is shaking, he thinks. 

"Yes… yes, they're gone now." Jon looks right at him, his dark eyes huge in the dim light of the alley. "Martin… Martin, I am so… " 

"Car," says Martin. It is the first word he comes up with—they need to go, there are still things trying to kill them, and they can't just stand around talking when… He grabs Jon's hand where it's lowering, somewhere around his neck, and squeezes urgently. "Jon, car, we need to go… "

" Christ, I forgot, I…" Jon shakes his head hard and moves with Martin towards the opposite end of the alley. He doesn't let go of Martin's hand, all the way to the car, where they've left it two blocks away. Martin climbs immediately in the driver's seat, and turns the key, and drives off without hesitation, too fast to even buckle his seatbelt. 

There is silence in the car for a moment, as they drive away. Martin grips the wheel hard and stares straight out of the front window, unsure of what the hell to say. (Unsure whether to say Thank you for coming up with a plan to save our lives, or You just kissed me in an alley, maybe we should talk about this? or I've been in love with you for about a year now, and I guess you beat me to the punch, except I don't know if you actually MEANT it. ) But in the end, it's Jon who breaks the silence—to say, in a tight, rigid voice, "Martin, I am so sorry."

Martin's hands actually tighten around the wheel somehow. "Wh-what?" he says, uncertain. "What do you mean… Jon, you saved us."

"Th-that was entirely unprofessional, I… I shouldn't have kissed you like that, I just… I-I was afraid they'd find us, and it was all I could think of, and I just…" Jon's blushing. Martin can see it out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Martin takes a shaky breath. He must be blushing, too, he thinks; his face and neck feel like they're on fire. He says, "You don't have to be sorry," just as Jon says, "I-I didn't want to go back." Martin's mouth shuts like a trap as Jon keeps talking: "I… if I went back, I think they would have… and I didn't want… and I thought if they took you… th-they would've killed you, Martin, and I wouldn't… I didn't…"

"It's okay , Jon," Martin blurts, and as soon as he says it, he finds he means it. "It is. I… I was scared, too."

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought you, Martin, I should've left you at home…"

"Did you forget the part where I insisted on coming?" Martin laughs a little. "I… I'm glad you weren't here alone, Jon. I didn't want them to take you again. I…" He swallows hard, stares out at the road in front of him. One of his hands falls away from the wheel, towards the center console. "Please don't say you wish I hadn't been here. Please."

Jon's quiet for a moment. The only sound is the tires chewing up the road beneath them, before he finally says, "Still. I-I never should have kissed you, Martin. I am so… "

"Jon, you don't… y-you don't need to apologize, okay? You don't, " says Martin. "It's okay, it's fine, it was… I-I didn't mind, all right? You don't need to apologize."

"I… I should have clarified. I didn't really ask before I…"

" Jon. Please, it's okay. " Martin reaches for something else to say, and all he can come up with is: "I have had much worse kisses, okay? Much worse."

Jon laughs, a laugh sharp with surprise. After a moment, Martin laughs, too. This whole night has been so absurd. They were chased by some mannequins or whatever, they had to run for their lives, and Jon kissed him, and he kissed Jon, and they're alive. It's pretty hilarious, if you think about it for more than five minutes. It's about as absurd as anything else they've been through in the past year. He'd take this all over being trapped by worms. 

"I… I have, too, actually," says Jon, finally, after they've stopped laughing. " Much worse. You're not…" He stops, makes a strangled noise like he's embarrassed or something, before going on. "Th-thank you, Martin. Really."

Martin chews at his lower lip. "Thank you, " he says. "For… for getting us out of there." 

Jon takes a shaky breath. His fingers brush over Martin's free hand, where it's resting over the center console; Martin tenses all over, automatically, but Jon doesn't take it. Just brushes his fingers there. Martin thinks of Jon's expression before he leaned up to kiss him, Jon's fingers against his cheeks. 

"I… I should've left you at home," Jon says, almost reluctantly. "But I'm… glad you came with me, Martin. I'm glad you're with me."

Martin swallows hard. Bites back a small smile. He'd meant it, when he kissed Jon back; he wishes he could tell Jon he meant it. (He could, he supposes. Nothing stopping him. He wonders what Jon would say back.) 

But what he says is, "I am, too," because it's a sort of a confession, and he means it, too, as much as the kiss. Even with the almost dying, with all of it, he's glad, somehow, he was here. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jon smile, just a little. Martin smiles, too.

[lazywonderlvnd]

Imagine Harry learning to play the guitar after the war and Draco finds out when they start dating and is obv a slut for it. Anyway what I'm here to beg for is sexy-guitar-player-Harry smut please and thank

first of all nonners I’m so sorry this took me lit rally 59 years to answer!!!! when I saw it in my inbox last week I was abt to answer n be like yes. this. And then realized it needed to be written and got sidetracked w the first himbo harry installment but here it is now and let me just SAY this trope is my new FAVORITE thing in the world oh my goddddd when I tell u the way I’ve been yelling to glows and cielia abt it 👁👄👁

highly recommend listening to wonderwall when it comes up to Complete the Experience. hope u enjoy ❤️

“I’m sorry, he what?”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” said Weasley. He nodded towards the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall; Draco had taken notice of it the first time he’d seen Harry’s flat but never paid it much mind after that, taking it for decoration, or perhaps an unused gift. “He’ll play if you ask him. He doesn’t like showing off.”

“Which is silly,” Granger said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve told him, just because he’s good at it doesn’t make it showing off. I wish he’d play for people more often.”

“He has literally never mentioned this to me.” He felt utterly stunned and completely cheated. He tried to picture it and couldn’t. “How long’s he been playing?”

“Picked it up after the war. It was kind of funny, actually  --” Weasley started saying, but Harry came back into the room -- still pulling his shirt on -- and he broke off, giving Draco a significant look that told him to bring it up.

“Harry,” said Draco imperiously, to which he received two raised eyebrows as Harry fell into his favourite armchair and pushed a hand through his still-damp curls. Draco matched his expression and glanced at the guitar. Harry followed his gaze, looking genuinely confused.

“What, what is it?”

“When were you going to tell me you play?”

“What, guitar?”

“Yes, guitar.”

He shrugged and grabbed for one of the beers on the table, wandlessly magicking the cap off. “I dunno. When it came up, I guess.”

“The way your friends tell it you’re quite good.”

Harry gave Weasley and then Granger a sour look; both of them gave it right back to him, which was, admittedly, amusing.

“I can play all right,” he said vaguely, and took a swig of his drink. It did make some sort of sense, now Draco thought about it -- the tips of Harry’s fingers were far, far too calloused to have been just from casual Quidditch and Auror training. 

“You know, Harry, it actually comes off as more pretentious when you act like this,” said Granger. Weasley snorted. Harry glared at her. “Just play for him, won’t you? And us too -- it’s been ages.”

“Yeah, what’s that Muggle song you play sometimes that I like?” said Weasley.

“I dunno, I’ve played a lot of Muggle songs.”

“He means Wonderwall, Harry,” said Granger, grinning. Harry finally smiled too, and although their little Muggle joke was lost on Weasley and himself he was glad to see that it had apparently been the prodding Harry needed to give in. He set his beer back down and went to get the guitar; something about the way he threw the thin and fraying strap over his head, the way his hands went effortlessly to their places, was unexpectedly attractive. The left one curled easily around the neck of the instrument, heavily-roughened fingers finding their odd positions on the strings, something Draco had always thought looked very painful.

He plucked a few chords and then began fiddling with the knobs at the head of the guitar, tuning it in what was clearly the Muggle fashion, which against his will left Draco completely fascinated. Having no musical inclination himself, he could make nothing of the process except that Harry apparently heard the discordant notes in there well enough to be able to fix them, and finally when he brought his thumb down across all six strings it sounded as sweet and clear as if it had been done by magic.

“Course he likes Wonderwall,” Harry said to Granger even as he began playing, fingers shifting and moving and contorting to create the notes while he strummed softly, effortlessly, and the music crawled over Draco’s skin and inside of him. “I remember Dudley listening to it, like, what … summer before sixth year? On the radio constantly.”

“Sounds about right,” said Granger. 

 Draco had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, though. Either because the music itself had something haunting about its melody or because it was Harry playing it, or perhaps a combination of both, Draco felt a pit of emotion form in his chest to round off the edges of his growing arousal.

And then he started singing, and Draco swallowed very hard. Granger dropped a head onto Weasley’s shoulder and watched with a tender expression, Weasley similarly enamored. Harry had his eyes on his hands for the most part, closing them a few times throughout, looking as comfortable now as he did on a broomstick.

Only three months of official dating had not prepared Draco for the flood of emotions he now felt, yet the most pressing matter had become the semi trapped uncomfortably in his trousers. He wanted those talented fingers in his mouth, to feel the callouses on his tongue and taste Harry on them; he wanted to feel them on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and hip bones, to have them buried so deeply in his arse that he forgot where he ended and Harry began. 

Of course, he had to keep this to himself for the next hour, until he was able to get Granger and Weasley out of the flat. And once he did, he didn’t bother dragging Harry to his bedroom -- Draco pushed him up against the front door that had just closed behind his friends and hauled him into a kiss that he felt Harry grinning into.

“I thought you seemed tetchy,” he muttered, hands dropping to Draco’s hips. “Oasis really does it for you, huh?”

“What the hell is oasis?”

“The band who does the song.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s the band who does it for me.” He kissed Harry again, maybe a little too hungrily, and dug a fist into his side when he started laughing. “Shut up, why the hell didn’t you ever tell me you played?”

Harry pulled his head back, looking at Draco with an arched brow and an infuriating smirk. 

“What do you mean, ever? We’ve only been together three months, it didn’t come up.”

“God,” Draco muttered, and now he reached down and pressed his palm against Harry’s cock, pleased to feel how hard he was in spite of his ruthless teasing. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well if I’d known how randy it would make you I might’ve played for you a long time ago.”

Having had quite enough of Harry’s particularly sarcastic brand of wit, he ignored this last and reached for one of his hands, removing it from his own hip and bringing it to his lips. It was extremely satisfying to watch the smirk disappear from Harry’s face when he sucked one of his fingers into his mouth. 

“Bit fetish-y, isn’t this?” Harry said breathily, eyes wide as he watched, looking half amused and half awed. In retaliation, Draco took another finger into his mouth and slid his tongue between them, tasting soap and salt, feeling the callouses on the tips of his fingers and letting that sensation grip his insides like an iron fist. “Jesus Christ,” Harry groaned; his free hand went to Draco’s jaw, holding him steady, and with a truly outstanding audacity began fucking Draco’s mouth with his fingers.

They dipped bluntly past his uvula, scraping the back of his throat so he gagged around their intrusion. Saliva built with an excessive speed that had it drooling out of the corners of his lips and coating Harry’s knuckles. Draco closed his eyes and let it happen, opening his throat against the relentless assault and curling his hands in Harry’s shirt just to steady himself. 

They were gone too soon and Harry’s mouth replaced them, much gentler but still with a tangible sense of urgency about it.

When he broke away, he said against Draco’s lips, “Like my fingers, do you?”

Draco merely nodded, feeling their wetness against his cheek. 

“Then turn around,” said Harry, “and I’ll fuck you with them.”

Draco let out a soft, embarrassing whimper and let Harry spin them around and press him against the door, cheek-first. He undid his flies himself and Harry tugged them down his legs and off his feet, allowing Draco to spread them slightly. Harry’s fingers were there immediately, sliding slick between his cheeks and over his hole. The memory of Harry’s hands on the guitar was still so fresh, his fingers changing chords effortlessly, sacrificing them to blisters and callouses and roughened skin for the music they created, and Draco closed his eyes against a fresh wave of arousal and another pang of emotion.

“You really are incredible,” said Draco, biting back a moan as two of those dexterous fingers slipped inside of him. Harry fucked him with them slowly, carefully, seeking out his prostate and angling for it each time once he’d found it. Draco turned his face to press his forehead against the door, eyes still closed, nails scraping wood. “And I like that song.”

“It’s a good one,” Harry agreed. His hot breath caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingers pumping, his other hand back at Draco’s waist. “I have a million more I’d love to show you.”

Draco didn’t bother trying to find his voice again: instead he pushed back against Harry’s driving fingers, everything that wasn’t the relentless stabbing against his prostate driven from his mind. His neglected cock slapped against the door with every thrust, the red and irritated head dripping pre-come against the wood. Only half conscious of the decision to do so, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled and squeezed and zeroed in on the bursts of pleasure radiating outwards from inside his body until it all spilled over and he came in great pulses, gasping for breath while Harry kept at it. 

The fingers slowed as he reached his peak and began coming down but they didn’t stop, nor was his prostate given much of a break. Harry reinforced his grip on Draco’s waist and kept pumping, a steadier rhythm that nevertheless rubbed and prodded at that little bundle, making his nerves tingle and fizzle and scream out their overstimulation.

“Harry,” he said weakly, knees buckling. “Please …”

It could have been comical the way Harry followed his movement as he slid down the door to the ground, except it wasn’t. It was infuriating, actually, and felt at once like more than he could possibly handle and exactly what he needed. His forehead and his hands went back to the wood, bracing himself as Harry, kneeling behind him, continued fucking his beautiful, merciless fingers and stimulating Draco’s overworked prostate. 

He pushed a third one in alongside the other two and Draco was shocked to feel a hot tear leak out of the corner of his eye. Harry crooked them expertly, with all the confidence and surety of someone who had done this a million times, could do it in their sleep, as if it was not the guitar strings but Draco’s body he was strumming now, an instrument fine-tuned to his own particular cadence and rhythm, which he and no one else could play quite right.

Lips parted, hot breath echoing off the door and back into his face, Draco allowed himself to be taken apart with the same ferocious intensity he’d seen Harry use on the guitar. Each stroke brought him back to full hardness, each stab against his prostate made his nerves sing a tormented chorus, drowning out the pain of the wooden floor against his bare knees. 

“Shit,” Draco choked out, “I’m gonna come again …”

“Well that’s the idea,” said Harry. His voice was full of that same witty and well-meaning sarcasm Draco liked so much, even when it made him feel like punching him. Snatches of the song came back to him, Harry’s voice when he sang it, the expert shifting of his fingers where they pressed and plucked at the strings like he was making love to them. It was all so very much. 

He came a second time without even bothering to touch his cock, because he just didn’t fucking need it. His body thrummed and vibrated like a snapped rubber band while Harry coaxed him along his high and back down again. When he finally pulled his fingers out he leant forward over Draco’s back and kissed the side of his neck, then the corner of his jaw. 

“You know you make much lovelier sounds than the guitar, just so we’re clear,” he said, and Draco, with what strength he had left, shoved Harry and watched him fall sideways laughing. 

[now-im-a-belieber]

Life Is Beautiful

skip muck x reader

a/n: oh hello. here is a little something that came to me based entirely off of a conversation I recently had with a friend. please enjoy, er, at least try not to cry? sorry im the worlds saddest fic writer lmao

taglist: @capsparkyspeirs @wecomrades @tvserie-s-world

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Everything was just as you'd left it, which raised a bit of suspension. Your sister *had* to have invaded your unused room while you were away. You just knew she'd snuck in here to sing into your hairbrush and push the clothes in your closet every which way. But... nothing was out of place.

You eased onto the stool of your vanity, noticing the steam from the shower you just took, curl from the ensuite. The only thing that seemed out of place here and now, was you. That, and a tattered old photo you'd stuck into the mirror you looked toward. It was perhaps the newest item in your possession, though the photo looked old as time. It was of Skip, smiling during a random morning of another day at war. The photo was worn and wrinkled in places, from months of being crammed in your pocket and nights held tightly in your clutch. It was all you had of the man now.

When a knock came to your door, you didn't bother welcoming the company. You knew your sister would turn the handle and see herself in.

You watched fondly as she entered, creeping into the room with a smile. You let out a breathy, tired giggle as you watched the girl flop onto the end of your bed,  her chin in her hands, her feet in the air behind her- settling just as she used to, just as you missed while so long gone.

As she settled, there was a question in your sister's gaze. So you turned in your chair all the way to shoot her a look that insisted she ask whatever it was. No one had really asked much of you at all, in your short time home. This both relieved and infuriated you.

But your sister... She'd always asked the sorts of questions everyone else was afraid too. She'd always gotten you to say what you really meant. You'd never been afraid of holding back from the girl. And finally, she spoke, with her gaze cast toward the corner of your mirror.

"Do you miss him?"

She only knew of Skip by what you'd written of him. And on one occasion, he was moved enough to add his own note in with yours, just for your sister; who he'd been so keen to meet, along with the rest of your family. He'd always asked after them, when he noticed letters from home in your frostbitten hands. He'd dream of the day he'd get to sit around the dinner table with you and everyone you loved. That day would never come. God, of course you missed him.

"I always will." You shrugged. Mixed among the fears and dreams that branched from your spirit, the gnawing of longing that lived in you for Skip was a fixture. It was apart of you now.

And softly, with more understanding and kindness than you might've thought her capable of, given her age, your sister implored you to go on about Skip.

You started off easy. You started by marvelling over the light you so often found in his eyes. Like there was a different, radiant world he seemed to be in touch with. Then you mentioned his curiosity and his jest. Both senses got him into trouble and kept others out of harm's way all at once. He was unlike any soldier or man you'd known in your years of drifting the earth.

And what was most incredible, what you still couldn't believe, were the times he chose to spend with you. The nights he went out of his way to include you in a round of darts. The days he sat at your side to share a joke or two, just for you to hear. You knew then, you were lucky.

"What he gave me... I was always grateful for. I never took a laugh for granted." You said. Because the simple possibility of losing those days of laughter was enough to strike fear into your very core. So you laughed without care. But you never really believed you'd lose Skip's giggle.

You had imagined waking up to a world where all you knew might be shot down, blown up. It was impossible not to let those thoughts cross your mind. But you never could truly think of losing Skip. He was a permanent installation in your mornings and nights, and thoughts of him never ended in your head. He was more alive than you'd known life itself to be, at certain points.

And... he still was, somehow. And it seemed fitting, for his loss to be so sudden. He didn't suffer or fight. He simply went away all at once. He left you and your friends faster than a blink. But his jokes were still told and his whisper still seemed to echo in your ear. And whenever someone mentioned the Niagara you didn't think of the place but instead of the smile Skip wore when he recounted stories he held nearest his heart.

Before you knew it, you were recounting as much. Rambling about the horror that lived within you, lingering still from that day. How you felt haunted, not by the man you loved, but by his absence. You'd never forget how you realized what had happened, when Roe sent Malarkey to find you. The soldier couldn't meet your eye's, and his brow furrowed while he opened his mouth, willing the news of Skip's loss to be spoken. Before he could say so, you knew. You just knew the man you'd made so many plans with had been stolen away before you'd gotten the chance to make good on a single promise.

With a stifled breath, you paused at realizing your babble. Your sister had asked, but whoever really wanted to hear such talk?

"Life is so cruel." Your sister cooed in a broken whisper after a pause settled in the room. And for two reasons you were moved to correct her statement. For one, so she might wear a little more hope in her eyes when considering what new mornings brought. And for another, because she was completely incorrect.

"Life is beautiful." You pointed, voice full and insistent. Life gave you Skip. And life kept his memory in rosaries and rivers.

"Death is the monster. Life is beautiful. And I'm glad to live it even if all I have of him now is what has already been."

Even though there were still days you awoke with a deep driving desire to get up and go to wherever he'd gone. You knew you couldn't. But you got to live on. You were granted the great unmatched honour of telling Skip's story over and over again.

God, you missed him. You always would. But there would always be one piece of your heart ever morphed by the soldier. You got to keep him close, after all.

[kate-apologist]

I'm sorry this is so angsty but I saw them and had to. Maybe Yaz saying 7.    “I don’t ever want to live without you” to the Doc and comforting her all 5.    “They can’t hurt you anymore”

am i jumping onto the post prison fic bandwagon whenever i’m able to? yeah, yeah i am

Yaz doesn't notice at first when the nightmares start. To be fair to her, she's sleep deprived, often falling asleep at the console of the still parked TARDIS or on the couch in her family's flat (she'd given the Doctor her room the first time she stumbled into the Khan household at just after midnight, soaked through from the rain, eyes haunted) and the Doctor stays up later than her. Yaz hasn't seen her go to sleep once in the whole time that she's been back on Earth, back from prison. 

Yaz doesn't even know if she does sleep. 

But she notices one night after getting up for a glass of water. It's quiet at first, and Yaz almost mistakes it for just the flat being a little loud in the night. They aren't immune to a few creaks here and there. But the sound comes again and it's clearly coming from her room (currently the Doctor's room) so Yaz listens, properly listens. She tunes out the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock in the corner and she hears the sound again, a bit louder than before. Yaz sets the glass on the counter and moved towards her room.

When she stands outside the door, Yaz can hear more sounds coming from inside and she shoulders the door open, wincing as the hinges creak. There, with the covers twisted about her stomach, face pinched in obvious distress, is the Doctor, making quiet noises as she sleeps. It's the least peaceful scene Yaz has seen the Doctor in, at least for a little while. She seems to have shaken most of the effects of prison off (though Yaz has caught her, when that faraway look enters her and she looks so haunted that Yaz has to wonder if she's ever going to come back) with only the occasional moment. A flinch here, a startled yelp there, small things that build up but Yaz doesn't want to assume. She never wants to assume when it comes to these things.

The Doctor is clearly distressed now, and she's getting louder as the seconds pass and Yaz doesn't want to touch her while she's so obviously distressed but she has to think about the other people in the flat trying to sleep. 

"Doctor," Yaz says and it's little more than a whisper. The Doctor doesn't give much of a reply, she just shifts a bit and Yaz grimaces. She hates the Doctor has to go through this, hates that she wasn't there for the Doctor when she needed her the most. "Doctor, wake up." It's a bit louder now and the Doctor gives a whimper and Yaz sits down at the edge of the bed, calling the Doctor's name one more time. "Doctor, it's Yaz. You're alright, you're having a nightmare."

The Doctor lurches upward with a high pitched gasp, gaze flitting around the room as sweat clings to her forehead. She's shaking, trembling like a leaf and Yaz reaches for her almost on instinct at this point. This is one of the few times the Doctor has allowed her to offer a sliver of comfort, melting against the gentle hand on her back until she falls against Yaz's side. The Doctor is still shaking and Yaz does her best to not let herself be moved by it too much, not wanting to crowd the Doctor while she's only trying to help but eventually the Doctor is just resting against her side.

Her breathing is unsteady and Yaz tugs her a bit closer, making sure to breathe deeply herself so the Doctor can match her. Yaz doesn't look at her, doesn't want to see the pain in the Doctor's eyes because she has to be strong here. She has to be strong for the Doctor and if she sees that pain she won't be able to be what the Doctor needs her to be. 

"Yaz?" the Doctor asks a few moments later, her voice rough.

"Yeah, Doctor, what is it?" Yaz asks, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. She can still recall when it felt so dirty, stiff with lack of being washed and she's glad the Doctor has taken up regular showers, even if she has a tendency to just sit under the spray and stare out at nothing. 

"Can I have some custard creams?" She's so hopeful and Yaz really shouldn't give in to her request because it's so early in the morning but she's torn. The Doctor actively wanting to eat, even just custard creams, is more than Yaz expected and she gets to her feet a few seconds later, moving towards the kitchen. 

Yaz doesn't take very long, and whatever time she takes she regrets spending it away from the Doctor. She's always vulnerable after a nightmare, no matter how strong she tries to appear to be. Scooping a pile of custard creams onto a plate (Yaz has taken to eating them, though she doesn't inhale as many as the Doctor seems to) Yaz strolls back across the flat, trying to be as quiet as she can to keep from disturbing the rest of the household. 

The moment she walks through the door, the Doctor looks up, dropping her hands from her face. The smile that she musters is weak and Yaz decides to say nothing about it. She doesn't want to hurt her feelings, doesn't want to point out the numerous dents in the Doctor's armor. She's already so worn down, Yaz doesn't want to lend a hand to that. 

"Brought you the custard creams," She says, like it isn't already obvious. Yaz can't seem to do anything right around the Doctor, can't say the right things, can't offer the comfort the Doctor so clearly needs but refuses to ask for. 

The Doctor takes the plate from her hand almost reverently and pats the side of the bad next to hers, inviting Yaz to sit. The silence is heavy in the air and Yaz doesn't say much even as the Doctor continues rubbing her fingers over the duvet, staring at nothing. The plate lays forgotten in her lap, a custard cream in her other hand. She hasn't taken a bite out of it.

"Yaz..." the Doctor says, and her voice is faint. Yaz is startled, briefly by it before she looks at the Doctor and tries to meet her gaze. The Doctor still won't look at her. "How long...how long were you looking for me?"

The Doctor had seen the TARDIS, the one she sent home with the Fam before she'd gone to prison, the one that Yaz had spent so much time in, gathering up information, trying to find where the Doctor was. The notes she'd made littered the place, they still did, really. The Doctor, upon her return, had spent long minutes staring at them, taking in the sight before turning to Yaz with a broken expression. They hadn't spoken about it, they never spoke about anything. 

"Ten months," Yaz says. "Felt like years though. Took some time away from work. You," she tries to playfully nudge her shoulder against the Doctor's, but the movement falls completely flat. "You made it a little difficult to find you. Thought I were gonna have to go through the whole universe. Were even learning to fly the TARDIS, though a little terribly mind."

"You're not a Ti-one of my people," the Doctor cuts herself off just a bit through and Yaz wants to shake her shoulders and scream. It's never straight answers with her. Yaz thought that perhaps prison changed a bit of her, any bit but the secrecy is still the same. Her nightmares are just louder now. 

The silence is thick and the Doctor finally takes a bite of her custard cream, as if realizing there's a plate of them sitting right there on her lap. 

"I don't want to live without you again," Yaz blurts out before she can stop herself. She acts like it's the late night or early morning sluggishness that fills her brain. It's easier to blame it on that. "I don't ever want to live without you."

"Oh Yaz." There's so much age in her voice and she looks so exhausted and Yaz realizes too late what kind of a confession it is to drop on the Doctor. "They'll never take me again. They'll never hurt you, hurt me, not anymore..." she trails off and she's shaking again and Yaz wraps her arm about the Doctor's shoulders, the only form of comfort she can offer. The Doctor leans into her and their breathing syncs and for a moment, Yaz can taste peace.

It's enough.

[kamosweasley]

Won’t you pull me through ? (Fred and George Weasley)

Description : Amber meet her friend Emily to take a tea and they talk about the war and the twins. It’s inspired by the song Trouble by Cage The Elephant.

Word count : 2.2K

Warning : angst, mention of death, torture, scars, death and mental illness.

Lyrics from Trouble by Cage The Elephant are in italics.

Tag list : @memekingofwwiii​ 

After knocking at the door, Emily entered with her brighter smile. It's been a while since she's had the opportunity to see her friend, the last few months have been a mess in the wizarding world with the death of Voldemort and the end of the war. She's doing her best but she's still overwhelmed, although the smile of Amber makes it all go away within a second. 

-Hey love. 

-Emily ! It's been a long time since the last time I saw you around ! How are you ?

-Pretty good, things are exhausting lately but we have to deal with it. We're in the middle of reconstruction, it's normal that things are moving fast. 

-This is a good thing, this terrible year is finally behind us. Do you know how well the reconstruction is progressing at Hogwarts? 

-McGonagall supervises, so it's efficient and almost done. She must be a great principal, she is what the students need after the trauma of war.

-I don't even want to imagine the condition that some people must be in, a whole year being tortured by sadistic deatheaters when they were only children …

The two friends sat down at a table to drink the tea Amber had prepared in advance. There is a silence following Amber's sentence, Emily looking at her with a hint of concern. Rare are the people who have not suffered from war and who do not continue to suffer from it today. Some have experienced more painful things than others, such as Amber who was imprisoned and tortured during the war at the Malfoy mansion. It was in the last month before the Battle of Hogwarts, she was able to escape thanks to Dobby, with Luna and Ollivander. Emily hadn't been able to see her before the Battle of Hogwarts a month later, she didn't seem to have experienced all the horrors she told her afterwards. On the battlefield she looked like a warrior determined to win, even at the risk of her life. She was unstoppable, and she survived. They both survived, not everyone was so lucky.

-Now all these assholes are either in jail or dead. My only regret is not being able to get revenge on Bellatrix before Molly killed her. That bitch left awful scars on me, and since they were made with black magic it can't be removed.

-You talk about it like it's nothing, so you feel better ?

-It was hard at first, the first few weeks after the battle I felt like I didn't recognize myself. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a stranger. But it's been getting better for a while, I feel good.

-I’m glad to hear it. You know that everyone is worried about you, you haven't had an easy time of it.

-There are some who have been through worse, I keep breathing and I have resumed a normal life. I think I’m doing well. Doesn't it look like it ? 

-You seem peaceful … After what happened 

-Can we talk about something else ? This war has already hurt us enough, don’t you think so ?

-Obviously.

A little annoyed, Amber finished her cup of tea, her hands slightly shaking. Nothing impressive, but Emily notices it, which awakens the worry inside her. She doesn't know what to do, maybe she should apologize for bringing it up. Obviously the blonde didn't want to talk too long about it. With a fleeting look in her eyes, Amber tucks a strand of her long hair behind her ear. The room suddenly seems to her empty and hostile, she loves Emily but talking about the war remains something that makes her uncomfortable. She much prefers to talk about the future and all the joyful things that await them. This is what helps her get better, telling herself tomorrow will be better and she always has the people she loves with her. She will be able to live that future with them. A smile appears on her face, speaking of joy she immediately thinks of them. Her two rays of sunshine.

-I have received the new catalog from George and Fred's store. Have you seen it ? It's still so colorful, it's good to see all these colors in this sad world. Wait, I'll show it to you, I think I put it over there.

The blonde leaves the table to rummage through the drawers of her dresser as Emily looks at her. We had talked to her about it but she wasn't expecting it, how is it possible ? 

-Oh Amber …

-What ? You already saw it ? You can tell me, I'm just trying to talk about my best friends. Maybe you went to the store not long ago, it's still fantastic isn’t it ? This place exudes a good mood, if I could I would spend all of my days there. 

-Did you go back ?

-Of course ! George and Fred wouldn't talk to me anymore if I wasn't their best customer. I love them so much, I'm glad the war doesn't change them. They are still funny and malicious, they always have been. You know, I think people don't realize how wonderful they are.

-I have never laughed so much as with them, they have always been very funny.

-You see ? That's what I said. I grew up with them, we did so many silly things together but we had so much fun ! 

-I know, you had few problems because of them. They always took you in their pranks, you were driving the professors crazy. They found you calm and studious, they didn't understand why you were doing this. 

-Do you know this song ? It says “trouble on my left, trouble on my right, I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life.” That’s on growing with George and Fred. You learn to like problems and to be clever enough to make it good. 

-I can imagine. Which song is it ?

-Trouble by Cage The Elephant. You should listen to it one day, it’s really great. It reminds me of my friendship with George and Fred. 

-Because they always put you in trouble ?

-Not only that, and to be honest I’ve always loved it. These are the best moments of my life, the three of us always had fun as kids. It's not really the same anymore … 

The silence remains, for a moment you can see a shadow on Amber's face, revealing suffering. The mask falls, she has not moved on as she claims, she is still haunted by what happened. We can not say that she is an exceptional case, it was war, but Amber is a special case. 

-I miss them, they don’t come often but they’re busy with their shop. Business is running for them, they deserve it. They work so hard for their shop.

-Amber, you know very well that their store has not reopened.

-What the hell are you talking about ? Of course it reopened ! I went there, I helped them put everything back in place. 

-It's not possible Amber. The store is still closed, and there is no new catalog.

-But I was there! I know it better than you do, I didn't imagine it ! Were you there to help them with the store ? I don't remember seeing you there, so how can you say it's impossible ? You didn't go back to Diagon Alley ? How can you say the store is closed ? It is not closed !

-Amber …

-IT’S NOT CLOSED ! Damn it, where is this damn catalog !

Now she’s crying, all her body is shaking. Her hands are clenched to the chest of drawers, the white knuckles, she’s so tense. It seems as if the slightest word or gesture could make her explode. Unsure of what to do, Emily gets up and starts walking towards her friend. She wants to comfort her, to tell her that everything will be okay, but that would be lying. It’s been a while now and it's not going to get any better visibly. Yet seeing her like this tears her heart out, she wishes there was something she could do to make her feel better. 

-I’m sorry Amber.

-Don’t … Don’t say this, you have nothing to be sorry about.

-We both know isn’t true.

-Why did you come ? I thought you wanted to talk like in the good old days, not that you wanted to bring up all the pain. The war has taken something from all of us, it's time to stop it and take it back.

-Unfortunately it doesn't work like that, we can't take back what it took from us. The dead cannot be brought back to life.

-No one should have died.

They can only agree on this point, this war should not have taken place and it should not have taken so many lives. Emily is standing in the middle of the room, Amber still in front of the dresser but she is almost shaking. The tears are already drying on her cheeks but she doesn't seem to care, she keeps scratching the inside of her right hand with her index. Worries fill Emily's thoughts, she feels like she's screwed up all over the place. She was hoping that she could make things better, make Amber feel better, but she's not worried that she's robbed her even more.

-Please leave, I need some quiet.

The blonde takes a cassette from one of the drawers of the chest of drawers, with red eyes she inserts it into a cassette player. The music begins as she leaves the room with a heavy heart. How did her friend get there ? After closing the door, Emily lets out a sigh. Things are worse than she expected, Amber is still in denial. The real version of the story is much sadder than Amber's version. She really escaped the Malfoy mansion in April after being tortured, she wasn’t that good but it’s the Battle of Hogwarts who makes her fall. She was on a fine line, fighting for her survival and to save her loved ones. She was fighting against her own sanity during the battle, every second, every move, every thought was a step forward. She was winning, seeing a glimmer of hope when Voldemort died. Her first reaction was to laugh at having a hard time breathing, it was over, they had won, she had won. So she ran through the castle to find her two best friends, she had seen them during the battle but was unable to join them at that time. They were finally going to be reunited, to be again the trio they always have been. No matter what they had gone through, they had survived and they will be able to rebuild themself together. 

Nobody can imagine the pain that hit her when she saw the two dead bodies on the ground. It was like the blast of an explosion, in less than a second her world collapsed. They were all she had, she has been an orphan for years, an only child, Fred and George were all that mattered to her. Thus broke the spirit of the young woman

-She hasn't progressed since May …

-It can take a long time before she may feel ready to accept the truth. She knows it but she needs to do it all again. 

-But how much longer ? She's not going to stay locked up here all her life !

-When she accepts reality and gets over it, she can return to live with her family.

-She has no family left, her parents died years ago and she had no one else. And the twins died too ... I'm afraid she has no family left.

The lyrics of the song can be heard through the door, from what she hears, Emily understands how this music speaks so much to Amber. “My sweet love, won’t you pull me through ? Everywhere I look I catch a glimpse of you.” It must be horrible to lose your two best friends, even more when you think of them as your brothers, your last family. She really lost everything that day, even her sanity.

~~~~

“God don’t let me lose my mind.” She sings with this whole heart, eyes closed and serenity filling the room. She knows the lyrics by heart, it became her favorite song because it reminds her of them. When she opens her eyes she faces the twins, sitting at the table. They exchange a mischievous look before looking at her, it's like when they were young. A blink of an eye and they are three children facing each other, mischievous and innocent. Then teenagers, running through Hogwarts to escape Filch, out of breath but having fun. It's only onto the common room they can relax, out of danger. Fred told Amber that it's her turn to do it, so she takes his wand and puts it on the map. Surrounded by his two best friends, Amber open her eyes and as a tear falls, she whispers :

-Mischief managed.

[lovelacegsl]

Hi! Are you still accepting amy Laurie fic prompts? If you are can you do 127. I'm tired of pretending?

I'm sorry this took me so long but anyways here it is, I've been terribly drained from inspiration but I managed to pull this out. Hope you like it! Also this is from the universe tolerate it where Amy married Fred and Jo married Laurie out of desperation!

Being married to Fred Vaughn has brought her wealth, security and a title, she should have every reason to be elated, her twelve year old self would be very proud, Amy consoled herself with the thought more often than not. She was surrounded by beautiful gowns and perfectly trimmed silk ribbons and surrounded by beautiful balls and perfect dinners and a handsome husband who so clearly loved her.

Her life was perfect, but Laurie was right, too much perfection becomes dull and boring too soon but she suck up to it and plastered her best smile when Fred carried her to his fuzzy English state. Sometimes she even believed she was happy, when Fred tried and succeeded to make her laugh, or when he complimented her art or her dress. Though those are superficial compliments, where Laurie would have complimented her cunning eye for capturing a landscape just right. For capturing an emotion just right.

She was surprised to say the least, when Fred mentioned visiting her family in Concord, it's been almost over a year since they married and moved to London. Who would have thought that all she dreamed as a girl could make her so unhappy? The thought was bitter but familiar, she was already used to it.

“That would be lovely, Fred,” Amy said trying to hide her smile and her fear and all the emotions bottling up inside her.

The Laurences offered a room in Plumfield for them, for the time of their visit which would be shortly of one month, she would love to move there and help Meg with her children now that John was gone, but she thought it was fine with helping her financially. She knew it was not fine, at least not emotionally. At least things were how they were supposed to be, weren't they? Jo and Laurie married, she and some fine European gallant they always expected her to find. She couldn't wait to go home, where there wouldn't be any nagging eyes pressuring for answers as to why she wasn't pregnant yet. She didn't knew either, maybe from lack of trying, she had maneuvered the ability of sucking Fred's cock for when he was hard and insistent against her, he never bothered to ask for more when she was finished and swallowed his fluids.

Her family received her with open arms, the first stop was Meg's house where she gave the twins gifts and sweets she brought from London, Meg almost cried when she saw her youngest sister and Amy could only hold on for dear life at her sister. Orchard House was just the same, the same old, small house but still filled her with the dreary feeling of regret, Marmee's face filled with compassion and somewhat small disappointment, Amy did not care anymore, she'd been use to it since she was young. Her father looked older, too, his eyes had more wrinkles. Jo was never one for holding big dinners or parties or balls, Meg had offered herself to organize some kind of gathering in Plumfield for her and Fred, Amy was glad at least to have all her family gathered. Her heart plummeted when she saw Laurie's mop of hair but she ignored it.

“Jo! Jo!” Amy yelled, her heart filling itself with long forgotten fondness and love for the sister she most fought with, Jo looked away from her garden and pulled herself upright, laughing and greeting her with the most beautiful smile Amy's ever seen in her face before Amy pulled her in a hug, she never thought seen Jo would get her in such a good mood since she, after all, married Laurie, she could see Fred engaging himself in an amiable conversation with Laurie.

“Laurie,” Amy said and he smiled at her, they were, after all, siblings weren't they? He pulled her in a hug and she allowed herself to bury her face in his collarbone for a minute before pulling back. He smelled of wood and clean laundry and it made her heart ache.

She didn't slept that first night, the memories that haunt her were too much to bear, the place was too familiar and she wondered if Laurie ever thought of her there, this place that used to be hers and Laurie's, once in a long time ago was now Jo's and Laurie's. She woke up in the middle of the night wrapped in Fred's big, strong arms, he was too warm for her to bear so she stood up and stretched silently walking downstairs to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Her eyes filled with some tears when she remembered herself and Laurie eating strawberries in there, alone and laughing, him doing his best to be a distraction for her.

She started to wander through the big, old house, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning at the changes her sister had done. It was a school now, so it was a very possibility that it would change, the change was unwelcome in Amy's eyes. She only hoped for the drawing room to be the same, where she would draw Laurie and he would play the piano for her, she missed him, so much it ached her ribs, they never talked about what had happened between them. His half heartedly confession to her that dreary afternoon, that one day she didn't followed his confession out of anger, that one day he married Jo. She didn't wanted to talk to him but, almost as if she manifested him, he was there as soon as she walked in

“Amy,” Laurie said in surprise as she stepped in the drawing room, she opened her lips for a minute and swallowed when his mind caught up on what she was wearing, which was a red silk robe on top of her nightgown.

“My apologies, I thought it was empty in here,” Amy said wrapping her arms around herself and he nodded “I'll just go,” She nodded and started to back away.

“No, stay, I don't mind,” Laurie said but he hadn't looked up from the piano, she sat down in the couch there and stared at him, those same dark eyes that used to admire her in Paris, when she was the only thing that kept his attention. She longed for those days, where she slung her arm across Laurie's crook of his elbow and walked around Paris like it was theirs, and it was, where he used to read to her and she would sketch him, where they would gossip at balls.

“I-We have missed you Amy, the town isn't the same without the frolicsome sister,” Laurie said cutting the silence, she looked up at him, her hands fidgeting with her robe.

“A lot of things aren't the same,”Amy answered softly and he finally looked up from the piano keys, she's never seen him look older.

“You're right, it feels as though it was centuries ago that I visited you here everyday,” Amy nodded and fixed her gaze on the floor

“Where's Jo?” Amy asked instead and looked up when he didn't answered, he shrugged and she nodded lifting her eyebrows “I've missed you too,” Amy allowed herself to say and he looked at the floor. He looked like he was swallowing words.

“You have everything you always hoped for, don't you?” Laurie asked finally and she sighed heavily.

“I suppose so, and so do you,” Amy said because it was true, it was never the plan to marry the other, it had been a change she had never allowed herself to hope, a universe where Laurie loved and desired and wanted her. When it happened she was wholly unprepared and messed everything up. How weird everything was, having everything you always wanted only to realize you didn't wanted it anymore.

“I suppose,” Laurie murmured and stood up from his seat in front of the piano, she knew this was wrong, so wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She wanted to be selfish, just like Jo always described her as. He sat down next to her in the couch though in the other corner, far away from her. It felt like a whole ocean was between them, she thought it might have been better not coming at all, being so close to Laurie was making her blood sing, she wanted to scream and kiss him, slap him and make him bury himself inside of her. She would never, though, nor Jo nor Fred deserved such thing.

She knew things weren't ideal with himself and Jo, Meg had written about it to her.

'𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘈𝘮𝘺, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱'

'𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮'

“How is... how is London?” Laurie asked “I've talked to Jo about visiting you, but it's a little hectic around here,” Laurie said fixing his gaze on her face. 𝘈𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭, she wanted to say but occupied herself explaining her new, big house, detailing the balls she went to and how she did brought those sweets he had written to her. His eyes looked at her attentively, and she tried to ignore it. “It's good talking to you again Laurie,” Amy concluded and he nodded looking at the floor, the air was too uncomfortable and tense.

“Do you think, you could like, stay here longer?” Laurie asked with hope and she smiled brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead and shook her head

“Fred has to go back to work,” Amy said although she did wanted to stay.

“𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, Amy, I'm so tired you wouldn't understand,” Laurie said closing his eyes harshly, it took her unprepared once again. She thought they've both put it behind them.

“I never thought you were doing a fine job either anyways,” She teased and he gave her a tight smile at last, reaching to hold her hand, it made a spike run through her spine.

“We were never the best at those plays, were we?”

“No,” Amy said with a small laugh, he smiled back and it looked more sincere than all of his smiles and before she could stop him, stop it. His lips found hers, she didn't pulled back but didn't deepened it for a minute, her heart fluttered in her chest and he kissed her so slowly it made her head cloud with fog and it made her want to sob. Her hand fisted in his hair and kissed back, desperately, she resisted the urged to put herself in his lap and moaned when his lips drifted to her neck “We can't, we can't Laurie,” He ignored her and kissed the spot behind her ear and his fingers traced her breasts, she arched herself into his touch and clamped her thighs together to reign in her desire, she never knew it could be like that. He pulled back from her and she stared at his flushed cheeks, his toussled hair, his red lips.

“I'm sorry,” He whispered and she nodded pulling back completely and biting her lip to keep herself from sobbing, she leaned her head in his shoulder and felt him press a kiss to her forehead.

“I'm sorry Laurie, I'm sorry for marrying Fred,” Amy whispered at least and his arm wrapped her shoulders.

“It's fine,” Laurie said at last and she sighed when he pulled back. He reached inside the pocket of his nightgown. A ring.

“It was my grandmother's,“ Laurie said, a beat “Jo... never wanted it, she said it's too much for her,” Amy's eyes prickled with tears, she took the ring from his fingers and ached to slid it in her finger.

“It's lovely,” Amy murmured with a lump in her throat as she examinated it, she tried to return it but he shook his head.

“I know you can't wear it, but I though, maybe for... someday,” He murmured making her look up from the ring.

“Thanks Laurie,” She chose to put it in the pocket of her nightdress instead “Maybe, someday,” He nodded and smiled sadly, his eyes expressing sadness, hope, tiredness. He closed them for a second and instead of saying anything else, she bent down and pressed another kiss to his lips which he accepted heartily.

She clings to the promise like a lifetime, and she knows Laurie does too, they found each other once, they'll do it again.