#yeah I choose freckles over dimples even though I have both just because I like them better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

Note

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

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If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.”

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #siriusxremus #wolfstar fluff #remusxsirius #wolfstar smut #SPILT INK #You are such a sweetheart Nonny #ILU #!!!

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vanchlo · 4 years ago

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Forty-Eight, “I’m Home”

*Not my gifs*

Clickable Links:

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read on Wattpad

Word Count: 7.6k words

Warnings: None

Music Inspo: Forever Like That by Ben Rector (click to listen)

SNEAKYYYYYY PEEK

His eyes find mine first and I can’t tell if the sage green is blurring because my eyes deceive me, or that his betray him. Within seconds, it seems that both of our eyes have made a mess of themselves with tears, his shed onto my hand when he brings it to his lips with a kiss. I’m certain that he could taste mine when I steal a kiss from his lips, and those that water his neck with them, sure to not smudge the sentiment that waits to become permanent above his heart.

“Harry Styles,” I giggle nervously with hot cheeks, shaking my head as I stare at the floor, our intertwined hands blocking my view ever so wonderfully.

“My Rebecca Ann.”

Lifting them, my eyes find him like they always so easily do, and so do the divots that fall into his cheeks. The three words that I feel like repeating over and over to him fall again from his lips in a hushed whisper.

I love him more than I did just a second ago. Again.

"When I’m with her, I feel happy to be alive. Like I can do anything, even talk to you like this. So, that’s what I think love is. When I’m better because she’s here.” - Boy Meets World

“Reckon ‘ve neva seen a sight mo’ beautiful in me entire life.”

“Sounds like you haven’t lived long enough then.”

“‘m serious, Becks, yer absolutely gorgeous,” I exhale all in one breath, and with so many others wanting to spill out and join. “Yer everythin’, bug.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Or else, what, Becks? You’ll make me be quiet? Hmm, ‘d like t’ see you try that one, babe,” I tease, letting my nose drag along her cheek and my laugh float over to her ears. “Reckon yer takin’ too long. ‘m an impatient bloke, y’know.”

It’s a tragedy to silence her lips budding with a bubbly laugh, but my, do they taste magnificent. Her smile does as well, and so does the song that ignites from my fingers as they run down her arms free of wires and tubes, albeit an annoying cast.

“Meant it, y’know, that yer so beautiful,” I whisper against her mouth, lifting my head to punctuate my words with a kiss on top of her head. “You look good and seems like you feel that way, too.”

“Mmmhmm,” she murmurs from below me, the corners of her rose colored lips curling into her cheeks.

The pink has begun to return to them and so has her dimple indefinitely. It doesn’t compare to the fluttering inside of my chest at the sight of her ocean eyes peering up at me, the flecks of gold glimmering in the light. Admiring her seems to grow better as if climbing a mountain, because next, I get to enjoy the familiarity replaced with her wavy hair pooled over her shoulders.

“I’m ready,” she exhales nervously, and the baby freckles dotting her cheeks blur in front of me. “Harry, don’t cry, or else you know that I will too.”

“‘m sorry, ‘m jus’ so bloody happy,” I laugh, finding it hard to stop my lips from quivering as I look at her - the familiarity of the jeans and hoodie hugging her body, the new purple Vans bright on her feet, and the flicks of mascara she insisted on wearing even though she doesn’t need it. “‘m so unbelievably happy that I get t’ bring ya home, bug. Finally.”

“Me too,” she croaks, a glistening tear falling into the divot of her dimple before collecting at her chin. They disappear from my view, both luckily and not, when she pulls me into her arms. I can’t complain about it, though. “Thank you. I could never say it enough for everything, Harry, you-.”

“Yer welcome, Becks, forever and ever. No need t’ thank me, I know ya woulda done tha same fer me.”

“I would have,” she whispers against my neck. I nod into her hair that my nose is smothered by in the best possible way, and it makes me wonder if you can overdose on the smell of orange blossoms and vanilla. It seems a happy drunkenness may come from smelling it, afterall.

It’s a feat in and of itself to leave her arms, but it shrinks in comparison to the relief I feel at wiping her tears away, unsure of the last time I felt happy to do this, or this happy at all.

“Shall we get goin’ then, love?” I ask her, thumbing at the imperfection in her cheek that could never be anything short of perfection to me.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Becks nods. “But, one thing first.”

“What’s that? I didn’t think ya wanted t’ spend anotha second in this place.”

“I don’t, but one last kiss is okay,” she smirks and quickly, I’m tasting the absence of melancholy and pain in her kisses. I know that they still sit there, somewhere near, but I choose to ignore them at this moment and to pretend that I can kiss her sadness away. “Okay, now, we can leave.”

“I know ‘ve been waitin’ too long t’ do so . . look at you being a superhero and e’rythin’, bustin’ outta here within a week . . Let’s bring you home already, bug.”

It’s rather hard to get used to - not one, but two things. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to how beautiful she is and I thought she was a sight when we left the hospital, but damn, was I wrong. She keeps doing that, proving me wrong, always has. I like it more now than I did in the beginning. Now, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets in her bed, it really is by far the best sight.

My glowing smile sputters and almost goes out completely when I sigh with a hand in my hair. I just had gotten used to the idea of her being in a hospital and trusting the nurses, and now here I am, her nurse. I liked the thought at first, but now that it’s happened and I’m here, it scares the daylights out of me.

What if I do something wrong?

What if I, of all people, hurt her - elbow her in the stomach in the middle of the night, mess up her bandaging when I rewrap it, or worst of all, mess up her meds?

It all frightens me when I know fully well that I should be the happiest person on earth right now to have her home. But after she got over her bout of sickness, I kept waiting for something else to happen, and I’m still sitting on the edge of that seat, waiting. I never saw the accident coming, but I want to expect the next one, as if I could ever stop something like that from happening. Pffft, I’m no superhero. I don’t know who I think I am, but I know that I want to be everything she needs, and yet, deep down I never could be.

“Harry?”

“Ya, bug? You alright?” I murmur, my hand falling to my side. “Ya need anythin’?”

“Eh, just for you to watch some FRIENDS with me,” she mumbles, cocking her body to look at me over her shoulder. The eagerness taut in her features melts away, and I straighten up, hoping that I didn’t blow my own cover.

“Alright, Harry?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine, Becks. Jus’ thinkin’ ‘m gonna hafta readjus’ me rules fer fallin’ asleep in the middle o’ watchin’ sumthin’ as we might both break that rule,” I quip, leaving my watch in the doorway to join her under the covers.

Worrying away at my bottom lip, I fail to ignore how that lie went over about as well as if she would’ve told it to me. I could be a good liar, but never to her, and the thought itself cements my insides with guilt.

Her laugh fills the dark with some light inside of me, and her famous toasty body nuzzles against mine.

“You’re sure?” Becks wonders aloud, and meeting her questioning gaze is overdue as I stare off into space.

“‘Bout what?” I reply, a V belatedly forming between my brows in wonder.

“If you’re alright. I’m sorry, but I don’t think that I believe you.”

“Oh, that,” I exhale with an ironic laugh that couldn’t be anything but sad. “Ya, I dunno if I believe meself eitha,” I answer at last, feeling much too sour to keep secrets from her that sprout into lies.

No, if I’ve learnt anything recently, it’s that life can flip you on your ass in a moment. I could lose her in a blink, and I very well almost did. The very last night that I want to be thinking is, ‘why did I tell her that silly little lie when I could’ve just grown a pair and told her the truth?’

“Harry, what’s the matter?” she speaks up, lulling the monsters away with her fingers scratching my beard. “I think you need a nap, you’ll feel better after some sleep, and in a bed.”

“No- I mean, ya. Yer right, but that’s not it.”

“What is it then? You can talk to me, love,” she says, and the sentiment weeds into my thoughts and greets my heart.

“I jus’ . . I wanna be enough fer you, Becks, and I dunno if I can,” I confess gently, avoiding her intimidating gaze and instead, entranced by her twirling that braided ring.

“Harry, where’s this coming from? Why do you feel that way?” Becks sighs sadly, and within moments, I wish that I’d never said a thing.

“Nevamind, ‘s jus’ tha sleep deprivation talkin.’ Ignore, silly ol’ me.”

“No, I won’t ignore what you said, because it’s not true,” she replies firmly. The prickly wrapping of her arm cast rubs at my jaw when she turns my head to look at her. “I can’t force you to talk, and I don’t want to make you do anything, but . . I’m here, Harry. You’ve said that loads when I’m afraid or losing my shit . . and I dunno, it grounds me.”

“Thanks,” I smile slowly, feeling the words warm up on my tongue. “I want mo’ than anythin’ t’ take care o’ you and ‘m over tha moon happy yer home, but . . ‘m afraid I won’t do a well enough job, or that ‘ll mess it up.”

“You won’t, Harry,” she assures me, leaving circles drawn onto my cheek that may be invisible to everybody else, but me.

“How d’ya know?”

“Because you’ve shown me how good you can take care of me, especially this week, and the whole two and a half years I’ve known you, Harry Styles,” she insists, leading my eyes back to hers. “I know you’ve told me it a hundred times, but I think it’s time you heard it too - everything is going to be okay. I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay.”

I nod quickly, swallowing against a dry throat and feeling the slick swiping of her finger catch the tears. They don’t just stop there and proceed to drown her fingers, and then the fabric of her shirt when she drags me over to her and against her front.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she hums softly, zings of electricity left at the sight of her fingertips beside my spine. “This is the real scary part, huh? To come home and to act like everything is okay, and to return to real life . . I feel it too, it’s kind of suffocating . . but I know that we’ll get through this, taking care of each other. I’m not going anywhere, love.”

“Thank you . . fer stayin . . fer bein’ here.’”

“Always, Harry.”

“Always,” I murmur, gently breaking through the tangles found in his hair, falling like ribbons between my fingers. Licks of the vanilla and something musky waft from his hair when I press a kiss to the crown of his head.

I let my heavy sigh fall into his curls as my cheek molds to his skull, a hummed song escaping my lips. It sings itself while I drag my fingers through his hair until there are no more snarls or tangles to be found, and my fingers ache from drawing circles into his back. The sniffling and sobs have ended finally, replaced by gentle snoring. His chest rising and falling against mine brings a quiet peace to me, and only now can I let my eyes fall shut, unsure if I feel heavier or lighter now. All that time where I was trying to heal, and even now, I was numb to the fact that he was breaking at my side, further and further.

I hope that you’ll let me fix you, too, Harry.

Sunlight creeps in through the hastily drawn shades, leaving my eyes scoured with white patches in front of them. Blinking them away slowly, my gaze wanders to the covers I lay beneath and that take me a few moments to place. It all comes together, like puzzle pieces, as I watch my bedroom sharpen around me. I feel the smile tug at my lips when I find the tousled head of dark curls lying opposite of me. He’s more real than he was a second ago when his thickening beard rubs at the back of my finger, and his locks fall through my fingers. Creases form on his forehead and a light moan sounds from behind his lips.

“Shh, go back to sleep, it’s okay,” I coo against his hair with a kiss, feeling my smile widen when his arms come around my middle.

“So, this is real,” I whisper, tracing shapes through his Queen shirt, relishing the sleepy warmth he spreads across me. With a huff, my hands find new homes on his body and I let myself fall back to sleep, thinking of all of the other dreams I’d like to come true next.

Shoots and zings of pain awaken me the next time, followed by the creaking of the door and a different voice.

“Ree, you awake?” somebody whispers from behind the door, but when I see the shock of green hair, I wonder how I could forget that face for a second. “Hey, morning- well, for one of you. It’s time for your meds, and I made some brekky. You should have your pills with it, I can bring some in for you.”

“Morning . . No, it’s okay, I want to let him sleep. I think he needs it more than me, do you think you could help me up and out?”

“Sure thing,” she whispers, her pink bunny slippers making soft pat-pat noises on the hardwood floor.

“Sweet dreams,” I wish ever so softly into his hair smelling of Sundays baking with my gran. Regrettably, my arms jelly like from sleep slide away from him, and I inch towards the other side of the bed.

“That had to have been the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, it’s like living in a dream,” I remark with a happy laugh, exhaling when my bum finds the cushions of the sofa. “If you would’ve told twenty-four year old that I’d be waking up to Harry in my bed at twenty six, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me, I wouldn’t have believed you, either,” Skye giggles, setting down a plate in front of me with a soft clatter, accompanied by the tap of a glass of orange juice.

“Okay, Chef Robbins, how much do you think I can eat? I’m not bloody pregnant, now am I? I’m just injured, not eating for two here,” I quip, nevertheless picking up the fork and stabbing at a curd of scrambled eggs.

“Don’t you even, you need to be getting your appetite back. I don’t expect anything less out of you - eating all of this. You have every damn food group on this plate, thank you very much - Harry would be proud.”

“He would. What, did you blooming write up a food menu with him, or something?” I ask through a few bites of fluffy eggs.

“No, but we did come up with a list of groceries together, so I reckon that’s fairly the same.”

“You, go grocery shopping, since when?” I say, crumbs littering my fingers when I pick up the half slice of buttered toast, shoveling cheesy eggs onto them.

“Since your bloody boyfriend bullied me into doing it.”

“Hmm, I should’ve had him do that a long time ago,” I laugh, and it’s welcomed by the sound of her obnoxious one. “My bloody God, you’re going to wake him up with that honker of yours, you know that!”

“Whoops, I better shut up. I need you all to myself for a change.”

“Oh, hush up, you had me all to yourself for twenty years or so, reckon you can give me up for a little bit,” I jest, watching her wild bed head shake back and forth with her disagreement. “Also, when’d you become a cook? This is good.”

“It’s eggs and cheese, no duh it’s good and it’s easy. Is he going to have any? There’s plenty more.”

“I dunno, I want him to get some more sleep. The poor guy’s been sleeping on a sofa for the last week, for Christ’s sake.”

“Fuck,” she sighs, biting into her toast with a crunch, leaving grape jam on her lips quite adorably. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

“What?” I say, staring at the blobs of jam on her lips until I hear my name rasped from the other side of the room. “Harry. H-hi, good morning. There’s uh, breakfast if you want some.”

“Oh, thanks. ‘ll use tha loo first.”

“And maybe put a shirt on, or, maybe not after all,” Skye jokes under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear as I watch Harry disappear down the hallway enclosed by the kitchen’s back wall. Every inch of his sleepy body regrettably leaves my eyes, including the mess of bedhead on him, the lack of a shirt, and amongst other things, those green eyes that only relaxed when they found me.

“Shut up, you creep!” I retort, failing to keep my chuckle to a low hush when her contagious laugh does its magic.

“All I’m saying is that I’m not complaining about the new house guest,” she explains with a shrug of her measly shoulders, standing to her feet. “I guess I’ll give the happy couple some privacy and eat my brekky with Buffy in my room.”

“Yeah, you go and pout, and leave my boyfriend alone in the hallway.”

“I can’t promise anything!” Skye squeals, her slippered feet slowly becoming harder to hear.

“Mmm, when’d ya wake up, bug?” somebody else asks, but I was ready and noticed him the moment his tall body walked back into frame.

“Only a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, how’re you feelin’? Did you take yer meds yet?” Harry questions, rubbing at his eyes on his way into the kitchen, too far away for my liking.

“I’m fine, but sore. Skye woke me up in the middle of the night to take my meds then, and I’m just about to take some more. How fun.”

“Oh, ‘m sorry I missed ‘em last night, Becks. I thought I set an alarm on my phone,” he yawns, his drowned out voice accompanied by the scraping of the pan.

“Yeah, I turned it off after she had done it, because I wanted you to sleep. That’s why I didn’t wake you just now, you need to sleep more.”

“I know, but ‘m okay. I woke up and saw you weren’t there, and I couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“You’re cute when you’re all worried,” I joke, chewing the last bite of scrambled eggs as the sofa cushions dip underneath me. “And shirtless.”

“Oh ya . . sorry ‘bout that. I mean it when I say yer a li’l heater, Becks, and with all o’ those blankets, I must’ve gotten too hot and taken me shirt off sumtime,” he explains with a shake of his head, the bright flesh of the strawberry contrasting to his bubblegum pink lips that surround it. Okay, Becky, it is too early and my brain is too foggy to be having these kinds of thoughts already today. “Alright, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. The strawberries just look so good,” I lie, picking up one and biting into the juicy fruit. I’m unsure of how to feel about the fib going over his head, but it’s whisked away when his cold toes playing footsie with mine instead nudge mine repeatedly.

“Pills,” he insists from across me, nodding to the foreign looking organizer sat on the coffee table before me.

“Yes, yes, Nurse Styles,” I exhale, leaning forward to grab them, but I stop when a tight pain radiates through my abdomen.

“What’d I tell ya ‘bout bein’ careful, love? Ya can’t push yerself too hard now. Are you okay?” Harry coos, dropping his fork onto the plate sat on his lap, making quick work of grabbing the case for me.

“I know, Dad.”

“Now, what’d ‘d say ‘bout all that bein’ stubborn shit . . huh?” he rasps, voice framed by the clicking and clacking of the case opening and pills shaking about.

“I know, I know, you’re just fun to tease.”

“We know that too,” he answers, setting the case aside and clearing his throat a few times until I look at him.

“What, do you not know how to use your words?” he only dips his head a little lower and sighs.

“Watch tha mouth,” he huffs jokingly, dropping the slew of pills into my palm with a nod to my orange juice.

“You never said anything about toning down the sass.”

“Didn’t gather that I needed t’, Rebecca Ann, ‘ssa given,” he replies with his seesaw like shoulders helping him talk, finishing off the last few bites of his toast.

With a groan, I pick up the heavy bottomed glass and between a few glugs of juice, swallow down the multitude of pills. I chase them down with a few more bites of strawberries and hash browns.

“That betta not be all yer eatin’, Becks,” Harry tuts from my side, scraping his fork along the plate to gather the last scraps of eggs.

“I’m done.”

“No, yer not. Ya can be afta ya have two mo’ bites o’ p’tatoes, a strawb’rry, and finish yer juice,” he instructs, pointing his fork at the various food items.

“Fine, Dad,” I grunt, returning the fork to my hands and doing as he says. “You know, I’d make some joke about how you’d be a good lawyer, or better yet, a good father being all bossy, if you weren’t getting on my nerves.”

“That means ‘m doin’ me job then,” he chuckles softly from his perch on the sofa. “Hey, where d’ya think yer goin’?”

“What, I can’t go pee without you having to know that too?”

“Sorry,” he barely squeaks, looking away sheepishly from behind me.

“It’s okay, just chill on the ‘hovering dad thing’ when you’re well, not a dad.”

“I wouldn’t hafta act like yers if ya did what yer told with a li’l less attitude,” he bites back sarcastically, and I wish that he could see my eyes rolling from this far away.

“I learned from only the best!”

“Hey!” his protest meets my ears just as I close the bathroom door with a giggle, sighing when I get off my dodgy ankle to relieve myself.

“How upset are ya with me?” Harry coos, a creak heard behind him as he shuts my bedroom door.

“I’m not upset. I’d just like a little more ‘friendly nurse’ and a little less ‘drill sergeant’ from you, is all.”

“‘m sorry, bug, but we know both yer ‘bout tha most stubborn person we both know,” he explains, daring a few fingers to stroke my cheek. “C’mon, open ‘em up, Ocean Eyes.”

“No.”

“Becks,” he drawls with a feisty giggle, dragging his nose down the expanse of my cheek. “Y’know ya can’t stay mad at me fo’ too long, ya’ve never been able t’.”

“Oh, wanna bet?”

“Rebecca Ann,” he whines, bringing forth a giggle from my lips at his beard tickling my neck.

“What, Harry Edward? I swear, we’ve known how to push each other’s buttons since the beginning.”

“I don’t disagree,” he says in that breathy laugh. “C’mon, let’s have a cuddle, babe. You can’t deny me.”

“Oh, wanna bet?” I chuckle, moving away from him, finding that this stupid arm cast of mine gets stuck everywhere and on everything.

“Becks!” he scoffs with the most offended look on his face when he leaves my neck. “Be nice t’ me, ‘m jus’ tryna love on you, bug.”

“I don’t disagree,” I quip, relishing in the eye roll I receive and fully deserve, and enjoying the happiness that trickles from my lips next.

“C’mere, li’l one, yer bein’ a li’l shit again, I think I may have even missed it,” Harry says, the bed dipping under his weight as he returns me to his arms, draping the covers over us. “My bug,” he coos, following the nickname with a slew of kisses to my cheeks.

I think I’ve almost made it, almost.

“Harry, would you stop it already?!” I groan, exasperated by the sound of shuffling items and the pew-pew of the spray bottle.

“‘m almost done, Becks.”

“That’s what you said half an hour ago, Harry! Ugh, stop cleaning already and come and watch FRIENDS with me. We both know you’re not really watching it when you’re cleaning, no matter what you say,” I sigh, flipping open the covers in invitation. He stands back up and his eyes cast over to me with a raised eyebrow. Both of mine inch towards my forehead in response, challenging him. “Harry Edward, I swear to-,” I wheeze, losing my control.

“You swear what, huh, Rebecca Ann?” he responds, at last setting down the rag and cleaning spray on my desk that has never sparkled or looked so tidy as it does now, along with the rest of my bedroom. “Huh? Talkin’ a lotta shit, aren’t we? I swear t’ God, yer all bark and no bite,” he continues with a smile, the overhead light glinting on his gold cross necklace laid over his Beatles shirt that, much to my dismay, he slipped on after a shower this morning.

“You wanna bet?”

“Ya, I do,” he says, his hands falling splayed onto the mattress in front of me. My God, is he a tease with those long muscular arms, and licking those rose colored lips.

Fuck.

I can’t hold back anymore and press on the back of his neck, losing my fingers in the tight ringlets of hair sitting there, smiling into the kiss.

“Hey, watch it!” he exclaims, pulling away quickly and sucking on his bottom lip that my teeth had just sunk into. “Bloody hell, remind me not t’ doubt you anymo’, you li’l shit.”

“Your little shit,” I correct him with a smirk, pulling him closer by the neck and trying not to laugh at the shocked look on his face.

“My, you are sumthin’, aren’t you, Becks? I betta watch out. I gotta strong one here . . atta girl,” his smile is the last thing I see before his lips return to mine. “Wait a second.”

“What? I wanted to kiss you some more.”

“Oh, stop whinin’, my li’l baby,” he titters, walking away much to my dismay and opening the door to my closet. “What have I found here, hmm? ‘s this a photo album o’ baby Becks?”

“Oh, you found that?” I giggle, yanking up the covers to my shoulders and enjoying my view of him crossing the room. There is just something else about a man in joggers, sigh.

“Ya, when I was cleanin’. Looks like me hard work paid off afta’ all,” Harry says, sliding under the blankets with me. “What’re you starin’ at me like that fer?”

“Nothing,” I sigh shyly, scooting over until my head finds his tummy and his arm finds the curve of my shoulders.

“What’re you blushin’ ‘bout, li’l one?” he giggles from above me, laying his arm over the closed photo album. I only find that he’s forgotten it when I dare to peer up at him, and his eyes are waiting on me.

“I just- I dunno,” I huff with my cheeks aching from shy smiles. “This is kind of all I ever wanted, give or take a few parts. Including the waking up to you shirtless in my bed, and looking all cute in comfy clothes.”

That breathy laugh sparks his lips into a smile again, followed by his bottom lip escaping to between his teeth nervously.

“I don’t disagree,” he quips, and this time, I actually groan at how cheesy he can be. “Really tho’, Becks, I wanted all o’ this too. I dunno what t’ do with meself now that I have it all - get t’ wake up t’ you in tha mornin’, take care o’ you, spend me day watchin’ FRIENDS with you, and now, lookin’ at yer baby pictures with you. I can’t wait t’ see what our kids are gonna look like.”

“Stop it, or I’ll cry again,” I croak, swatting at his chest, but it’s nothing more than a tap.

“I hope those are happy ones,” he whispers into my hair, and a small laugh joins the tears running over my lips. “Bloody hell, think I might spill a few as well. Look at these, were you tha cutest baby or what?” Harry sighs happily after opening the book to a random page, lifting it to get a better look at a photo of four-month old Robbie and me in matching Winnie the Pooh Halloween costumes. Looking up at him, something twinkles in his eye and in his cheeks where the dimples sit lower than ever.

I hope oh so badly that our babies have those dimples of his. Someday.

Until then, I’ll soak up these days of waking up to him, hopefully shirtless, and falling asleep together watching our favorite show, and wondering how it could get any better.

Every day seemed to run into the next, and in the best way possible, don’t get me wrong. I got to wake up to Harry beside me, toasty in my bed, and due to that, absent of a shirt and I was not complaining. No, siree. Some body parts still hurt quite a bit, but slowly they hurt less and less, and through that time we got our routine down. Pills three times a day and then twice, Skye helped me with showers, physical therapy three times a week, my ankle became more steady, I could stay awake for longer periods at a time without needing a nap like a growing puppy, and quickly, I was fighting Harry for the last sausage or cookie.

He was enjoying it too, I could just tell. I would bet a lot of money that he couldn’t be enjoying it as much as me, though.

To say that I didn’t get sick of him would be a lie, because oh, were there moments. First, there was his incessant cleaning to keep him busy, which luckily was remedied by his Zoom meetings for work that he’d take in the living room once a day while I napped. Secondly, I swear he watched me and closely as I ate, and it got annoying very fast. The naps and Zooms helped loads though, as did the few times he went home to grab different clothes, do laundry and the like, and go grocery shopping, but even then I missed him a little bit. As soon as he left because I got sick of him, I wished he would come back, and that’s how it went again and again.

The cold bites at my cheeks, sure to have left them rosy and wind chapped. Not quickly enough, the car begins to warm up and so do I.

“Alright?” he says with a warmth to his voice that curls around my icy bones. Turning in my seat, I find his lips pinker than ever as he rubs the feeling back into my arm, my free one. Nodding at him, he returns it before pulling the seat belt over him and checking his mirrors.

“Are you?” I ask, a few moments after he had begun to drive.

“Mmmhmm,” he responds, kneading at his lips once we arrive at a red light, briefly meeting my eyes but not holding them.

“You’re . . acting weird, Harry,” I say slowly, unsure of my words and how he’ll receive them. “I’m the one still getting nervous about being in a car, so what’s your excuse?”

“Nuthin’ . . ,” he insists, grabbing hold of my hand when the light turns green, twirling the bracelet around my wrist absentmindedly. “‘Kay . . I was wonderin’ if we could stop somewhere befo’ we go home. Y’know, if yer not too tired afta P.T. jus’ now.”

“No, I’m good- I mean, yeah, we can. Preferably, if I can sit down at this place you’re going after that workout I just had.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Harry grins, avoiding my prying eyes that search for a hidden meaning in his words. Narrowing my eyes, I squint at him, hoping that will help me to decode his answer, but I come up empty. Sighing, I look away, unsure of why he isn’t letting me read him this one time, but forgetting it after I remember how unbelievably handsome he’s looking with the beard and ochre colored beanie pulled over his curls. “Stop starin’ at me, woman,” he titters, and I only reply with a confused shake of my head.

Sighing, I pull my phone from my pocket and find the absence of new texts, still. A smile tries at my lips when I revisit my screensaver that I gloss over at times, a giggly selfie from bed with Harry. I trace the dimples in his cheeks and the smile pinching them before letting it fall back into my pocket.

The shelves of items and hangers of clothes don’t do anything for me, nothing jumping out at me to buy it, and so I wander on to the next little shop, a bakery. Soon, a gooey cinnamon roll occupies my time as I wait, wait, and wait.

“What’s taking you so long, Harry?” I grumble under my breath, finding a seat in the corner of my favorite little coffeeshop down the street. It feels good to get off my ankle that still bothers me at times. Setting down my hot chocolate, the cinnamon roll stills in my hand when I look up and find my familiar view.

If I look hard enough, the sun is streaming in through the windows and that Bon Iver song is trickling from the speakers again. The mystery novel is sitting in front of me, beside a half empty mug of coffee, and there he is. He’s making jokes with the barista at the front, arms folded over the tall flat surface where outgoing drinks are placed for pick up. My heart could do it again, race incessantly like a horse out of its gate, and I’d likely remain glued to this seat, unwavering but not unwanting.

Dinggggg!

Blinking, I’m jolted from the memory by a sound, and suddenly, the sun isn’t leaking into the coffee shop and he isn’t standing there, belonging to somebody else anymore like I had dreamt about last night. My nightmares sure are getting creative these days, drudging up old memories from last summer, the summer from Hell. They must be drying up if they have to resort to the time I saw him in this coffee shop after he’d starting dating somebody else, the day I felt shocked in my seat dying to say hi to him, but more afraid than ever. It feels like another person then, to be afraid to go up to Harry and to say hi, but that’s how it all was. It’s how it all felt, and how I was feeling. He felt like another person entirely and so did I, as if strangers.

Shaking my head and then grimacing at the slight ache that it still holds, I glance down at my phone to find the text that I’ve been waiting for.

sorry it took me so long bug. i hope ya found something u liked at one of the shops, or coffee, knowing u ;) i’m guessing ur at the coffee shop still from ur snapchat, so if u turn the left corner, and go down to the end of that block, you’ll find me there ;) see u soon baby

I can’t hide the smile that sticks to my lips as I leave with the cinnamon roll tucked safely into my hands, but it wavers when I come across the shop he speaks of. I double check and I triple check before finding his Range Rover parked a few yards away, telling me that this is the place. How odd, I think, as the bell tinkles overhead and the classic rock music greets me.

It only takes me a few moments to find him, waiting on a brown leather sofa in a waiting room of sorts, wringing his hands in his lap. Uh yeah, I can only think of one reason why, and no more than that. I can’t tell if the anxiousness painting his body worsens or remains the same when he spots me in the doorway, standing to his feet and taking my hand.

“Hey, that’s mine!” I exclaim, grabbing for the last bite of the cinnamon roll that he steals from me. “Harry!” I sigh, watching him feed it between his lips, but he leaves one last bite pinched between his fingers.

“Oh, ya want this?” he smirks, holding it out for me. I inch forward and am surprised with a messy kiss that tastes of cinnamon and sugar, sparking a song behind my lips. “Here, baby Becks,” he coos, feeding it to me at last before he tugs on my hand to follow him.

“Harry, what’s going on? Why are we here? Why are you here, or do I even need to ask?”

“I thought ya graduated top o’ yer class, so ya should know why we’re here, Ms. Lawyer. Use yer deductive reasonin’ skills, Becks - why do ya deduce we’re at a tattoo shop?”

“Harry,” is all I say, voice absent of anything and everything as I follow him down a short hallway, and into a room that resembles a doctor’s office. It’s not much bigger, but is a spitting image with the massage parlor looking black bed-table-thingy.

“Matt, this ‘s Becks, and Becks, this ‘s Matt,” Harry says, and a tall man turns around and shines his pearly whites at me. “He’s been doin’ me tattoos fer awhile now, best artist I know.”

“H-Hi, nice to meet you.”

“You as well, I’ve heard a lot about you over the years,” Matt responds warmly, waving over to a comfy looking black office chair against the wall. Harry has already helped himself to the massage parlor looking thing, and his North Face and jumper have found their way off of him, too. “I hear you’re the reason we’re here today.”

“Wait, I am? What?” I answer, eyes flitting over to Harry’s. I’m sure of the alarm that blazes in them, and the flames only grow higher when he lets go of my hand. I can’t say that they die down when he slides off his long sleeved shirt dotted with nineties Nickelodeon tv shows, showing the entire room his sculpted torso and inked arms. The sage in his eyes warms and he scoops my hand up again, squeezing it and rubbing hearts into the back of my hand.

“Ya ready t’ see what ‘m gettin’, Becks?” Harry grins ever so proudly, I don’t think that his grin could be any more shit eating than it is right now.

The moments follow and they pass as Matt takes out a piece of what looks like tissue paper on it with purple ink, the design obscured from my eyes. The last thing he does before leaving is to press it to the blank slate above Harry’s heart, and slowly peels it away, revealing the image to me at last.

His eyes find mine first and I can’t tell if the sage green is blurring because my eyes deceive me, or that his betray him. Within seconds, it seems that both of our eyes have made a mess of themselves with tears, his shed onto my hand when he brings it to his lips with a kiss. I’m certain that he could taste mine when I steal a kiss from his lips, and there are those that water his neck with them, sure to not smudge the sentiment that waits to become permanent above his heart.

“Harry, is that-,” I begin at last after pulling away from him, my hand falling from his cheek slick with tears.

“Mmmhhm, ‘s yers,” he answers with a definitive nod, several meanings encapsulated in his words, but I take with me only a few. My fingers trace above his skin the four numbers, ever so familiar to me. “Yer handwritin’, Becks.”

“Why 2024?” I wheeze, wiping away the lingering tears, knowing that they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. As I speak them, the answer rings behind my eyes, but I wait for his answer.

“‘Cuz,” he answers, like it’s ever so obvious, willing my eyes back to his waiting pair. “I know this year’s only started, and ‘s been a bit o’ a shit show t’ say tha least, but ‘s tha year that brought you back t’ me, and let me keep you. ‘ll be grateful t’ it forever, and t’ you, Becks.”

“I love you,” I whisper, not having decided to say the words and yet, there they are, spilling themselves to his ears.

“I love you, baby, mo’ than anythin’,” he giggles happily, a tear breaking free from his eye to course down his cheek. His beard is ticklish against my temple where his lips litter kisses and love, the reason those very numbers are about to become permanent right where his heart lives under his chest. “I found a grocery list you had written tha other day, and I dunno- I jus’ loved tha way you wrote tha year and how those numbas meant so much . . and mo’ importantly, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how I wanted t’ forget all o’ this . . yer accident. So, instead o’ forgettin’, I wanna remember this bumpy start we’ve had, by this, havin’ yer writin’ on me fer me life.”

“Harry Styles,” I giggle nervously with hot cheeks, shaking my head in disbelief as I stare at the floor, our intertwined hands blocking my view ever so wonderfully.

“My Rebecca Ann.”

“Are we ready to get this show on the road?”

Harry nods at me with a questioning look, and I nod at him, squeezing his hand.

“Alrighty then, let’s do it,” Matt announces with enthusiasm in his voice, something that wanes inside of me at the prospect of seeing Harry in pain.

If he can do it, going through about as much hell as I did after that car hit me, then I can at least do this. The insane amount of flattery and the overwhelming love that radiates off of him as the tattoo gun begins to buzz, helps to soften the blow.

I love him more than I did just a second ago. Again.

It smells the same, and sounds like before. I welcome the familiarity, but a shy nervousness sits in the corner of my mind, and deep down, inside of my gut. An excitement tries to overtake it up there, and I wait on the sidelines to see what will happen.

The thought is whisked away when there’s a whisper of a touch against my temple, and my body bumps habitually into his, seeking safety. Blinking hard and looking upwards to my left, I find a smile waiting in those molten sage eyes.

“Alright, bug?” Harry coos, leaning down to press his lips to mine briefly. I nod in reply, waving my thumb over his jawline hidden in thick facial hair, a sight I never thought I’d see inside of these four walls. “Are ya ready t’ get back into tha thick o’ it, Becks?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s about time that you let me come back, I’ve been going mad sitting at home having nothing to do for the last few weeks, and especially since you’ve been back part time since last week,” I answer, the song he sings joining that of my own when his fingers brush against my ribs that don’t ache from his touch anymore, and his nose nudges at my temple that doesn’t hurt when I laugh too hard.

“Hey, I know that, but I wanted t’ make sure ya wouldn’t over exert yerself and yer arm ‘s still gettin’ all caught up bein’ in that cast fer awhile. Also, I rememba a certain sumbody practically forcin’ me t’ come back, I didn’t have much say over tha matter. Hmmm, I can only wonder who that’d be,” he jests, and all hints of my poker face run away from me as he raises his eyebrows at me. The very pair he let me have my way with the other day, which lasted about five seconds before he started whining, even though the woosey has fresh ink on him.

“I know, you’re still being Daddy Harry,” I sigh dramatically, its ending found in a deep chuckle that he elicits from my lips with a surprise bear hug. His laugh drips with molasses too, and I feel like this couldn’t taste any sweeter, my arms hidden under his blazer and nudging at his belt.

“I’ll manage.”

“I know ya will, ya always do . . my Becks. ‘ll be there t’ help too,” Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head as the electronic number reaches to twelve above our heads. My head falls to the crook of his neck where it’s longed to be . . for such a long time. Years. His solid arms filled with safety lift from me and return once they wrap his violet blazer around me, and only do I close my eyes when his lips find a temporary home on the top of my head. “Y’know, I dunno what t’ call you now - mentee, colleague, girlfriend.”

“You can just call me either or, boss boyfriend,” I suggest, meeting his glowing green eyes while an electronic ding sounds overhead, signaling another floor passed.

“Sounds good t’ me, Rebecca Holte,” he hums, a corner of his mouth curled into his cheek and sharing that happy dimple with me. The chipped black nail polish teases at my sight when his thumb runs over the brand new scars dotting my cheeks that he’s healed with his kisses. “Ya betta make this one last fer a while now, we have a meetin’ right off tha bat,” he says firmly with raised eyebrows, but a smile teases at its corners.

Standing on my tiptoes, I lean forward and close my eyes, seeing the glinting flecks of gold in his eyes as I taste the honey on his lips. It’s hidden in the words that pass unspoken between our lips, cut short by the declarative beeps and the number sixteen waiting atop, seventeen just around the corner. With a giggle, I steal one last peck from his lips, and watch as he shakes his head after my wandering hand squeezed his bum.

“C’mon, you li’l shit,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes, adjusting the strap of his shiny, new messenger bag strewn across his chest. “Or would ya ratha I say, ‘shall we, Becks?” Harry asks, holding out a hand in front of us, and I nod.

“Let’s go, boyfriend,” I say with a large smile, catching the wink he gives me as our shoes click and clack on the marbled black tiling of the firm’s floors.

Now, I have.

I’ve really made it now.

I thought I had once or twice before, but this is it. I have it all, and more is on the way, and no longer are the dreams out of arm’s reach. No, they’re right there where I can touch them, and so is a very special one that won’t stop smiling at me, and I wouldn’t ever want to stop smiling at him.

Another thing I’m sure of is that I’d never want to stop listening to the song that flows from his lips, I could listen to it for the rest of my life.

THE END . . FOR NOW

Don’t miss Harry and Becks’ future adventures in the sequel to The Assistant, The Partner, coming soon! Until then, you can catch up with Hecky when The Firsts, an Assistant Blurb Series, begins September 14th at 12pm CST! Keep an eye out for the masterlist post for The Firsts, to be published soon! I could never thank all of you enough for reading and for sticking around this long with me. I am so excited to continue this series and for you to see what’s coming ;) See you in two weeks!

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

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Caught in His Webb, a speculative fanfic about what we hope have learned about season 15, episode 8

When Sam met one of Dean's old hunting buddies - made during his time at Stanford - he didn't know what to expect.

When said hunting buddy leaves, after finishing a hunt, and says goodbye with a chaste kiss - he doesn't know what to think.

Can Sam get Dean to talk about his feelings? And will airing everything to dry help Dean understand and come to terms with more than what happened after the hunt?

Sam watches Leo’s truck drive off, waiting until the cherry red Ford disappears around the corner before turning to Dean. His brother putters around the motel packing. Face hidden but flushed neck still burning minutes after Leo left. He isn’t surprised Dean bounces off the walls, especially with the explosive farwell Leo dropped on their laps.

“ Maybe in another lifetime… we could’ve had something good. ”

A cheek kiss isn’t the most suggestive gesture, except the only time Dean’s seen a man’s lips close in on his brother’s face was in the heat of battle. Creatures snarling as they fight against whatever shield or restraint that blocks them from tearing into his brother’s face. Nothing as soft, innocent, or intimate as a featherlight press against stubble.

“Dean -”

“We better get a move on Sammy,” Dean cuts him off, zipping up his duffel, “if we leave now we can probably skip an extra night on the road.”

Sam frowns, brows pinching tighter than a rubber band. “Dean… we need to talk.”

Dean’s hands pause from where they rest on the handles. His shoulders stiffen, enough that Sam doesn’t need to see his face to know his dimples are on full display. “Talk about what?” he asks. Gruff, tone warning Sam that if he chooses to travel down this road it’ll be filled with bumps, potholes, and traffic.

Luckily he knows all of Dean’s shortcuts.

“Leo was a pretty swell guy,” he starts, leaning against the wall.

Dean, thrown off like Sam planned, finally sneaks a peek. A fog of wariness clouds his gaze, as expected. “Yeah,” he says, “Glad to see the years don’t really change a guy…”

“So he was like that when you knew him?”

“Not exactly,” Dean says, “Was a lot less responsible, then again he wasn’t in charge of a whole camp. Just volunteered there a few times a week. More so in the summer… once it felt like I didn’t see him for two weeks when I was in town ‘cause he was putting in extra hours. I always felt like the bad influence, telling him to take time for himself so me and him could…” The smile slowly blossoming on his face withers away in the next moment as Dean catches onto Sam’s ploy. “No.”

“Dean -”

“I said no, Sam.” he barks, ripping open his duffel once more, “I don’t want to talk about our history, don’t care how much you want to.”

“ Our ?”

“Our what ?”

“You said our,” Sam smirks, “As in your’s and his… meaning there is history.”

“So?” Dean asks, attempting to play cool even as his shaky fingers give him away, “you and I got a past. That’s our history. Don’t know why you have to say it like that ‘bout me and Leo.”

“Because our history isn’t… your’s and Leo’s history.”

Dean digs further into his bag, messing with the already perfect packing. Unfolding jeans and wrinkling shirts, tossing guns and blades like they were wadded balls of paper instead of weapons. Sam huffs, pushing off the wall and gliding towards his brother. He takes the plaid shirt from Dean’s hands - knuckles pale, freckles pronounced - and sets it to the side.

“C’mon, Sam,” he says, voice trembling, “we can’t waste any time…”

“Dean. Please .”

The plaintive notes Sam spoke jar with Dean, tipping him over the edge. He shoves Sam away and roars, “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want from me!”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Sam says, “I want you to know that whatever that is… I’ll accept it.”

Dean challenges Sam with a long bout of silence, unaware to the lengths of awkwardly charged silence he’s willing to suffer through. Showing nothing but honest affection, Sam waits for his brother to fold. He crumples like a napkin, fog turning to mist.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean coughs, rubbing at his eyes, “Couldn’t you have pretended you didn’t notice?”

Sam shrugs, mouth stretched thin. “Pretty hard not to.”

When Dean pulls his hand away Sam at least won’t comment on the redness rimming his eyes. “Me and him had this thing, okay? Dad had gone off on his own when I stumbled across a haunting here in town… Leo was gonna be its next victim when I swooped in and ran the ghost in with my crowbar. And then when the ghost came after me he did the exact same thing…”

“I figured it’d be a one-and-done kind of deal. We salt and burn the bones and then we go off our separate ways except… Leo didn’t want to leave. If that bastard is one thing it’s kind… saw hunting as another way he could give back. Tried to talk him out of it, tell him that it wasn’t the glamorous job he was thinking but… he was stubborn. And I guess I was lonely.”

Sam nods. “You and him hunted together?”

“Whenever I was in Texas,” Dean continues, “I’d call him up and we’d handle a case here and there, then we’d drive back to his place and patch each other up. I taught him all I knew about hunting and… well, Leo opened my eyes to this whole other world I was missing out on, too.”

“Then it wasn’t…” Sam sifts for the right words, “A one time deal? Some kind of gay thing?”

He can see Dean weighing the options, hands swaying from side to side as he compares. Thankfully Dean chooses and shakes his head. “Definitely more than that. We never put labels on it or anything… with me on the road all the time I didn’t want him wasting away, waiting after me. Whenever we met up though… it was like the world didn’t exist. Of course, one day the pressure gives and it crashes back into you.”

“Dad hadn’t checked in in over a month, and not even Bobby or anyone else heard from him. All we had was… Jericho, California.”

Sam tenses, reminded of ghastly women and burning ceilings. He thought he put that town far back in the rearview mirror, so much so it wasn’t even a speck. But as this year has proven, nothing can stay buried in the past for long. Like the aftereffects from that simple hunt years ago still shake the very foundations of his and Dean’s relationship. Swallowing around the stone in his throat, he asks, “When you came to get me?”

Dean hums, a tight-lipped smile fixed to his face. “I wasn’t planning on coming alone,” he admits, “I was with Leo, getting ready to hit the open road again when I… I guess I was feeling bold. Or maybe cocky… I don’t know. Something made me ask him if he thought about coming along, to help.”

Stunned, Sam unconsciously moves away from Dean. Wobbles with spinning vision, as if learning what could have been was enough to fell his oak-like stature. His mind races at the possibility of Dean showing up in his apartment with Leo in tow, both there to whisk him away to find John. How different the road so far would be. The worst possibility Sam imagines sends shivers racing up his spine. Where the max occupancy remains two, except it’s Leo taking the shotgun seat instead of Sam. Sam washes his hands of any responsibility for John and sends Dean off with a half-hearted goodbye. An apocalyptic decision, he thinks, given the only reason the world’s been kicking for so long is because of them and the friends they’ve gathered.

He clears his mind of the what-ifs, reminding himself that they don’t matter since he and Dean went to Jericho, alone. They didn’t find their father but they finished his mission. He lost Jess… but he found his brother.

Sam focuses on the present and his brother’s uninterrupted rambling. “...a mess, though. Like, what if dad was in Jericho? Leo wasn’t ashamed of who he was… dad would’ve known in a heartbeat what was going on between us. Doesn’t matter now, though, since Leo said no.”

“Why did he?”

“Texas was one thing,” Dean smirks, gazing at a point beyond Sam, “California was another. Thought that by me asking for him to come with I was really asking for him to leave his old life behind which… in a way I was. When you’re a hunter, it's really hard to live half-in, half-out. Leo couldn’t cut the ties.”

“And what did you do?”

“What could I do?” he chuckles, “Tell him he was making a mistake? You saw his life… loving husband, great kids… I couldn’t give that to him. I swallowed down the hurt and left early in the morning, before he could wake up. With a note saying that he should forget about the life… and about me . Then I ditched my phone and picked up a burner on the way to meet… you .”

Dean collapses onto the bed, uncaring to the mess he sits on. Gasping as he breathes for the first time without all that weight crushing his chest. Sam, at a loss for what to do, blindly reaches for his brother and squeezes his shoulder.

“Thank you for telling me all this, Dean,” Sam says, “I… I should’ve realized how close he was to you.”

The past few days make sense, the final piece fitting and highlighting the full picture. Dean’s awkwardness whenever they met up with Leo. His arms hung awkwardly at his side, no idea what to do with themselves. Over aware of their surroundings at all times, budgeting every word and movement like they were in short supply. Whenever Leo mentioned his family he jumped worse than a rabbit. How curt Dean became whenever Sam asked how he and Leo came to meet, offering only one or two words in explanation. Usually ‘no comment’. He figured there was hurt Dean kept hidden, but wouldn’t have guessed the cracks were in his heart .

Dean snorts, running his wrist up his face. “No, you shouldn’t’ve. Leo was my first and last . With him it felt like whatever anyone else thought didn’t matter, and when he was gone I… I locked the closet door behind me.”

Sam doubts that. With the floodgates open, memories pour into his awareness of times that Dean flexed the other half of his sexuality. How his eyes followed a mark a little too closely sometimes in the bar, leaning into them and blaming it on acting ‘drunk’. The snarky compliment here and there, masking the actual appreciation. Every time he deflected violently or made fun of Sam’s preferences weren’t the crumblings of Dean’s fragile masculinity. It was a scared boy, afraid that his younger brother was about to discover something he didn’t want getting out.

“Not even once?” he asks, “You know I wouldn’t have cared… right?”

His brother shrugs. “Yeah I knew. There were times I thought maybe I… could’ve said something. All those near-death experiences… and the actualdeaths… I was never able to break through those walls though. Every opportunity was shadowed by the fear of dad finding out… even when it wasn’t possible. I’d lose all ability to talk and I… I’d freeze up like a deer in headlights. Kept me from saying a lot… doing a lot… being - being with…” Dean tucks his hands under his armpits, curling around himself.

The sudden pause draws Sam’s curiosity in, his mind leaping ten steps ahead to finish his brother’s thought. He tries to do so, attaching every possibility he can consider. ‘Being comfortable with himself’ isn’t a wild guess, but it makes no sense seeing how Dean was already this vulnerable with Sam. ‘Being with Leo’ tracked, given the lingering thread hanging between them. But he doubts Leo would trade the life he made for himself here, nor would Dean give up his life. He said before how proud he was of the journey they’ve traveled - all the people they helped and the wrongs they’ve righted - and Sam doesn’t doubt the conviction threading through those words.

Although he does consider what life Dean and Leo could have made together. Would Dean continue hunting every month, slowly weaning himself into retirement. If Leo was in Dean’s life could he have prevented some of the crazier things that have happened. His influence a calming force in their Winchester whirlwind?

Maybe with Leo Dean’s chance at normalcy would have succeeded? Waking up every morning with a pair of blue eyes to greet the morning.

It hits him like a lightning bolt.

“Dean,” Sam starts, “do you… you’ve felt this way about somebody else, right? Who wasn’t Leo.”

Dean rocks on the bed, unwilling to answer.

“Dean,” he whispers, “do you love Cas -”

“That’s enough!” He jumps forward, throwing Sam’s hand off of him. “We’re done with all this… touchy-feely crap. My skin’s starting to crawl…” he mutters, picking up the stuff he scattered with a fury. “You know I like guys, big whoop. That’s the only emotional doozy I’m sitting on so let’s get the show on the road, okay?”

Sam cannot turn away. They’ve made it this far, he needs to see this through. “You love him.”

“Sam, he’s our friend. He’s like a brother -”

“And you love him -”

“I did!” Dean shouts, rounding on Sam, “I did love him. Did . Past tense… over and done. Meaning we don’t have to dive back into this bullshit. I felt it, I lived it… and I’ve gotten over it. Stacked it on a pyre and burnt the shit out of it. There’s nothing left to dissect but ashes, capisce?”

Given the grand display Sam finds it hard to believe. He stays silent though, the anger coursing through Dean’s gaze enough to char an iceberg. Sam retreats to his own bag. Cleaning in silence. A beat passes and Dean stomps to his duffle, shoving things inside.

They don’t speak to each other, and don’t need to.

Sam uses the time to reflect. On all the shared moments between his brother and the angel. Every charged exchange in the roller coaster of their relationship. From the highest peaks to the rocky lows. Remembers how friend and foe alike commented, reading more into what laid below the obvious surface. Again Sam figured they swung for low fruit in an attempt to rattle his brother. Actually they were striking closer to the heart.

The way Dean slammed Baby’s trunk reminds Sam of when Castiel died at Lucifer’s hands. When their friend’s grace dimmed, so did the light in Dean’s eyes. Returned only when he appeared in that alleyway. Dean’s face twitched, unable to smile. As if he forgot which muscles were used to lift the corners of his mouth. Or maybe was too scared that if he did Castiel would disappear in the next blink.

And therein lies the problem

“He’s as much in this as you are.”

Dean swerves, halfway out of the parking lot. Sam’s voice echoed in Baby’s cabin, the atmosphere too tense for any of Dean’s cassettes.

His brother squints at him, “What are you -”

“Cas,” Sam continues, “whatever logic you’ve used to convince yourself that he doesn’t love you back… it’s all wrong.”

Scowling, Dean completes the turn onto the main road. It takes one stop sign and two red lights for his brother to respond. “Who do you think you are, Mr. Know-It-All?”

“I think I’m the guy who’s had enough of his family falling apart and is yelling at the reason for it.”

“Me!” Dean shouts, “How is it my fault? Cas was the one who kept Jack’s soullessness under wraps. Who got mom killed -”

“Stow it, Dean.” Sam glares at his brother, shifting in his seat so Dean suffers the full force. “Cas isn’t the reason mom isn’t here. I know it, you know it - even mom knows it. What would she think if she knew you were acting like this to Cas?”

“But -”

“He thought he was doing what was right, and when he realized it wasn’t he apologized ,” Sam tells him, “You said you accepted it, but you still keep him at arm’s length. You barely speak to him unless it’s about a hunt. If it was really about mom, things would’ve gone back to normal but no - you’re afraid -”

“Maybe I have reason to be afraid, huh?” Dean snarls, clenching the steering wheel, “With Chuck abandoning us - for good - we have one shot. No more do-overs, no more hidden fixes. No kid to come by and shove another quarter into our slot, taking us into another level - none of it! And when things are on the upswing for us… that’s when the boot’s waiting to smush us. I can’t handle watching Cas die, again, Sam. The bastard’s more stubborn than you and I… he’ll go out in a blaze of glory before either of us. Where will I be then, huh? Mourning him all over? Wanting to die, again? Why shouldn’t I numb myself to that pain?”

Sam’s anger softens as Dean finally reveals the source of his problems. Worry lines add texture to Dean’s face, aging him severely. “So we have one shot,” Sam says, “now we’re no more special than anyone else. Good. You know how terrible it is being brought back again and again, Dean? Thinking you’ve found peace only to be shoved onto one last ride? With Chuck gone, it won’t be like that again. Finally we can choose how we end it.”

“Everyone ends up leaving me, Sam,” Dean whispers, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “Cas always gets taken from me, just when I think I have him.”

“ Chuck took him away,” he tells Dean, “Chuck was the one who did that. To make you suffer for… character development . Like he did with Jess, and Eileen… Bobby, Rufus, Ellen and Jo, Charlie… dad and mom . We’re off the page now… it’s our life to live.”

“And die,” Dean says, staring into the open road as they leave the small Texas town, “Would it be more or less cruel if we die because of chance? If Cas gets unlucky during one fight?”

“Then wouldn’t it be worse to have loved him and not told him?” Sam asks, “Some of my biggest regrets are never telling Jess I loved her one last time… or asking Eileen to dinner… we need to make each second count this time around. So stop pushing us away and allow yourself to feel. It makes what little life we got left last longer.”

Sam, saying all he has to, faces the passenger window and waits. The flatlands go on for miles, blurring because of the speed Dean drives. They passed cattle and horse ranches, Dean not slowing down for either of them. He weaves through the traffic, a reactive driver even while stewing.

Overhead the sun dips, orange bleeding into the blue sky. They’re halfway through Oklahoma when Dean clears his throat.

“I love you, too, y’know,” he says, “Figured… if I’m gonna be saying it to Cas. And… don’t really know how many of those we’ll have left.”

Sam mirrors the tiny smile on Dean’s face. “I love you… no homo .”

“Sam!”

“What?”

“Quit ruining the moment!”

“I just wanted to make it clear -”

“Oh like I’d ever get with you -”

“Some people want us, too. And you said you weren’t in love with Cas anymore…”

“I was trying to get you off my back -”

“Maybe I’ll see if Cas is interested in me? I think we’d be great together. We’ve been able to hang out a lot since you’ve been avoiding him.”

“You touch him and I’ll drive us both into a canyon. I’ll end it right here, right now.”

“You wouldn’t do that, you love Baby too much!”

“If we’re both dead who’s going to drive her? Better she goes out with me than stolen by some spaz who won’t treat her right!”

They bicker while the sun sets, and well into the night.

#Supernatural #Spn15 #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Leo Webb #Castiel #Destiel #Deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #spec fanfic #based on theories for 15x08 #hoping they come true #bisexual dean winchester #bi dean winchester

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pinnithin-writes · 4 years ago

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Good Jokes

Chapter 15

Before they departed, Darnold was nice enough to let the team take a few things from his lab. At least, Tommy hoped it was out of wanting to be helpful rather than wanting them to leave faster. Gordon had shot Benrey point blank right in front of him, after all. Hilarious and relatively benign to the rest of them, but Tommy didn’t miss the flicker alarm in the chemist’s eyes.

The crates shoved in the corner were left behind when the cybernetics department folded, according to Darnold. While they pawed through the containers’ contents, they discussed the situation with him. He was aware of something wrong going on outside, but as soon as he’d gotten wind of an experiment gone awry, he’d done the smart thing and barricaded himself in his office. He’d even rigged the explosives up top, himself. Darnold had worked here long enough to know that when things went bad at Black Mesa, they went bad.

“If you come with us, you’re gonna have to kill like, twenty people. Probably more,” Gordon had reasoned, which made the chemist throw up a wall of sarcasm about two feet thick.

“Well, killing can’t be that hard, right?” he’d said, nervously, and that was when their hustle out the door began.

Bubby and Coomer both found new weapons within the crates. When Bubby experimentally pulled the trigger, Tommy felt the snap of his form leaving the plane like a rubber band breaking. As Tommy blinked, orienting himself to the space around him settling into the change, Bubby blinked right back in, snapping Tommy again. He winced. Maybe they shouldn’t use that gun too often.

Bubby agreed, looking a little shell-shocked from his journey. He stowed his weapon while Dr. Coomer extracted a firearm with a barrel as long as a man from the crate.

“Gordon I found it!” he shrilled excitedly. “The big one!”

Tommy didn’t know why Coomer needed such a gargantuan gun when he had two perfectly good ones attached to either shoulder. He himself was perfectly content with his rifle, surefire and reliable, and his eyes passed over the other weapons in the crate with disinterest. The soda cans were disappointingly void, as well. He was about to withdraw emptyhanded when a cheerful splash of color caught his eye. Tommy cleared away some of the junk to reveal the most wonderful hat he’d ever seen.

Holy shit, this was a stupidly good find. He straightened, cap in hand, and flicked the propellor. Delightful. What an ironic clash of themes. How would Tommy look, charging dirty and bloodied through Black Mesa, rifle in hand, with this thing on?

He guessed he was about to find out. He placed the cap on his head. God, it fit so well, too. Tommy fought his smile down as he loitered beside the container, watching Gordon conversing animatedly with Coomer.

The man looked the best Tommy had ever seen him. Excluding their first time meeting in the break room, a lifetime ago. He was clear-eyed and alert, his voice strong and full, gesturing with a renewed energy as he spoke. The gut-wrenching worry Tommy felt every time he laid eyes on Gordon had been replaced by a gentle warmth. He looked good. Tired, but healthy.

Gordon caught him staring, and a half second later he caught the hat on his head, too. Eyes alight, he joined him beside the crate, grinning and showing off those dimples Tommy was so fond of.

“That-” Gordon reached up to flick the propellor, sending it spinning crazily. “Nice,” he said.

Placing a splayed hand under his own chin, elongating his neck and tilting his head like a model, Tommy arched his eyebrows dramatically at Gordon. “Is it befitting?”

Gordon’s smile widened as he held in a laugh. “Yeah. I think it’s perfect, actually. I feel like you’ve been wearing that the whole time and I haven’t noticed.”

Tommy dropped his pose, smiling in return. Gordon still hadn’t moved away from him after messing with his cap, standing just a little too close to be professional. At this distance, Tommy could see a healthy pink in his cheeks, and a spray of freckles across his face he hadn’t noticed before. A stray curl fell into his eyes. Cute. His glasses were still fucking shattered, though, splitting his eyes into dozens of little panes as he peered out from behind them.

Gordon must’ve thought Tommy was waiting for him to say something. Tommy let him - he probably didn’t need to know how fixated he was on the way his face looked this close up. “That’s awesome, man,” he murmured, scratching the side of his jaw and taking a half step back.

Cute, Tommy thought again. Good to know he wasn’t the only one nervous about this little dance they were doing now. It was strange, like a detour around where they had previously been hurtling. Saving Gordon’s life had broken down any barriers between them, but now that he was back on his feet, the closeness would mean something different. Here I am, next to you. Not because I have to be, but because I want to.

Tommy didn’t know how deep Gordon’s wanting went, if it ran straight through his blood and seeped into his bones like Tommy’s did. He wondered if Gordon could see how badly Tommy ached when he looked at him. He felt transparent, like his desire was visible under his skin, like it would come pouring out if he opened his mouth. Tommy dropped his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable in his vulnerability.

As they geared up to leave, Gordon called across the room to their host. “You comin’ with, Darnold?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “This sounds like good fun with good buddies.”

Was he coming? He hadn’t armed himself. Tommy shot him a brows-raised look in question and Darnold gave a wary nod in response. He definitely didn’t strike him as a violent type, but maybe he thought riding the crazy train was the only way out of here. Sympathizing, Tommy rummaged in the nearby crate and handed Darnold a shotgun.

He bailed on them after the first hail of bullets. Nobody blamed him. After witnessing the deaths of three men in rapid succession, most sane people wouldn’t willingly choose to push on. Tommy raised a hand in a farewell wave to the chemist as he took the lift out of the lab. He could only hope the wake of destruction the science team left behind would ensure a safe exit.

“No, take me with you, bro,” Benrey called up the chute, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“You can’t go,” Gordon huffed, turning to leave. “You’re coming with us, because that’s what you’ve-”

“Hey, you're the one who keeps killing people,” Benrey snapped.

Gordon wheeled and fired the minigun at the entity with full force. “I wish I could kill you!” he bellowed.

Benrey’s face looked like it was shredded with buckshot by the time Gordon lowered his arm. Tommy ducked out of the lab before anyone could catch him laughing.

---

There was a new energy to the team as they left the bunker. With Gordon reclaiming his place at the front of the pack, the group took out both soldier and monster alike with a record-breaking swiftness. Gordon in particular was fed up, channeling his frustration into gunfire as he ripped holes through their adversaries. There was a violent fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and Tommy hoped that in his anger he didn’t forget that he was still mortal.

Everything about the way he carried himself suggested otherwise.

Up the ramp, around the bend, move, move, move. They kept pushing, crowding in between two buildings and drawing the eye of a sniper. As everyone scurried for cover, Bubby took advantage of his lab-grown reflexes and hucked a grenade into the loft. The party all flinched in the flashbang that followed.

“They’re trying to cut us off from our supply of Powerade, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said, less to add anything useful to the situation and more to see if the guy’s hearing had been damaged.

If it was, Gordon didn’t show any sign of it as he fixed Tommy with a wide-eyed, adrenaline fueled look, just on the edge of wild. “That’s horrible,” he told him, “but we’re not gonna be here anymore because we’re gonna leave and we’re gonna kill all the aliens and we’re gonna go home .”

The quaver that shook his voice made Tommy’s heart ache. Gordon wanted to go home so badly. Underneath all the rage and spite that was forcing him onward, there was only raw desperation. Home. We’re gonna go home. Tommy locked eyes with him, nodding small and quiet as if he could guarantee the future.

Gordon let out a breath. “I hope,” he said.

They encounter a radio in the adjacent building, monitored by a few soldiers that were quickly dispatched. Tommy watched as the other scientists crowded around the device, arguing amongst themselves until Gordon took the lead with a loud, “Alright, here, I’m just gonna spew some bullshit, alright?”

His soldier impersonation was so bad Tommy had to leave the room with a hand over his mouth. He didn’t catch what was transmitted over the frequency, but he overheard Gordon, Bubby and Dr. Coomer discussing it later while they were upstairs. Tommy silently reloaded his weapons with slow, methodical hands as he listened.

“Now, if there’s anything I remember from my time studying military communication,” Coomer said thoughtfully, “I do believe this means they’re planning a full on assault. Bombs and everything. They’re going to wipe out the entire facility. Clean it up, so to speak.”

“Where does ‘bathroom’ fall into that?” Gordon asked, and a hollow point slipped out of Tommy’s fingers as a snicker shook through him. “What part of that - what part of the code is ‘bathroom?’”

“The bathroom,” Bubby said unhelpfully.

“There are many bathrooms at Black Mesa, Gordon,” Tommy spoke up, smirking until he realized the man’s first name had come rolling out instead of his last.

Gordon’s name tasted good in his mouth. He needed to be careful of how often he used it. Another bullet clattered to the floor and he swore softly.

Tommy fell into his thoughts as they scaled the buildings in the yard. If Black Mesa was getting shelled, that meant the powers that be were going to cover up everything that happened here. Destroy the evidence. Obliterate it entirely. How soon, though? Tommy could bend reality enough to get himself out of there, but his companions were a different story. Perhaps he could solicit help from his father, but he needed time for that, and that was a currency Tommy was running low on.

If they bombed the facility, that didn’t just mean the research would go away. His room back in the living quarters would be wiped out, too. It wasn’t the only place he had to live, sure, but it was a small home he had made for himself. Crafted with his own two hands out of the knick-knacks he’d collected and the posters he’d tacked up on the wall. With his luck, aliens had already wrecked the place and there was a peeper puppy snoozing on Sunkist’s bed in the corner this very moment.

He wondered how Sunkist was doing. Tommy hadn’t heard from him in a while. The dog was immortal – he wasn’t worried about his safety – but he was probably pretty confused about his routine getting thrown off. Once they fixed this Resonance Cascade disaster he’d have to go looking for him.

Standing there, baking in the sun and his thoughts on the hot rooftop, Tommy almost missed the fact that Gordon was speaking to him.

“You good, Tommy?” he asked. “Hangin’ in there?”

He lifted his head out of his preoccupation and met his eyes. Gordon was hanging back, giving Tommy a look of concern, while the rest of the group crossed the caved-in gap in the roof.

A sudden, unfamiliar feeling gave Tommy pause, and he had to take a moment to sort through what it meant. Yes, he could push past the discomfort and the heaviness in his limbs, shrugging into the fatigue like an old worn out coat, but he was… exhausted. Drained mentally and physically, wrung out by the week’s events and his own thoughts. Tommy hadn’t really given it much consideration before now, but apparently Gordon had noticed.

“Yeah,” he answered, haltingly. “I’m worried about…”

A lot. There was a lot to worry about right now. His brain kept getting snagged on the aerial assault Coomer had warned them about, and the people left inside the facility, dying with no one to help them. How many people worked at Black Mesa? How many called the place home? Gordon didn’t, Tommy was certain; he had just moved here. The box in his locker wasn’t even fully unpacked yet. Tommy knew because the man’s locker was located right next to his.

A small, childish part of him wanted to scream about how unfair this all was. He liked working at Black Mesa, he enjoyed his research. Was it sketchy at times? Sure, but it held his attention like no other, and it allowed him to test his own understanding of reality with an accessibility other scientists in the field would kill for.

It had been a little lonely for the most part, but the new guy’s locker had been put next to Tommy’s, and he had been looking forward to cultivating a slow… something with Gordon. Build the relationship piece by piece out of conversation between shifts and passing jokes in the break room and kissing him outside his apartment door. Now, well, it was going to be trickier to hold his hand when one of them was a gun.

Both of them had been cheated out of normalcy, and it was infuriatingly unfair. Tommy felt horrible that this was what he was focusing on instead of the catastrophe that was crushing reality in its fist, but the thoughts kept coming, wave after wave, and he was far too exhausted to fight them all down anymore.

Gordon’s eyes were still on him, careful and patient. Right, Tommy was telling him what he was worried about.

What was he worried about? How did he sum something like that up?

“The drinks,” he said, because they were the only words he could pull from the tangle in his head.

Gordon’s brows drew in, uncomprehending. “What, like, the drinks exploding?”

“Yeah,” Tommy went on, “What about all the bathrooms and the vending machines and the Powerade and the potions department?”

He knew his elaboration was far from illuminating, but it was the best he could do right now. Black Mesa was about to be a smoking crater in the desert landscape. He was worried about that, mixed feelings and all.

Gordon wasn’t following, but he tried, and for that Tommy was grateful. “Those things don’t hold an intrinsic value like life does,” he said. “Like, I think the value of life has been morally lost across,” he paused, glancing at where Benrey stood on the other side of the roof, “most of you.”

Tommy sighed heavily through his nose and didn’t respond. He was right. They needed to look after themselves, after each other, and make it out of here alive. Home. Home. We’re gonna go home.

And if there wasn’t a home to go back to, they’d just have to make one.

---

Tommy’s thoughts followed him through Black Mesa, while they downed a helicopter, while they slunk through air ducts, while they sheltered in a garage. He was zoned out, paying only enough attention to make sure nobody outright died, wondering what happened to people who were as desensitized to gunfire as he had become.

The grenade, however, caught his attention. It also caught his body with some shrapnel. Tommy’s reflexes were slow in his exhaustion, and he was a millisecond too late to deflect the high velocity cast iron embedding itself in his shoulder.

Ah, fuck. Ow.

Crowded like sardines as they were in this narrow pipe, Tommy could only crawl forward after Gordon, who charged ahead to take out the soldier responsible for the explosion. His HEV suit had absorbed the brunt of it, Tommy guessed, and Benrey had likely become incorporeal for a thin moment to allow the remaining shrapnel to pass through him. Which left Tommy to take a painful patterning of metal in his arm. Wincing, he reached the end of the pipe and began to clamber out.

Benrey slammed the hatch in his face, sending him reeling backward. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as his injury was jostled. Really? He sighed and tried again. The hatch nearly took off his fingers as Benrey smashed it shut once more.

Gordon’s words were muffled behind the steel panel, but he could still hear him yelling at Benrey. “Don’t put Tommy back in there! Stop. Stop. No. Let Tom - what are you doing to Tommy?”

The distress in his voice was touchingly genuine for something so minor. Tommy opened the hatch, shut it, and opened it again cheekily, deflating Benrey and reassuring Gordon all at once. The extra effort only aggravated the shrapnel in his shoulder a little, causing it to gush more blood down his arm. Worth it.

“Tommy, what are you doing?” Gordon asked, his eyes following him as he exited the tunnel. His gaze stuck on the metal embedded in him and his eyebrows shot up. “Are you okay?”

Tommy looked down at himself and grimaced. Yeah, that’ll leave a scar. He could heal it over relatively quickly, but the shrapnel was already in there and the damage had been done. Bubby, Benrey, and Dr. Coomer, distracted by a distant noise down the hall, moved on to investigate, feet pounding on the slatted steel.

Remaining stationary where he leaned against the wall, Tommy tried to give Gordon a comforting smile, but the pain made it tight-lipped and strained. “I’m not used to those kindsa doors,” he said.

Gordon was unconvinced. “Are - you are the most covered in blood I’ve ever seen you,” he murmured, passing him a once-over. “There was that time back when we were like, way back in like, Data Research.”

He was probably right, Tommy reasoned. His lab coat was permanently stained a rust color at this point, and he could feel a sheen of something wet across his face, taste the iron tang of blood on his mouth. He flicked his gaze down and noticed Gordon’s hand halfway raised, frozen in midair once Gordon realized it was his right hand. The-hand-that-wasn’t-a-hand. Tommy angled his chin away and wiped his face with the sleeve of his lab coat to spare him.

“You look horrible,” Gordon remarked awkwardly, dropping his arm back to his side.

“Ye - Powerade doesn’t get blood off your skin,” Tommy said to fill the silence. “It - it doesn’t bind with it.”

“That sucks,” Gordon responded. Tommy didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on his injured shoulder. “How - d - how does it work like that?” he intoned softly, talking to himself now as he stared at the spreading stain of red. “Hemeo… phobic.”

What? That wasn’t necessarily correct, but Gordon was looking a little too preoccupied for Tommy to warrant correcting him. Plus, it was nice. His concern for him was nice. It spread warmth through Tommy’s chest and distracted him from the pain in his arm. He nodded down the hall indicatively. They should get going.

Much to Gordon’s ire, there were more pipes to go through. His voice was uncharacteristically subdued as he participated in the conversation passing up and down the line. Was he still worried? Perhaps it was the claustrophobic closeness of the tunnel they were in. Tommy nudged him lightly in the small of his back.

“We’re like peach tea goin’ through a silly straw,” he commented, and some of the tension left Gordon as a laugh tumbled out of him.

The pipe emptied out into some kind of storage room, which didn’t seem to Tommy like a very practical place for a pipe to go, logistics wise. He proceeded to scan the shelves for anything useful while the others cleared the room of soldiers. These looked like miscellaneous supplies, a place to store things that nobody knew where to put. Dr. Coomer called from around the corner as Tommy began pawing through the cubbies.

“Look, Gordon, a medical kit! We can use this to restore lost HP.”

“Tommy, you need this,” Gordon said immediately, grabbing the sleeve of his lab coat and pulling him away from the supplies. “Don’t lie to me. I know you do.”

Before Tommy could open his mouth to respond, or even process the fact that Gordon was forcibly dragging him to a med station, Benrey shouldered past the both of them and emptied the contents of the kit onto the floor.

“Benrey!” Gordon growled in exasperation while the entity kicked a roll of once-sterile bandages across the floor. “Benrey, you can't die, what good do-”

“Look, Gordon, a medical station.” Coomer interrupted. “Unfortunately, it has been drained.”

While Gordon seethed and Benrey gloated, Tommy retreated from the alcove where the kit was located and leaned against the opposite wall to assess his wounds. Might as well take care of this while they were here. Gritting his teeth, he worked the larger pieces out of his flesh with his fingers, gradually relaxing as the wounds began healing over before his eyes. The smaller shards he’d have to leave in until he had a pair of tweezers. He tipped his head back against the wall and sighed heavily. He felt dead on his feet.

Benrey drifted in Tommy’s direction, leering over the embarrassment of a demigod taking damage. Tommy stared back at him, eyes half-lidded and weary. Sure, render the med kit unusable, you fucking child. Not like Tommy really needed it, anyway. The persistent pain was more of an inconvenience than anything. But Gordon - oh, Gordon was coming over here, stalking after Benrey with rage on his face.

Rage on his behalf. Tommy’s. Angry that he couldn’t find some relief from the med station he’d tugged him so gently toward. That unfamiliar feeling turned inside him again, soft and foreign.

He was being cared about. That was it. Gordon was caring about him - had been caring about him this whole time. Every stupid joke and reassuring touch and glance across the room. Even surrounded by monsters, facing down a slow death by infection. Since day one of this god-abandoned nightmare, and in this very moment as he chewed out their mutual enemy.

Tommy let out a soft exhale at how long it took him to realize. Even Benrey had noticed it before he had.

“Hey, man,” Gordon snarled at the entity. He cuffed him over the head with the minigun, sending him sprawling. “Fuck you.”

Benrey was hurled much further than any of them anticipated, skidding across the steel floor and splitting his palms open on impact. Tommy and Gordon exchanged an impressed glance.

“Damn, this thing really packs a wallop!” Gordon exclaimed excitedly while Benrey groaned and staggered to his feet. “Just blew you across the room! Hey, let’s try that again.”

Tommy laughed while Gordon began knocking Benrey back and forth against the storage shelves, which only made the remaining shrapnel in his shoulder leak out more blood. It hurt, but he didnt care. Even through the exhaustion, he felt indescribably lightweight, warmth and delight flooding his ribcage.

Benrey eventually found his footing and blasted Gordon with an ear-piercing wave of sound. Gordon stumbled back, clapping his good hand over one ear and burying the other against his shoulder. Tommy winced, too. An awful sound, more agitated than Tommy had heard out of the entity in years. He didn’t sympathize. Benrey had been poking the bear all week and this assault was warranted.

“I’m gonna stop, okay?” Gordon shouted as he cringed away from the sound. “I’m gonna stop. Just stop - stop with the balls, I hate it!”

Benrey rolled his shoulders and prowled away, leaving Gordon quaking against the wall as the thin sapphire lines of residual noise floated around him. Tommy offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. His grip was warm and solid, a stark contrast to a day ago when the man was barely hanging on.

Here I am. Caring about you. Not because I have to, but because I want to. He was hesitant to let go of Gordon’s hand.

“Tommy what does it mean?” Gordon asked, dropping his hand to launch a glare at the entity. “He shot blue.”

“That’s a lotta blue,” Tommy remarked as he looked around, trying to hide his alarm.

Benrey’s little color code of emotions was something Tommy could interpret, but rarely addressed, choosing to translate through obnoxious, singsong rhymes when asked because he knew it pissed the entity off. He had only seen this much blue once before, the first time Benrey had killed him, eight years ago. The feeling of burning to death still lingered in his memory today. Tommy shuddered to think of what this creature had planned for Gordon.

From across the room, Benrey bared his razor teeth in a sharpened promise.

“It means I hate you.”

Chapter 14 <-----> Chapter 16

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #guns #violence #blood #hlvrai

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celtics534 · 5 years ago

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Last Couple Years Have Been a Mad Trip

The doom days are upon us! A new Muggle AU. Doom Days by Bastille inspired this story. @gryffindormischief and @thedistantdusk have been amazing helping me with this fic!

Also read on: FF.net or AO3

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Harry watched the bird soar high above him. The sun was finally out after weeks of a cold rain hounding the United Kingdom. He was tired-- that bone tired where all you want to do is curl up in a soft bed and sleep for days. But he couldn’t. He had to finish his mission.

He hefted the large duffle bag back up his shoulder as he turned his attention to the man walking out of the storefront. Well, what had once been a storefront. Now it resembled a stereotypical bunker, the kind one might see in a film; boarded windows and steel locks covered every opening. The neon lights that had once shown a bright advertisement had been smashed. No one would ever guess it was a makeshift hospital.

The man kept his hood up as he approached Harry, a slight limp slowing his pace. Harry didn’t say a thing, just waited. The hooded figured stopped right in front of Harry, his hand outstretched. “Harry.”

“Neville.” Harry took the offering smiled at his friend. “How’s it been?”

Neville reached up and removed his hood, revealing a black eye and multiple cuts. “Eh, same old same old.”

Harry shook his head. “What you do to deserve that shinner?”

“Eh?” Neville’s fingers gently touched the bruise. “This is nothing. You should see the other guy.”

“I’ll get right on that, but first.” Harry rolled the strap off his shoulder and handed the bag to his friend. “There’s everything you asked for.”

Neville unzipped the bag a few inches to peer into it. After a quick examination, he nodded and closed the duffle. “This will help a lot of people. Thanks, Harry.” He pulled out a few ration cards and handed them to Harry. “Your payment.”

Harry took the cards with a nod of thanks. “Do you have anything else you need?”

Neville glanced back at the hospital. “Not right now. I have a good stock on most things.” He lifted the bag slightly. “These plants will go a long way to helping some of the children feel less pain.”

“I hope so.” Harry took his glasses off his nose and cleaned the lenses with a clean corner of his shirt.

“What about you?” Neville placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Do you need anything? Bandages? Alcohol? A good night’s rest?”

Harry snorted. “I haven’t had a good night’s rest in over three years.”

Neville let out a low, deprecating laugh. “You and everyone else. Well, if you need a bed for the night, our doors are always open for you.”

A lump formed in Harry’s throat. “I - Thank you.”

“Of course.” Neville patted his shoulder twice before stepping back. “Oh, by the way. Have you spoken to Arthur Weasley lately?”

Harry felt a jolt of electricity course through him at the mere mention of the name Weasley . He pushed those feeling away as quickly as they came: This was not the time or place for his mind to think about her .

“Er-- not for a while now. Why? Is he okay? The family?” If something had happened to her, Harry might snap.

“No, well...” Neville backtracked. “I think everyone is fine, but Arthur's been asking around. He’s been looking for you.”

Harry’s panic faded, allowing his brain to function again. “Me? Did he say what he needs?”

Neville shook his head. “No, just to pass the word.” He grinned. “This is me, passing the word.”

Unable to stop himself, Harry snorted at his friend's poor humor. “Thanks, Nev.”

“Anytime.” Neville hung the bag strap on his shoulder. “Do you know where Arthur lives?”

Harry knew where to find the Weasleys. He never would admit it, but he’d kept tabs on them… on her... for the past few years. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Neville nodded once before limping back into the boarded brick building he had come from. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned and started back down the dirty cobble street. The building that the Weasley’s called home was an hour walk from his current location, and Harry wanted to make it there before nightfall.

His feet knew the way through the back streets of London without any thought. He had taken every path across the city. Hell, he’d actually been outside the constructed walls that surrounded the district.

Harry still found it odd how the once great, large city had been reduced to small divisions. Mismatched pieces of metal stuck up from the ground as dividers, allowing appointed guards to keep order. It was safer that way, controlling who came and went. At least that’s what they claimed. But it still made Harry’s blood boil every time a mother and child were turned away, just because they didn’t have any ration cards or were unwilling to sell their bodies to pay their way in.

The street was starting to clear as curfew drew closer and closer. No one made eye contact, choosing to keep their eyes downcast and to move quickly.

The last three years had been hard on people. The nearly constant fear was evident in the way people held their bodies. There was no such thing as trusting your neighbor anymore. No-- your neighbor would be the one to rob you blind the minute you turned your back.

Harry knew this all too well. Hell, he'd been both victim and thief before. Survival was the goal, above all else. If it was a choice between them and him, he'd always choose him.

Well… there were some people he put first. The Weasley family were among the honored. They had practically raised him from the moment he and Ron became mates. Molly and Arthur Weasley were the best kind of people, Harry thought, for loving a poor, orphaned child.

There was only one person Harry held above his adopted parents --

No!

Harry shook his head vigorously, hoping to rid his mind of her... her and that red hair that always looked so smooth, those freckles that bunched together whenever she wrinkled her nose, and how could he forget --

Fucking hell! Harry pinched his arm. He needed to stop before he fell back down that rabbit hole.

A light rain started to fall, making Harry’s feet speed up. It wasn’t long before he reached the brown brick building that housed Arthur and his family. Harry looked at the peeling black door, trying to ignore the scratchy feeling between his shoulder blades. Inside that building was his family who he hadn’t seen in…

Harry ran a hand through his now-wet hair. Had it really been two and a half years since he’d seen them?

Movement by the ground floor window caught his eye. Someone had been looking at him. It only took another five seconds for the front door to open and manifest into Harry’s best-yet-worst fantasy.

“Harry!” Ginny rushed out into the rain and wrapped her arms around his neck. Instantly, she clouded his senses. Her scent, a sweet, warm smell that had driven him crazy from the age of fifteen, filled his lungs. And the feeling of her fingers grazing the small hairs at the back of his head sent shivers down his spine.

“I’ve missed you,” Ginny spoke into his neck, her breath somehow spreading warmth down to his toes.

“Hey, Gin.” Harry refused to acknowledge the way his heart had started beating a tattoo against his chest.

“What are you doing here?” Ginny asked as she pulled away. Her hair had already plastered to her forehead and her face was flushed, but Harry’s treacherous brain could only see the adorable dimple caused by her smile.

“I-- er-- your dad was looking for me.”

Ginny’s dimple disappeared as she frowned. “He was? Huh.” She looked back at the house; the faint light from a candle positioned in the entrance lit the doorway. “Well, let's go find out why.”

“You know, you should have asked me a security question before coming out of the house,” Harry gently reminded her. Ginny snorted. Her arm tucked into his as she led the way into the warm light.

“Please, I’d know you from a mile away. No one could imitate your crazy hair.” She reached her free arm around and ruffled his damp head.

Harry had to stomp on the butterflies that erupted in his stomach. He cleared his throat and tilted his head away from her onslaught. “ Still .”

“Fine next time, I’ll hold a knife to your throat as a greeting. Sound good?”

“That’s all I ask.”

Ginny’s laugh was loud in the unnatural silence of the once-busy metropolis. “It’s so good to have you back, Harry.”

Harry wanted to close his eyes and pretend that they were a normal boy and girl. He wanted to pretend they had no worries or fears, just two people who were going home together. But that was impossible for seemingly endless reasons. So instead, Harry just enjoyed the way her hand brushed his as they walked.

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“I think Dad’s in his office.” Ginny led the way by candlelight. Harry loved the way her shadow played off the walls, not to mention how it highlighted all of her flawless curves.

Holy fucking Jesus, man! Harry mentally screamed at himself. Keep it in your pants .

Not like that was a real challenge. Between his jobs, healing from injuries he somehow sustained and pining for the red-head currently swaying her hips in front of him (because yes, he knew what pining was -- and that he could be the definition for it), Harry was the poster boy for abstinence.

But, fuck , every time he saw Ginny…

“I’m gonna go make some tea.” Ginny stopped in front of a closed white door, “I’ll bring you and Dad some.” She placed the candle down on a stand and pulled Harry in for another hug. “Don’t even think of leaving before I see you again, got it?”

Harry nodded.

“Good boy.” She patted his cheek. “Now go talk to dad.” Harry watched her walk back down the corridor, his eyes still drifting to watch her hips. Fuck!

Shaking himself out of his fantasy, Harry turned to knock on Arthur’s door. There was a quiet call for him to enter. The small room was more cluttered than Harry remembered, though he really hadn’t come into this room very often. He had been more focused on heading to local green space with Ron or(though he’d never admit it to Arthur) pretending to work on his homework while really watching Ginny twirl her hair around her finger as she actually worked.

Arthur smiled at him as he entered. “Harry! How are you, son?” The older man stood up to hug him.

“I’m good, Mr. Weasley.” Harry clapped Arthur on the back.

“Now, Harry.” Arthur pulled away and gave him a friendly glare. “I’ve told you before. It’s Arthur . How many times do I need to remind you?”

Harry smiled. This was how life should be. This was normal. “At least once more.”

Arthur laughed heartily at Harry’s classic answer. “Glad to see you haven’t changed.” He gestured for Harry to take the spare chair from the corner. Arthur waited until Harry settled himself in front of the desk before speaking again. “So, I’ve heard you’ve made quite a name for yourself.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s according to whom you talk to. People tend to exaggerate.”

“Well my source, which I’ll name to be Neville Longbottom, told me you’re rather good at getting items for his hospital.”

Again, Harry shrugged. Smuggling supplies from outside the walls really wasn’t too hard as long as you knew the way and had the right equipment.

Arthur leaned forward in his seat, as he took off his glasses for quick cleaning. “Harry, I --” He swallowed hard as he placed his spectacles back onto his nose. “Harry, Molly’s sick.”

Harry’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “Sick?” His voice was raspy, so he cleared his throat before trying again. “Which kind of sick?”

Everyone knew there was sick and then there was sick . The latter being far worse.

Three years previously a plague started to form, and yes, plague was the only word for it. It started at Parliament and then hit Scotland Yard. Within twenty-four hours, ninety percent of the government forces were dead from some unknown illness.

The sickness (or what people took to calling “Morsmordre”) continued to spread to commoners. Within a year of the first death, over half of England’s population was dead. Over time, the power of Morsmordre seemed to lessen. People were still developing the symptoms, but it was taking longer for it to completely destroy their system. The downside to that was it prolonged their suffering.

Anarchy had been created in the chaos of the disease. Power was lost and phones became a thing of the past. Bands of rebels had formed and made it so the common man couldn't feel safe, even in their own home. That was when the walls were built around the city of London. Guards manned the entrances (they knew of) refusing entry to people without clearance.

Arthur gulped audibly and Harry could see the tears start to spring to the man's eyes. Harry had to look away. Here was one of the strongest men Harry knew brought to tears. Fuck this world! And Molly… not Molly.

Harry reached out a hand. Arthur grasped it tightly as he gulped in large breaths of air. After a minute Arthur spoke in a tight voice. “I've heard of a certain plant that can help…”

“Arthur.” Harry understood what going to be asked of him. “There isn't any cure. Everyone knows --”

“Harry.” Arthur's cut him off. “I have to try. You understand, right?”

And Harry did. He truly did. He would do anything if it meant that Molly would be fine. Yet… Harry had seen enough of this world to not hope. But when he looked into Arthur’s eyes he knew he couldn’t say no. “Arthur…” He sighed. “Where can I find this plant?”

“Find the…” Arthur shook his head. “You misunderstand me, or I guess I haven’t explained myself. I want you to take Ginny to Bill’s.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “You want me to… what?”

As Arthur opened his mouth, a knock on the door announced Ginny’s arrival. “Tea, gentlemen?” She placed a tray with three steaming mugs down on the messy wooden desk between Harry and Arthur. “I brought all the fixins’.” She perched herself on the edge of Harry’s chair, one of the mugs clutched between her hands. “What are you two talking about?”

“Ginny,” Arthur sighed. “I --” His voice choked as a sob rose past his lips.

“Dad?” Ginny’s smile fell as she moved to her father, placing her tea aside. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur breathed deeply as Ginny rubbed soothing circles on his back. After a moment he lifted his head. “It’s your mother, Ginny.”

Harry watched as Ginny’s face paled; she understood everything her father couldn’t say. “No.” It was more of a plea than anything. That one word almost made Harry leap from his chair and pull her into his arms, but instead, he remained stationary, watching the scene before him with his gut clenched painfully.

“Ginny, I need you to go to Bill’s,” Arthur spoke calmly, but because Harry knew the man so well, he could see the pain his own words inflicted on him.

“No!” This time, it was a refusal. Ginny stood stock-straight, glaring at her father. “I won’t leave you.”

“I need you to be somewhere safe while I go find a cure for your mother.”

“Dad, I don’t need to be hidden away.”

Arthur rose and placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders, looking her dead in the eye. “You don’t think I know that? I raised you, Ginny. I know what you’re capable of.”

“Then why--”

“Because your mother and I need to know you’re safe.” Arthur didn’t raise his voice, but his tone had the same commanding effect as if he had. “I need to focus on this right now and that means I’ll be going outside the walls--”

“Dad, that’s illegal without the proper clearance. If anyone should do it, it’s me. I’m younger so I’ll move faster. Not to mention--”

Arthur just shook his head, cutting off his daughter. “No, I need to do this.”

Ginny glared at her father, her lips becoming impossibly thin. “Dad.”

Sighing deeply, Arthur pulled his daughter into a hug. “I love you, Ginny, but I'm not changing my mind. I want you and Harry to go to Bill's.”

“Wait…” Ginny looked back and forth between her father and Harry. “Me and Harry ?”

“Yes. I'll feel better with you watching each other's backs. Not to mention you haven't been outside of the city in at least two years.”

Harry watched Ginny bite her bottom lip. If he didn't know better he'd say she looked guilty. Actually, he did know better: Ginny had been outside the walls.

Arthur took advantage of Ginny’s silence. Kissing the top of her head, Arthur took a step back.“Not to mention, you and I both know how contagious this disease can become.” He looked at the framed photos of his beloved sons. “I'm going to go check on your mother.”

And just like that, Harry was alone with Ginny. Neither of them said a thing, both lost in their own thoughts. Harry still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Molly Weasley was -- she was -- the words refused to be spoken, even in his own mind.

“ Fuck! ” Ginny’s sudden outburst made Harry jump a meter in the air. “Sorry.” Though she didn’t really sound sorry. “But Goddamn it! I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want to think...”

She turned her face away, but Harry knew she was holding back a sob. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Harry rose from his seat and placed a hand on Ginny's back.

“Hey.” He didn’t know what to say. Words had never been his strong suit. His hand started making small circles between her shoulder blades. He could feel her body tremble. “Ginny.”

When she turned, Harry got a quick view of silent tears and a set jaw before her face was buried in his shirt. His arms wrapped around her form, wishing he could do more. He could feel her sobs now, though she remained silent.

Harry held her while her body shook. After a few minutes, the tremors calmed and her breathing seemed to even out. When she pulled back, her face was blotchy and tear tracks ran down her cheeks, but to Harry, she was still the most beautiful woman.

“Thanks, Harry.” Ginny ran a fist over each cheek, trying to dry them. “I know that probably made you uncomfortable.”

“No!” Harry spoke way too quickly and way too loudly for it to sound believable. But really, it hadn’t made him feel awkward at all, which surprised him. He had never been good with tears, but for some reason, when Ginny cried it didn't make him want to run and hide. “I - I - are you okay?”

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Of course, she isn’t alright you dolt!

Ginny shook her head but gave him a small smile. “No, but I’ll have to be. I’ve learned that nothing in this world is safe.” Her eyes glanced at the picture that hung behind the desk. A photo of Ginny’s brothers Fred, George, and Ron beamed back at them. The photo had been taken two weeks before the first case of Morsmordre was discovered-- four weeks before all three of the men were dead.

That had been Harry’s breaking point. He’d lost his best friend, who had been more of a brother to him, to some fucking disease. And now, the same thing was happening to the woman he considered to be his mother.

“Ginny. I’m sorry.” Harry couldn’t say it enough. God, was he ever sorry...

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but--”

“Harry.” Ginny placed a finger over his lips. His attention fell to it, going cross-eyed to keep in focus. “Save your guilt trips for things that are actually your fault. If I remove my finger, will you be good?” He nodded and Ginny drew her hand back. “I’m going to go check on my mum and dad. Why don’t you start planning our route to Bill’s.”

Harry saw a flash of hesitation before Ginny’s jaw set again. Then she was on her tiptoes, her lips on his cheek. “Thanks again.”

And like that Harry was alone in the study. His body now felt cold without her in his arms.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Dad?” Ginny knocked on her parents’ bedroom door. “May I come in?” A muffled sob was the first thing sound she heard come out of the room, followed by a quiet throat-clear, and finally her father’s voice.. A candle in the corner presented the only source of light, making it so Ginny had a hard time seeing her mother.

Over the past few days, she’d known her mother had been sick. Molly hadn’t come out for dinners or accepted her invitation to play charades. Ginny just hadn’t known how bad her mother's illness had been, or maybe subconsciously she had just been hoping that it wasn’t Morsmordre. She’d flatly refused to consider the possibility.

But though it was hard to see in the faint light, she could tell her mother had the tell-tale signs of Morsmordre. There was no other way Molly could have gotten peeling green scabs across her face.

“Ginny.” Molly’s voice sounded as if she hadn't spoken in ten years. Moving in closer, Ginny could see her mother's brown eyes bleary and unfocused. “Did you talk --” Ginny's mother wasn't able to finish her sentence due to a guttural coughing fit.

“Mum.” Ginny couldn't even think as she grasped her mother's hand. The normally warm, comforting touch Ginny had always related to her mother was gone, replaced with what she would assume the dead felt like.

Molly took a sip from the straw Arthur offered her before speaking again. “I'm sorry we didn't tell you about this sooner, love. Your father and I thought you might run off and try to find a cure by yourself.”

Ginny nodded. That's exactly what she would have done. She would have marched across all of England if it meant she didn't have to lose--

Just when she thought was done with tears!

“Come here.” Molly slowly opened her arms, allowing Ginny to crawl in then like she used to do as a child.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny gathered the last of her shirts, throwing them unceremoniously into her rucksack. After spending thirty minutes in her mother's arms, Ginny had felt as if the air inside the bedroom had been sucked out and she needed to get away.

Her mind had been blank as she packed everything she might need on the trip to Bill’s. Which was at least a four-day walk, and that was without any issues arising. Though Ginny hadn’t ventured far outside of the “safe zone” that London provided, she had seen enough to know that trekking across the country would have issues.

A knock on her bedroom door made her head shoot up. “Yeah?”

“It’s Harry. Can I come in?”

Ginny’s treacherous heart started beating faster than the wings of a baby bird's first flight. God! She hated that he still had this effect on her. Hadn’t pining for Harry the entirety of her teen years been enough? Of bloody course not! The moment she had spotted him standing outside their house, Ginny’s body had been out of her mind’s control.

She hadn’t seen him in over two years, and fuck, she’d missed him. They had been close friends from secondary school, but during their A levels, their friendship had taken on a new depth. There had even been a time, somewhere between Harry starting uni and her completing her A levels, where Ginny had thought something more than friendship might happen for them. But then the world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

“Ginny?” Harry spoke again.

Ginny mentally shook herself, jarring herself into action. She moved to the door and leaned against it. “How do I know you’re really Harry?”

“Really, Gin?” Harry exasperated tone made Ginny smile.

Fuck, I love the way he says Gin. “ Really really. I need you to answer a question only the real Harry would know.”

“Like what?”

Ginny thought about it for a moment. “What happened the first time we went to Brighton alone?”

She laughed as she heard a thump on the wall beside her. “Come on. Why did you have to bring that up?”

“Answer the question, Harry. If that is your name.”

His voice got even more muffled as he lowered his voice, but Ginny could faintly make out his words. “I tripped and fell.”

“And?”

“And I fell into someone.”

“ And? ”

“I tried to catch myself by using a stranger's breasts. Happy now?”

Ginny opened the door wide to a flushed Harry. “Very.”

Harry just shook his head. “Why do you like bringing that story up?”

“I haven’t mentioned it in like two years.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Their eyes locked. Then Harry’s lips quirked upwards before he snorted. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“I rarely am.”

And that was the final straw. Harry laughed so hard his shoulders shook.

Ginny had to hold herself back because at that moment all she wanted to do was reach out and run her hand along his dark jawline before pulling his chapped lips to hers. Fuck ! Why couldn’t her brain understand that was never gonna happen?

Harry had stopped laughing and was staring at her with an intense look behind his glasses. Ginny knew that look. It had become commonplace during their teen years, and it was when she thought -- hoped -- that it was a look that said he wanted her more than just a best friend.

Crash.

Both she and Harry jumped backward as her half-packed bag tumbled to the floor, spilling most of the contents on the floor.

It wasn’t until she looked back at Harry that she realized that she had been moving in closer. Shit, her body had possessed her mind again!

Clearing his throat, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, so I just wanted to discuss the plan if you have a moment.”

Fuck! What was she doing? Now she’d made Harry uncomfortable for the second time in under five hours. God, she needed to keep it in her pants. But then again, while her mind replayed the delicate ten seconds before the bag fell to the floor in sharp clarity, she could have sworn Harry’s body had been tilting her way too. Had he been… Ginny blinked rapidly, trying to bring her eyes back into focus.

Nope! Don’t even go there, girl!

“Uh… yeah!” She moved over to the fallen rucksack, stuffing the clothing that had tumbled out back into the holder. “I’ll meet you in the sitting room in a few minutes.”

Harry nodded. He cleared his throat once more, before hastily retreating from the room. Ginny flopped backward onto her bed, her hands coming up to cover her face. Fuck!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Then we can stop in Glasbury. I have a man who owes me a favor there.” Harry pointed to the small village on the map of England. “He should have some supplies if we need any.”

Ginny nodded. Harry had explained every possible spot where they could stop and have an ally. He had also explained that landmarks and county lines had changed. London wasn’t the only safe zone that created walls to protect its people so they could take advantage of the shelter. They just needed to know the right people… and apparently, Harry did.

“How do you know so many people along this route?” Ginny thought it was strange that Harry had so many people that owed him favors in all these locations. Why was he going towards Wales so often?

Harry sighed. “I have a client that likes me to bring certain items out to Dale.”

Ginny nodded. “What kind of things?”

“Things that aren’t easy to obtain.”

She hated when Harry did this; his mysterious and aloof attitude could really grind her gears. He’d acted this way when they were kids too, but she had knocked that habit out of him. It seemed like she was going to have to do it again. Rising slowly from her chair, Ginny leaned over the table as if she were trying to see a small detail hidden on the map. With the speed of a skilled cricket pitcher, she thumped Harry across the back of the head.

“Ow!” Harry’s hand jumped to the injured area. “What the fuck, Gin?”

“If we’re gonna be walking halfway across this country together, I don’t want any of your ambiguous bullshit.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “We need to be completely honest with each other, got it?”

Harry glared for at her for a few seconds, his hand rubbing the back of his head. “Fine.” He finally agreed. “But there will be some things I can’t tell you.”

Ginny shrugged. “You don’t have to be an arse about it. Just say, ‘Ginny, I can't tell you.’”

If Ginny hadn’t spent many hours watching Harry during their summer holidays and homework sessions, she may have missed the corner of his lips quirking upwards (the way they did whenever he was hiding his amusement). “Fine.”

“Good, now that’s settled.” Ginny leaned back over the map, gesturing to Abingdon. “Why did you draw a star there?”

Harry took a moment to respond, and when Ginny looked up at him through her lashes she could see that intense gaze focused on her again. It sent butterflies cascading through her stomach.

“Oh, er…” Harry cleared his throat. “ Right . I may be able to find us a car there.”

Ginny pushed away from the table and looked sharply at Harry. “No fucking way. No one has a car that’s worked in years.”

Harry shrugged. “Do you remember my old mate Seamus?”

Ginny had to think about it for a moment. “The Irish bloke that moved here during secondary?“

“Right in one! He was always rather good with cars. I helped him out of a tricky spot a year or so ago. I’m hoping he will be able to return the favor.”

“What are the odds of him having a car that runs, though?”

Harry pursed his lips while considering her question. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out. Even if he can’t help us get a car, Abingdon has protective walls like London. It will be a safe spot to bunk for the night.”

They fell into a silence, both staring at the map, seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Ginny, for her part, was trying to imagine how everything might have changed. The last time she’d been over towards the coast, all her brothers were still alive. Would things even be recognizable?

“Well.” Arthur’s voice from the doorway made Ginny jump. “It sounds like you’ve quite a journey ahead of yourselves. You should get some sleep. Harry, you can take the spare room across from Ginny.” And just as suddenly as he appeared, Ginny’s father left.

“He’s right.” Harry folded the map into a tiny square. “We’re going to need to leave early in the morning.”

Ginny nodded. They walked side by side to their rooms. When they reached the doors, both she and Harry paused looking at each other.

“Well…” Harry’s hand came up to rub the back of his neck. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” Without any conscious thought, Ginny got up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek for the second time that day. She let her lips linger a second longer than the last time, before slowly lowering herself back to the floor, her nose brushing along his jaw. Without another word she turned into her room, shutting the door behind her. She let out a huff, her eyes turned towards the ceiling as she fell back against the door.

#Hinny Doom Days #hinny #Harry Potter #hinny fanfic #hinny fic #harry potter fan fiction #harry X ginny #harry potter fanfiction

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kinda-iconic · 6 years ago

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Spellbound (Part II)

Summary: After a long day at the office, Kamilah heads over to Amy’s apartment with the intention of treating her to an evening of classical jazz and exotic cuisines. But when she arrives, it soon becomes clear that Amy has other ideas.

Author’s Note: This fanfic is a continuation of part I and is also the third Kamilah x MC based fanfic that I have written... I would like to apoligise for the delay in my fanfic writing - I have been suffering from really bad writer’s block recently and writing part II was a spur-of-the-moment decision this morning - this is my version of procrastinating - if I’m not writing essays I may as well write short stories... at least I’m still writing something!

Pairing: Kamilah x MC (Amy)

Tagging: @queerchoicesblog @nk-writes @zigortega4life @teamtomsato @begging-for-kamilah @gavryllo @nobounderiesplease @jellymonster @tigerbryn11 @zoe6111 @kamilahs-bitch @shreya-mackenzie @lovemeshamelessly @brightpinkpeppercorn @rebrokeadavenpoor @akrenich @standoutofthecrowd @psychopathdreamer21 @h-doodles

Tag list was based on both people that had asked to be tagged in future Kamilah x MC work and those that had expressed interest in previous Kamilah fanfics...

Continued from Part One...

A warm smile spreads across Amy’s face as she meets Kamilah’s gaze, her brown doe-eyes illuminated by the light of the moon as it shines into her apartment and refracts on the windowpane. She pauses for a moment, unsure as to how to respond, before edging closer to her girlfriend, focusing solely on Kamilah’s face; she looks contempt, her face a blanket of sincerity, her dark eyes boring back into her own.

Before long, her arms constrict around her, pulling Kamilah into a tight embrace from behind, her face nestled in the crook of her neck.

‘That’s so sweet of you to say, Kamilah.’

She pats Amy’s arm gingerly, her fingertips drawing soft patterns on her skin as they trace the curve of her elbow. She leans back into her, resting her forehead against her cheek. They stay like that for a moment before Kamilah speaks, the volume of her voice lowering to a hushed whisper.

‘I only speak the truth.’

She looks up at her, entranced by her natural beauty before removing herself from Amy’s embrace, spinning around to face the mortal as her hand rests on Amy’s forearm. ‘Right,’ she clears her throat as she adjusts her blazer, lifting her gaze to meet Amy’s, her smile faltering as she regains her composure.

‘What movie did you have in mind?’

‘Oh,’ Amy’s eyes widen in surprise, ‘well I was actually going to let you choose...’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ she bounces over to the living space, collecting a number of DVDs from the coffee table, ‘I mean I did already have some movies in mind, but I managed to narrow it down to four,’ she places them in front of Kamilah, her voice riddled with excitement, ‘it’s totally up to you!’

Kamilah glaces down at the cases, her brow narrowing in defeat as she sighs with reluctance.

‘They’re all Harry Potter.’

‘Uhuh,’ she nods eagerly, taking Kamilah’s hand as she guides her over to the couch, ‘I feel like I’m in a magical mood today!’

She scoffs, finding it increasingly difficult to hide her cynicism.

‘But the possibilities are endless,’ she looks over her choices once more, biting onto her lower lip, ‘you have so many films that just scream magic and you settle for...’ she hesitates for a moment, her words incorporated into an exhaustible sigh.

‘Cliche wizardry.’

‘Cliche?’ she feigns an over-exaggerated gasp, clutching onto her chest, ‘these movies were adapted from one of the most influential book series of all time...’ she turns on the television, checking that the DVD player is connected. She turns her attention back to Kamilah, her eyes softening as she looks at her.

‘They’re the stuff of legend, Kamilah!’

Kamilah turns her face away from her, a slight smile enveloping her lips as she begins to respond.

‘I think you’ll find that I am the stuff of legend, not some...’ she rolls her eyes, ‘children’s book.’

Amy stifles a giggle, ‘I don’t know whether that was meant as a joke or whether I should be offended by that comment.’

Kamilah refocuses her attention on the cases, finding it seemingly difficult to decide which one she should choose. After some time, she is over-whelmed by indecisiveness, glancing back up at Amy as she admits her defeat.

‘Does it have to be one of those?’ She points to the DVDs.

Amy’s smile widens as she takes a seat beside Kamilah. ‘Yes, unless you’d like to make your girlfriend sad...’ her smile turns into a pout. ‘Please Kamilah...’ she fakes a sniffle, her bottom lip quivering as she entwines her arm around hers, resting her head on Kamilah’s shoulder.

‘Please don’t make me watch something else...’

Kamilah sighs defeatedly. ‘Fine,’ she grabs onto one of the cases, scanning its contents before handing it over to Amy, ‘we’ll go with this one.’

‘Yes!’ she runs over to the DVD player, loading the disk into the machine with haste. The pitch of her voice gets higher, her excitement laced with giddiness as she begins to list the neccessities for their night in.

‘Okay...we’ll need some pillows, blankets... some snacks.’

‘You’re really going all out on this, aren’t you?’

‘Of course,’ she wanders over to Kamilah, lowering herself to press a soft kiss to her forehead, one hand gently cupping her cheek, ‘I’m gonna make a Harry Potter fan out of you yet!’

‘That is highly unlikely,’ she beams up at her, capturing her mouth in a sweet kiss, ‘but I would like to see you try.’

‘Mmmmm...’ Amy smiles against her lips, her voice smooth and delicate, ‘that sounded like a challenge - have you truly underestimated my abilities, Kamilah?’

Kamilah wraps one arm tightly around her waist, letting go only to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Amy’s ear as she presses her forehead against hers.

‘Not at all...’

After an hour, the couple find themselves in their own little world, surrounded by blankets and pillows as the movie continues. They watch the movie in silence, Amy’s attention solely fixated on the story as it unravels before her very eyes, though it isn’t long before Kamilah’s curiosity gets the better of her, and she begins to voice her confusion at the plot, her mind unable to process what it happening.

‘I am not following this at all...’

‘How is it that confusing?’ Amy gestures to the television, ‘Voldemort is the one that killed Harry’s parents...’

‘Well what is he doing?’

‘He’s just transported Harry and Cedric into the graveyard,’ she wraps her arms around her pillow, her legs crossed underneath her, ‘the trophy was a portkey.’

‘What is a...’ she hesitates for a moment, ‘Portkey?’

‘It’s an object that can transport someone to a specific destination,’ she looks over at Kamilah, ‘so he used the trophy as a way of transporting Harry to his location.’

Kamilah rubs her forehead in confusion, her mind racing with questions as the story continues. Before long, she finds herself intrigued by the plot, a sudden desire to interrogate Amy with a number of questions.

She seemed to be an expert on Harry Potter, after all.

‘If his name is Voldemort, then why is he often referred to as the Dark Lord or He who cannot be named?’ she glances over at the mortal, ‘surely he should be referred to by his name I mean...he has that name for a reason...’

‘Because he’s evil!’ Amy exclaims, her eyes still transfixed on the screen, ‘and everyone in the wizarding world is terrified of him.’

‘But how powerful can he truly be if he couldn’t even defeat a baby?’

‘I - ‘ Amy remains speechless, unable to find the words to speak as it soon dawned on her that there was truth to her remark. She sits there for a while, her mouth agape with surprise, before she is able to muster a response.

‘I think that’s enough questions for now,’ she reaches forward, taking a big sip of her drink, ‘at least until I know how to respond to them.’

‘As you wish.’

They watch the rest of the movie in silence, Kamilah’s arm wrapped tightly around Amy’s waist, though it isn’t long before the credits role.

‘Well,’ she reaches forward, switching the television off by the remote, ‘I have to admit that it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.’

She waits for a reply, but is met with silence.

‘Amy?’

She looks at the mortal, a warm smile blossoming on her face as her gaze falls on her girlfriend’s sleeping frame, her head nustled into Kamilah’s side.

Kamilah sits motionless for a moment, revelling in her embrace, before she removes herself, being careful not to disturb her from her slumber. Her eyes fixate on the features of her girlfriend’s face; her rosy cheeks, the little freckles that paint her nose, the dimples that appear as she smiles. Kamilah smiles at the sight, her gaze softening as she reaches for a blanket, wrapping it around her girlfriend as she sleeps.

She lowers herself to her level, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her girlfriend’s ear, before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

‘Goodnight, my sweet.’

#choices: stories you play #choices fanfic #choices bb #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #kamilah x amy #bloodbound #part II #playchoices #spellbound

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lemoynebraider · 5 years ago

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Get to know me tag

I was tagged by @bleudragonfire

Tagging: @cactilads and that’s all because I don’t have friends

Relationship status: sexy free and single, I’m ready to bingo

Top ships: Rhodeytony (mcu), Ineffable husbands (good omens), Charthur and Vandermatthews (RDR)

Last song: Dog days are over by Florence and the machine

Last movie: I have honestly no idea? Last thing I watched was Narcos but that’s tv series

This or that tag

Coffee or tea - I drink tea when I’m sick so if I drink it any other time, it just reminds me of that and makes me feel bleh

Early bird or night owl - I go to sleep late but wake up early because I love suffering

Chocolate or vanilla

Silver or gold - depends on what I’m wearing

Pop or alternative- honestly, I can listen to anything so I don’t think there’s any specif genre I prefer

Freckles or dimples - god, both are beautiful and I have like .. three freckles and one dimple when I do this weird ass creepy smile BUT ANYONE WITH THOSE CAN MARRY ME

Snakes or sharks- both can go fuck themselves

Ivory or scarlet

Flute or lyre

Butterfly or honey bees- bees and any black-yellow insects scare the shit out of me but I do my best to keep them alive when in my presence

Macarons or eclairs - never had eclairs but I googled them and they look good so 10/10 would try

Rooftop or balconies- heights scare me if I’m not secured so probably neither

Typewriter or handwritten letter- if I had a typewriter, I’d definitely use it a lot but there’s also something magical about handwritten letters even though my handwriting is awful

Spicy or mild - I cry when I eat something even remotely spicy.. wish I didn’t because spicy things taste good

London or Paris - London is my favourite city ever

Secret garden or secret library- if it’s like the garden at Florence Welch’s house then hell yeah but otherwise, library is good because less allergies

Potions or spells- both are good and important

Oceans or deserts

Vincent Van Gogh or Claude Monet- as an ex art student, there are many other artists I’d choose but you gotta work with what you have

Denim or leather

Mermaid or siren

Masquerade ball or cocktail party- neither because both would give me very bad anxiety

Sun or moon

Herbs or flowers - herbs for my potions, flowers for my witch cottage decor

Pearls or diamonds- but only minecraft diamonds

Tattoos or piercings

Eyes or lips

Witch or fairy - they’re both so Florence Welch and I love it

Opera or ballet

Clam chowder or tomato soup

All black or pastel - depends on my mood or what I feel like wearing

Perfume or body wash - most perfumes give me a headache

Mountains or fields - I go hiking pretty often

Thunderstorms or lightning

Egyptian or Greek mythology- neither 🤷‍♀️

Beauxbatons or durmstrang - if it’s what google told me, then I chose beauxes because they seemed more fancy (im still getting used to some things being called differently in English than in my mother language)

Candles or fairy lights

Classic art or modern art - I do think modern art is weird as fuck, but it has its magic (plus classic art was modern once so there were times when people felt the same way about it)

Paintings or sculptures - both!! some sculptures are just so amazing but as an ex art student, I appreciate both

Hot or iced - again, depends on what it is

Glitter or matte

Scorpio or cancer - gemini

Silk or lace - I hate both

New York or Los Angeles - never been to neither of those but I hate summer so fuck you la

Anyways, doing this on my phone gave me aneurysm so I’m glad it’s over

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unkindnessofone · 7 years ago

Text

Daft Pretty Boys

dedicating this to the anon who gave me the idea about march trying to move on. please enjoy and let me know what you think because i love you all. also i wrote this entirely on my phone, hope it’s okay.

He was avoiding Raquel Coin which he figured was a good choice. She was the girl that created a wedge between himself and Daphne after all. Sometimes March found himself trying to show off how well he was avoiding the freckle faced girl, but Daphne never seem to notice. Miles and his boyfriend had been adament that if March wanted to have a chance with his former girlfriend that staying away from Raquel was mandatory. March wasn’t sure if pining after the dancer was hopeless or not, but his mum told him to keep out of trouble, so that’s what he was trying to do.

He had grown accustom to Daphne driving him to and from school, so much so that skateboarding to and from had started to feel like a chore. At the start of the school year, he would slide into the back seat of Taylor’s car despite his twin brother’s objections. However, these days, Taylor wasn’t offering them to Miles much and March didn’t want to pry and frustrate his brother. Rain was drenching the city though when he was let out of his final class and March wasn’t about to skate through it. He checked his phone, expecting a text from his mom offering him a ride, but was greeted by a gossipy message about his biology teacher from his friend and a video message from his sister that he couldn’t watch until he had WiFi anyway.

March figured anyone would do what he did when Afton Hammersley, a senior with pink hair and a trust fund the size of her breasts offered him a ride from inside the East doors.

Before Daphne took over his life with her chocolate eyes and secret smiles, March felt like he could have had any girl in their class and probably then some. He flirted as natural as he cracked his toes under the covers in the morning. He spent more time kissing his classmates in the parking lot than he ever did in class which nobody freaked out too much about since he never failed an assignment. Afton used to be one of his favorite people to flirt with. She seemed unattainable because she was older and when she laughed at his jokes, he could never tell if she was being genuine or not. She ignored him once he was committed to Daphne, once teasing him that he was off the market, and then not much taking interest in him after that.

March rested his beloved long board in her backseat with his backpack and hopped into the front, already wet as a golden retriever that just hopped out of a backyard bath. He laughed along with Afton as she turned on her car, let the screaming music fill it along with the chip bags and fast food reminents, and took off in the rain.

“Do you have something to get home to?” She asked in monotone, flicking her tongue’s tip against the back of her teeth.

“No.” Honesty, March replied. He was going to cruise around with Bryce and Cooper, but that was when the sun was out. He hadn’t texted them yet to see what was going on.

“Do you want to hang out a bit? I have to study, but I don’t want to.” Afton spoke through a song that they both loved. March had listened to it more times than he could count when he was laying in bed, hating the world and Daphne choosing not to be with him. It was an angry song and that was all he wanted from his music at the time.

“Yeah, whatever.” Chronically cool, March agreed with shrugged shoulders. “Sounds good.”

He didn’t think much when she pulled up to the mansion she called home. Everybody knew her mom was her dad’s first wife and had tried to bleed him out during their divorce that went on for over two years. March was mostly blown away with how close she lived to Iden’s mom’s place. He thought it was kind of funny, a few firsts wives on the same block. March figured he had jogged by Afton’s place a good dozen times and never realized it.

He was content to make himself at home on the velvet gold chaise lounge in her front room while she argued with one of the house maids who thought she was her mother before noticing the school uniform, but Afton nodded her head to the side and commanded March to follow her to her bedroom. He was embarrassed when he realized she practically had the whole second floor to herself. The Hemmings family had money, but sometimes March felt like his mom was trying to pretend they lived in the same Minnesota one and a half story she grew up sharing a room and waiting for the shower in.

Afton wasted no time pulling out a fat joint from her bed side table. She threw the plastic bag it was wrapped in on the bed along with a crystal encrusted lighter.

“You can start. I’m going to get out of my uniform.” She said passing by March as he took an uncomfortable seat on the corner of her unmade bed. Her fingers slid across his shirt, right over his chest, before she disappeared into her walk in closet.

Heaving an excited sigh from his gut, March let himself scooch deeper into her bed in order to fiddle the joint out and light it. He figured being as rich as Afton was, she probably bought better stuff than he had before, but Cooper’s dad’s stash never had met him down before. He only taken one hit when Afton returned, making herself known by dragging her hands flat up his back and then knocking off his backwards ball cap in order to mess up his hair teasingly.

“Thank you.” She almost sang as he looks behind himself to see her, offering her her joint.

She did look more comfortable in yoga pants and a red t shirt with a rhinestone brand over the breasts that he didn’t recognize. March really just liked the shape beneath the logo. They weren’t Daphne’s breasts, a perfect handful that just spilled a little out of his hands. Afton had what he and his friends referred to as “bowling balls”.

He tried not to stare though and looked at the purple septum piercing she had put in when she went to change. Afton was the second person he ever smoked pot with, in a parking lot at the community center in March’s neighborhood so it didn’t feel weird smoking with her now. His first time had been on the beach with his sister’s friends and Connor, it stressed him out too much for it to be fun knowing that his big sister with her space buns was watching even if she didn’t seem to care.

“Is it weird … ” She leaned back on one hand and offered him another hit. She peeked March’s interest, giving her a little bit of eye contact from the blue eyes his dad gave him. “Not being with Daphne?” It sounded like Afton wasn’t sure about his former girlfriends name, but he knew she knew what it was.

March glared at her by accident and then hollowed out his cheeks to take a second time in a row, sucking back longer than before.

“I don’t really want to talk about her.” He grumbled while trying to blow a smoke ring, it fell apart before taking any shape though.

“Oh yeah?” Afton’s interest peaked. She always knew March to be lively and fun, seeing him expose any second layer emotion was new to her. “Hurts too much or you just don’t care?” She pushed, taking the joint back as soon as she had her colorful hair tied back into a tight and high ponytail.

“I just don’t want to talk about it.” Again, he repeated and this time his grunt of annoyance was no accident.

“I like you single anyway,” Opening her legs across from him in a wide “V” shape, she tossed her head to the side and declared playfully. “You’re cute.”

Joking around, March showed off his dimples while batting his lashes at her, showing off a cartoony smile.

“And I don’t have to feel bad when you’re single.”

“About what?” His legs mimicked her position as he looked around her room, noting that it was very busy for someone who had a maid.

“About doing this.” She surprised him, his head just turning to see her as she leaned into his chest, globes hard as rock against him, and kissed him with her lips pulling tightly on his. She had put out the joint, but March could care less. Out of reflex, he put his hands on her sides and ran then under the back of her shirt. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since Daphne dumped him. It felt nice to have any body over his, but Afton Hammersley was especially hot. He didn’t think she was beautiful, but she was sexy. He could tell when she looked at him that he didn’t know half of what she was capable of. She crawled backwards away from him, giggling behind a bit lip, and took the plastic bag and the dish with the joint in it and then reached over to leave it on her bedside table. Just as fast as she had first kissed him, Afton came back, but this time she stayed low and shook her yoga pant clad ass upward while kissing around his groin on the outside of his grey school trousers. They were a thin material and he couldn’t believe he wasn’t rock hard yet.

Before he took up with Daphne, he definitely had imagined his cock on Afton’s face, septum piercing and all. He reached down to help her as she started to fumble with his button and zipper. March glided his hand outside his underwear, trying to help himself reach full mass. He didn’t want her to see him limp and be unimpressed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you there.” Seeing absolutely no challenge in front of her, Afton assured him from below. Shd encouraged him out of his blue boxer briefs and took her in his hand, warm from being leaned on and then picked at the shaft. It sent a shiver through him, but March still wasn’t hard.He leaned deeper into her row of pillows behind him and shut his eyes, leaning his head back with his hands meeting at his apex. He tried to just relax and it certainly felt good as she bobbed up and down at a speed that seemed practiced and perfected.

“Are you okay?” It had only been a couple minutes, but Afton was feeling a little defeated. This had never happened to her before. She was Afton Hammersley. She held his soft penis in her clutch and looked up at March with a face that shouted, “What the fuck?”

“One second.” March sighed at himself and reached down to give his buddy a hand. He stroked at his wet cock and leaned his head back. He knew it was kind of insulting to the girl between his knees, but he pictures Daphne’s always bright and glossy full lips. He thought of his bashful she looked when they would hide under the blankets on his basement couch, her hand taking it’s time with him, rubbing him outside of his pants while he kissed her neck. He missed the scent of perfume oil behind her ears and the thick tangles of her hair that she would ask so innocently for him to grip when she was blowing him. March was too busy thinking about his ex, his first love, that he hadn’t realized that Afton was blowing him again and moaning with every other saliva soaked slurp. His mind was on Daphne Mind and his mouth was hanging open. It felt good even if it wasn’t Daphne’s tongue on him. He did miss her small hands though. They never ignored his balls when she was down there getting him off.

“This is much better.” Afton moaned while giving her jaw a two second break from his hard cock.Without thinking, March just shushed her. Her voice was deep and reminded him of smoke. When he heard it, it killed his fantasy of his favorite soft spoken Disney princess. For a second, March had forgotten that he and Daphne had even broken up. Afton went back to his cock, reaching for his hand and trying to hint at it to disrobe her as she folded two of his fingers in the waistband of her leggings. March understood the message and reached in, but it felt so different than Daphne’s skin that he started to lose the firmness of his shaft. He slid his hand out from the tight confines of her leggings and kept gripping her stomach. March reminded himself of how much he loved looking down when he was on top and seeing Daphne’s hands in her own hair and her smile growing as he grinded upward inside her. She had taught him everything he felt good at.

“Daph…” He moaned as he started to grow harder again. “Daph, fuck…” His mouth fell open, but his penis was greeted by cold air on both sides as Afton lifted her head off him. His eyes opened and he stares at the senior, wiping spit off her chin and looking him over like he was a disgusting troll. He hadn’t even realized what he did.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She rolled her eyes at him.“What?” He was genuinely confused.“You just called me Daph. You are thinking of that loser!” She didn’t know Daphne personally, but Afton felt confident that if Daphne Hood was worth knowing, they would be friends.

“Whoa.” March wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, he had apparently messed up, but on the other, Afton called Daphne a loser and that made his blood boil. He shimmied back into his underwear, tucking his wet half mass in the fabric and then jumped up. She wasn’t fighting him on it either.

“You should be flattered. Daphne is amazing.” He tried to both cover up his mistake and defended his ex at the same time. March decided to leave out that she also happened to be able to make him hard as rock by just walking in a room.“Get the fuck out!” Afton whipped one of her pillows at him, one that he had been leaning into while she went down on him.

“Fuck you, March!” She yelled while he ran out of her room, taking the stairs by two as he tried to zip up his u from pants. March grabbed his backpack and long board by the door and ran out as Afton was still cussing him out from her bedroom door.The rain hadn’t let up, but he rushed into it and headed home on his board. He knew he would be soaked through once he was home, but March was too distracted by the music in his headphones and trying not to slip off his wet board.

* * *********************************

It had been at the suggestion of a couple’s counsellor many years ago, when the twins were born and their marriage was vulnerable, that they plan date nights for one another. There had been times in their relationship where it wasn’t possible especially when Luke was away, but they made it a point whenever they were the same place to do it. Tonight was Cagney’s turn, Luke waiting for her to finish getting ready for the last fifteen minutes. She had gone to a spin class with Skye first and insisted that she needed to shower before they go. Even though Luke didn’t have a hot clue where they were going, he was ready.

“This is so lame.” Miles sighed as soon as he saw his Dad, losing the vim and vigor from his body once he saw his dad fixing his hair in the hallway mirror. “My parents are going out and I’m staying in. Alone.” He checked his cell phone that he had been holding since he came home from class, eager to see if Taylor had answered him yet. It had been two hours. Summer was perfect, but now that his boyfriend was in his first year of college while Miles was still finishing school, things had changed drastically.

“Is Wendesday a hot date?” Luke backed away from the mirror, making sure his hair was still looking suave from a distance.

“It could be if Taylor answered me.” Miles mumbled mostly to himself, going into the living room to try to distract himself with the TV. “He started college and now he’s always busy.” Miles wasn’t trying to hide his feelings of resentment at all.

“Hey, it’s a big adjustment.” Luke tried to reason, standing behind the couch his kid had fallen on and turned into a bed.

“You didn’t go to school.” Miles reminded him, raising his brow and changing the channel to see what sports game was on.

“Okay, well I’ve heard it’s a big adjustment. I know people who have.” Skye, Molly, Penelope, and of course his two older brothers had degrees they were quite proud of. “Isn’t this, like, exam time?”

“Yeah, but he’s been blowing me off since school started pretty much.” Miles yawned as he cuddled his shoulder into a throw pillow, content to watch the rugby game highlights before a basketball game. “We are supposed to get dinner with Molly and Flynn when they come in - ” With the remote, Miles pointed at the player that Molly had somehow wrapped around her finger.

“His arms … Is he on steroids, do you think?” Behind Miles, Luke stared at the television and wondered.

“I could ask for you, but I can’t get an answer out of Taylor. He said he would go, but forgot that he did and now isn’t sure he can make it.” Miles complained, frustrated.

“You could take someone else.” Luke suggested. “March?”

Miles didn’t show any signs of accepting the suggestion. It didn’t sound like much of a double date with his friend if he brought his twin brother with him.

“You know, Miles, there’s lots of guys and girls that think you’re great - ” Luke couldn’t ignore the way other people in the bleachers stared at his son’s football games or swim meets when he removed his shirt. He always rolled his eyes at the attention Miles drew without realizing, but Luke was sort of flattered so many people were interested in his kid. He sometimes wanted to brag that he made that even though he couldn’t take any credit for Miles chiseled stomach and defined legs.

“Dad, I’m not breaking up with Taylor. I’m just annoyed.” Muting the TV, Miles sat up slightly and looked at his Dad. “and I think I might just be gay. I don’t know.” He had been thinking about it a lot lately and he didn’t feel the same way about girls as he once did. Sure, he always found a beautiful face in a busy crowd, but it didn’t illicit the same feelings it did when he was chatting with a hot guy at the pool. He liked girls, but he didn’t feel any desire to be with them anymore. Miles really wasn’t sure yet though because he really only found himself attracted to Taylor.

Luke just nodded, not at all bothered or even surprised by what his son was saying.

“That’s not true!” Surprising them both, Cagney almost sang as she slid into the living room. Both Miles and Luke whipped their heads around, confused by her response to their conversation. “You’re not just gay!” She insisted. “You’re an excellent swimmer, a good friend, a great brother older and younger, and a lovely son.” She cheered him on, smiling proudly from ear to ear as she finished putting on her left earring, a hoop designed by Simone.

“Thanks, Mum.” Miles moaned and turned back around on the couch, giving the screen his attention again.

The front door slammed shut and March almost ran right upstairs, but his mom smelled him like a wet dog and caught him before he could even slide his shoes off.

“You’re drenched!” Revealing the obvious, Cagney scolded him. “March, where were you?” She had just assumed he was out with some of his many friends.

“At school.” He took off his soaked hat and shook his wet hair. His sweater and school shirt were heavy from the rain and stuck to his body just as his uniform pants were. “Why didn’t you call for a ride?”

“Or get a ride with your brother.” Luke suggested, leaning back to peek at his kid who was dragging water deeper into the house.

“Miles doesn’t have a spare when I do.” He explained while wiggling his arms from his sweater and instinctively handing it to his mom. “Why don’t you guys just be normal parents and buy me a car?” Bringing up a conversation that they had all had multiple times, March asked with wide eyes questioning his mother personally.

“If you want a car, you have to buy it yourself. That’s the way I grew up and - ”

March wasted no time cutting his mom off with some truth, “You didn’t buy a car until you and Dad got together.” He started to peel off his pants right at the front door.

“Then stop complaining and marry rich.” Uninterested in arguing with her teenager, Cagney fixed him with a nose twitch before walking away with his entire uniform in hand, carrying it downstairs to the laundry room.

In his boxer briefs that were also stuck to his body and leaving nothing to the imagination, March headed over to his brother and dad, jumping down on the other couch, the leather one, and laying down happily in his underwear.

“Date night!” March hollered into the air like a sports announcer. “Where are you guys going?” Half interested, he asked while watching staring at the TV.

“I don’t know. It’s your mom’s pick.” Luke sighed, annoyed that he was still waiting. He had prettied himself up and out on after shave, but he was starting to feel like he might turn into a pumpkin if he had to wait any longer. “Are you going out tonight?” Since his house party, March had been in better spirits. He wasn’t spending all his time resting in his own filth. He was back to being a social butterfly in a skateboard.

“Miles, what are we doing tonight?” After the experience he and his penis had just had at Afton’s place, March just wanted to stay in. He also knew that Miles was going through a weird phase with his boyfriend that left him staying in a lot lately.

“Eating our feelings.” Miles didn’t even move or acknowledge March as he answered.

“Pizza? Indian? Sushi? Or are you going to be a total loser and cry into a tub of ice cream? I can get behind that.” March joked, trying his best to show any indication that he had just come from an embarrassing moment with a very cool girl.

“Start with peanut stir fry and crab rangoon from Vietiane, chicken fingers from Mitzi’s, and then just make milkshakes here. Peanut butter and chocolate.” Just like he used to when they were kids, Miles turned to March with eyes almost glowing and spoke to him like he was the k my other person in the room, even when he wasn’t.

“That sounds really good.” Cagney re-appeared and said before throwing a clean t shirt and sweatpants at March, landing right on his knees. She always knew whose clothes belonged to who.

“Do you want to go on a date with me or hang out with our garbage compactors?” Very seriously, Luke asked his wife with impatient blue eyes.

“You’ve never had a cheat day with Miles.” She began to explain to him, snaking an arm behind his back and pulling him close. “They’re an experience like no other.” Their middle child adhered to a strict diet for swimming, but once a month usually when he was in a bad mood, he gave himself permission to be like any and all of the children in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Cagney loved getting in on the action when she could. She knew that it was very likely she was the one who taught her kids to eat when they are sad with always having a pizza night before Luke would leave or curl up with a box of chocolates in bed on her first night alone.

“Okay, we are going. No house parties!” More just to tease them, she called out over her clapped hands. “No sex and if you’re going to throw up all your food, use the basement washroom.” It was the one that the kids and Luke mostly occupied. She only ever used her en suite.

“Don’t make any more babies!” March called from the couch as his parents started to walk away to the front door. He was mostly just bugging them, but he did very much love being their baby.

“Have her home by curfew!” Miles joined, almost hearing their dad roll their eyes in response.

“Bye!” In an out of sync chorus, Luke and Cagney left their twins alone, going out for time where they could spend on each other and not trying to run their work and children’s lives. Luke played it cool, but he always looked forward to them.

“I’m going to order.” As he slid his legs into the sweats his mom brought, March told his brother and jumped to his feet to go find his cell phone in his wet backpack by the door. “Taylor still ignoring you?” March called by the door.

“He’s not ignoring me. He’s just busy with school.”

“Yeah, I once told Daphne I was busy with school and I was ignoring her.” March bluntly stated as he went back to the couch and started looking online for the menu of their favorite Thai place. He didn’t like recalling one of the stupider decisions he made, but it was true. At the time, he was trying to sort out what he wanted and blowing off the gorgeous tiny dancer.

“He’s not hanging out with Raquel Coin if that’s what you’re getting at.” Grouchily, Miles retorted and rolled his eyes at his brother. “I don’t know where he’s at because we never see each other anymore. It’s really annoying because if he’s busy, cool, but are you too busy to be my boyfriend? Just tell me!” He vented. It reminded him of when they had bunk beds at their place in California and would stay up all night as kids telling different monster stories to one another and laughing at their bad attempts at making scary noises

.“Just ask him.” March shrugged. He really didn’t see the big deal.

“I’m trying not to bug him.”

“I can ask him.” Again, March shrugged. “I can call him right now.” Cool as a cucumber, March held his phone up to his ear and watched as Miles jumped up hastily. He went from lazy to freaking out in a single nanosecond.

“You better be calling for take out!” He grew up with March, but still could never tell when he was messing around or being serious. “March, don’t you fucking dare.“March’s grin grew and grew the more worked up his brother became. Holding out his finger to silence Miles, March stood up and began to walk around the coffee table between them.

“Hi Taylor.” Anticipating the way his brother leaped to his feet and reached for the phone, March laughed. “It’s March Hemmings, the cuter twin, I am calling - ” Between trying not to laugh and running away from his brother, March could barely get his words out.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Miles lunged for him, but March was too slick.

“I am calling to say,” He chuckled and began to run out of the living room and around the kitchen island. “Stop ignoring my brother! He is delicate and sad and deserves better!” He added on a word every time he caught a glimpse of Miles shooting daggers at him through his eyes. He could tell from the corner of his brother’s mouth that he was lightly amused. “Okay, can’t wait to hear from you. Love you!” He blew a loud kiss and hung up, falling to the ground as Miles finally landed a successful tackle, knocking them both into the fridge.

“You’re such a Gomer!” Quoting their big sister, Miles half laughed as he released March. “He’s going to think I’m sitting at home and pouting.”

“You are.” Still chuckling, March sat up and leaned his back against the fridge, a magnet of Penelope’s second grade photo with her two missing front teeth wedging into his spine between the shoulders.

“Yeah, well I don’t want him to know that.”

“Order whatever.” He handed his phone over to Miles and went to playing with his damp hair.Right away, Miles noticed March’s background was of his brother and Daphne. A silly selfie with their faces squished together as they say on a plane together, going somewhere to see their dads perform. It crossed his mind to rib his brother, but decided against it. Daphne was a sensitive subject with March.

“Where were you actually? You weren’t at school.” Miles knew that for a fact.

“Getting a blowjob from Afton. Hammersley.” He was pretty sure there was just one Afton in their school.

“Fuck off. Really?” Miles was equal parts impressed and grossed out. He never saw what his brother did in the girl with pink hair. He thought she seemed really damaged even though his mom always told him that was not a nice way to describe people.

“Yeah.”

“Any good?” He began to add items into their cart, letting his sadness and stomach harmoniously build them a gluttonous meal.

“Meh.” March jumped up to his feet and shrugged.

"I wasn’t into it.“ He said instead of saying, ‘I could only get hard when I pictured Daphne’.

"She used to be pretty high on your list.” Miles mused.

“We smoked a bit first. Maybe that’s why. I don’t know.” He was a king at playing it cool. He threw open their stocked fridge and took out a Capri Sun. Even though he wasn’t eleven anymore, his mom still bought them in bulk and March was eternally grateful.

“Or maybe you’re still in love with Daphne.” Miles teased even though he knew it was probably legit.

“Fuck off or I’ll call Taylor again and tell him you’re crying.” March threatened very seriously. Miles took it in stride, sending their order in and letting the joke go. He knew he was right anyway. “Hey, does the pool need in any more lifeguards or anything?”

“You’re not certified.” Miles reminded his brother. He had given up before they were even in junior high unlike Miles who was never a quitter. “I can see if they want someone at the canteen.”

“Thanks.”

“They need tutors at school. They pay pretty well too.” He suggested. While March’s attendance in classes wasn’t great by any means, his grades were exemplary. Miles had no idea how March always did better in their western civilization class because he almost never showed up or stayed awake in it. A light bulb shot off in March’s brain, almost sending pieces of shattered glass off in his skull. Miles was too busy looking at a pizza menu from another spot to see that his brother’s eyes were glowing like a neon sign. This was how he was going to get Daphne back.

***************************************

On their separate couches, delivery food containers on the coffee table, a greasy napkin on March’s chest, and Chinese take out box between Miles’s knees, the two twins were knocked out cold in matching food comas while the world news played in front of them on TV. They were blanketed under illuminating blue light as Cagney quickly pulled her phone from her purse to snap a picture. She had a hunch their sister in Paris would want to see what she was missing out on back home.

“Do you think you could carry them both up the stairs to bed like you used to?” Wistfully, Cagney asked with nostalgic laughter. They could never stay awake through a whole evening movie. March was particularly bad for falling asleep in cinemas as a little boy.

Luke just shook his head. He could, maybe, toss March over his shoulder without totally throwing out his back, but Miles was too strong for him to lift anymore. Those days are gone.

“I can barely drag them anymore.” Luke mused in response. He walked through from his sleeping twins and looked over what was left on the kitchen table, helping himself to cold chicken satay before sitting by Miles’s bare feet.

“Mom take you somewhere nice?” March curled o to his side, the napkin slipping off of him and into the floor, as he asked without opening his eyes.

“Yeah, she did” Smiling from March over to his wife, Luke confirmed while chewing on the chicken bite. "We went to a movie.“

"Mom!” March shouted, but he still didn’t open his eyes. “Lame!”

“I wanted to see it and your dad loves movie theater popcorn! It’s a win win.” Cagney knew it wasn’t inventive, but it did get them out of the house together. When the kids were small and Luke was still touring constantly, they would sometimes just go for walks together or to the hotel lobby cafe for coffee and a piece of cake. Luke had a tendency to knock his date night choices out of the park with concert tickets, surprising Cagney with trips, and once taking her to Sephora to get whatever she wanted, but for Cagney, she just liked to set aside time for the two of them - no matter what they did.

“At least Mom texts you back.” Practically sleep talking, Miles pouted.

Cagney and Luke exchanged worried looks over their sleeping boys. They didn’t like the idea of weathering another break up. March had just started to bounce back into being his old self, but he had crashed as hard as he could when his relationship with Daphne ended. Cagney didn’t know why exactly, perhaps because he was more openly sensitive, but she suspected that Miles would take his relationship ending even worse. She was trying to remain optimistic that Taylor was just overwhelmed with college and not practicing good communication skills.

“Hey.” Luke reached behind him once his chicken satay was finished and shook at Miles’s leg, “Go to bed.” He said and kept shaking Miles until he heard a groan come from behind the teen’s shut lips. “Come on.” Luke encouraged as he watched Miles take his time getting up. March, across from them, followed suit as his mom kisses the top of his head and turned off the TV.

“Goodnight.” Cagney managed to sneak in a kiss on Miles’s cheek before he dragged himself up to his room. Once both boys were gone, Luke stood up and looked over their mess. He knew he should leave it for them to clean up, but he also knew it would drive him crazy left out. He reached down to begin cleaning up, but Cagney clearing her throat made him pause.

“Date night isn’t over.” With a sneaky smile that always brought him good news, she surprised him.

“Oh yeah?” She had his full attention now. “Do tell.” He came closer to where she was, dropping two empty orange soda cans in the recycling bin by the back door, waiting to be taken out.

“Shower time.” She winked and reached for his hand as she came closer, Luke bringing her in tightly for a kiss and staring up at her moment. He loved when she massages his sculpt in the shower. Her hands had always played an important role in their relationship from washing his hair, giving him comforting squeezes backstage, offering silent support in loud mobs, and sliding under his back as she fell asleep beside him. At this point in their lives together, Luke knew where showering with her was going to go, but he still felt excited at the prospect of soaping up each other’s body and her fingers running through his locks.

*************************************************

He had spent the whole morning yawning through his classes, so he was looking forward to a long lunch where he could sleep at one of the big wooden cafeteria tables. If he was lucky, he would find a pretty girl’s lap to use as a pillow. It seemed to March that Afton hadn’t shared gossip about their hook up with anyone. She must have been too embarrassed about the ordeal herself. March cruised by the main floor multi-purposs room of his fancy private school. It was busy because it was lunch, but he could find Daphne in any crowded room. Her hair was down, but pinned back with her front thick tendrils. She had little makeup on, looking tired herself, but her mouth was still painted with a bright violet color. He waved through the window, but she didn’t look up from her textbook. March mustered up enough energy to enter the room, the teacher who ran the tutoring program sitting at the front with a paper bag lunch on her desk. He had asked Miles to drop off his application for him after bugging him to fill it out over their light breakfast of just grapefruit and granola. They are too full still from their food party the night before.

“Hey Mrs. Dilworth…” March approached the front of the desk cautiously, still paying more attention to his ex at the other side of the room. The teacher he had never had before, but recognized from going to the school since kindergarten looked up and bowed her chin to him. She was swallowing her coffee sip right as he arrived. Mrs. Dilworth’s wirey and grey brows greeted him back though, raising with excitement as she started to stand up. “I dropped off an application this morning for the tutoring program…” Well, he sort of did. Miles had filled it in for him and they were sometimes mistaken for one another.

“You did.” As soon as her coffee was down her throat, she gasped with comfort and excitement. He had never heard any student say anything particularly vile about her. She mostly worked the tutoring program and with the elementary years in the other building on the program. Miles hadn’t gone there since he had to because his classes were there. He didn’t feel try nostalgia for younger days like many people seemed to. He had spent a lot of his summer wishing he could go back in time that now he was trying to push forward even if he was still chasing Daphne Hood. “I’m really glad you’re interested in that program. People seem to really admire you.” He wondered if, maybe, she was mixing him up with Miles but he also hoped that Daphne overheard her compliment. It didn’t seem like she did though.

“Do I have to interview? When’s the start date?” He rocked back and forth on his feet and drummed his fingers against the surface of her desk closest to him. March couldn’t concentrate for long, always checking over his shoulder to look at Daphne. He frowned as his math teacher from last year joined her, earning a wide welcoming smile that he wanted for himself.

“I have to run it by the headmaster.” March didn’t feel confident about that. He didn’t have a shining record, but he did have a record. “And then if you wanted to come back here around 3, the parents will meet you as well as the student.” Parents who enrolled their kids in the tutoring program paid extra on the already substantial tuition, March supposed it made sense that they would have to approve the assigned tutor for their kid. He didn’t know how Calum and Skye felt about him any more. He hadn’t ran into them almost on purpose. It left March wondering if they ever liked him or just tolerated him because they had to since he was Luke’s kid and he was coming on tour whether or not they liked it.

“Sounds good. See you here at 3.” March knocked on her desk top and committed. “Thanks.” He nodded his pronounced chin at her to say goodbye and left, glancing once more at Daphne as she played with a fly away hair and tried to listen to the teacher pointing into her textbook.

Since it was nice out, Miles took to the football field for lunch. The grounds were still squishy and damp from the rain the night before, so they opted to sit around the bleachers while they ate. Miles was working on a sandwich that he had made that morning, laughing in between bites as the two Luna’s he was friends with ripped jokes about the class they had just left. School was a blessing to Miles. He was distracted by his desire to do well and by his funny friends. He didn’t find himself thinking about his boyfriend nonstop. It wasn’t as if he could check his phone while in class and he had forgotten to on his way to the football field for lunch. His hands were full and Luna A was dancing around in order to make him crack up.

The large bite of his salami sandwich almost dropped out of his mouth when Taylor appeared from the parking lot, walking right onto the field. He looked tired, but still put together. To Miles, he always looked like a God in bootcut blue jeans.

“One second.” He excused himself, leaving his backpack and open Capri Sun behind. Miles jogged over the watery field. As soon as he saw Miles coming toward him, Taylor stopped and waited by the metal post that seperated the car lot from the field. “What are you doing here?” Confused delight lit up his face as he approached his boyfriend, Taylor sealing the small space between them to lean in for a kiss. They were never known for PDA, but he didn’t like saying ‘hi’ to Miles without some lip service.

“I texted you this morning. I’ve been feeling bad about ditching you so much. I only have one morning class on Fridays now, I dropped anatomy.” He was taking a smattering of classes to try and figure out what he liked. “Can I take you to lunch?”

Miles checked behind him and looked over his friends, two of them waving while the other three were eating and chatting still.

“I only have a half hour left ” It wasn’t as if he couldn’t skip his next class, but he didn’t think a guy who couldn’t find the time to text him back was really worth the sacrifice as much as he wanted to go.

“Okay. What about next Friday? Maybe that could be a standing date since our schedules aren’t lining up right now.” Taylor wasn’t working as a life guard anymore with going to college. So between Miles football games and part time job and then his school schedule, it felt challenging to see one another. Taylor was exhausted by the time the day was done.

“That works. Yeah!” Very excited, Miles agreed. “I was freaking out that you came here to break up,” Taylor looked at him like he was nuts. “Or you were freaked out by the voicemail March left you.”

“I don’t have voicemail.” Again, Taylor looked at his boyfriend like he was growing a second face. Why would he have an outdated service? Miles fumed through his nostrils when he put together that his brother hadn’t been talking to anyone on the phone last night. He had just been making fun of Miles. “I’m going to come to your game tonight, okay? Then we can hang out after if you’re up for it. I feel like a shithead being so busy with assignments.” Taylor wasn’t feeling like college was for him. He was miserable there.

“Well you have been a shithead.” Miles laughed it off, but he was being sincere. He leaned in close, both arms around his boyfriend’s waist, and kissed him again, this time to say more than just hello. “Do you want to come sit with everybody?” At this point, Taylor already was acquainted with Miles’s core group even though he was a mingler and had friends everywhere.

Nodding, Taylor agreed. Once he was released from Miles embraces, he hung his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder and walked hip to hip with him back to the field. Hopefully, they could stay together this year without seeing one another every day like they did through the summer.

*******************

March was feeling rather proud of himself. He looked over his reflection in the window facing the parking lot and played with the bright blue lanyard that Mrs. Dilworth had bestowed around his neck. He pulled on it and jingled the keys that gave him access to school supplies and the cleaning cupboard as well as a few classrooms if necessary. While the root of him applying to be a tutor was to weasel in some more time with Daphne, he was thrilled to have a job. It gave him a weird sense of purpose that prompted him to text his mom and tell her that he had been hired somewhere. She only responded with a thumbs up emoji, a stack of money, and two different car emojis to follow. Miles had slightly embellished the pay though. It was just minimum wage, still it felt cooler than living off his parents.

He leaned his butt against the desk that Mrs. Dilworth had vacated. March kept playing with the keys while staring at the room, his blue eyes finding Daphne as soon as she entered. She was always there on Fridays as part of a promise she made to her Dad to improve her grades by Christmas.

“Hi…” She looked amused as she approach March, carrying a honey and chocolate granola bar on top of the text book she had in both hands. “What are you doing here?” He never even came in there to hang out with her when they were together. March’s grades were fine.

“I’m a tutor.” He shook at his keys again and wiggled his full brows at her. “Just waiting to be assigned.” He smiled and slid across the desk to be closer to her, noticing she had her math textbook in hand. It always was her worst subject. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll help you with algebra.” He poked at its cover. Daphne shook her head ‘no’, her hair cascading in front of her shoulders as she did.

“Probably not because I’m not eight years old.” She nodded at the lanyard he liked so much before walking away. He saw her head to a table full of high school students, the two tutors sitting there with black lanyards around their neck. In a panic, March started to look around for a poster or note on one of three whiteboards. He hadn’t been filled in on the color system. What was the difference between blue and black? “I’ll drive you home though.” She offered as she began to sit, handing one of the tutors her textbook as she did.

March only nodded, still confused as to what was going on. He needed to be in the same group as Daphne or, at the very least, the same room. He looked out the window and linked eyes with Mrs. Dilwoth, her Mrs.Potts disposition putting him at ease as she waved at him to join her in the hall. When he did, he saw a very young girl, maybe seven, on the wooden bench behind Mrs. Dilworth. She had her arms crossed annoyed over her chest and was kicking at the air constantly with the both legs.

“March, this is Gia.” A big smile plastered on her face, Mrs. Dilworth stepped to the side and led March to the elementary aged girl with her arm. “Gia, March is going to help with you catch up with math today.”

The tutor and the student looked equally unhappy with the situation. Gia refused to acknowledge March. She grumbled inaudibly and stuffed the lower part of her face into her folded arms. March just stood blankly and followed Mrs. Dilworth as she led him a few paces away, closer to the hallway of lockers.

“I didn’t know that I had signed up to be with kids.” Considering himself more of a young adult, he stated. This had to be some kind of mistake. He didn’t sign up to be a babysitter.

“We thought you and Gia would be a great fit.” She expressed with her hands moving with excitement between her and March. “Gia can get overwhelmed with energy in class, so she is able to leave and run around or play in the gym just to get her energy out in a positive away.” She explained, trying to politely express what kind of autism the grade two student had. “So she misses a lot of class and isn’t able to catch up. She currently reads at a preschool level.” March felt a stress headache come on and he reached up to pinch between his brows did like his dad and Grandpa Hemmings did when they were feeling uneasy. “Her parents were thrilled we found someone to help.” Applying pressure to March with her words, Mrs. Dilworth strongly pressed her grin toward March.

“I didn’t -” He started to object, but he spotted the little girl whining and wiggling on the bench and caved in with a sigh. “Okay.”

“I’ve set up a private classroom for you two.” She didn’t want Gia being distracted. “Don’t be afraid to be creative. If she needs to sit on a yoga ball and bounce in order to learn, that’s okay.” The teacher explained as she walked March back up to Gia. “Ready, Miss Black?” She offered the little girl her hand, but she only took it reluctantly. As March followed behind the two females, he looked longingly into the window where he watched Daphne laughing with her table, granola bar open in hand and pencil sharp in the other.

“Okay, what are we doing?” He opened up the small mustard colored binder to find a sheet of addition questions that had been crinkled and scribbled on. “Alright, this is easy.” He accidentally said as he shuffled his chair closer to Gia. She had both hands fisted through her Dora the Explorer bob and was pouting at the wall. When March finished shuffling near, she yelled at him and jumped out of her chair, running to the next one to leave a space between them. “Okay.” He sighed and reached around his neck to message the tension he was feeling grow. March pushed the paper close to her and reached over this time, checking that his distance was okay before pointing to the first question that hadn’t yet been done. “So, you’ve already done three plus three here, so what would four plus four be?” He tried, knowing that he probably shouldn’t instruct her to use her fingers. It was cute though how Daphne was still using her fingers to count as a teenager. He always found it endearing.

Gia leaned back into the chair, holding its back behind her, and staring at him silently.

“If three plus three is six, it has to be more than that.”

Making him wait, she leaned forward and drew a very uneven 7.

“Well four is one more than three, so you have two fours that is two more.” He tried to explain, doubting himself and how good he was with this. He didn’t think he really knew how to talk to kids. He had never really done it before. His cousins were all older than him and he didn’t make a habit of babysitting like Penelope had with their neighbors the Robinsons. While Gia hesitantly counted her fingers under the table, March looked around the empty science lab they were put in. There was nothing in there that inspired a better way to teach for him. He did notice that her backpack behind them had sequin pink bunnies on it, but before he could consider it, Gia was pressing her face into the table and groaning a long flat note. March felt over his head and almost wanted to join her. He remembered that Mrs. Dilworth told him to be creative and keep her active, so he jumped up from the table and headed to the door. .

“Wanna go for a walk?” He asked through a heavy sigh. March didn’t know what he would do if she turned him down. Thankfully, Gia slid out of her chair and walked right by him. He led then up the stairs to the second floor, walking them in a circle silently as she skipped and hopped in front of him. Her mood seemed to improve the more she wiggled, so March didn’t intervene. It was on their third lap around the floor that he decided to ask her easy addition questions as she jumped. Surprising him the most, it worked. He patted himself on the back proudly and kept going with it. They spent the entire hour walking in a circle and doing kindergarten level math questions. March was mostly pleased that she was getting questions right that she originally didn’t know. When he returned them to the science lab, March decided to fill out her sheet himself. Clearly, she did know the answers even if it wasn’t by sitting there and filling out the paper.

March dropped Gia back to the front bench and reached out to give her a high wave, but she shoved his palm away and headed to the door where her Dad’s mustang was parked. March didn’t know if he was supposed to introduce himself, so he instead watched through the door window as Gia was greeted with a big hug by a man in a crisp suit.

“Ready to go, Mr. Hemmings?” Daphne’s breathy voice asked behind him. He whipped around and almost stuck out his tongue out at her out of reflex.

“That makes me feel like my Dad.” He dramatically grimaced. "I got to get my board from my locker and then we can go.“

Daphne instinctively turned left, knowing exactly where March’s locker was located.It was quiet between them as Daphne carefully drove out of her spot and onto the road. Usually, she and March went straight into a fluid conversation about their days or what they wanted to do now that was school out. Daphne supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised though. It wasn’t as if anything was how it used to be between them. Still, she wished it was.

"How’d your first session go?” She asked while taking a short cut.

“Weird.” March answered honestly, adjusting his ball cap on his head. He hated that he couldn’t wear it while at school, but it was against their dress code. “I didn’t know it included the elementary school." Then again, he hadn’t known much about the program except that Daphne was a part of it.

"Are you one on one or in a group?” She turned down the ballad playing on her mix to hear him better.

“One on one. This grade two kid. She’s a little weirdo, too.” Insensitively, he told her. “Mrs.D didn’t come right out and call her autistic, but she pretty -”

Daphne didn’t feel passionate about much, not enough to rant, but as someone who had been branded “stupid” by people her whole life, she was inclined to interrupt, “Don’t diagnose someone.” She seriously warned in a whisper. “People used to say Molly was all kinds of things when we were little just because she was socially awkward and introverted.”

“Really?” That was news to March. He never found Molly to be strange. They just didn’t have much in common.

“Yeah and people told my parents I had all kinds of disabilities when I was baby because it took me a long time to walk on my own and speak, but I’m fine.” It had taken her a long time to outgrow the indents from labels other bestowed upon her.

“She’s just a weird kid. She barely talks or looks at me and she has to move around in order to do anything.” He felt like, maybe, him tutoring was a bad idea just because his first evening of it went poorly.

“I didn’t like to read as a kid and I had a hard time with it, so my parents used to write me stories about cookies and mermaids, things I liked so I would be interested.” Daphne explained, trying to inspire her ex boyfriend. “Somewhere on my dad’s laptop there’s still a story about a cookie that count it’s chocolate chips.” For her fifth birthday, Simone illustrated it with colored markers.

“That’s incredibly cute.” March smiled at her profile as she slowed down to stop at the red light. He reached out and plucked a white fluff from her hair, remembering it wasn’t his to touch anymore and instantly taking his hand away and apologizing. “You had a dust thing in it.”

“It’s okay.” In a sneaky fashion, a shy smile climbed onto her face as she sucked in her lips and looked him over. She still liked when he touched her even though she felt like she shouldn’t. She had been the one to call things off between them.

The silence crept back between them as Daphne drove closer to their neighborhood. March was staring out the window, thinking about how to make the most of this ride with Daphne. He wasn’t going to make her fall in love with him again by being a silent passenger. He wondered if he kept up with tutoring if she could drive him home all the time, giving him a private time with her a few times a week. He was trying to think of something to tell her, some random cool fact to bring her attention to him, but instead a bright green building caught his attention.

“Hey, can you drop me off at The Dollar Store?” He asked while sitting up straight and gripping his board.

“Sure.” Daphne didn’t think much of the request. She turned on her signal and waited for the busted up Honda to let her in. “Do you want me to wait?” She didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if she had dance or a family dinner to go to.

“Nah, I’ll skate from here.” March waved her off as he took off his seatbelt before she had stopped the car. Out of reflex, he leaned to his side to kiss her goodbye, but caught himself and jumped out once she as right in front of the store.

He grabbed a plastic green basket and headed down the first aisle. It wasn’t until he was in the third that March found what he was looking for. He took all the bunny stickers off their hook and then grabbed a couple packs of furry friend erasers and tossed them into his basket. He didn’t know much else of what Gia liked, but he bet he could gain her interest with other rabbit things. He threw a hackysack and skipping rope in his basket too, knowing that he would like school better to if he could play with those while he did it. March still wished he had been put with Daphne, but he intended to try with Gia. He didn’t want to fail. He had a hunch others had given up on her before and he knew what it was like to have someone look at you and expect nothing. He was going to try. He told himself he had to make this work.

#5sos au #5sos imagine

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mintyvan · 7 years ago

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22 - smoke in your window

A mini-fic based on a dream @you-andthebottlemen had!

___________________

You were happiest when you were close to him. His little freckles, crooked smile, and lingering touches set your heart ablaze. Not to mention how he romanticized everything, bringing fairy-tale feelings into whatever situation, or person, he encountered.

He was a year older than you, but you loved it - the increase in unattainability made him that much more attractive.

In your room, his hands brushed over yours as he selected a record. Sparks flew up your arm wherever he touched, and you tried to hide your blush, letting your hair fall from behind your ears. When the first song began to play, he starfished out on the floor, and you followed: your head leaned on the back of his arm. You were dreamy-eyed, staring up at the white ceiling, hoping some divinity was finally noticing your yearning for Van and letting the cards play out in your favor.

Larry stretched out next to you both, elbow propped in your side, munching on licorice twists.

This was how it usually went.

After a while, Van slowly stood. He shook out his shaggy hair, and your heart ached. You wanted to run your fingers through it and kiss his cheeks.

“M’ goin’ out for a smoke,” he said in that thick accent of his. Larry nodded, and stayed behind. The record fell silent, and all you could hear was Larry’s chewing. You crawled across the floor to the record bin, and Larry followed suit.

You rifled through your records, mumbling to yourself, trying to remember Van’s favorite songs from each, and finally settled on a record you knew you’d both love to hear.

“That’s a good one,” Larry said, leaning over your shoulder, a bit too close, making you jump a little. You could feel his presence behind you.

"Larry..." you said, warning him, turning around, hoping he'd back away a bit. He did just the opposite.

He leaned in before you could think, pressing his thick licorice-stained lips to yours, and you felt yourself kissing back for only a moment, derived from instinct and pure shock.

You pushed him off at the same time you heard Van's feet on the stairs.

"Fuck!" you whispered, and moved back to your original place on the shaggy carpet, knees drawn up, still staring wide-eyed at Larry, wishing he hadn’t just done that. Larry stood, smile on his face, with a hand on his hip.

"The mood in here has shifted. I can feel it," Van said when he entered the room, setting his cigarette packet on your dresser. His intuition never failed him.

"Maybe you should write a song about it," Larry confidently called out to him. Van looked at him, and noticed how out of place Larry’s comment seemed. He ticked his head to the side at Larry before diverting his attention to the silence in the room.

"Let's pick another record, shall we?" He rifled through the bin, flicking his long fingers over each of your records, studying them. You held your breath. "Ooh! I like this one." He held it up and showed it to you. It was the same record you had thought to choose before Larry kissed you.

Larry sat too close to you as the first song played, and Van sat down next to you again, lips between teeth in frustration as he tried to re-roll a joint that had unravelled in his pocket. You watched his tongue dart between his lips, and you tried to count the freckles on his nose. You got to forty-eight before Larry's arm rested across your shoulders. You froze.

"What's this, then?" Van said into the wrapper, and you felt your ears burn hot. But he wasn't talking about you and Larry; he'd found a piece of his pocket lint in the stash on the rolling paper. You breathed a sigh of relief.

You scooted closer to Van, and out from underneath Larry's arm, hoping he'd get a clue. Your heart pounded when you realized how close you’d managed to sit next to Van. He finished rolling the joint, and held it up to you to observe. You took it between your fingers, studying his handiwork, happy he selected you to judge.

"Larry, run to the store to get more candy. None of that licorice shit you always eat though," Van said, to which you replied, "yeah, Larry, it tastes like shit" and Larry stood up, winking at you obviously before he left.

Van missed the exchange, thankfully. However, he saw you shiver, and immediately pulled a blanket from your bed and wrapped you in it after taking the joint back from you. The blanket he grabbed was the one he cocooned himself in last night after the mini-party you’d hosted for the band. Snuggled in the lingering warm scent of him, you were content for the moment. You forgot how Larry's lips felt.

“We should light this,” Van started, sparkle in his eye.

“In my room? Like, right now?” you asked, nervous. Your parents weren’t supposed to be home for a few hours, but you had never done something so scandalous in your childhood room.

Van’s bright, mischievous smile and his eager body language convinced you to give in. You fumbled for your lighter; you usually hid them with your cigarettes in a shoebox under your bed. Van laughed, dimples and all, at your method of hiding, and you wanted to jump into his arms right there.

“Almost forgot,” he stated, rising from the carpet, wiry legs stepping over your huddled frame to open the window. He sat on the bed underneath it, and motioned for you to bring the lighter.

You sat across from him on the bed, and your breathing picked up. Smoking weed in your room and being on the bed with your crush while your parents weren’t home? Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Relax, love. I’ve done it a million times at mine. You just have to make sure you dispose of the evidence and fan the smoke out the window.”

Eyes silently asking your permission, he held the lighter under it. You had no objections. He flicked the lighter flame on, and sucked in from the other side of the joint as the tip blazed a golden orange. His cheeks hollowed and his eyes focused on keeping it lit as he breathed in, lips gently settled around the end. His eyelashes fluttered as he breathed out, accidentally blowing some smoke toward your face before remembering to blow upward and out the window. His chin tipped up and his adam’s apple bobbed as he released the rest of the smoke outside.

You thought you’d pass out right there. He was beautiful.The sweet smoke lingered in your face, and you took the joint from his long fingers. You closed your eyes tightly, inhaling deeply, enjoying the hot feeling in your lungs before blowing the smoke skyward over Van’s head. You felt his weight shift and then leave the bed.

When you opened your eyes, the record had been flipped and Van was back on the bed, his face much closer to yours now.

“This stuff is really strong,” you said to him, feeling your senses already heightened. Van looked prettier than ever. His eyes seemed brighter, hair smoother, cheekbones more pronounced. You couldn’t help it; you reached out a hand and brushed his hair back behind his ear.

Your favorite track on the record started, and Van giggled because it was his favorite too. It was the cutest sound you’d ever heard. You huddled farther into your blanket, hunched and cross-legged in front of Van, who was cross-legged and propped on your pillows. Slowly drifting.

The record ended, and you didn’t even notice. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from his face. You both were staring into each other’s eyes, trying to memorize every feature.

By now, you’d climbed next to Van, and were stretched into his side, blanket forgotten and tangled between both your legs. Whenever you got high together, you always ended up pressed into his body one way or another.

“I’m reeeeeeally fucking high,” you say, hearing floorboards creak down the hall, enjoying the contrast of the noise to the sweet feeling in your head.

“I’m really fucking in love with you,” he says, goofy smile plastered to his face.

Your breath hitched. His eyes were so blue. You wanted to swim in them. He was lying. He had to be. But he never lied.

“Since always,” he added.

He came closer to your face, and placed a hand on your cheek. The pads of his fingers, rough from the guitar, felt good against your skin. His eyes fluttered closed as he lowered his lips onto yours.

They were softer than you could have imagined; they moved in perfect sync with yours. His tongue lazily grazed your bottom lip, and you felt as if no one had ever kissed like this before.

Hazily, you broke apart and noticed Larry standing there with an upset look on his face. He dropped the newly purchased bag of candy on the floor and walked down the hall.

“Ah… I’ll go…. talk to him,” Van said, faint smile still lingering on his face despite the change in mood. He stood up, looked at his feet as if he just remembered he had them, and walked across the room in a daze.

He slowly spun on his heel before exiting the room, holding onto the door frame with a hand supporting his weight.

“Save summa-that for me, would ya?” he said, grin sneaking up on his face again as you lit the end of the joint, inhaling.

“‘Course,” you replied, breathing sweet smoke out your window shakily, not believing your luck.

#van fic #vanfiction #catb van #catb fic #catb fanfic #minific #mine #fluff

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warlockextraordinaire · 7 years ago

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chara questions below cut -

What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this — optional. - Side, he hella curls up but also can be real damn straight.

Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual? etc. - Not really, his features are sharp but nothing is necessarily like a landmark or anything.

Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like? - Meh, typical belf

Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly? - When he’s frustrated, his thoughts just kind of come out unfiltered and unorganized, which can pose many issues depending on the situation. His pronunciation is p good tho

What are their chief tension areas? - Neck / Jaw / Posture

If you were to pick one song — and only one song — to describe your character, what would it be and why? - Son Lux - Ransom probably

How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral? - It kind of varies on the day. He tries to remain positive towards himself, but that’s easier said than done. Caleas is fairly hard on himself and can find himself bouncing between self-praise and more or less false confidence to realizing x y and z are not as great as they first appeared and need work. He needs to work on a more consistent, linear attitude towards life.

Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts? - Time. Hella time. Being put on the spot is no bueno and it’s one thing he really hates.

Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time. - His nights are useless dreamless. When Caleas can’t sleep, he tries to occupy himself through looking over spelltomes but he’s well aware that the books won’t keep his attention, due to the fact he probably can’t sleep because of anxiety or stress. Inevitably, taking a walk in the middle of night or finding someone to talk to is what occurs.

If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation? - GRAPE JOLLYRANCHER

What do they think of creation? Do they believe in evolution or do they believe in God? What is their religion like? - also null, though he’s passive towards nature and the like. Fel isn’t quite on that scale of things..

Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has. - 1) He eats really fast. Like my god dude. Military speed. Slow down pls. 2) When anxious, he’s restless in legs and taps his fingers a lot. 3) He can’t whistle. Dweeb. 4) He hates sweets. Sweets are too sweet. 5) He sunburns SO EASY. ez af

Have they ever been so overwhelmed they had to stop and take a break from something? - yes. this happens more than he’d like.

Are they a team player or do they prefer to be solo? - solo or a small group.

Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time? - he’s more keen to focus on one subject and finds it not worth his time to spread his attention.

What are their best school subjects? What are their worst? List five of each. - MAGIC SCHOOL SUBJECT HECK YEAH. english is pretty okay. he likes history when it’s not boring as fuck. fuck science

Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? How do they handle big crowds of people? - as forementioned, he’s extroverted but still gets a good dose of anxiety. big crowds of people is gucci most of the time, but if he’s put in an uncomfortable position or spotlight, no bueno

Are they a leader, do they prefer to follow, or would they rather just stay on the sidelines altogether? - Leader by default, but if he doesn’t care that much about it, it becomes a sideline thing.

If your character was suddenly challenged, would they rather run away or stay and fight? - Depends on what was initiated, but probs fight

If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why? - ehhh TBA

Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why? - ehhhhhh TBA

Does your character trust people right off the bat or does it take them some time to warm up to someone? - def needs to warm up, though it’s a dumb double standard because he gets kinda offended when people don’t immediately trust him

Do they prefer romance or affection? What is the quickest way to your character’s heart? - he strays away from both from past Not Good experiences, but he’s all about that warming up to a person so I guess romance-y.

Does your character have any enemies? If so, who and why? - probably idk. he can be kind of an asshole

Do they have any weird bedroom habits? Any unusual kinks? - character development that i haven’t even thought about

How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble? - he has a minor case of insomnia so it’s hard to sleep, but when he does sleep he’s knocked tf out. because he’s so used to not sleeping, staying up isn’t hard but it isn’t productive. it’s hard to be a warlock with no sleep yaknow

If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be? - i haven’t really touched on his family past yet, but I’m pretty convinced that he doesn’t speak to them / or they’re dead and he wouldn’t talk to them anyway because of ignoring him / lowkey neglect. not sure if he would say anything

Are they afraid of death? Do they have any regrets? - yeah. and yeah. he carries a big ol bag of regrets that he doesn’t wanna share with anyone. his own burden™

Does your character get restless when things are too quiet or do they favour solitude and silence? Why? - kind of a mixture. he favors solitude, but if it becomes too much of an isolation he becomes uncomfortable

Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why? - sandwiches are the BOMB. plus thats a loophole because the contents of a sammy can vary to whatever. ;)

#actually caleas #wyrmrest accord

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piilokarsastus · 6 years ago

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100 this or that

1. Coffee or tea? I don’t drink coffee so I’m gonna say tea even though I’m not too fond of tea either. It smells great but tastes like a disappointment. 2. Black and white or color? color 3. Drawings or paintings? paintings 4. Dresses or skirts? both are cute 5. Books or movies? I feel like I have to say books because it’s the more cultivated thing to enjoy but during these last few years I’ve only read a handful of books but watched weeks’ worth of tv shows. I do value literature slightly more as an art form, but I’ve come to notice that you can watch a bad film in 2 hours and laugh it off but a bad book is a prolonged disappointment. 6. Pepsi or Coke? I don’t drink either 7. Chinese or Italian? Chinese. As a European, Italian food is really just “food”, although pizza and pasta are kind of the backbone of my diet so... fuck it, changing my answer to Italian. Also gelato is life. 8. Early bird or night owl? night owl all the way 9. Chocolate or vanilla? depends, but if this is about ice cream, vanilla it is 10. Introvert or extrovert? I’m somewhere in between, slightly on the introvert side 11. Hugs or kisses? What is a kiss without a hug? 12. Hunting or fishing? Fishing 13. Winter or summer? Summer 14. Spring or fall? Fall, or as I like to call it, autumn 15. Rural or urban? Urban, with a profound presence of nature. I need to be able to walk in a forest by a lake or a river whenever I want, but if I see a tractor, I’ve walked too far. 16. PC or Mac? PC 17. Tan or pale? pale 18. Cake or pie? pie 19. Ice cream or yogurt? is anyone seriously going to say yogurt when ice cream is a choice? 20. Ketchup or mustard? I don’t use either 21. Sweet pickles or dill pickles? I don’t like pickles 22. Comedy or mystery? Mystery 23. Boots or sandals? Boots 24. Silver or gold? Silver’s prettier for jewellery 25. Pop or Rock? rock 26. Dancing or singing? singing 27. Checkers or chess? chess 28. Board games or video games? video games 29. Wine or beer? wine 30. Freckles or dimples? dimples 31. Honey mustard or BBQ sauce? BBQ 32. Body weight exercises or lifting weights? body-weight 33. Baseball or basketball? basketball, although this is trivial since I don’t care about sports 34. Crossword puzzles or sudokus? crossword puzzles 35. Facial hair or clean shaven? clean, unless you can grow a proper beard 36. Crushed ice or cubed ice? Is this what The Shape of Water is about? 37. Skiing or snowboarding? skiing (perkele) 38. Smile or game face? I’ve seriously got no idea what you’re referring to 39. Bracelet or necklace? necklace 40. Fruit or vegetables? fruit, mainly because that includes berries

41. Sausage or bacon? Sausage. Bacon’s only really good when it’s crisp. 42. Scrambled or fried? Eggs, as a meal, are not a part of my life so I’ve got no opinion 43. Dark chocolate or white chocolate? Dark 44. Tattoos or piercings? tattoos although I don’t really care about either 45. Antique or brand new? that depends on the overall aesthetic but generally speaking I slightly prefer antique to modern 46. Dress up or dress down? up 47. Cowboys or aliens? why is this a juxtaposition that exists? 48. Cats or dogs? CATS 49. Pancakes or waffles? Pancakes 50. Bond or Bourne? Never seen Bourne 51. Sci-Fi or fantasy? no preference 52. Numbers or letters? An interesting question. We mainly communicate with letters, but on the other hand, understanding abstract numbers has been an important factor in developing complex language. Also, there can only be as many letters as there are possible phonemes, but there are an infinite amount of numbers. 53. Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings? Harry Potter 54. Fair or theme park? theme park 55. Money or fame? Money. I’d like my name to be known for what I’ve achieved, but I wouldn’t want my face to be constantly recognised on the street. 56. Washing dishes or doing laundry? dishes 57. Snakes or sharks? sharks 58. Orange juice or apple juice? Apple juice. Orange juice is my #1 enemy and I WILL fight it given the chance. 59. Sunrise or sunset? Sunset, although there’s something magical in staying up till the sun rises on a summer night. 60. Slacker or over-achiever? I somehow manage to slack while over-achieving. 61. Pen or pencil? Pencil 62. Peanut butter or jelly? Both of these seem like very American things to enjoy. Neither of them is a part of my life. 63. Grammys or Oscars? I don’t keep track of either 64. Detailed or abstract? Both are beautiful 65. Multiple choice questions or essay questions? As much as I prefer drawing a few circles to writing a multiple-page coherent academic text, I have to say that I’d rather have my grade depend on my writing skills than on my ability to choose the least wrong answer and detect trick questions 66. Adventurous or cautious? Somewhat on the cautious side 67. Saver or spender? saver 68. Glasses or contacts? I don’t really have firsthand experience on either so I can’t say 69. Laptop or desktop? Laptop 70. Classic or modern? I slightly prefer classic but modern’s also great (and actually better when it comes to literature) 71. Personal chef or personal fitness trainer? chef 72. Internet or cell phone? internet (I don’t really get the question since the two have pretty much been in symbiosis for the last 10 years) 73. Call or text? text 74. Curly hair or straight hair? I like natural hair. Chemically straightened or curled hair looks kinda ugly. 75. Shower in the morning or shower in the evening? Over the years, my position has changed several times. Currently, I’m an evening showerer because it grants me 15 more minutes to procrastinate getting up in the morning. 76. Spicy or mild? Mild but not bland 77. Marvel or DC? I don’t care about comics but the few Marvel movies I’ve seen have been funny. The Dark Knight trilogy was also great though so I’ve got to give some points to DC 78. Paying a mortgage or paying rent? what is this adult language, I’m but a wee baby 79. Sky dive or bungee jump? Never tried either but I feel like skydiving would be more my thing 80. Oreos or Chips Ahoy? only had oreos 81. Jello or pudding? another question that feels very American 82. Truth or dare? Truth. 83. Roller coaster or Ferris wheel? Roller coaster 84. Leather or denim? denim 85. Stripes or solids? solids 86. Bagels or muffins? I’ve only ever had sweet muffins so they don’t really compare 87. Whole wheat or white? whole wheat 88. Beads or pearls? I’m not really sure what the difference is since they’re the same word in Finnish but it seems beads come in many varieties and pearls are just... pearls. So beads it is. 89. Hardwood or carpet? hardwood. Carpet flooring is not a thing in Finland nor should it be anywhere. 90. Bright colors or neutral tones? Neutral 91. Be older than you are or younger than you are? I’m torn between being a few years older to better connect with all the interesting people in my life and experiencing certain things about my early teens again/in a different way 92. Raisins or nuts? nuts 93. Picnic or nice restaurant? both have their time and place. 94. Black leather or brown leather? brown 95. Long hair or short hair? whatever looks cute on you 96. “Ready, aim, fire” or “Ready, fire, aim”? yeah I wonder 97. Fiction or non-fiction? fiction is art, non-fiction is just otherwise interesting and important 98. Smoking or non-smoking? non-smoking 99. Think before you talk or talk before you think? think before you talk 100. Asking questions or answering questions? Answering. I live off of getting to tell things about myself.

#Random info about me

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oceanicdaniel · 8 years ago

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I’m answering these because I’m bored and in study hall where I have no homework, questions from skylerwritestoomuchphansmut

1: How tall or short do you wish you were? 5′3″ 2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not) another dog 3: Do you have a favorite clothing style? the most depressing look i can achieve with really tight jeans 4: What was your favorite video game growing up? tekken 2 and frogger on the playstation 1, frogger on the atari, and mortal kombat on the nintendo 5: What three things/people do you think of most each day: sleeping, eating, and why i couldn’t be older so i could’ve graduated already 6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say? warning: says too many swear words, extremely awkward and polite. approach at your own risk 7: What is your opinion on [insert thing here]? i love science sm it’s my fav subject tbh 8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic] i don’t know, i’m too lazy to google these 9: Are you ticklish? extremely, sadly 10: Are you allergic to anything? no, but i have hayfever (so fun) 11: What’s your sexuality? the most extreme rainbow out there (i’m pansexual but i make gay jokes too often) 12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa? Hot Chocolate (cocoa and hot chocolate are different things you can fight me on this) 13: Are you a cat or dog person? dog 100% but i like both, i’m just saying if i had to choose what to adopt one 14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson? vampire 15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber? subscribe to AmazingPhil on YouTube. 16: How tall are you? 5′7″ and a half 17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to? My name is already Jesse but my birthname is way too feminine for my agender ass 18: How much do you weigh? i don’t know i lost a lot of weight recently bc i was sick and couldn’t eat 19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits? yeah i guess 20: Do you like space or the ocean more? space!!!! (i’m sorry i’m an astronomy nerd) 21: Are you religious? i don’t think jesus would appreciate it if i was 22: Pet peeves? loud chewing, smacking gum (oh my god do not do this around me), chewing with your mouth open are the mains 23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]? i already am nocturnal 24: Favorite constellation? too many to choose 25: Favorite star? i don’t really have favorite stars 26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls? what 27: Any phobias or fears? hecking yes, the dark (depends on the situation though), tight spaces, crowds sometimes (again depends) 28: Do you think global warming is real? um yes??? the world will get warmer then fix itself and get colder?? the world will end with the icecaps melting then they will freeze??? 29: Do you believe in reincarnation? not really 30: Favorite movie? holy heck!! i don’t know!! maybe return of the jedi 31: Do you get scared easily? nah 32: How many pets have you owned in your lifetime? 4 33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.] YEET i’ll just rate my blog -10/10 34: What is a color that calms you? black or blue 35: Where would you like to travel and/or live? i would absolutely love to go to Key West again!! 36: Where were you born? in Mediapolis, Iowa (techincally west burlington but you know what) 37: What is your eye color? one eye is bluer and one eye is greener but technically blue 38: Introvert or extrovert? both i guess 39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs? yes i love astrology but not horoscopes 40: Hugs or kisses? hugs!!! 41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now? i would love to go see AmazingPhil who you should subscribe to on youtube 42: Who is someone you love deeply? my best friend and my dogs 43: Any piercings you want? 6 in each ear 44: Do you like tattoos and piercings? yes! 45: Do you smoke or have you ever done so? i don’t but i’ve tried a cigarette before (nasty dont do it) 46: Talk about your crush, if you have one! he’s tall-ish, has really beautiful hair, nice green eyes, this rlly cute face freckle thing, and he’s really funny 47: What is a sound you really hate? scratching nails against paper or a window 48: A sound you really love? piano and uke 49: Can you do a backflip? on a trampoline yeah but i haven’t ever tried on the floor 50: Can you do the splits? yepp 51: Favorite actor and/or actress? Jennifer Lawerence 52: Favorite movie? this was already asked but Return of The Jedi or The Revenge of the Sith 53: How are you feeling right now? Tired 54: What color would you like your hair to be right now? black or rlly dark brown 55: When did you feel happiest? when i am asleep 56: Something that calms you down? reading 57: Have any mental disorders? depression, social anxiety, and ADHD 58: What does your URL mean? the ocean is pretty and so is dan howell 59: What three words describe you the most? emo, nc-17 (inside joke), hungry 60: Do you believe in evolution? yeah 61: What makes you unfollow a blog? if they turn into a different fandom blog that i’m not in 62: What makes you follow a blog? i like their content 63: Favorite kind of person: funny and sarcastic and polite/nice 64: Favorite animal(s): dogs!! 65: Name three of your favorite blogs. @Amazingphil and idk the other two i’ll look later 66: Favorite emoticon: i don’t use them that often and i mainly only use like four 67: Favorite meme: spongebob 68: What is your MBTI personality type? oh man i don’t want to take another quiz 69: What is your star sign? Aquarius 70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog? nope haven’t taught him that yet 71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most? jeans, sweatshirt, and vans 72: Post a selfie or two? no thanks 73: Do you have platform shoes? platform heels, yeah 74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself? 75: Can you do a front flip? yep 76: Do you like birds? yeah 77: Do you like to swim? yep, i do it competitively actually 78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you? ice skating 79: Something you wish didn’t exist: homework 80: Some thing you wish did exist: the ability to drive golf carts in the street in my state 81: Piercings you have? zero 82: Something you really enjoy doing: reading 83: Favorite person to talk to: my best friend 84: What was your first impression of Tumblr? i don’t remember i’ve had it for the longest time 85: How many followers do you have? idk i can’t open another tumblr tab im on my school computer 86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes? yep, i used to be a long distant runner in track 87: Do your socks always match? heck no 88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely? yep 89: What are your birthstones? Amethyst 90: If you were an animal, which one would you be? hopefully a dog 91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be? black rose (bc i’m emo af) 92: A store you hate? JUSTICE or abecrombie & fitch (oh lord) 93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day? none but i drink like 200 hundread cups of mountain dew a day 94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds? fly tf 95: Do you like to wear camo? who wears camo anymore you know besides rednecks 96: Winter or summer? Summer 97: How long can you hold your breath for? too long to be considered human 98: Least favorite person? everyone in my grade except for my best friends 99: Someone you look up to: adults bc they’re usually taller than me 100: A store you love? barnes and noble 101: Favorite type of shoes: vans or converse 102: Where do you live? some cornfield in iowa 103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why? i don’t live in the correct family to be either of those, we eat hamburgers every friday and steak every sunday 104: What is your favorite mineral or gem? sapphire 105: Do you drink milk? yeah but i’m lactose intolerant 106: Do you like bugs? as long as they don’t attack me (except i always hate moths) 107: Do you like spiders? if they aren’t crawling on me 108: Something you get paranoid about? when i come home alone late at night and al the lights in my house are off 109: Can you draw: not well but yeahhh i’m a trashy artist 110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked? “is that a thong on your bathroom floor?” it wasn’t, it was a bikini top 111: A question you hate being asked? “when’s your sex reassignment surgery?” no joke a kid asks me this everyday 112: Ever been bitten by a spider? yep 113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach? heck yeah i do 114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days? sunny 115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now: i’d very much like to cuddle dan, his tummy chub is sososososo cute 116: Favorite cloud type: Stratus and Stratocumulus 117: What color do you wish the sky was? i like the current color 118: Do you have freckles? no but i wish i did 119: Favorite thing about a person: eyes or shoulders (idk why?? strong shoulders just wow) and dimples (if they have some) i love to poke peoples dimples sm 120: Fruits or vegetables? fruit 121: Something you want to do right now: go to the bathroom and eat cookies 122: Is the ocean or sky prettier? the night sky is gorgeous 123: Sweet or sour foods? both 124: Bright or dim lights? dim 125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature? tf no, no matter how much i love harry potter, magic doesn’t exist 126: Something you hate about Tumblr: how much people steal pictures 127: Something you love about Tumblr: a way to express myself since i can’t in my house 128: What do you think about the least? what people think of my sexuality 129: What would you want written on your tombstone? “ 130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now? this kid in my class who won’t stop calling me dyke 131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself? my hair 132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures? yeah (even though they’re ugly af) 133: Computer or TV? yes 134: Do you like roller coasters? hECK YES if i get taken to a theme park for a date i am marrying that person right away 135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness? nope 136: Are your ears lobed or attached? attached 137: Do you believe in karma? nope 138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are? -10 139: What nicknames do you have/have had? jay, jj, dad, (and some stuff with my birthname) 140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? no 141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? yep 142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others? bad in some situations, good in others 143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help? i don’t know both ig 144: What makes you angry? school 145: How many languages do you speak fluently? one 146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries? yes 147: Are you androgynous? yeahhh 148: Favorite physical thing about yourself: nothing 149: Favorite thing about your personality: my humor 150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person: dan, phil, and amandaschronicles 151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose? ancient greece 152: Do you like BuzzFeed? i like the ladylike series 153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.] n/a 154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons? yes! 155: Do you like to play with others’ hair? no i like when they play with my hair 156: What embarrasses you? if you point me out in a crowd oh nelly 157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious: i have social anxiety so a lot of things 158: Biggest lie you have ever told: idk 159: How many people are you following? 37 160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)? idk a lot 161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)? 1 162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)? 92 (i just reblog everything i like) 163: Last time you cried and why: last night, my mom was trying to force me to take a 14 hour class that i didn’t want to do and i got so frustrated i cried 164: Do you have long or short hair? short 165: Longest your hair has ever been: to the bottom of my ribs when it was straight 166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon? dislike because i don’t believe jesus or god exist 167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created? yeah i’m a science nerd as i said 168: Do you like to wear makeup? god no 169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds? yeah 170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully? yes mom

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vanchlo · 3 years ago

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The Partner / Chapter Thirteen, "The Healing"

Word Count: 7.7k / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab for Cutie / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

"Since I've met you everything I've done has been in part because of you. I've cant untie myself from you, not my heart or my mind or any other part of me and I don't want to. I always thought love made you stupid make you weak, to love is to destroy. Love didn't make you weak, it made you stronger than anybody I'd met and I realized I was the one who was weak."

- City of Glass

Everything inside of me shouts to flee, to run away from him, but I know that I can't do that anymore. A new old awkwardness steals the space between us as I look into his eyes, feeling mine pour over with the feelings that his stir in me.

"Come on, let's get comfy for this," Harry murmurs. Next, I'm squealing when he stands up, carrying me in his arms. It's easier than I thought it would be when my arms circle his neck, and my head finds his shoulder. "You're lighter, Becks."

I hum an acknowledgement of sorts, not knowing what I could say to that, but part of me thinks that he knows that. I know that he does. That's not what I say next, but something else instead, "Claire's food might help with that. If you stop eating my brookies."

"Your brookies, you say? I don't remember her putting your name on them," he responds. Something sparks inside of me at the sound coming from his chest, the beginning of a laugh. It continues with its song as his feet find the whines and creaks of the hardwood floor. It had been a good while since I'd felt lucky to get to hear his sound, and even more so, to see it at work when he gently lays me down on the bed.

"I guess I can share."

"You're going to have to," Harry says, a duality in his words. I hear it bounce around in my head as I watch him join me underneath the covers. A sliver of lingering afternoon sun peeks in from the window, highlighting the freckles decorating his face.

At that thought, a sour guilt knits together in my gut, because how had I ever stopped feeling lucky to have him? I had wanted him for so long and couldn't believe it when I finally got to call him mine. Even more so when I got to call him my fiance, and the father of my child. He still was, nothing had changed that, and I was so grateful for it.

"There's no pressure, bug. No judgement and no wrong answers . . Alright?"

"Alright," I whisper, still shocked at how weird his touch feels. That was something I never thought I'd think two years into loving him now. My fiance and best friend. His lips hold sunshine when I finally meet his eyes, a color that makes my heart squeeze, because of what I wonder. "I can't tell you how many times I've wondered if she'd have your eyes. Your dimples. Your . . curls."

His nod is silent and yet it's not. It speaks volumes as my favorite shade of green hides behind the sadness filling his eyes. "I've wondered that too, but I've always wished our kids had your eyes. I know she would've been beautiful, just like her Mom."

"Harry," it's a sigh, one damaged by pain that doesn't even skim the surface of how that makes me feel.

"I know, bug. I know," his voice is light like a feather, but as his hand comes to cradle my cheek, I know it's the least bit that. Leaning into his hand, my lips quiver under the weight of his words and those I know I need to say. "I miss her too . . all of the time, Becks."

"What did I do wrong? I still don't understand w-why, Harry," looking up at him through watery eyes, I watch his reaction and how this one stings.

"You didn't do anything wrong, honey. You did it all by the book. Neither of us did and we can't continue to blame ourselves for something that we had no control over . . I wish I could tell you why, but I can't. I don't know. I don't think we ever will know why, Becks."

"I wish I knew why she had to die," I crumple in his hands until I'm hiccuping sobs against his neck, my favorite hiding place that I'd been hiding from. It had been so hard sometimes to just breathe, and now as I fought for it, it felt a little bit easier. I had been slowly drowning this entire time in my own tears and grief, but finally I found hold of him, and he was saving me. I'd at last let him.

"I do too."

"I don't want to forget her, but it's so fucking hard to think about. I know I need to do s-something so that I can . . can think about other things, but then I feel guilty just thinking about not missing her all of the time," I confess against the chain of his necklace, feeling the way his chest heaves against mine.

"I've been thinking the same exact thing . . I never want her to be forgotten, she's our daughter, but her death doesn't need to consume us anymore, Becks. I know it's silly to say, but I don't think she'd want us to do that . . Even if she was only a baby, she'd want us to be happy. I know that grief doesn't let you pick and choose, but I want to be happy again. Happy that we got to be her parents for those almost four months- you know what, we're still her parents and we always will be. Nobody can take that away from us. I want to remember the good. The first time hearing her heartbeat and seeing her on the ultrasound, telling our families about her, and picking her name . . I never want to forget her, Becks, she's our daughter, but we're going to be okay. Maybe not today or in a week, but soon. I want to feel okay again, even though she's gone."

"So do I, Harry," I tearfully agree, busying myself by playing with the curls on the back of his neck. "I don't want . . want her to think that means I've forgotten her or that I love her less. I can't . . can't even imagine having another baby anytime soon."

"I'm not ready either, Becks, and that's okay. I don't know when I'll be. It's alright that we're not okay and may not be for a while, but she knows. I like to think she knows how loved she is, and she's being taken care of by so many loved ones who are telling her that. Our grandpas and grandmas."

"Yeah, she's pretty lucky."

"So are they," he murmurs. It's a while before my lungs calm down and my eyes find him again. A corner of his mouth twitches but a dimple doesn't appear. Instead, a tear and its trail does, glistening on his cheek. "Hi, pretty girl."

A smile is all that I can suffice. I find it too hard to look in his wet eyes for long, and resort to playing with his rings. It had felt awkward to me when I'd put mine back on, not being able to remember why I'd ever taken them off in the first place. But then I remember, and my chest heaves painfully at the memory. It was because of the blood. They had become caked with it and he'd noticed at the hospital and taken them off of me to wash. It hadn't been until earlier today that I'd had the courage to look at them again.

"I never got to feel her kick, and I'm not sure if I wish that I had because then it would've been harder . . Your turn," it's a whisper from my lips as his wait for me.

"I can't find it in myself to get rid of those flowers on the table . . I almost wish that they'd stop coming. Every note says the same thing in some variation, and they're just a blatant reminder every time I see them . . that our baby died."

"It's not just you," I confess and when his thumb settles on the strip of gauze still taped around the edge of my palm, I know that my secret is on its way out.

"Can I see it, please?"

"Sure . . it's really not that bad. It just bled a lot at first, and . . and I didn't know how to tell you," I answer, letting him peel the medical tape back to expose the scabbed over cut. It came as a bit of a shock to me too, somehow making the wound hurt again when I saw the look in his eyes.

"That looks like it hurt, buggie. What happened? I wish you had told me . . had let me help."

"I didn't do it to myself, Harry," I murmur, grabbing onto the courage to look into his eyes. He vocalizes an understanding and I nod, relieved. "Another fucking vase of flowers came a few days ago, I don't remember when. It fell out of my hands when I got it from the delivery guy at the door. A sound scared me when I was picking up the glass . . I don't even know who they were from, because I'm so sick of the flowers too, and so I threw them away . . I can't believe I did that, I still feel guilty about it."

"You shouldn't, love. It's okay. Accidents happen," he assures me. I hear a duality in his words again and find it hard to ignore. "My Mom wanted to come over one of these days to help out. Maybe I can give her the task of doing something with them. They're sore on the eyes for both of us, and I'm rather sure they're bothering my allergies."

"Good excuse," I wink and a dimple almost appears in his cheek. If one did, I don't get the chance to see, because he's pulling me against his chest. "You should tell your Mom that one. It's the safer one out of the two," I continue, feeling my body relax against his. My eyes fall closed at the feeling of his lips against the crown of my head. His favorite spot.

"I think I will . . It's your turn, buggie."

With a labored sigh, I comb my thoughts for one that's tame enough to admit. How could I ever sum up the sour emptiness that's consumed me ever since I woke up that morning without him and . . without her? the thought comes but within moments it's pushed away by another. I don't need to because he knows. Because the emptiness lives inside of him too.

"I feel like I need to find a pretty way to explain all of this- what I'm feeling, but I finally realized that I don't have to. You're feeling it all too," I hardly hear the words myself, and even so, I know that he hears what they really say. "The emptiness, or lack of feeling."

"Yeah, I am . . I'm sorry for exploding on you the other day about it . . About us going through the same thing. It wasn't the right way to do it."

"It's okay. I'm kind of glad for it. It woke me up and made me realize it's not just me m-mourning our daughter."

Harry hums a reply, one I'm not sure how to handle, but he does that for me, "I didn't want to tell you and upset you more, and frankly, I've tried to ignore it myself too." his lips pause. Only when I prompt him with a concerned question does he continue. "She's been trying to hide it, but Gemma told me my Mom is taking it hard. She hasn't told me herself but since she's staying with my sister, Gemma's noticed it and told me."

"Oh God. I had no idea. I've hardly spoken to her . . s-since," I huff, my thoughts spiraling when my scope opens beyond the two of us. "It's not just us hurting."

"Yeah, neither did I. She's done a good job of hiding it, that's for sure. I think what's worst for her is that she wants to do something to help, but doesn't know what. I haven't really let her come around, only to stop by a few times. I know your dad struggles with how to help and Skye too, they've told me so- and I don't intend to upset you by telling you this, so please don't be. I just don't want it to be a surprise to you."

"I know. Thank you," I mumble, hearing his classic hum in return. It had been so long since I'd felt his facial hair rub against my face, and somehow, it sends a tranquility across my body. "I can only imagine how upset my dad is. He was supposed to be a grandfather for the first time. I've spoken to him but, of course, he didn't mention it. That's Chuck for you."

"He told me that he didn't want to upset you, Becks, and he's a quiet one from what I know. To no surprise, he said that he'll be okay, but it's you that he's worried won't be," Harry shares aloud. The volume of his revelation grows inside of my head, but my well of responses shrink away. "Your turn."

Diving into the web of thoughts that have scattered my brain lately, I'm not sure where to go next, and so that's what I say, "I don't know what to say. So much of it is scary . . to think . . . to share."

"You don't have to be scared to tell me, Becks. Nothing bad is going to happen if you say it out loud. I promise. No judgement, bug." Shaking my head doesn't rid my head of them, despite knowing from experience that it wouldn't. Seconds pass and they only grow more stubborn, wanting to be there, and I realize the only way to get them to leave is to say them.

"Harry, wh-what if we try to have another baby and th-they die too?" a shiver runs down my spine before I even say it. When I do, my mouth trembles against his collarbone. Despite squeezing my eyes shut, I feel the hot tears escape them, painting his skin.

If I hadn't known him for as long as I had, his silence would have scared me. Still, I'd be lying if it didn't phase me, because I wait impatiently until he speaks again.

"It scares the shit out of me too, Becks. I can't even . . think about trying for another, because I'm afraid too . . that we'd lose them. The doctor said how many times that it's usually a one time thing, but that doesn't make me stop worrying or being scared. I wish I could tell you that we'd be okay, but . . I don't even know that. I hope so badly we will be, but I don't know."

"We can't know, and that's what hurts the most."

The rumbling of an agreement tickles at my ears and against my cheek where it hugs his chest. Thoughts bloom left and right inside of my brain and aren't even slowed by his fingers combing through my hair. It was something that had never failed to bring me comfort and to lull me into a sleep. That is until now.

"What do we do then . . Harry?" I whisper, fear laced throughout my words. Again, he hesitates. I can almost make out the sound of the wheels turning in his head as he thinks. Lying next to him and wrapped inside of his arms, the tension in his muscles reflects his thoughts.

"I wish I knew, Becks. We just . . have to give it time, I suppose. They say time heals wounds, but a month later and I still miss our baby that we never met. I don't get it . . . I guess we'll give it some time and wait until we're ready, that's all that we can do. And to take care of ourselves."

"And each other," I break in, feeling the movement of his head nodding at my words.

"Yes, that too. It's more important now than ever," Harry says, announcing his words by pulling away to look me in the eyes through his wet pair.

"I can't say how sorry I am that I forgot to take care of you too."

There's just a tert shake of his head I see before my eyes are falling closed, and he's kissing me. I'd done this how many times by now, but it still feels weird. It had been a long time since I'd thought that, probably since my accident, and yet as I kissed him back it felt strange before it felt familiar. Like seeing an old friend. He couldn't know that's why the next tear fell down my cheek when we were looking at each other again, because of the way I'd forgotten him and us through all of this.

"You don't need to keep apologizing. Promise," he tells me with a warm tilt to his lips, just as he taps my nose with his finger. "Boops."

"I love you, Harry," it had been born in my mind shortly after meeting him, this very sentence. At first, they weren't the same words, but they always had held the same meaning. It stirs up emotion inside of me, as if I needed any more, as the Guilt Train speeds on, reminding me of how that thought had been absent from my head lately. It hadn't been the first missing phrase, but it had been the most important one, hadn't it?

Nonetheless, a few dapples of sunshine spread out on his lips as they return it, "I love you more, Becks." His smile waits, hesitating as my own lips do the same. Smiling and thinking.

"I love you the most."

The softest of chuckles pours from his lips as something glints in his eyes staring down at me. "Hey, there's my girl. She's back."

Nodding at him, I realize it's been too long since my lips have reached this high, but he always seems to bring them back. He never fails, afterall.

"I'm getting there. I'm trying."

Inching his face towards mine, my eyes follow his as he brushes his nose against mine, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," his words tickle at my cheeks like a feather, but they don't make me sneeze. They don't make me laugh, and most important of all, they don't make me cry. They make me smile and finally soak in the sunshine he pours onto me. "That's all we can do, Becks - is to try and get better. Eventually we will . . We'll be okay, I know it, maybe not right away but we will."

With the taste of his chapstick on my lips once again, I nuzzle my head into his neck and fall asleep there, for the first time in a very long time. One that had felt longer than all of the other times that I had been without him, even if it wasn't, but it surely was the worst of them all. Because he was there by my side but I couldn't find it in me to reach out and grab onto him. As he sings our song and lulls me into a cryless sleep, I promise silently to never let go again.

I woke with a start. It was a surprise, but after it took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings, it wasn't. I had been waking up this way for weeks now, but it didn't make it any easier to breathe this time. Especially not when I found the bed empty beside me. That was something I wouldn't have minded if it were even just two days ago, but no, not now.

Throwing back the covers, my eyes searched the dark room, unbeknownst to what time it was. That didn't let me fall back into the covers and search for sleep again. I hadn't been rational for a while now, and I wasn't when I raced to the door. Somebody beat me to it and upon looking up, a half asleep Harry looked down at me. Confusion twisted his eyebrows into a question but I knocked that off when I circled him in a hug. The sound of a breath leaving him came and then did his arms around me, and my crying.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he murmurs, sleep adding layers to his voice.

"I woke up and you weren't there, I was so scared."

A sound that couldn't be described, other than a huff of acknowledgement comes now from him, "Oh, I'm so sorry, bug. I was just getting a glass of water from the kitchen . . It's still the middle of the night, let's go back to bed."

I let him guide me back to our mess of covers that we call a bed. He pulls them over us and at the feeling of his head hooked over my chin, I try to calm down. It's never been something that I was good at doing on my own.

"Was it a bad one this time?"

A nod.

"What was yours about?"

"You didn't just get up for water, did you?" I ask into the empty air, surely the rest of the city asleep without us. We weren't up early for work or up late from other things. No, I was certain that very few others across the world were awake for the same reason that we were.

"No," he answers, his chest heaving with a sound of sadness escaping him. If only it were that easy. "I'll tell you what mine was about, if you'll tell me about yours."

"You should've been a therapist instead of a lawyer, always getting me to talk," I joke, trying to ease the tension. That wasn't what I was doing, but instead, I was deflecting. Like always. "I was watching everybody around us having kids and . . and we didn't have any . . Your turn."

"We . . We were in the new house and we had a baby. Phoebe," Harry confesses, a hollowness to his voice that hadn't been there since that day. I could tell by the sound of his voice that the waterworks weren't very far. Soon, it was my turn to hold him as his body shook with cries as I tried to keep my own in check.

"That sounds like a good dream," I almost said, knowing there was no point to it. It's the very reason his body shook with each loud sob, because it only made the nightmare scarier.

It was only after a few horribly sung songs to him that his soft snores began, mine soon following.

Upon waking up the next morning, it still didn't feel real that I was allowed to be hopeful. To try and be happy and to not feel guilty about it. A small smile hugged the corners of my lips when I remembered the way she sang me to sleep last night despite the upsetting reason for the occasion. I tried to push the memory of that nightmare away and how hauntingly real it had felt. I let my smile linger at recalling the way she took care of me. I had craved it for too long now, the way that I had needed her and at last she had let me.

Those are the thoughts that stayed with me when I pulled on my layers and did my morning walk, leaving her sound asleep with a kiss to her head. Despite the unwavering winter, it was something that had meant more to me than I'd initially planned. Even on the mornings where it took me half an hour or more to talk myself into getting out of bed, I still went on for a walk. It had started small, seeing as how I'd lost any workout regimen when everything had come crashing down. I started small and just walked around the block, but now, I had worked my way up to half an hour walks around the neighborhood.

By the time I'd made my way back to the house, I could hardly feel my nose and could think of nothing better than to slip back into bed with her. The letdown was more severe than I'd expected when I didn't find her in between the sheets. I couldn't be sure if I was surprised, but that was forgotten entirely when I also couldn't find her in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or in the living room. I didn't even waver at the bottom of the staircase before climbing it, ripping open doors frantically in search of her. No longer did I fret about the coldness of my limbs as an anxious warmth had spread over me. The thrashing of my heart and the irrational thoughts filling my head all came to a halt when I opened the door to the nursery, and there she was, sitting on the bed where everything was too.

Something swelled and shattered deep inside of me, leaving me breathless as I stood there, watching her. I looked on as she half faced me, clutching a gray onesie to her chest as guttural sobs consumed her. Recognizing it wasn't what made my hand fly to my mouth, and I wasn't sure what did that. It must have been a combination of the first thing we bought for our child that had passed away, and the fact that she was holding it. What had done it for me was opening this door to see her in here. The room of all rooms. It was where our baby was supposed to sleep, and slowly we had filled it with things meant for them. Now, it had become a mausoleum of sorts, and not once had I stepped foot in here since that fateful day at the hospital.

Pressing my hand against my quivering lips didn't silence the sounds they made as the rivers coursed down my face. Something resonated inside of me, telling me that she knew I was there. My vocal chords had taken a vacation the second I entered the room and laid eyes on her. Unlike them, my legs still worked and they carried me over to her. Sitting down beside her felt regretful when her cries became louder to my ears, and so did their trails on her cheeks. Her body shook harder when my arms came around her, holding her against me from behind. Mumbling her name had never felt so laborious or excruciating, but when she said our daughter's name, I knew it didn't compare.

"Can we . . . ," she started to say, a rockiness to her voice that was becoming far too normal as of late. "Can we look at it all together and then . . can we pack it away?"

Nodding against her cheek, I hummed an agreement. Looking down at her hands rolled into taut fists around the fabric, a memory swam into view, one I'd been trying to forget. She'd finally come around to the idea of being pregnant and during our first shopping trip after my accident, we'd perused the baby aisles happily. The FRIENDS 'Could I Be Any Cuter?' baby onesie had caught our attention right away, and we couldn't wait to put our little baby in it.

Pressing my lips to her shoulder now, I look on as she folds it nicely, smoothing her hand over the letters and the dark spots from her tears. With my mouth against the slope of her neck, my eyes followed when she took out the stuffed giraffe, a sob catching in her throat. There I remained, slowly finding my voice and smoothing my thumb over the plushie, knowing our baby would never play with the gift from her grandmother.

I took the next thing out of the bags we had been gifted from friends and family over the last few months. More stuffed animals and clothes passed through our hands, as did knitted blankets, hats, and more. With each one, the shoulder of her shirt grew wetter with my sad realization that our daughter would never get to love these things, because she was well and truly gone. She was never going to be born and be brought home to live in this house with us, or any other.

It shook my body for long after we placed each folded and caressed item into the plastic bin. She took longer to calm down inside of my arms, and even singing our song couldn't make it all better. For a good while now I had come to accept that nothing would except for time. Maybe not even that either.

In some way and somehow, it had been one of the worst days, despite the feeling I had that things were getting better. Slow it may be, but they were. It had almost been a month now since we'd lost our baby and it still hurt as much as the first day. I know he could hear the words bouncing around inside of my head, even if I didn't say them.

"Today was hard, huh?" Harry's murmured words smell of minty toothpaste when they hit my face. The words in my head can't find a way to my lips, and nor can my eyes find his. "How about this, bug. Can you rate how your day was? 10 being the worst ever pain and 0 being none?"

I find it in me to nod my head at his words, encouraged by his hand lacing with mine. The amethyst rings he'd surprised me with not long ago roots me to the moment as I brush my thumb along its stones.

"Eight . . and a half," I whisper, seeing from the corner of my eye how his head moves in acknowledgement. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, it's hard to not see how he bites at his lip. His one tell that could reveal everything. "Your turn."

"It was rather close to a nine for me, as well, but . . . ," his words run away from him, and for some reason, it pulls my eyes over to him. Before seeing them, I know that the wet trails down his cheeks are what made my heart find him with my eyes. "I feel guilty even thinking about it, let alone saying it, but . . it felt good somehow to go through her things together and pack them away. I don't know how I'll ever not miss her, but it feels like some kind of closure."

His confession comes to me as a surprise, but not one that pulls my hand from his or otherwise. No, it keeps my eyes on his and turns my lips up in a comforting smile.

"Me too," I concur, looking on as a sad smile flashes on his face. It's gone as fast as his hand gets caught in his hair.

"God, I never knew something could be th-this fucking hard," he stammers, pressing his thumbs against his eyes. His overgrown curls move when his head shakes.

"Neither did I," it's a whispered reply, coming just before I'm mentally brought back to the day Myles told me that Harry had been shot. Laying my eyes on his naked torso now, I curse myself for getting used to the pink scars littering his body from that day.

Suddenly, I'm doing it all over again, wondering which day had been the worst of my life. Then or the day I'd been told our baby didn't have a heartbeat anymore. I'd done it how many times now and was never able to decide. I hadn't lost him but I'd lost her, and that's what made the two fateful days so different. Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhale and open them again, deciding that I don't need to rank them. They both were excruciatingly awful in their own ways, and will always be some of the worst days of my life.

"It kind of makes you want to drink, huh?" I say before I know what I'm doing. The guilt is instantaneous despite the honesty filling my words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-."

"No, you're alright, Becks. You're just speaking the truth and that's what I've wanted for us - to be honest with one another," letting his hand fall from his hair, so do his words from my favorite pair of lips. Turning to lay on his side from being on his back, the bedside lamp sheds light on the black ink covering his skin. "It's made me want to drink so badly, almost as much as when we broke up and all of those other times, so that I could forget. Has it made you want to?"

"Yeah. I was a little mad at you sometimes for it," the admission comes and on its tail end is the guilt, strong and present as ever. His eyes still shine but with that sentence they dull. I blink and it's gone, but the regret pooling from my words doesn't.

"You don't need to feel bad for saying that. I can tell by the look on your face that you are. You can be honest with me, I promise."

"Thanks, and you can with me too. Always, Harry," I respond and the momentous curling of his lips tells me that he heard. "Can I ask . . did you at all . . drink?"

"No," he sighs loudly, dipping his eyes, they fall on my left hand. He'd done it time and time again, and yet, the sensation felt stronger than ever, the way he played with my rings. This time is different though and so is the flash of a smile on his face. "I don't think the urge had ever been stronger, but I resisted. I admit I was close at times, but each time I was, I called my sponsor or Myles. We'd talk for hours in my study, either about you and the baby with My' or about the urge to drink. If I'd had a bottle around here . . God, I knew I'd probably have emptied it and even that thought scares me. I don't want to be like this, Becks." Sniffling, a shiny tear falls from the tip of his nose and onto my knot ring.

"How bad is it today, Harry? Rate it."

"A good seven," he confesses, tearing a hole in my heart when his wet eyes briefly meet mine. "But I had a meeting this morning on Zoom before you were awake, and those have helped a lot. I didn't want to do them at first . . after we'd lost her, but I kept with it, and it made a world of difference . . Myles has really been there for me too- No, don't even say it. Don't apologize again, you have nothing to be sorry for," his words grow murky with tears, ones that I feel against my forehead when his lips sponge a kiss there.

"I would if you'd let me," a weak joke passes my lips and a hint of his chuckle sounds. Holding his eye contact had felt so difficult for so long, but now, I want nothing more than to keep it. "I can't believe I'd forgotten about your meetings, but I'm really glad to hear you've been keeping up with it. Thank you . . But still, I'm so sorry for forgetting about you, and your . . "

"My alcoholism. You can say it, Becks, it's okay. It's not going to upset me . . It's true, I'm an alcoholic. I probably always will be, but hopefully it stays that way, in the past."

Nodding doesn't feel like enough but words escape me, like they so often have recently. I'm saved by the bell, quite literally, when a ding! interrupts our conversation. Rolling onto his stomach, Harry almost looks like a different person with the majority of his tattoos now hidden.

"Oh, yeah," he murmurs, making the bed move when he turns around. "I have yoga tomorrow in the morning."

When his eyes meet mine something in them prods at me, and my feeling sparks, almost knowing what he'll say.

"Would you like to come with? My favorite instructor is back again. I haven't been in ages but think it'd be good to go back, and to get out of the house," Harry proposes, his phone locking with the electronic click! Dropping it onto the covers, he moves around until he's comfortable again, waiting for an answer. "You don't have to if you don't want to, it's just an idea, bug. I don't-."

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually. It's um, still done with the lights off mostly, right?" I craft my question carefully, waiting for his response that soon confirms my wonderings.

"Yep, as far as I know. So, if it hits us we can do our crying and nobody will know any different."

"Good," is all I say when I thread my arms around his middle, searching for the beating of his heart with my ear.

With the stroking of his fingers through my hair came a relaxation like no other. It was one that I hadn't been able to find in so long.

"Thank you," his words coast over the top of my head, stirring me from my almost sleep. "For coming back to me, Becks."

"Thanks for picking me back up."

"Always," was the last word he spoke before I drifted off to sleep with his lips pressed to my head, humming a song.

Before I opened my eyes, I knew it. I could tell by the sun shining on my face. I hadn't felt that in months, the London winter having descended on us months prior. Gray skies kissed with snow flurries had replaced the robin blue skies I knew that I'd see, the warblers and chickadees singing around me already. Flicking my toes skywards, soft stalks of wheat grass and flower petals tickled my legs. It smelled of sunshine and dirt when I breathed in my surroundings, just like the smells of summer back in Madley.

Already, I knew where I was and that upon opening my eyes what I'd see. Tears already sat underneath my eyelids when I opened them, spilling over my waterline when I knew she'd be there, waiting for me.

I was in heaven, wasn't I?

The trees around me kissed the sky with their golden branches and ripe fruits dangling from their limbs. Not one ivory cloud dotted the sky, the blue of robin's eggs filling it instead. No, that wasn't what my thoughts focused on or fought for. With my eyes, I forgot about them and the warbling brook off in the distance. I searched for her, left and right, and up and down.

But I couldn't find her anywhere. Not behind the towering maples over my shoulder, tucked into the cluster of black eyed susans to my left, or even next to the fawn asleep a few paces away, its mother beside it. They came faster down my cheeks as breaths halted in my lungs, searching for my own baby.

Only could my chest fill again with air when I turned back to face ahead, and by a miracle, there she was. The same olive dress hung down to her knees, and a smile bigger than the last time clung to her rose colored lips. His mouth. His nose too, and most beautiful of all, Harry's sage eyes sat in hers below shoulder length curls the same chestnut shade of his.

"Mummy!" she shouted in a voice dripping with honey, one that covered me all over when her arms came around me.

"Phoebe," I cried into her hair, the smell of Harry's vanilla and notes of citrus surrounding me. My hands shook as they raked through her hair soft as ribbons, and I held on. I never wanted to let go, because I knew that she was my baby. My Phoebe Anne.

Neither did she, even when she pulled away to look into my eyes with her glistening pair. His giggle escaped her lips as I made quick work of the tears painting her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Mummy."

My head couldn't shake faster and my heart couldn't keep up with how it grew at the sight of her. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Sweet Pea, it's nobody's fault."

"I didn't want to leave you and Daddy, Mummy," she confesses in a choked sob, bringing her dainty hand to hold my cheek. I smile back at her, unsure of how my lips could reach so high as I stare at the baby that I'd lost. "But I didn't have a choice."

"It's okay, Pea. I promise. Daddy and I know," my words are shaky, and so are my hands that card through her hair. Tan freckles dot her cheeks and nose, tickled by thick dark lashes donning her eyes. She's real. My Phoebs. "We love you so much, you'll always be our baby girl."

A nod replaces her words before she dives back into my arms again. Her cries sound like muffled squeaks against my front, and if I thought it were fake, her hands caught in the back of my dress confirm it. Her tepid tears soaking through the fabric. Her sunshine warmth against mine, just like his. Harry.

No sooner had I lifted my head and parted my lips, does a tree creaking in the distance catch my attention. Her head lifts too, the same color of her curls appearing from behind its trunk.

"Daddy!" she exclaims. I couldn't mistake it anywhere, the loud laugh that I hear from across the field. It's the one that has filled my dreams and made all of them come true. Peering down at her, her lips are pointed skywards again as she beams at me. "It's Daddy, Mummy! We're together again. A family."

I've blinked and he's only a step away, dimples set deep into his cheeks. Once more, his sunshine is dancing across my face as he looks at me.

"I always knew she'd be beautiful, just like her Mum," Harry remarks

fondly, eyes falling and I follow them. Instead of a young girl wrapped in my arms, a pink baby is cradled in them. The very one I'd found crying in that hospital crib, waiting for me. "Our Phoebe, baby Pea."

Something like a happy hum fills my lips as he takes the last step and wraps an arm around me, the both of us.

"My girls," Harry coos, sponging a kiss to my temple before bending down to press a whispery kiss to our daughter's forehead. It wrinkles at the touch, but she relaxes and continues to stare up at us. Again, his sage greens sit in her eyes as the dimple in her left cheek twinkles when her lips give a smile.

I lean into him, feeling his nose pressed against my temple as she coos, her beautiful face growing hazy in front of my teary eyes.

"It's okay, Becks, we don't have to be broken anymore. She's okay, she'll always be our baby, our daughter. We won't forget her, she knows that, and she won't forget us either. They'll take care of her for us until we come back," he murmurs, lifting my head with his words to find familiar figures walking out of a cluster of oak trees from our left.

"Grandpa Holte," I whisper in amazement, catching the smile on his wrinkled face.

"And mine too," Harry adds when we see his grandfather appear from behind a birch tree. The wind whipping through the trees and the singing of the birds quiets and so does my heart when I see who appears at my grandfather's side.

"Grandma Ann," I hardly hear it myself, the words that I speak caught between tears. The smile framing them grows at the sight of a black goldendoodle bounding towards us, Harry's dog Lola who passed away not long after we'd met.

"They'll take care of her for us," Harry repeats. I see it in his eyes when I reluctantly look away from our family walking towards us. He nods and a corner of his mouth lifts again. "She'll watch over us, Becks, just like they've all been doing. She's our guardian angel, our little Phoebs."

I nod to his words, closing my eyes when his forehead touches mine, resting there. Only do I open them again to look down at the curious baby who remains quiet, reaching a hand over to smooth back her ebony colored hair. His lips graze my forehead once more and I bury my head into his neck, cradling her tiny head.

"It's okay, Mummy," I hear, her honey sweet voice saying in my head. "I'm okay, and you and Daddy will be too. I want you both to be happy, because it's okay to be . . It's okay."

The twinkling of the alarm clock steals me away, and I'm suddenly staring at the ceiling. Soft light peeks in through the curtains, dancing across the walls and duvet cover. Turning my head, I feel the coolness of the pillow graze my cheek as I search for him. As if he knew what I was thinking, his messy head of curls turned towards me. A sleepy smile pulls at his lips, a tired twinkle in his eye.

"You wouldn't believe the dream I just had, Becks. I-It was about . . about the baby. Phoebs."

"Try me," I smile, already feeling the onset of tears as he smiles back at me, them not far off in his eyes either.

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