#ray does not need a reason to be chubby he simply is and that is Okay...
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There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump.
Y/N could be intuitive when she wanted to be. When she truly opened up her heart to a situation and saw it for what it was, and despite quite a few attempts of trying to make the accusation of murder make sense, she simply couldn’t. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it straight from his mouth though. Just because she had made up her mind about the idea of him killing her, didn’t mean she knew the details that led to that judgment from the town. Who heard when about what and why; there was no way to know other than the two ideas she’d come up with:
1. Break into the police department and look through classified records.
2. Ask Harry.
She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first.
or
Y/N’s questions are answered and Harry’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?
(TW: mentions of murder, suicide, abuse, alcohol/drug use)
part 1
part 2
part 3
iv.
For four years, Harry had been stuck in a meadow.
Not a beautiful one that flourished beneath a vivid blue sky, with colors aplenty and life in abundance. It was cold; clouds hung low and heavy with icy rains that pierced his skin with every drop. The world was grey, the flowers were dead, the life was dormant, and Harry was alone. Stagnant in old memories that he wished to forget, haunted by new ones as the days passed and grew shorter, the night came quick and stayed long, his insides hollowed and his skin froze. Each passing day felt empty, bunnies with chubby paws and gurgling, giggly faces brought small beads of happiness but bunnies had to sleep, and he has to work.
Numb -- he felt numb and bitter, starving for warmth in four years of winter. Even his tears had frozen, the hot sting no longer brought comfort but more pain. And he lay there among the dried yellowed grass, wondering when it might get better. He lay there the first year wondering if his marriage was a mistake, and the second year he questioned if it would’ve been better if they had not met. The third-year he ponders if he were ever meant to be loved-- he wonders if it was supposed to feel this rotten. Had love stories no truth to them? Had all the authors been lying? Within the bad, there was always some good, but Harry hadn’t felt much good for three years by then. The fourth-year he wondered if it was his fault, all of it, just as the wind whispered in his ear. Maybe had he done something different then nothing would have happened. Maybe if he had been different then everything would be fine. Maybe then the bunnies wouldn’t have eyes that didn’t match his own.
It had started with a speckle of sunlight. The kind that appears at the end of a sluggish storm that came in the afternoon, filled the streets and soaked the soil of ditches with rain. Clouds withdrew, revealing the sun had begun sinking past the horizon, only thirty minutes or so until night inked the sky, but even for those few minutes there’s comfort. Reddish hues cut through the gloom, half the sky is dense clouds that ease to another town and the other half are cooed promises of a stormless day come morning. That’s how it started. . .just a little bit of sun with a giggle that drowned out the thunder.
The next day, the rain stopped. He blinked up at the clouded sky questioning why it had stopped pelting his skin like glacial stones -- it had been so long of this he panicked for one moment, maybe two (maybe three), but he tried to make do with it. His hollow stomach growled for the first time in ages, the scent of almond jam tarts slithers through his nose and makes his mouth water. The sun peeks out through the clouds to giggle again, teasing him with a few minutes of warmth -- the bunnies came to bask in it too, from beneath the burrow he’d made for them. One he lay on top of to keep them from the rain. They nudged at his back, demanding to come out, and so he rolled over and let them and they enjoyed the heat as well.
Each passing day the sun shows itself more and more, first timidly -- meek and mild, a little unsure. It smiled at Harry though he rarely smiled back. . .his cheeks were frozen how could he? But slowly he thawed; he could move his head again, look side to side, visualize the grass was now lush, healthy green, and wildflowers in an assortment of colors had begun to bloom. When the sun first came, he’d been so guarded. . .so worried. . .so angry that he couldn’t welcome the feeling of it kissing his skin. As each day passed the sun grew warmer and brighter, and as each day passed, the grass grew greener and the flowers more lively, and as each day passed, Harry’s smile grew bigger.
Harry liked laying in this field much better, bathed in golden rays.
And Harry liked waking up with Y/N beside him.
She was a rather heavy sleeper, or so Harry found which confused him greatly. The few times he’d woken her with his nightmares, somewhere behind all the murky fog of him trying to gain his footing back in reality, he would wonder how she woke so easily. Was he really that loud or did she rise at the sound of a pin colliding with linoleum? It had been the second night she’d coaxed him back to sleep that he realized it had been the former as it was easy to quietly slide out from the cocoon of her arms and the blankets that she’d made to bring him comfort. Y/N slept like a log -- he’s sure she could sleep through a marching band storming up and down the halls of the hotel -- but she always woke for him. Woke for him and coddled him.
Harry hated needing it, but he loves it while it’s happening. In ways it felt like a guilty pleasure; something that he indulged in though he probably didn’t need to, akin to an extra scoop of ice cream on his waffle cone, or staying up an hour later to finish binging a show. As he came down from the horror that his subconscious had fed him, to melt in Y/N’s arms was very pleasant. She felt like sun but she smelled like spring rain, and she held him like she knew how much he needed it. Like she knew how good it felt for him to be in someone’s arms. . .how happy he was to not wake up alone.
He preferred this though -- to wake with Y/N beside him, no memory of a night terror tormenting his brain as he blinks his eyes open. Y/N was not curled as close to him as she had been when they’d fallen asleep and while this made him pout for a moment, he is glad to watch her from this angle. She was close enough to him that he felt her warmth diffuse from her body beneath the sheets, but far enough that he could make out all of her features without having to move his head. All he does is press the corner of the pillow from his face with his fingers so his view isn’t obstructed at all.
This wasn’t a creepy thing -- he knew if she woke it might look like a creepy thing, him just watching her, but Harry was simply looking. He enjoyed the calm that her face contained; soothed and undisturbed. He could tell from one look at her face when her mind was racing, whether it be the faint furrow in her brow or the way she starts playing with her lips with her fingertips or nipping at her nails absentmindedly. That spacey glow in her gaze when she stares out the windshield of the car lost in a daydream that Harry wished to join her in. What does she think about when she spaces out like that? Harry would love to know but he found himself too shy to ask most days.
Too shy? It was novel, the idea of him being shy. Had anyone in his life known that he got absurdly shy and flustered when it came to this girl, they’d find it laughable. He wasn’t like this normally. . .even after everything that had happened, he was able to put on a brave face and fake the character that he’d always presented himself as. To make people more comfortable, to force the pity out of their stares when he walked into a room, to make himself feel normal when he had every reason not to.
But when he was with Y/N, he felt all jumbled and rearranged, his thoughts knocked together like the beads inside Charlie’s little rattles. It made little sense to him but his feelings never made much sense to him, even the ones he thought he’d understood. As a young boy, he’s always felt his emotions so intensely, like they could encompass his being sometimes, both the good ones and the bad ones. Rarely did they ever make him act out, but his mind was constantly going, it felt, and his mum always told him he was governed by his heart. And when he grew and chose to be more analytical, he’d thought he’d pressed that all aside. At the point that Y/N had entered his life, he’d made the assumption he’d grown out of it.
He’d been wrong.
That was okay though, wasn’t it? It was alright to feel things but they were so big. That’s the only way he knew how to describe them -- incredibly big, ardent, impassioned. Did she feel these just as he was? When she saw him, did her heart race unreasonably fast? Did she feel bashful beneath his gaze? Was she happier when they were together? Why couldn’t Harry just ask?
Why couldn’t Harry just ask?
The ache in his knuckles reminds him of what he’d done the night prior, mixed in his emotions regarding it. His reaction to Emmett had been boorish, and how he took the guitar even more so. After the little anecdotes, Y/N had shared with him about the kind of man Emmett was, it filled him with such hatred. Such hatred and spite for a man that he had not once met, but had raised memories from Harry’s own brain that he could not leave ignored. He hated him. . .he hated him for what he’d done to Y/N -- hated him for the broken look in her eyes at the thought of him, at what life he’d taken from her.
And he hated him for his own personal reasons. . .selfish reasons.
How could there be so many of the same type of person in the world?
Y/N wriggles in her spot, her brow pinches as her arms emerge from the covers and reach toward the headboard, a soft groan stirs from her chest. Harry held his breath for a moment -- should he look away? If she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, would she be unsettled? Would they be okay like she said they would? He hoped so. . .he really, really hoped so.
Her eyelids flutter first, before she blinks, squinting against the sharp morning sun that filled the room. Only a moment passes before she turns to him, a small, sleepy smile pulls at her cheeks. Eyes puffy from sleep, Harry struggles not to coo aloud -- she’s terribly cute.
“G’morning.” Her voice sends sparkles through his body; glittering, dazzling, iridescent bubbles.
“Good morning,” he cleared his throat after his gravelly response, and watches as Y/N pushes herself up from the mattress, but her bottom lip pouts, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She nodded, “Mhm,” it’s gentle how it leaves her mouth, it makes him want to protect her from the world, “You made me all sticky last night.”
Harry’s brows raised -- he hadn’t thought she’d mention it. If anything, Harry half expected them both to pretend it hadn’t happened. It probably shouldn’t have but at the moment, Harry had not considered what it might mean afterward. All he’d known was in that moment, he needed to touch her, and taste her, and feel her in every way imaginable.
It would hurt, Harry thinks, if they had to pretend that things hadn’t changed. Harry’s body, his mind, his heart sang too loudly for him to drown the sound of it out and play pretend. He had felt her against him in every way imaginable the night prior and still it hadn’t felt like enough. It had been a part of the reason he’d tried his best to hold out for as long as he could. If that were to be his only time with her, he wanted to make it count, but even then. . .even with how much they did and how long they did it for -- he just wanted to be even closer.
And he almost can’t stand it. Almost can’t stand how much he wants her.
“I cleaned you up, Sweetheart. Did I not do a good job?”
Y/N tilted her body toward him, and very suddenly did she plop across his torso, words muffled from where her face was pushed into the covers, “You did alright I guess, but I need a shower.” He smiled, laying his hand flat across her back, rubbing circles over the cotton fabric of his shirt she wore and he felt her melt; her muscles ease and her bones jellied, “Don’ wanna get up yet.”
“Don’t have to,” he murmured, “Can sleep as long as you like.”
Y/N’s response is a low hum that vibrates from her chest to his belly. The familiarity in her actions brings relief to the tension he’d been stacking in large blocks throughout his body. He had filled with such dread that they might revert back to their old, sheepish tendencies in how they regarded one another. Part of the reason he’d watched her wake, he’d admit, was because he’d been so happy that she was still there and he had to make sure for the first few minutes that it wasn’t a lovely dream. That Y/N was right beside him resting, not sat in her room in deep contemplation about how to go about reorienting their situation to how it had been.
Of course, if Y/N told him that she was uncomfortable and that things were weird, he would respect whatever decision she’d make in response to it.
He is, however, more than delighted that that wasn’t the case.
Still, he voices his concern slightly, in case he was reading her actions wrong. He doesn’t stop rubbing on her back as he begins speaking, and she startles some as he’d just woken her back up, “We are okay, yes? We’re still good how we were?”
Y/N re-earths her face from the blankets, lying on her cheek so she could face him. Her face looked so soft -- Harry’s tempted to reach his fingers out to stroke against her cheek, but he stops himself, “Are you worried?” He does not waste a moment before giving a solemn nod, swallowing thickly when her fingers find the bare skin of his chest, stroking there gently, “Why?”
His brows furrow, trying to deviate his attention from her careful caresses, “I. . .we did a lot last night,” he murmured, “I’m worried that you might regret it a little.”
“I’m glad you said it, ‘cos I was g’na say I was worried you regretted it but I’d been too embarrassed to ask,” she moves her hand to cradle his cheek, and Harry’s face warms as he lets his eyes flutter closed, leaning against her soft palm, “I don’t regret a thing,” her words were sincere, “We’re silly.”
Harry nodded, a small smile painted his face as he allowed himself to get sucked into the moment. Free of his memories, free of his worries, free of anything. . .anything at all that doesn’t have to do with being in this bed. It feels good. Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good in a long time.
Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good ever.
“We’re silly.” He repeats.
. . .
Feeling things could be a lot sometimes.
Emotions could be cumbersome.
At least that’s how they had felt before, especially with Emmett. Y/N always felt like her emotions were trudging through sludge, grappling for the edge of a riverbank but being dragged back into the murky water. They were conflicting and confusing; they didn’t feel good at all. And they dwindled so thin that by the time she was packing her things in her car, the tears she cried were out of frustration that she was the one who had to pick up and move her life around, not because she was sad she lost him.
But these feelings for Harry have always felt so. . .light? That didn’t feel like the right word. Not light in the way that they weren’t intense for her, because they were earnest and enthusiastic -- but they didn’t feel heavy. It had felt like Emmett was always at her hips, yanking her down to the deep end of a pool she’d drown in. With Harry, he pulled her hands gently toward fields and hills of green, where they floated just above the soil, giggled and tumbled and skated their fingertips along the morning dew.
She felt calm with Harry. . .her feelings were big, and they were good.
For the rest of their time in the city, things had felt as if they changed but in the same breath, they hadn’t much at all. Harry is still as tender as he always is, and he still trips and fumbles over his words. As they had grown to know each other his stony exterior cracked progressively but it had felt that he’d dragged down a full wall for her. Maybe two even; she’d taken a chisel and sledgehammer to the mortar fixing the stone together and carefully broke it. A soft glowing center had been revealed but only sometimes, she found. Only sometimes would he hold onto her for a little longer than normal. Only sometimes would his gaze linger. Only sometimes would it look like he might kiss her, but he pulls his lips into his mouth instead.
Y/N doesn’t push him because she knew there were at least two more walls left fixed around him, and both of them are components of life before her. Whatever had happened, had left Harry a broken man, and no matter how desperately she wanted to know everything about it, she wouldn’t pry. She even tried to stop quietly theorizing about it all, though Anne does not make it very easy at all.
Last night they all went out for one last dinner together, and when Harry and his father excused themselves to go to the restroom it was only Y/N, Anne, and Charlie left at the table. Charlie had found his way into Harry’s lap at some point throughout the night, and Harry passed him off to Y/N’s lap when he’d left the table, but he pulled off one of his rings so that Charlie could keep playing with it. Y/N held the marching teddy ring between her thumb and forefinger as his chubby hands gripped around it and he marveled silently.
Anne smiled gently at her as she pierced a piece of steamed broccoli onto her fork, “I want to thank you, Y/N,” she had begun, before she twisted her body around to look at the direction of the bathrooms then turned back to face her, “I’ll be quick about it, the two of them never wee for long. I want to thank you because. . .well, I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he seems less. . .less miserable than he has been these past few years. I know part of it could just be the healing properties of time, but something tells me you bring a lot of light into both his and Charlie’s life.” Slowly she shook her head, “He’s misunderstood, a lot of the time. He always has been, even when he was a child. Just loves with his whole heart and some people take advantage of that. I don’t know the nature of your relationship but I just ask that you continue to treat him kindly, no matter if it is platonic or not. God knows he needs that after what she put him through,” she hovers the broccoli over her mouth, “Though I hate to speak ill of the --”
Y/N wanted more. She wanted to take Anne out for coffee after dinner, find themselves a secluded booth in the back, and ask her every question that she could possibly think about what she didn’t know. Deep in her marrow, she knew it would be wrong to find out from someone who wasn’t Harry, but it would be easier wouldn’t it? Y/N would know and Harry wouldn’t have to relive the traumatic events for her to know. It would be the easiest solution, she’d think.
But before Anne could even finish her sentence, Harry appeared. The worst of it was she couldn’t even be irritated with his sudden reappearance, because the smile he gave her was sweet enough to melt her heart as he placed his hand on her shoulder then squeezed past her to get back to his seat, “Through the windows, I saw a candy store. It’s the same chain that has those fudge-dipped Oreos you like. Would you like to stop there after dinner?”
There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone, Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump.
Y/N could be intuitive when she wanted to be. When she truly opened up her heart to a situation and saw it for what it was, and despite quite a few attempts of trying to make the accusation of murder make sense, she simply couldn’t. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it straight from his mouth though. Just because she had made up her mind about the idea of him killing her, didn’t mean she knew the details that led to that judgment from the town. Who heard when about what and why; there was no way to know other than the two ideas she’d come up with:
1. Break into the police department and look through classified records.
2. Ask Harry.
She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first.
How could she just ask? There was no way to, she was certain of it -- no appropriate way to, at least. Any way that she tried to phrase it in her head sounded too nosy, too forward, too abrasive. Not only had she come to the conclusion that she didn’t believe he could kill his wife, but she’d also come to the conclusion that it was simply impossible to string the right words together so she could question why everyone would think he did. What was their relationship like before? He’d said they’d gone on trips -- that she’d liked the sun, and her only solace moving somewhere as dreary as the vacation town they inhabited was the beach. And she knew that Anne didn’t like her, for some reason or another -- that she put Harry through a lot. But that’s it.
That’s it.
If she thought about it for too long, her head ached. And when her head ached, her brows knit and she’s staring off into space without thinking all too much about it. So she hadn’t realized that Harry had even appeared back beside her in her hotel room, until she felt the tenderest of caresses just along her jaw, something he typically only did at night. When she turned to face him, his fingertips met her face, smoothing out her brow with the pad of his thumb, “Your head is hurting,” he murmured knowingly, the icy mint scent of his gum flutters along her nose, “Do you want to rest? I could finish packing for you.”
“How did you know my head was hurting?” Harry continues to rub her brow until she’s relaxed the muscles in her forehead, and the tension begins to dissipate from her shoulders.
“I’m observant,” he murmured, letting his hand fall away from her face but he slips it down, letting it rest on the curve of her throat, “You slept very little last night. Could feel you tossing and turning.”
It was true; she’d fallen through the rabbit hole of her thoughts as she’d spent many nights doing, only now when she was doing it, chances are she was laying beside Harry. One of the things that had changed was their need to find an excuse to sleep in the same bed, which was a blessing. Now, how Harry asks, is by offering her a shirt to sleep in while he feeds Charlie his last bottle for the night, cradled in the crook of his arm. Y/N gives Charlie plenty of cuddles and kisses, they lay him down in his crib, and the both of them get ready for bed themselves.
All of it feels very domesticated, especially the bits where after they’ve washed their faces and brushed their teeth, they crawl into bed and Harry finds them a movie to watch that they inevitably speak through half of, then get invested in the last quarter. Y/N thinks Harry finds it easier to touch and cuddle at night; this is when things feel most different than what they had been. He indulges in soft caresses, gentle squeezing, pulling her flush to his body, and skimming his fingers all along her skin, giggling when she shivered like he found joy in rousing goosebumps in his wake. The way Harry holds her spoke for how touch starved he’d been, and Y/N melted beneath the attention. Especially since this was when he was most open and willing to give it.
The night prior, he’d fallen asleep after one movie and the half of a second one (typically he tries to wait for her to fall asleep first, but she had taken to combing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and when she peeked up at him as his eyes began to flutter shut, he scrunched his nose at her, “Thank you, Darling”), and she’d stayed up. Her mind chattered at her, tweeted thoughts like a rose-ringed parakeet. What had Harry gone through? That would make him have horrible nightmares? That would make people think he was capable of murdering his wife? That his mum would thank her for bringing light into his life? The whole dark mess of it was so lost on her. It just made her want to hold him, kiss his rosy cheeks, protect him from the world and only share him with the sun and the moon.
After she had gotten up to have a wee, checked on Charlie, and crawled back in bed, she didn’t want to disturb him by weaseling her way beneath his arms again so she stayed on her side. So she tossed and she turned, wondering and searching for answers she couldn’t pull from thin air. Maybe she could just call his mum -- she’d given her, her number -- she could call her, ask her, sit on the phone for hours because she loved to talk (Y/N would guess that’s the outcome of a relatively silent husband) and she’d divulge every nitty-gritty secret Y/N knows she’s been nearly frothing at the mouth to tell.
But she couldn’t. . .she just couldn’t.
It was after she’d sighed to herself, quiet enough that there was no possible way she woke him up, but she felt a hand meet her side. His forearm slid along her hip, tucked around her body, and dragged her from her spot to meet him back in the middle. Y/N gave a questioning hum as she rolled around to look at him, but his eyes were closed, and he still appeared to be asleep. That is until his lips parted, a small, tiny smile at the corner of his mouth, “Sleep now. I’m giving you half of my sleepiness to help you.”
She rested her head on his chest, packaged all her inquiries in a tightly bound bundle, and tossed them outside for the night.
His notice reminded her of this, and her shoulder slumped as she tipped her forehead against his chest, “Aish, I forgot I woke you up last night. I’m the worst bed buddy.”
Harry rests his chin on her head, “Don’t say that,” he murmured, “You take away my nightmares and you smell like how I think the moon might, so you’re the best bed buddy.”
So gentle. Soft. How could he ever even hurt a fly?
Did he have something dark in him? Y/N wonders what it might have looked like to see him with Emmett, as she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him to her body. This rare display of daytime affection made whatever relationship they were developing feel real. More than just a drunken romp after emotions had run high; something tender and warm. Something that Y/N could get lost in.
“I reckon you take the title of best bed buddy. You gave me half of your sleepiness, remember?”
Harry hums, “Mhm,” he pulls back, letting his lips touch to her temple, “And I’ve just given you a quarter more. Lie down Sweet thing, I’ll pack the rest.”
Just as Y/N’s flipping back and forth between lying down for the nap or sucking it up and packing the rest of her things after taking paracetamol or two, there was the telling babble that told them both someone was awake. They unwind from each other, turning around to see that Charlie had woken up from where he’d been napping in his car seat. Y/N peeks around Harry, brows rising at the big, bright eyes that stare at them tiredly, “Well look at that! The absolute sleepyhead just woke up.” She made her way to Charlie, clicked the buckle that secured him to the seat, and fit her hands beneath his armpits, “C’mere, you little sloth. Say good afternoon, Daddy! I slept so long so that I could have an extra good time on the way back home, hm?”
Charlie lies his head down on her shoulder, holding out his chubby fingers toward Harry who made his way over easily. He took Charlie’s hand and kissed each of his fingers, before pretending to eat them, and smiling triumphantly when a bubble of giggles is the result. The scene makes her heart warm, but not nearly warm enough for her to not remember their check-out time was briskly approaching.
“Here,” she murmured, handing him over to Harry, “Cuddle, and I’ll finish packing, yeah? I’ll save my quarter of sleepiness for later.”
“Could I --” Harry began, just as she was about to move toward the bathroom. When she pauses and looks back toward him, he has that shy look on his face again. . .the one that appears just before he starts to fumble over his words a bit when he asks her something. Whether it be for a cuddle, or if she’d like to visit someplace with him, or if he wants his hair played with, “--could I kiss you?”
She tries not to smile too hard as she pushes up to kiss him.
And she presses an exaggerated kiss to Charlie’s cheek too.
. . .
Being back at home is. . .different.
They got home around dusk; the sun sank low in the sky, disappeared behind the tree-line, and with it the end of their trip together. Coming home from a vacation always felt a bit off, after pretending another place was your home for a little while. Rooms were stiff, the air was stale and un-lived in, and it took about two hours of lighting candles, pushing open windows, turning on fans, and turning on every light and telly so that it wasn’t so quiet. Silent, and weird, and lonely without the people she’d been with.
Even though Y/N had technically had her own hotel room, by the end of their trip they had been spending every night together. She was with Harry, Charlie, and Marzipan which was much preferred than the stillness of a flat post-vacation. If she were honest, she struggled not to tear up as Harry was helping her take her suitcase from the trunk, and to hide her emotions in an effort not to appear clingy, she hugged him and hid her face in his throat. Harry curled his arms around her tightly. He knew though -- in the weird Harry way, he knew how she felt, even though she was making good on not letting it show on her face, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Sweetheart,” he dipped his face into her hair, pushing a chaste kiss to her head, “I don’t start at the university again until next week, and I’ve only got a bit of work to do at home, so you’ll be bothered with me all day.”
Harry kissed her cheeks and sent her to her flat with Marzipan. She aired the place out, desperate to make it feel less uninhabited, and had even shoved her linens in the wash before she showered (which made for a very cold shower -- after so long of being gone, she’d forgotten that warm water for her sheets meant frigid water for her body). Marzipan reacquainted herself with her surroundings and though it all smelled of her, she even appeared to be discontent with the change.
Around 10 PM her phone buzzes on her bedside table, just as she had moved her linens into the dryer while simultaneously regretting washing them at all (she just wanted to lay down at that point). Brows pinched, she reaches for it and sees Harry’s contact on the screen -- had she forgotten something? Why would he be calling her?
“Hello?” She held the phone close to her ear, “Harry? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” Harry responded, and he paused for a moment, just silent on the other end until he cleared his throat, “I -- well, I believe this was much less embarrassing in my head. I don’t mean to sound as if I’m fixed at your hip, but I missed your voice.” A dish clatters on the other end of the line, and he mutters a small ‘shit’ before continuing, “It’s -- um. . .it’s very quiet without you here. Not that I think you’re loud or anything I just. . .yeah. I just miss you.”
Y/N is incredibly fond; her heart swarms with warmth that stretches it three sizes too big for her chest, and she feels soppy and softened. Her lips curl in a tiny smile though he can’t see it, she wonders if he’ll be able to hear it in her voice through the receiver, “I miss you too,” she responded, brushing her hand against her cheek, “It just feels weird.”
“I’m not keen on it. Which is why I -- well, I wondered if you would like to stay on the phone with each other? Would just tell you to drive over now but it’s so late, I don’t want you on the roads.” He explained to her, “I had thought about just coming to get you myself, but then I’d have to strap Charlie back in his seat and for some reason, I feel he would not appreciate being woken up.”
Soft -- she would say it again, and again, and again. Harry made her feel so unbelievably soft, she’d reckon if someone tried to hug her right now she’d mold into the shape of their body. It’d been so long since someone had evoked such strong emotions from her and she just isn’t used to it anymore. All the heart racing, the stomach flutters, the sweaty palms, the goosebumps. . .everything.
“Yes, I’d like that,” she sat down on her bare mattress, tracing the diamond-shaped dips and curves of the upholstery, “If you’re falling asleep and I’m talking too much, you’ve got to tell me though. I’ve just put my bedding in the dryer so it’ll take me a minute before I’m actually lying down.”
Harry hummed, “I should’ve thrown mine in the wash, now that you’ve mentioned it.”
“No you shouldn’t have, ‘cos I’m miserable now,” she lamented, “Would give anything to just pop my head on the pillow and pass out.”
“Poor thing,” he murmured, “You don’t have extra bedding?”
She flopped down, tucking the phone between her ear and the uncovered pillow, “Harry, I’m lucky to even have the ones I do now. Hate spending money on bedding, it’s too much! Especially if it’s anything worth sleeping in.”
“I get what you mean,” the sound of running water cuts on, and she hears the sound of ceramic plates clinking together again, “Plus, it’s few and far between you find something aesthetically pleasing, innit? And then it’s got to match your room. White is the easiest to match but I reckon if you’re an on-the-bed-eater then that could be a bit problematic.”
“No kidding,” she agreed, “I guess for like -- I dunno, cum stains -- white works out though.”
”Christ,” she could picture it, Harry shaking his head in the way he does when Y/N says something he wasn’t expecting that may have been on the side of vulgar -- he did it several times when she would briskly and casually mention the fact that he’d morphed into something short of a male Aphrodite. He’s shy -- he’s always been shy, but he just manages to get shyer in the bits that he should be confident in. “I guess -- I guess, yeah for cum stains, that’d work out wouldn’t it?”
“Mhm,” she let her eyes close for a moment, “What’ve you got to do tomorrow? Tell me all about your engineering and I’ll try to keep up.”
He does. Harry explained the project that they were currently working on and Y/N attempted to understand the large words and abbreviations he was using, but eventually she did have to tell him to bring it down to a freshman at college level so that she could at least kind of follow. It made sense that he was a professor, and a good one at that, because he knew so much but was able to break it into smaller bits and pieces so that she could digest it. When she had questions, he had full-fledged answers that swiped away the dark areas. By the end of it, she was halfway certain she could take a crack at computer engineering (like running their coffee orders and half understanding what they were discussing around meeting tables, but still a better understanding than she had in the first place).
Around 12 AM, Y/N’s made her bed up and sat star-fished staring at her fan blades whipping above her, listening to Harry’s syrupy voice tell her about his trip to Scotland he took with his parents when he was around 15. Explained to her that he met a man there who taught him how to play guitar in the two weeks they were there, and connected him to a woman who would further his learning in London. Harry had mused about how he had used to hope to be a musician of some kind, but he never thought he’d been good enough. Y/N told him that he’s silly because she thinks he’d be lovely.
“You’ll have to play for me,” she told him, rubbing the corner of her pillowcase between her thumb and forefinger, “On the telecaster. Y’know that’s yours now, don’t you?” Knuckling tiredly at her eyes, she suppresses a yawn so she could continue speaking, “Not to re-gift something from my ex or anything, but it’ll only collect dust in my closet.”
Harry, who had long since finished his nighttime routine (he’d politely excused himself to brush his teeth and wash his face), sounded like he was shuffling in his bed, “Wouldn’t you want to sell it? You could make a pretty penny off that, Sweetheart, especially the one you bought. It would feel wrong to have it wasted on me.”
“Wasted on you?” Y/N scoffed, “How could it be wasted on you? I don’t care about the money, I just want it to have a loving home. Now if you don’t want it because it’ll just be a hassle I’m sure I could pawn it off on someone, but nothing could ever be wasted on you. You’re the whole reason I even have it back!” Lulling her tongue over her mouth, she wiggles her toes at Marzipan who eyeballs her from the floor, where she had been sat for the past twenty minutes falling asleep, “Which -- could I ask you about that?”
He’s silent for a moment -- a pause long enough to make her regret asking, to disrupt how smooth the conversation had been going before her question -- but he does respond eventually, “You can ask me anything you want. Anything at all.”
“How did you get it back?” She swallows, “Like, I’d assume from your knuckles he hadn’t just handed it over.”
Harry, again, pauses for a moment but this time it seemed like he was only gathering his thoughts, “When you had gone to the bathroom, I went to the green room they had to get it back for you. I know you hadn’t asked but. . .well, it didn’t seem right for him to have it. Not after what he had put you through, you know?” Y/N hummed, encouraging him to continue, rolling out the muscles in her shoulders that had gone stiff in her idle sitting, “So I went in and I asked for it back, and he was. . .difficult about it. He offered to pay for it and then told me I was trying too hard and that you weren’t “worth it”. . .so I punched him and said a few choice words. I’m --” he sighed to himself, “I’m not a violent man, I just couldn’t -- I can’t stand when someone acts like that. . .like he deserved that guitar. I apologize for resorting to violence though. I shouldn’t have done it without speaking to you first, and now that I recount the details I feel a bit silly. Barbaric or summat -- like -- I’m sorry for talking in circles, I feel like I’m talking in circles. ” He does another deep sigh, Y/N can almost feel it against his cheek, like the content ones he lets out after they’re finally cuddled in bed but with a slightly annoyed lilt, a warm and gentle puff, “It frustrated me and I acted out, but I don’t regret it. It’s your guitar.”
Y/N dipped her face back into the pillows, tingles zip down through her body like sparks of electricity as he recounted the story and began to fumble around his feelings. He doesn’t realize how much she appreciates it though -- how refreshing it is to hear him speak. It always sounds so open and raw, like he’s saying the words as soon as they pop in his brain. Brisk pauses, talking in circles, expressing how something had made him feel and how he feels now because of his actions.
“Harry?” She shuts her eyes, pretending that he’s laying across from her.
His voice is small but clear, “Yes?”
“I think you’re amazing,” she began, “And I think, you don’t have to apologize for anything because if you would have first cleared it with me I would’ve suggested more barbaric antics, like kicking him in the chest and something with fire.” A breathless giggle comes from the other end, she smiles a dumb, big smile that makes her cheeks hurt, “Thank you for standing up for me. If anyone ever says something to you, I’ll kick their ass, how about that?”
Another chuckle leaves him, Y/N feels as if she’s swallowed it, feeling it warm her bell, she keeps her eyes closed and melts into the mattress while Marzipan jumps up and claims the space behind her back.
“Thank you, Sweetheart.”
. . .
It was rare that they went into town together.
Well, not so much rare as it was relatively nonexistent. The only time they’d been here with each other, they had made a beeline to a private beach where they couldn’t be disturbed. It was simply them, the fine grain sand in tiny hills and mountains and the gentle plodding of waves against the shoreline. They hadn’t even stopped for food or sweets, and Y/N couldn’t blame him -- if it were her in his situation, she would avoid the town at all costs.
So, it was safe to say she had been surprised when he suggested it.
They’d been back from their trip for four days, which they had spent re-acclimating to life at his house again. Y/N got back into the pattern of her regular nanny duties while Harry got back into his work, though he does take a few more breaks than he had been prior to their trip. These breaks last a bit longer than the old ones did as well, and are typically ended with a kiss to her temple and a raspberry blown into Charlie’s neck. If he takes a break while she’s sat in Charlie’s room during his naps, he scouts her out with a snack of some kind and will sit in there with her for a little while as they share it.
One night, Harry had asked if she would like to stay over and of course, she had agreed to it. Their day went as normal, Y/N put Charlie to bed while Harry finished up the course plan he’d been working on for several hours. After she showered and got ready for bed, she slunk down to the kitchen and brewed lavender vanilla tea, before pouring the both of them a cup and finding her way to his office. Despite the door being cracked open, she knocked first and waited until he called for her to enter before she did so.
“I made us tea!” She began as she entered, smiling gently when his eyes met hers, “It’ll help get you ready for bed too, since your brain has been so busy all day, reckon it should calm you down.”
Harry looks surprised -- the kind of shock that might light someone’s eyes if they weren’t expecting something. She thought he’d have heard her bumping around in the kitchen, but she wonders if he’d assumed she was only making some for herself. If he had even paid mind to the disturbance in the quiet at all. The apathetic look he’d been giving his computer prior to her arrival is replaced by one of gentle delight; his lips pluck up at the corners, “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured as she set the mug down on a coaster, “Thank you -- I appreciate this a lot.”
“Of course,” she smiled before fixing her handle on the mug, about to pivot on her heel to make her way out of his office but his fingers loop around her forearm suddenly, “Oh! --”
“Why are you leaving?” He inquired as Y/N steadied herself, and he plucked her wobbling mug from her hands to set it down on the desk.
She nodded toward his computer, “I figured you were still working,” she explained, then motioned to herself, “And I didn’t necessarily want to annoy you today.”
The skin between his brows crinkles as he shook his head, “You could never be a bother to me,” he responded, no teasing lilt in his voice that would have matched her own -- he seemed almost offended that she would even suggest such a thing, “Stay with me. We can drink it together.”
“Yeah?” Harry nodded earnestly, “Well, alright. I guess I’ve always kind of wanted to try sitting on that couch --” she turned again, her mind set on going toward it, but Harry’s grip only tightens around her wrist, stilling her.
“Wait --” he began, but when their gazes locked, his cheeks pinkened quickly; she thought it was cute, how easy it was from him to blush, and she thinks if she reached out they would be warm to the touch, “ -- I. . .well, this feels silly now,” he shook his head at himself, and sighed heavily, “With you, I always act and speak before I think things through, it’s very -- it’s troublesome, for me. I get flustered too easily.”
“That’s okay,” she told him, “Just means every word out of your mouth is authentic. Plus,” she succumbed to her desire, reached her fingers out, and touched the warmth of his cheeks, “I think it’s a bit cute.” As always, he leaned into her touch like he was starved for it -- just wanted her near. . .as close as possible, and then even closer than that. “What were you going to say?”
Harry’s hands found the hem of her shirt and he ran the pad of his finger along the seam but he was never one to avoid looking into her eyes. No, instead he stared at her, pupils fixed on her face, “I wanted to know if you’d like to sit in my lap? Not in a filthy way!” He rushed to say, “I just wanted to hold you for a little while, if that would be okay?”
“Of course!” She used her knee to push his chair out further, plopped down on his thighs, and wiggled until she could settle. Y/N would have been a little coyer about it had the situation been with any other person, she thinks, but Harry responded much better to this. He asks for things like she’ll judge him for them -- like he’s worried her reaction to his inquiries will be poor, that she will be disgruntled or angered by them. And Y/N’s goal was to make sure he knew there was not a doubt in her mind when she agreed to do something that he suggested. He had good ideas, she wanted him to know that.
Albeit startled, he acclimated to her position on his lap easily. He slung his arm around her waist, and held her still and close, scooting them both nearer to the desk. He reached for her mug and placed it into her hands before picking up his own. After a sip, he hummed low and dipped his forehead against her shoulder, “You’re always so warm,” he murmured, “And soft.” Once he set his mug down, his fingers floated up toward her neck, stroking against the delicate chain of the necklace he’d gotten for her, “I’m glad you like this.”
“How couldn’t I?” She responded, raising her hand to his knuckles, “It’s a very thoughtful gift. How did you know I liked rubies, hm?”
“I didn’t,” he spoke into her shoulder, “Really, it was one hell of a guess. The jewel was just so beautiful it reminded me of you.”
Y/N felt her face heat up, “Aish, here you go -- always buttering me up,” she turned some, craning her neck to look at him, “Flattery will get you nowhere, y’know? If you want me to do something for you, all you’ve gotta do is ask.”
Harry nuzzles back and forth, his face brushing and crumbling the back of her shirt. She’s not sure if he’d been doing it to shake his head or if it was a sign of his affections, but either way, Y/N hummed and poked his thigh, pushing for a response. “I’m not buttering you,” he murmured, “You deserve to hear these things. They’re the truth after all.”
“So there are no ulterior motives to all these sweet words?” Harry shook his head once more, “Then what’s poking my bum?” She had noticed it after she had shifted on his lap the first time in an attempt to get comfortable and had been toying with the idea of mentioning it. They hadn’t done anything sexual since New Years', just cuddles and caresses, but the opportunity really hadn’t arisen. And Harry, well, she couldn’t imagine him initiating anything, with how much he second-guesses himself.
His response had been to squeeze her tighter, and tuck his face deeper into her shoulder, and she hummed once more “Hm?”
“Sorry,” his words muffled, his tone bashful, “I -- I get them sometimes, when. . .it doesn’t have to necessarily be because I’m turned on, y’know?”
Y/N leaned back into him, “Ohhhhh,” she tutted her tongue, “Like an affection stiffy then, yeah? You big softie.” She slid her palms against his forearms to carefully unwind him from around her waist despite his protesting whines, as she sunk to the ground, the thud of her knees muted by the rug, “Get your kit off, I know a good remedy for affection stiffies.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” he murmured as she fit herself between his legs, her hands firm on his knees when she split them apart, “I could do you instead.”
Her brows pinched and her mouth pouted as she looked up at him, “Hm? But I want to do you,” she told him, then tilted her cheek against his knee, keeping her gaze fixed on his, “Do you not like blowies?”
Harry’s cheeks are such a rosy pink -- he’s so damn shy, she couldn’t stand it (in the best way). Such a domineering, strong-willed man all flustered and red-faced from just her speaking about having her mouth on him. It made her head spin in circles.
“No, I -- I really like them, but --” he shuffled his hips, his hand found her head and he stroked her temple, and if not for how mesmerized by him she was, she might have let her eyes flutter shut, “-- I just don’t feel like I deserve one if I haven’t made you cum yet.”
For fuck sake.
Y/N slid her hands up his sweatpants and pulled at the drawstring of his sweatpants until the knots are undone. She tucked her fingers into the waistband and started to tug, before he finally raised his hips to help her get them down, “Technically we’re at an uneven orgasm ratio. You got me off four times, I’ve only gotten you off once.” Y/N found quickly that Harry hadn’t bothered with underwear at all, and she swallowed thickly as she looked at him. It felt like the first time all over again; the delight and the nerves, the way her mouth waters. The head is swollen, ruddy, and wet -- he was so big that she knew once she got her lips around him, only a quarter of the way down would feel like an absolute mouthful. She could already feel the ache in her jaw.
“Well, you’ve -- oh,” he paused when her fingers looped around the base, “I mean if we’re being. . .if we’re being technical, you’ve made me cum plenty. The thought of you at least.”
She didn’t know what to do with the information. The knowledge that Harry got off to the thought of her -- the imagery that invades her brain is enough to make each of her cells feel electric; sizzling and sparking as she pictured it. Harry is in his bed, surrounded by his crumpled bedding, face heated and body flushed as he works over himself. She imagined what it must have been like. Had he been trying to fall asleep but his mind danced toward her? Had it started out as an affection stiffy or was it pure arousal? What did he imagine when his fingers were wrapped around his cock? Was she riding him while he sat on the couch? Did he fuck her roughly over his desk, or was it soft sweet, and tender in his fresh cotton sheets? Maybe he’d even imagined sticking his prick deep in her mouth and fucking her face? Did he look as shy as he did right then?
It was difficult to bite back the lewd noise that crawled up her throat, so she plugged her mouth with the head of his cock and stifled it against him. Harry’s head tossed back as her lips stretched over the tip, lulling her tongue against the slit where precum deliciously oozed. Y/N mustered all the spit in her mouth to drool over him -- she wanted it to be wet, sloppy, and messy for him -- wanted it to feel as if he’d dipped his cock into a warm pool. He deserved it, or at least she thought he did.
Plus, she thought, if he kept looking down at her so shyly, with his knuckle tucked between his teeth as he watched her, she would just have to clip off a part of the moon and hand it to him.
Despite her desire to keep watching him, Y/N had to tilt her head down so she could take more of him into her mouth. Her tongue stroked against the underbelly, slicked across the throb as she forced herself downward. Though her gag reflex was dodgy, she hummed to suppress it, sending vibrations down his shaft. His thighs squeezed around her body, her eyes watered once she got him to the back of her throat. She was only able to keep him there for a few seconds before she had to slide off, popping him out of her mouth before she gasped wetly. Strands of spit and his precum attach them to each other, but they bow and snap once she starts to twist her hand up and down quickly. Her lungs burned as she sucked in a breath to make up for the fact she hadn’t really been breathing well through her nose.
She cradled his prick to sponge wet kisses down the side of it, down to his balls where she suckles and drools as she peeked up at him and felt a shiver run down her spine. Harry already appeared so fucked out, his chest heaved, his knuckle still tucked into his mouth to keep quiet. “Hey,” she panted, swallowing the spit that had collected in her mouth, “I want to hear you.” The hand that wasn’t preoccupied with his cock, she used to grab his wrist and pull down, “Let me hear you.”
“Sorry,” he let her take his hand, but he maneuvered them so that he could slot their fingers together, and he held her hand tightly before he rested them on his thigh, “Haven’t had this done to me in a while, and with it being you I -- well, I’m just a bit of a mess.”
“I like messes,” Y/N murmured against his head before she flicked her tongue along the frenulum, “Do you wanna hold my head? Or you could stand up and fuck my throat -- I’m good with either.” The moan that left his lips was well worth taking a moment to breathe, and she shivered at his whimpers when she circled the pad of her thumb at the underside of the head, “I just want you to feel good.”
Harry squeezed her hand again, “I don’t know, Sweet girl, I just -- oh! Oh, fuck, baby,” Y/N had sunk back onto his prick by then, without a thought other than sucking him down and sucking him dry. He deserved it -- she thinks that if she could for him, she would stay on her knees for days on end and leave her mouth open for him to use as he pleased, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep doing that.”
Again she hummed and sank as low as she could go, her throat spasming around the head while she used the other hand to cup his balls and his thighs tighten around her again in a little hug. It restricted the movement of her hand a bit, but he mewled, goosebumps pebbled over her skin as she felt him throb against her tongue once more. She drags off of him again for another breath, only this time she doesn’t tug at him while she does so.
Y/N wondered what she looked like to him from this position. She’d only ever let one boy take a polaroid of her before when she’d been on her knees for him, and when she’d witnessed it after the fact she cringed. It was blurred, but the angle was awful and his thumb was halfway in front of the lens, so after he fell asleep she took it, cut it up into little slivers, and saved it to burn in the next bonfire she attended so that she would never have to look at it again. It had put her off blowies for a while, actually, but she had thrown all caution to the wind when it came to the man sitting above her. She hadn’t concerned if she looked pretty or not, she just wanted him to feel good, but now as her chin is wet and her lips no doubt reddened and swollen, she wondered if he thought she was still pretty.
Maybe with anyone else, she would be far too self-conscious to ask, but with Harry, she doesn’t worry about it. Isn’t even the least bit nervous when she swallows and asks, “Do you think I’m pretty?” She murmured, blinking up at him.
Harry didn’t waste a second to respond, “I think you’re beautiful.”
“Even like this?” Her hand began to move over him slowly, and she watched with delight as his eyelids fluttered, “Even all messy?”
Another whine slithers from his throat, long and drawn, low and pitiful, “I --” he sucked in a deep breath, she watched as the air filled his lungs through a heave of his chest, “I always think you’re beautiful,” he admitted, “I think you’re an angel.”
Satisfied with his answer, Y/N tucks the head of his prick in between her lips again but stays put. Only lets him sit against her tongue, trying hard not to smile when he makes a little desperate noise, “Baby,” he wiggled, “Please!”
“Hm?” She hummed against him, and he bucked his hips a little in response.
His hips stuttered away from her, “Sorry -- sorry, I --” she squeezed the hand she still held of his, encouraging him to do it again. It took him a minute to understand what she meant by it, but when she stayed in her place and squeezed his hand a second time, he rocked his hips up into her mouth again, “You want me to --”
“Mhm,” she hummed again, and Harry does it again, and again, and again, stroking against her tongue and fucking shallowly into her mouth. She feels him throb again, and she knew it was going to happen soon; her insides bristled at the thought of him filling her mouth.
“So good,” he murmured, his head tilted back, “So, so, so good, fucking hell,” he panted, “Your mouth -- I’m g’na cum,” his hips jutted forward, “I’m g’na cum, I’m g’na cum.”
The ache in her jaw burned only slightly, but she began to bob her head and started moving her hand. She wanted him to cum, and the quicker the better, honestly, because she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. Y/N thinks she would have pushed herself just to make sure that he came, no matter how long it would have taken, but this was much better, she’d say, at least for her mouth.
His other hand did eventually find her head, and he doesn’t slide his fingers through her hair but he does lie his hand on the back of it. The pulse drums in her mouth, she tilted the head against the inside of her cheek and all his muscles go taut as a bow while he squeezed her hand tightly. His groaning is loud, he didn’t bother to muffle it at her request as he began to spurt into her mouth. It’s warm, so much of it filled her mouth and if she could smile at the joy of it then she would have but she had to keep all of it. She worked him through it, twisting her palm against his shaft until he squeezed her hand again, this time for a different reason as she kept on him until he was twitching and sensitive.
Y/N pushed herself from her spot on the ground, and took hold of Harry’s chin, and used her thumb to pull his lips open. It took him only a moment to understand what she wanted, and he opened up for her easily, as she fixed their lips together and pushed his cum into his silky mouth. Harry moaned against her as he tasted himself, and once she parted with another little peck, she pulled back and swallowed the rest. He swallowed as well, staring at her with spit-slicked, fuchsia-colored lips as he panted.
With the back of her hand, Y/N dragged it across her mouth to dry it, “You cum a lot,” she was careful in how she handled his softening prick, tucking it back into his sweatpants that she helped him tug up, “It tasted good though, so I guess that’s alright.”
“Thank you,” he wrapped his arms back around her waist when she sat back down on his lap, where she had been before, “You’re wonderful. I’ll make you cum next, yeah?”
“Mm,” she hummed, “I’m good for t’night, just wanted to do you.” The lavender tea was still warm, she could feel it from the ceramic that heated her fingertips, as she passed it off to his hand, “Since I have the most wonderful-est mouth in the world though, you could make me cookies or something.”
Harry took a drink, she wondered if it sank warm and comforting in his belly, “I don’t have anything for making cookies, Pet, I’m sorry,” he continued before she could pout, “But -- well, I thought maybe we could go into town tomorrow. A picnic on the beach might be fun if you’d like that -- it’s supposed to be a bit nicer out than it has been. We could even stop by that bakery you like so much and get sweets, yeah?”
“I love picnics, but --” she stopped herself, the words dance on her tongue but she shot their feet and watched them crumble because she couldn’t say but you hate going into town, don’t you? Since they think you killed your wife? -- no, that wouldn’t do. Her stupid brain had been just seconds from ruining a nice moment, and no matter how badly she wanted to know the truth, she didn’t necessarily want to find out after his prick was in her mouth. It felt like a heavier conversation than just post-orgasm cuddles on his chair, “-- but I didn’t bring my basket.” She settled for instead and she watched as the concern that had been building on his face dissipated, “I’ve got a wicked picnic basket but I think I either lost it in the move or it’s still at my old place.”
“That’s alright,” he began to rub her back with his free hand, “I’ve got one. It may not be as spectacular but it will do.”
She pushed a kiss to her cheek, “Okay, good,” she told him, “Now finish your tea, I’m exhausted.”
. . .
They cuddled that night; Harry liked to be a big spoon so he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
There is a nightmare -- a small one, nowhere near the extent of the other’s that she’s woken him from -- so she doesn’t have to wake him up as abruptly nor aggressively. She merely spun in his arms and petted at his face, murmuring for him to wake up only two times before his eyes blinked open. Before she could say anything, he reached up and held her hand closer to his cheek.
“I’m okay,” he said, his voice gravelly, “I’m awake?”
“Mhm,” she hummed, “You’re awake.”
Harry nodded, “I’m awake,” he agreed quietly, his eyes fluttered shut again, “I love you.”
Y/N’s brain doesn’t really catch it -- how could her brain catch anything, really? She was so sleepy, and Harry was so warm, and soft, and she wormed her body closer around his.
“Love you too.” She murmured but her mouth is filled with marbles and her brain doesn’t catch that either.
. . .
“Baker bezzy!” Adam cheered when the bell on the store door’s knob clinked against the glass at their arrival, a grin stretched wide on his mouth as he stuck his arms out high in the air, “Oh, how I’ve missed you -- but the cash registers have missed you more, m’sure of it.” His brows shot straight to the sky once his gaze shifted over to Harry, “Mr. Styles, always a pleasure! And Mr. Charlie, looking dashing.”
Y/N loved a warm welcome and Adam was always keen on giving them. Charlie was strapped to her chest in his best picnic gear, dungarees beneath his purple coat and buckled shoes that Y/N knew she was going to pop off at some point so he could stuff his toes in the sand. He held her finger in one of his hands, flashing gummy smiles with a singular tooth that had begun to sprout, and Adam waved at him with three fingers. She was appreciative of his treatment toward Harry most of all though; despite his clear surprise that he was seeing him for the first time in what may be more than a year, he covered it well.
“Hello,” Y/N smiled brightly, “My wallet surely hasn’t missed you though if I’m honest.”
He holds his hand over his chest, “You wound me, but I’ll let it go. Lucky for you, I’ve just pulled your favorite out of the oven.”
“Cinnamon rolls?” She gasped, and Adam used both of his hands, waving them toward himself.
“Yes, yes, you can say it -- Adam, you’re the best, you’re so cool, oh my god what would we do without you -- wouldn’t be the first time I heard it, and you know what?” He plucked off the glove on his right hand, typing something into the register quickly, “They’re on the house, ‘cos I missed you lot so much. Take me on your trip next time.”
Y/N thanked him about a dozen times before picking out what else she would like, and looping one of her fingers in Harry’s belt loops to tug him closer to the display, “D’ya want a chocolate puff? I dunno’ what that is but it sounds yummy.”
She effectively racked up a little too much, but it’d been so long since she’d been here so she deemed it only appropriate. Plus, she got free cinnamon rolls which made it a little better. Y/N tried not to spend so much time speaking with Adam as she usually does, especially when she’d realized quickly that Harry was not adding much to the conversation. He probably felt awkward -- Y/N might if she hadn’t been down walking about town for a while, unknowing of how he might be received. Adam had been kind outwardly, but were his thoughts filled with malice? Was he looking at Harry up and down, debating on whether or not he was a cruel being?
Adam had been the one to bring it up to her, but he was also the first to disagree with the population consensus. Harry didn’t know that though -- all Harry knew was that Adam was working smack in the middle of a town that thought he’d killed his wife. Y/N couldn’t say that she would be up for much conversation at that point either, but she still tried to incorporate him into the conversation though he was more so responding with polite smiles and nods. There was little tension behind it but she could still sense his discomfort and ended the conversation with a wad of cash as her gratitude; he told them to come back soon and sent a wink in their direction.
She thought nothing of it -- he always winked, whether it be to her, or the older women that come in, she reckoned he was just being a flirt. It had been so insignificant, actually, that after they made their way to the private beach, laid his lavender-colored “bleach blanket” out to sit on, and unloaded the basket (that was filled with sandwiches, chips, fruit and veggie slices, the cinnamon rolls they’d just gotten for dessert, and some mashed peas and sweet potatoes for Charlie to eat), when Harry said, “He likes you,” Y/N is more than confused.
“Who, Charlie?” She had pulled him from where he was strapped on her stomach, flipping him around so he was sitting in her lap, leaning against her torso and staring out at the ocean, “I’d sure hope so, he has to see this ol’ mug often enough.” Y/N popped open the container of mashed peas, while she let him hold onto his spoon, his fingers wrapped tightly around it while he marveled at the ladybug figure on the handle.
Harry shook his head pensively, “No, not Charlie,” he responded, and in turn, Y/N’s brows furrowed, as she took the spoon from Charlie and dipped it in the peas, “Your baker bezzy. . .Adam.”
A scoffed laugh left her mouth as she gaped at him, “Adam?” Her movements pause, the spoon stopping just short of Charlie’s mouth, and a frustrated whine peels from the back of his throat, “He absolutely does not like me!”
“I think he does,” he twists his ring at the bottom of his pinky finger, but instead of bashfully looking to the side his eyes bore into her own, “How he looks at you and talks to you -- he winked at you and gave you free cinnamon rolls. . .” he trailed off, before repeating firmly, “I think he does.”
“I think that he’s just a bit of a friendly flirter and I leave good tips,” she shook her head again, “But like me? Not like that, I’m certain of it.”
Harry straightened out his back, “How do you know?”
It hadn’t been what she was expecting, and she’s flustered as she fumbles over, “Because I just know! I figure I could piece together if someone had feelings for me or not.”
“You didn’t know I had feelings for you,” he pointed out, reaching forward to wipe away some of the food that had dribbled onto Charlie’s chin before wiping it away with a napkin, “I’d been -- I’d been enamored by you since the first week we’d met, and you had no clue, did you?”
Her eyes bulged wide, as she exclaimed, “No you weren’t!” Because she wasn’t that blind, was she? The first few weeks they knew each other Harry had been so cold and closed off; she would shuffle back and forth anxiously behind him while he methodically made his morning coffee hoping he wasn’t moments from telling her she was fired. As time went on, they’d certainly gotten closer, but she would have had to say that bridge was crossed further than just a week of meeting, “Harry, I thought you hated me that first week.”
“I was incredibly fond of you. More so than I should have been and more so than I particularly cared to admit at the time. You smelled like fresh linen and sweets all the time, and your smile always reached your eyes; I never imagined you would feel even remotely the same for me, so I tried to be as distant as possible with you working in my house but it was difficult -- you made it very difficult.” Again, Y/N wishes that even for a moment he would break away his gaze, because she’s captivated by his words and mesmerized by the way the sunlight brought sparkles to the green of his irises, “When you held me for the first time, it felt like my insides had melted and it was all I could think about for weeks after.”
Her heart was hammering, thundering in her ears, “Harry --”
“And I was so cold toward you because I hated myself for feeling that way, but it felt good to be warmed in the light that you emit. All of that is beside the point,” he huffed out a breath, pointing his finger toward himself, “If I could hide that right under your nose, then he could definitely hide liking you behind free cinnamon rolls and cheeky winks.”
It took Y/N a while to find what to say, her mind racing a hundred thoughts a second, but she felt as if no response she conjured up would be good enough. Her heart filled with butterflies, that fluttered down to her stomach and made her giddy all over. She felt like a kid again, as she flushed warm, so it was only reasonable that in true teenage fashion her response was to nudge him with her foot, trying not to grin as hard as she wanted to.
“Harry,” she began, “You’re jealous.”
A disgruntled look took his face, and for a moment Y/N almost regrets saying it, but then he responds.
“I am,” he admitted, shoulders slumped and for the first time he shifts his gaze from her to the ring he’s twisting around his finger, “Like a petulant child,” he sounded upset with himself, giving a strong sigh, “I am jealous that you may have feelings for him because I think you two would do well with each other. And I -- I fear that I’m not very fun.”
His honesty is a lot, but it’s refreshing. Like breathing the air of a meadow far from the city smog that sat heavy in the lungs, where the grass is green and dewy, the flowers have all blossomed, it feels like living in a painting and it smells like renewal and it’s clear as looking through crystals. He speaks from his heart; his words are sincere, and it makes her feel like she’s floating. She wishes he didn’t look so grumpy about it though -- and she wishes he didn’t think that he wasn’t fun.
So Y/N plopped the spoon back into the peas and set it off to the side for a moment, placing her hand on Charlie’s tummy and keeping him pressed to her body as she began to shuffle from where she’d been positioned. She carefully avoided the food they had set up, but she urgently pats at his thighs until he gets the hint to spread them open. Y/N spun around so she faced out toward the water again, only this time she pressed her back up against his torso and lied against him, settling Charlie back in the cradle of her crossed legs, taking the peas in hand.
“If I had feelings for Adam that surpassed friendly, then I would be in the bakery kneading bread or summat. And if I didn’t have fun with you Harry, then I would avoid every chance of seeing you outside of your house for more than a few minutes at the time,” she tilted her head back, craning her neck so that she could look up at him some, and she finds that he’s looking at her, “If I wanted to be anywhere else right now, then I would be, but I’m not because I want to be with you.” She knocks his foot against hers, “Aish, you’re silly.”
Harry smiled, his hand cradled the side of her face and petted at her jawline tenderly, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the waves crash against the shore in a particularly loud burst but he’s so close she can still hear him clearly, “I know I worry too much. I’ve never had this amount of reassurance before.”
She grinned, “Well if it’s reassurance you need, then I’ve got a load of it!” Y/N dipped the spoon in the peas and fed Charlie again, “I love a bit of reassurance myself, so I try to dish it out as much as possible, y’know?”
He dips his forehead against the back of her head, and breathes in deep, wrapping his arms around both her and Charlie.
Harry says nothing but he doesn’t have to.
Their lunch is pleasant, the sun is warm, and Charlie fell asleep soon after they had finished, resting with his cheek on her chest and his arms slung around her body. Y/N was moments from sleep herself, with her belly full and her mind swimming in drowsy clouds. It hadn’t helped that Harry was petting so gently at her arm, accompanied with murmured stories of his childhood by her request. Harry had always told her that he’d grown up with money, and from the time spent with his parents that much was clear, but she was curious by the extent of it. Growing up her family hadn’t been in the worst shape, but definitely not the best, so the polarity of their younger years was interesting to her.
He’d told her about the birthdays that he had, one of which included him and his four closest friends taking a trip to Disney World. His parents covered the entirety of the visit, along with bringing Harry’s nanny along so that she could watch over all five of the nine-year-olds (which clued her in that paying for nannies on their trips was a standard practice Harry had carried over). Nothing had been off-limits, he’d told her, that whatever he had set his eyes on he got and Y/N mused over the possibilities of all the things his nine-year-old self had determined he needed. Shirts, stuffies, figurines -- he told her his mum had kept them all, and each year on his birthday she sends one of the stuffed animals with his actual gift (which she’d been doing for eight years now, meaning that he had gotten at least eight stuffed animals and with the price of those things? Christ!).
And then he told her about his first kiss, back when he was 11 under an apple tree at his Nan’s farm, with the daughter of a family friend. He told her it was horrible, and he’d been so nervous that he’d cried leading up to it, but he regarded the memory fondly. Harry kept in touch with her for years after and had even been the first person she’d come out to when they were teenagers -- he came with her on her first date and spied from a distance because she had watched one too many crime shows and had been positive she was going to be kidnapped, but it went well. When the date had gone to the restroom, Harry slid over to the table and slipped her money to pay the tab and get ice cream afterward.
Y/N had inquired about his schooling, and he told her all the ins-and-outs of the private school that he’d attended. He said it had been pleasantly boring, but went on to tell her an extensive four-part story about a student-teacher relationship that somehow managed to last three of their four years there. It had pulled her from the dreamy state she had slipped into, finding that she’d slipped down so her head was in his lap as she opened her eyes and gaped up at him, “That’s like -- like, incredibly illegal.”
“Don’t I know it,” Harry had agreed, “I always knew something was up with the bloke — he ate raisin bread every lunch period.”
A horrified gasp left her mouth, “No, the monster! Why every lunch period?”
“Couldn’t tell you. It was very unsettling.”
After that, Harry started describing a trip that he’d taken to Japan during cherry blossom season, and went into extreme detail about how the air smelled, and how the wind felt against his skin. He told her that words and pictures would never be able to translate how beautiful it was, but he tried his best to as he traced looping patterns with the tips of his fingers onto her cheeks. That’s when her eyes had fluttered closed, and that’s when she started falling into a pleasant slumber. Harry still spoke though she knew he could see that she was falling asleep, but he doesn’t mention it other than caressing her jaw and murmuring, “Sleepy thing.”
Y/N is unsure how long they are there, but she is very sure that she’s never been more comfortable in her life. And as he coaxes her awake, she opened her eyes, squinting at the sun that still sat high over them while she tried to refocus on his face, “Hm?” She hummed and Harry giggled brightly.
“I said let’s get you two home, Angel,” he helped guide her from his lap, but he doesn’t rush her -- just a gentle hand on her back as she cradles a still-sleeping Charlie to her body as she sat up, “When I checked the weather they called for rain in an hour or two. Reckon it wouldn’t be very fun to get caught up in the storm.”
They clean up after themselves thoroughly, and Y/N carefully places Charlie in his holder that was fixed on Harry’s chest this time. As they walk toward the car, Y/N can tell that Harry is deep in thought but she doesn’t question him on it -- she didn’t like to pry or push him to say things if he wasn’t ready to, which made it all the more gratifying when he did open up to her, even about little things. Though this thing, apparently, had felt very big to Harry -- at least the furrow in his brow was telling her that.
“I --” he began, and Y/N paused, her hand wrapped around the handle of the door, humming to let him know she was listening, “I need to go to the store.”
She controlled her features well enough, she’d say, because her brows don’t skyrocket at the suggestion of going in an even more public area than the bakery, “Oh? What d’ya need?”
With a clear of his throat, he explained, “We ran out of creamer and paracetamol,” his fingers are clutched tight around the keys but he finally digs the pad of his thumb on the button to unlock the car, “It’ll only be a moment.”
Y/N popped the door open, “Well that’s easy enough! I can pop in for you if you want. Or we could go in together too!” It rolled off her tongue -- she tried to act as natural as she could about it; she couldn’t let him go into that store alone. The thought of it gave her hives all over, “I might as well pick up a few things myself.”
Harry gave a ruminative smile, one that barely reached his eyes and only twitched the corner of her mouth by the smallest of quirks. It was very reminiscent of the sort of smiles she’d been privy to when they’d first met, and she’d not realized how much she hadn’t missed it at all. She liked the smiles that she received now, big and bright, rosy cheeks but a beautiful light behind his gaze. No, this one was cold and contemplative -- this one spoke of loneliness and pain.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to go in by yourself.” Harry questioned and she didn’t waste a moment, nodding quickly.
“Of course,” she popped the door open, “Yeah, we’ll both go in then. In and out, right?”
He was nervous. Even if Y/N had not an inkling of a clue about his past (and his present, she guesses) with this town, she could feel the tension thick and heavy in her chest. It makes her shuffle uncomfortably, silence filling the car apart from the tick of his blinker as they made their way to the market. Her heart hammered as he parked the car, and it continued to hammer as they got out of the car, Harry placed Charlie into his holder against his body and they walked toward the store. Y/N tried to lighten the mood even just a little, and again she got that tiny little smile, that made her shoulders sink just slightly.
She thinks the tension eases when they walk through the doors and are not immediately stoned. Y/N isn’t a hundred percent sure what the both of them expected, but she guesses something to that extent was what had built up in their heads. A deep breath in and she tried one more time, and squeezed his shoulder once as a silent reminder that she was right there beside him, “They have those red bean buns here, right? I’ll get us some of those.”
Harry scrunched his nose at her, “I think your body functions solely off sweets now, doesn’t it? If not for me you would not eat any real food.”
It felt as if both of them had been holding air in their lungs but finally sighed out, and each passing minute without a scene breaking out among the others in the grocery, the more they both relaxed. While she could still feel Harry’s worry, he had even begun joking some with her, not letting his guard down but making an effort not to let on how uncomfortable he was to her.
Y/N had really thought they’d made it through the whole store without any trouble, as she slipped the red bean buns into their basket. Harry had been right in the middle of asking her if she’d like anything else while they were still here, just as they passed a woman in a purple knitted sweater. If Y/N hadn’t been staring at one of the stitches at the back of the neck that was just a bit loose, she may not have caught it, and maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t. Maybe it would have been better if her ears hadn’t perked up to hear the uttered, “Disgusting,” that left the woman’s mouth as her gaze caught Y/N’s.
Her brows dip as she paused, her upper half had already been turned and her bottom half followed so she faced the woman fully, “Excuse me?” Y/N said it without thinking, and Harry hums as if he thought she was speaking to him, “Ma’am, what did you say?”
The woman had little shame as she turned to face Y/N, face pinched as if she were revolted, and Y/N’s heart began to sink as she realized what was happening, and with Harry right beside her no less, “I said disgusting,” she put emphasis on the word, “For him to show his face here. We all thought he’d moved.”
Y/N scoffed, “Listen, you need to --”
“Y/N,” Harry’s voice cut through her sentence, his hand resting idly on her shoulder, drawing her attention from the woman, “It isn’t worth it. We should go home.”
The pain in his eyes makes her heart sink lower; she felt as it eroded in her stomach’s acid, and the fight in her had been snuffed out like a small flame beneath a shoe. Y/N looked from the both of them, perturbed by the situation, conflicted only slightly as she swallowed and began to turn away from her. She would have left to -- for Harry’s sake, she would have left and pretended that it hadn’t happened at all until he felt comfortable enough to bring it up -- she would have, really.
“Yeah, why don’t you go home? Wife killer.”
She really would have.
“Actually, I think you’re the disgusting one,” Y/N had begun as she turned back around, “To say something so cruel. He lost his wife and you’ve decided that it’s his fault? You’re the worst kind of cruel -- downright evil,” her nails pinch into her palms, “You’re awful!”
“Y/N --” Harry tried again, but the woman cut her off quickly.
“He’s the awful one!” She seemed shocked Y/N could have even suggested otherwise, “You’re new here, Honey, so I’ll let you in on what your boyfriend did. He killed his wife after treating her awfully -- cheating on her!” Her words were vile, and to say all of this in front of Harry. The rage that lit through her vessels was enough to make her feel like she was burning up, “And he got away with it ‘cos he can afford fancy lawyers to cover up the truth. So before you go around calling people you don’t know evil, look at the man beside you. And learn some respect.”
Y/N took a small breath, just a moment to collect her thoughts.
“Fuck off.”
“Excuse me?” The woman’s brows raise.
“Respectfully, Fuck. Off.” Y/N’s glare was undeviating, but she could feel eyes on them -- other people watching them closely, though they wouldn’t show it outright, “Were you there when it happened?” She stepped forward, “Or are you God? Some deity?” The woman appeared confounded, like her argument should have been able to sway Y/N, “I don’t think you are -- I think. . .I think you’re a foul creature that thinks you have the right to judge a situation you had no part of. And I think you should think about someone’s feelings before you start saying something with no real basis other than word of mouth from other people just as rotten as you. You really need to do some soul searching if you think that this is the proper way to confront anyone about your feelings. I hope you think about this before you go to bed at night.” She stepped back, closer toward Harry before taking another small breath, “You’re lucky you didn’t wake the baby, or you would have really upset me. Goodbye.”
With this, she turned back on her heel, and carefully guided Harry by his shoulder to follow her as he let the basket sit on the ground where they’d been. Her eyes burned with tears of frustration and anger, as the look on his face when the woman had first stopped them replayed over and over again in her head. Maybe if she had fought him on it -- maybe if she had just fought him a little harder, he would have stayed in the car and she could have spared him from having to hear that woman. She gave in too easily, and when he tried to get them to leave, she stayed to fight which. . .well, she doesn’t regret saying anything that she did, but she does regret making Harry look bad if she had.
All she had done was bring more attention to them -- she blew it out wide open and brought everyone into his business. She wouldn’t be shocked if he were upset with her. . .no matter her defending him.
“Y/N,” he says her name, but she doesn’t respond at first, swallowed in her thoughts she barely registered that he’d said anything, “Y/N.”
“Yes?” She responded, her hand sliding from his shoulder and back down toward her side.
He paused for a moment, “You knew?”
For a moment, everything freezes.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart hiccuped over a beat; Y/N’s fingers twitched where they sat at her sides, her lips hung open waiting for her brain to muster a response -- anything. Could she figure out something to say? Anything at all?
“Y --” she sighed, her blood roaring in her ears, “Yes,” she answered, shoulders slumping in defeat, “I knew. But not -- I didn’t know at the start at all.”
“How long?” Charlie began to blink his eyes open, slow as a pleased cat, “You knew for how long?”
Was he angry with her? Y/N couldn’t tell -- she couldn’t read him at all and it made her palms sweat. She hadn’t been technically lying but she still felt immense guilt suffocating her at the realization that she hadn’t been entirely truthful either. Not that she ever had the opportunity to just. . .bring it up, but still -- fuck, she didn’t know what to do.
“Since the third week.”
. . .
The ride to his house is silent.
Not the comfortable one that they sometimes fell into; like when she’s so focused staring out the window that no words come to her mouth, where the engine’s lulled purr and Charlie’s small giggles and babbles fizzled through the quiet. The kind where Harry had much recently started placing his hand on her thigh, resting it there with no real purpose other than to touch her. One where she feels content and calm, and if she let her eyes flutter shut she could drift off to sleep, the sun disappearing and reappearing as they drive past trees creating pink flickers behind her lids.
No, this wasn’t like that at all.
There was no noise. It felt like even the car had sensed the tension and held its breath waiting for one of them to slice words through the quiet. Her gaze was trained out the window but her fingers shook and her heart raced -- she could hear it thumping in her ears. She should have kept her mouth shut, she’s decided that if she hadn’t said anything at all then everything would be okay. If she had ignored the woman’s tasteless murmur, then she and Harry could have been laughing right now. Maybe they would have sat at one of the park benches, or pushed Charlie on the swing. Maybe Harry would share one of her sweets with her while the sun began to sink. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so downtrodden and gloomy.
Clouds thick with rain pulled in from the North and had Harry not mentioned them earlier, she would have thought the weather had changed with the mood. It was befitting, at the very least, the heavy drops spatter the glass as the gates open for them, and the loud iron hinges that usually make her cringe is a welcomed piercing into the silence. If it were a normal day, Y/N would joke that they should ditch the gate and invest in a moat instead -- she thinks Harry might have chuckled.
Y/N half expects him to tell her to go home, but he doesn’t. The first words he spoke after about 20 minutes of nothing was a gentle request to take Charlie in, and warning her that Niall would be stopping by for something. She vaguely remembered him mentioning Niall earlier before all this, so she doesn’t panic that he was lifting her of her duties and going back to how things had been before her, but the thought had still arisen, no matter how fleeting.
“Do you need help grabbing everything?” She inquired, but he only shook his head.
“I’ll be okay.”
It was rotten -- this feeling that had begun to overcome her was as rotten as the wood in a forgotten cabin and as dense as sludge from the bottom of a polluted river. This was her fault. . .god, if she had just kept her stupid mouth shut!
But how could she? The lady had been so spiteful and so cruel, and to witness it happening rather than just theorizing about it, made it much too real. At that moment, the weight of what Harry had been going through here had finally settled deep in her chest and it made her sick. She didn’t know what happened but she knew he had vivid nightmares -- she knew the lost, faraway look that would take over his face at the mention of his wife, and she knew the pain that crossed his features every moment he’d uttered how he doesn’t really go to town.
They all so viciously passed judgment on them for something they knew absolutely nothing about and Y/N defended him for something she knew nothing about. It felt as if it had happened either seconds ago or hours ago like she was caught in a figure-eight of time that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be -- seconds, minutes, hours. Tears still burned behind her eyes but she refused to shed them, as she hid away for a little while with Charlie in his playroom. The only time she comes out is just a little over two hours of them being home when it was time for Charlie’s supper. Just as she’d stepped onto the hardwood from the last step, the doorbell rang and Y/N was quick to answer it.
Niall is revealed once she pulls the door open, and the warmth of his grin combats the chill of evening air that rushed in the foyer, “Hey, Y/N!”
“Hi,” she smiled, stepping out of the way so that he could step in, “How was your winter break?”
Niall loosened his scarf from around his throat, “If Mr. Styles asks, it was dull, boring and I couldn’t wait to get back to work, but between you, me, and Charlie, I wish we had about four more weeks of it.”
She led them in and went to the kitchen while Niall made his way to Harry’s office. Y/N fuddled about making Charlie’s dinner, but could only stomach a glass of water for herself as she fed him. Normally she would dance between giving Charlie some, then eating a bite of her food, and making idle chatter with him as she did so. She still tried to chatter at him so he didn’t notice the difference, but she knew he could feel something was off. Babies were smart little things, and they could read energy better than anyone in a room like they had built-in radars that either dampen or strengthen with time.
Instead of feeding off it in a bad way and getting fussy, he’s just extra cuddly though. Held one of her fingers while she slid mashed carrots into his mouth and cooed at his puckered lips while he tasted it. No matter what happened today, this little guy knew no different -- just another day for him. . .she longed to switch places.
Just as she had wiped his face clean of his food and filled the dishwasher with what she used, the door to Harry’s office opens, followed by a call of, “See you, Mr. Styles!” So she turned her body toward the opening to the kitchen so she could bid him a farewell too, and soon enough he pops into the frame, “Hey, I’m heading out. Mr. Styles said after you lay Charlie down to come speak with him,” Y/N’s breathing hitched, Niall raised his fingers that he had crossed with a grin, “Hope it’s for a raise. See you later!”
“See you later,” she called after him but it was weak, and her heart (that had just finally begun to settle) began to hammer again. It continued to do so as she pulled Charlie from his seat, and all throughout his nighttime routine. She still tries for him, smiling at him, humming, and talking as she washed him clean of the day, blew raspberries into his tummy after she lotioned his skin, and dressed him in something warm and cozy. Charlie would fall asleep if she set him in his crib, she knew that, but to soothe herself and prolong what may be an intense conversation, she sat him in her lap and read him a story. Even after he’d fallen asleep in her arms, she pressed her nose to his soft hair and tried to calm herself down.
Eventually, it couldn’t be helped any longer. Her nerves got the better of her and she lowered him into his crib, turned off the light, clicked his sound machine on low, and crept out of the room quietly. She knew Harry would still be in his office because she hadn’t heard him go to his bedroom, so she walked down the steps and tried to soothe the worry from her bones as she grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen. No matter what, it was still Harry -- still the man who was always so gentle and kind with her. Today had thrown him off -- it would throw anyone off, so she understood why he was so quiet and distant. She would be too if the circumstances were flipped.
Still, she hated how this felt, as her knuckles knocked against the wood and she held her breath, waiting for him to speak.
“Come in.”
One more deep breath and she pushes the door open, and instead of making her way to his side like she had been doing, she stood at the door awkwardly, waiting for him to speak first. If she had been the one to initiate this then she would have prepared something to say, but she stays quiet -- he invited her down, so he had something to say, and she was keen on hearing it. Harry stood in front of his desk, his bum resting against the lip of it with his legs outstretched, and he held himself up with his hands on either side of him. He doesn’t avoid her gaze, locking it with her own, and she watched as he took a deep breath of his own, blowing a small stream of air through pursed lips.
“First, I want to apologize,” he finally started, and Y/N swallowed thickly, “I shouldn’t have -- I shouldn’t have subjected you to an environment I knew could have been hostile. We should have gone home and I should have just ordered it.” Her brows knit immediately, and she opened her mouth to refute that, that could have been his fault in any way but he held up his hand, “Please, Sweetheart, I -- I need to -- I need to get through this.”
She nodded, the twist in her belly partially satiated by the term of endearment -- he wasn’t mad at her, at the very least -- that helped a great deal.
“I should have, but I hadn’t because -- because things just feel so normal with you, and I wanted that. . .I wanted to go to the grocery store with you how we could in the city, and to be normal here. I thought that maybe we could, but for my own selfish reasons, I didn’t think it through nearly enough.” He shook his head at himself, “And I apologize for shutting down the way that I did on the ride home. It was naive of me to believe you could work for me this long and not know what is thought of me here. I think a part of me thought you might know but you had always -- you had always treated me so kindly, and you never asked questions so I had suspicions that you may have heard a passing word of it but not in great detail.” One of his hands, he combs through his hair, sighing before he started again, his voice shook only slightly with the first syllable before he got a hold of it, “I told myself several times that if you. . .if you had ever asked what had happened to my wife, I would tell you everything. I would open my heart to you in every way imaginable before you could -- before they could say anything to you. So I was frustrated finding out that you had already heard that side of it, and that I wasn’t able to speak with you before you could think that I was a murderer --”
“I don’t,” she cut him off firmly, “I don’t think that at all.”
His lips twitched again, in a small smile that just barely reached his eyes that tilted down to the floor, “I want to tell you,” he took in a shaky breath, “I need to tell you, but I’m scared. I haven’t. . .I haven’t really told anyone the whole thing, but --” he looked back up to her, “Do you want to know? Are you -- are you willing to listen to me?”
“Yes, Harry,” she answered with assured conviction, without even a moment passing by, “I want you to tell me everything. If you want me to know then I want to know.”
He nodded, “Okay,” he murmured, “Can we sit?”
They positioned themselves on the couch, and Y/N took the decorative pillow that would be pressed against her back and sat it in her lap. She curled her arms around it, her fingers idly playing with the tassel at the bottom left corner just to give herself something to do. Harry was preparing himself to speak, and despite how relieved she was to finally get the story, she felt her heart clench in pity for him. Re-living it would be difficult, but he wanted to tell her -- he said he needed to tell her -- so she would listen.
“Ebba and I had met when we were 18 but had only been officially together for 2 years before we started to have problems,” he finally said, shifting uncomfortably on his side of the couch, his fingers fixed around the ring he’d been playing with earlier today, “It was little stuff at first -- little fights and grievances, but we both had decided that it was normal, that kind of thing. Couples bicker and argue because they love each other enough to, that’s what my mum had always said and it had always sounded about right. So we would have tiffs and make-up and it would be well again, but. . .well, the arguments started getting a little worse, especially around our anniversary. She kept accusing me of cheating on her, again and again, and again, but I hadn’t even so much as thought about another woman since I asked her on our first date.” He stared at a spot on the floor -- he looked far away, “And it’s a shit feeling being accused of something like that, so I would fight her back.”
“You’d think we would have taken a break or something to cool off from each other, but we were 23 so instead we moved in together. Thought maybe if we were around each other more then questions of infidelity could be shattered because we would be around each other more. This is around the time I started really gaining my footing in the industry, you know? And Ebba -- well, she’d already had a well-established place at her mother’s company so she was doing just fine. We played happy home for a little while in the new place in the city but it went. . .it went bad again, a few months in. She became very. . .aggressive when we fought, like -- like smashing things and breaking things, but I always figured that was kind of my fault. Could never admit when I was in the wrong about something so I’d just keep pushing her, y’know? Or it had felt that way at least, like no matter what I said I would just push her and push her and push her. But we --” he dipped his head down, staring into his lap, “We loved each other so much, we didn’t want to end things. Had plenty of conversations about ending it, and she’d even packed her bags a few times but we’d never go through with it. If she left, she’d show back up at our flat the next day.”
He took a small breath, pausing for a moment like he was collecting his thoughts again and Y/N offered him the water that sat at their feet. Harry nodded and took two drinks before he continued.
“My mum suggested couple’s counseling, ‘cos she and my father had once when they were younger, so we did. The woman they had gone to see was still in practice so we went and did about 12 sessions. It worked for a little while, or well enough that I thought proposing was the next best step -- we had re-entered that honeymoon stage again and it felt like we were on top of the world. So I proposed and we got married, and it was good for a few months but then I got a promotion,” he twisted the cap back on the bottle, setting it back where it had been on the ground beside her leg, “So I was traveling less with her, and I had less time off but that was a decision I made for myself, the company hadn’t made it. I wanted to -- for selfish reasons. . .it was all for selfish reasons. I wanted more money and I wanted to climb up the company and to learn from the best, but I couldn’t do that if I was spending summer weeks in Cabo. But I never -- I was never clear behind my motives for doing it, so she thought I was just trying to avoid her. Avoid her and “fuck some old computer prick’s wife” is what she would say. And the more we would fight, the longer I would stay at work, the less we would see each other.”
Y/N’s mind was spinning; it felt like Harry was dropping pieces of information that she followed closely behind to collect, fixing them into a timeline that he’d created. Her heart was still beating quickly.
“The first time I caught her cheating, she cried to me after I walked in on them -- it was some bloke from her job, I think, but she had thought I was gone at a business conference for a week. We’d had a massive fight before I left about me leaving, so I had changed my flight a day early to surprise her. The flat was trashed and she was there on the bed with him in our room. I wanted to leave -- to stay at a hotel for the night but she was sobbing, and she was drunk, and I couldn’t leave her alone. So I stayed, and the next few days were rough but then we talked it out, and we cried, and it was good again.” He gave a small self-deprecating smile, “That happened only one more time in that flat, but it technically “didn’t count” because we were on something of a break. I didn’t really see it as that kind of break, but I hadn’t been clear, I suppose.”
It was hard to hear him reflect on it, still finding fault in things that he shouldn’t at all find fault in. Her chest ached for him.
“I went back to school for my Master’s in an accelerated program when I was about 25. I told her I wanted to teach because I wanted to share my knowledge and help students put their best foot forward how some of my good professors allowed me to. Which was true, for the most part, but most of me just wanted to be away from her. I couldn’t handle it anymore -- the fighting, and the breaking, the yelling and the. ..and the hitting. It just felt good to not be home, but instead of being honest with her, I just found more reasons to not be alone with her for more than a dinner or two. I regret that. . .I regret not being honest.” He took in a shaky breath, “2ish before she died, we moved out here, and that was the real end for us. It started out kind of good, like always but then she started disappearing for days at a time. She had started drinking a lot and partying, and the worse our fights got. I tried to get her help -- I could see she was unhappy and this was never the life she wanted to live. It was too close to her father, and she hated it, and so I tried but she didn’t want it. She would say that she wasn’t addicted to anything, she was just having fun because life with me was miserable. I told her I wanted a divorce.”
His eyes had started to become glossy, she noticed how dewy they looked from the glow of his lamp, so she placed her hand on his knee and stroked it carefully with her thumb.
“At first she didn’t fight me on it, only packed her bags and said she would be with her mother for a while. A week later she came and told me that Charlie was in her belly and he was mine -- it was bittersweet. For once I understood why people tried to make marriages work for a child’s sake, and for nine months we were. . .fine. We weren’t awful but we weren’t good either -- we were just fine. But when Charlie was born I. . .” he paused, “When he was born I just had a feeling. A sick, disgusting feeling but it was there nagging at the back of my head and I couldn’t quiet it. So one day when she had gone out with her friends, I took Charlie and we got a paternity test.”
Y/N forces her face to stay neutral.
Her breathing pauses entirely.
“5 days later I found out that Charlie wasn’t mine,” his brows furrowed, and he shook his head, “I confronted her about it. I didn’t -- I didn’t care that he wasn’t mine, I had already fallen in love with him but I needed her to know that I knew. I wanted to know who his real father was. I wanted to know why, if there was any doubt that he could have been mine, did she not tell me. She got upset, she took Charlie and went to stay with her mother again. I didn’t see either of them for 4 months, until -- until one day someone knocked on my door but they were gone before I’d gotten there, and in their place was Charlie. It was too cold for him to be out there so I brought him inside first and I made sure he was warm and taken care of before I called her. I called her again, and again, and again, and again. Niall was there for that, which -- well, he really shouldn’t have been here even while he’s a TA but he was struggling with the material for an exam in one of his other courses and asked me to help him. I hadn’t been on campus so he drove out and we’d been studying in my office.” He explained, wiping a tear from his cheek, “I wonder. . .I always wonder what must have been going on in his head to see his professor like that. Couldn’t bring myself to look at his face but he was playing with Charlie for me, while I was pacing.”
“I checked her location and saw she was in the city, and I -- I apologized and begged Niall to sit with Charlie while I went to see if everything was okay. I just had this horrible feeling, because it hadn’t felt like the other times where she would just disappear and not answer my calls. If she was in the city already then it couldn’t have been her to drop Charlie off, someone else had. Halfway there I got a call from her mum and -- she was sobbing, and asking if Ebba was with me. If I knew where she was, and I told her I was on my way there. She told me that Ebba had written her a letter and left it on the counter for her, for when she got home. She said she was going to -- she said she was done with it all. With everything -- with life.”
It’s getting harder for him to continue, tears fall freely from his eyes now but he still won’t allow himself to truly break and Y/N’s hold on his knee tightens.
“She was at this bridge -- it used to be really popular a decade ago but they started construction on it that never finished, so it was basically deserted. By the time I had gotten there, the police were already there and they were -- her body was covered at the river below the bridge. I cried into the dirt, and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed until an officer’s hands touched my back and he sat me up. Her mom showed up around then too. It was awful. . .it was so, so, so fucking horrible.” He wiped at his face again, “When they actually looked over her, she was -- she had a lot of different drugs in her system.”
“And everyone. . .everyone in this fucking town had thought I killed her and after. . .and after all this time, it started to feel like it. I would have -- I hadn’t seen her for months at that point, there was nothing I could have done, but they look at me like I’m a fucking monster. Like I pushed her off the bridge myself. There stupid fucking theories -- they didn’t think I could hear them but I could. How I didn’t act like Charlie was my son because I resented him and his mother. I love him with my whole heart but those first few months after her death and even sometimes now I’m just so. . .I’m so scared that his biological father will come for him. I didn’t want to -- it sounds stupid now, but I didn’t want to get too close so it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he was taken from me, but even that didn’t work. I’m stiff and stuffy but I love him, and even though the whole relationship was nothing but tattered ribbon by the end, I would have never hurt her. I had. . .I didn’t love her anymore. I hadn’t felt any true love for her for years at that point, but I didn’t want her dead, and with a child in this world no less! But no -- no they made me out to be a killer.“
Y/N is overwhelmed by all of it -- every single word had been more and more difficult to process, and there was no hope of her being able to formulate a response that would do him any good just moments after he’d finished telling her. Sympathy and sorrow weigh in her muscles as she moves forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Harry’s body and dragging him into her own. As if had taken a sledgehammer to the last stonewall he had up around him, he sobs. He holds her close, even tighter than he has after a nightmare, and he lets every emotion that he’d been bottling up out all at once. It’s heartbreaking; her own tears wet her cheeks.
She isn’t sure how long he cried, but it wanes slowly, reduced to hiccups and sniffles. Y/N would have held him to her chest as long as he wanted -- all night and into the morning if that’s what he needed -- but when he’s finally settled, he begins to withdraw. His cheeks are red and wet, his eyes are puffy, his lips are bitten swollen and fuchsia red -- he looks absolutely fucking exhausted. Y/N cradles his face in her hands and guides him to look at her, stroking the damp skin of his face with her thumbs as she spoke.
“Thank you for telling me. I know it must have been very hard,” he nodded, “I don’t think I could ever have the right words to say, to absolve you of any guilt you’re feeling, or to make any of your pain go away, but I do -- I do want to tell you,” his lips quiver, “That Charlie is your son, even though you don’t share blood. You’ve raised him, and you care for him, and when he sees you you can just tell that he is yours, and no matter what happens nothing can change that fact. And I wanted to tell you, that you were not at fault for her death. There was nothing you could have done, so you cannot blame yourself for that, because she was sick Harry. And you can’t solely take the blame for what you’d been through in your relationship either -- it was abusive. You’ve been through so, so much and nobody should ever have to go through anything like that,” she leaned forward, and pushed a kiss to his forehead, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I wish I could take it all away.”
Harry took in a shaky breath, “Thank you for listening to me,” he murmured, “And for. . .and for not believing them and what they said about me. And for telling Mrs. Stuart off in the grocery. And for. . .for everything,” he dipped down, touching their foreheads together, and he giggled a small bit, “I want -- I want to get better. To process all the trauma of it so I can be the best version of myself for you and Charlie. Reckon I should probably look into therapy.”
Y/N breathed out a laugh, “I think that may be beneficial, yeah. Think everyone could use a bit of therapy -- nothing shameful about it.”
“Yeah,” he nodded to himself, “I think I’ll do that.”
. . .
Y/N had not foreseen how light the air around them would be. Even lighter than before; if a week ago it felt like floating on clouds with him, then now they move when the wind blows even a gentle gust. It’s good and it’s freeing, and if it feels as if there’s a weight off her chest then she knows Harry must feel a weight off his.
It was a lot — all of it was so much, and she doesn’t think she could truly comprehend the pain that Harry had suffered through but though it hurts to know, she’s glad to understand him more. To understand all his stony bits and all his worn, weathered bits. To push a piece that had been missing in the puzzle and see the full picture — and while it was agonizing to retell, she noticed how even now Harry has softened more, and she had already thought he was as soft as he could’ve been.
As if he were porcelain, Y/N treats him delicately. She knows how he must feel right now, exhausted and raw; his inner thoughts and the source of his nightmares cracked open and spread out before the both of them. He deserved to be touched kindly, and gently. With warmth and love and care. Y/N knew it wasn’t her responsibility to pick up the broken pieces and tape them back together -- that would be too much work for any one person to do for another -- but she vowed right then to help him. In her mind, she promised to hand him bits of tape when he was sticking parts together or helping him reach his back. She’d support him in any way she could because she. . .she felt so deeply for him. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever felt this way for anyone before -- she knows she hasn’t, actually.
She drew him a bath and sat with him while he soaked in the tub, the both of them just wanting to be close. Needing to be close. He had offered for her to climb into the tub but she politely declined, “Let me take care of you for tonight,” she murmured, “I’ll take you up on that tomorrow though if the offer still stands.”
“The offer will always stand.”
Y/N shampoos his hair for him, massaging his scalp and soaping up the strands for no other reason than she knew it would feel good. They understand it without words, which is why Y/N simply sheds her clothes and digs through his drawers for a shirt to sleep in as he dries off. And it’s why she crawled into his bed beside him, immediately adhering to his side, their legs tangling and their arms wrapping around each other like if they even for a second thought about letting go, the other would float away.
Y/N pushes kisses all over his face, loving on him in every way that she could because she could and he accepted it happily. His smiles were soft and sweet and made her melt. She just wanted him to remember that he was with her, right now, in the present -- away from that. Away from the pain and the hurt. The look in his eyes when she paused and just stared at him for a little while said everything that she needed to know without words, but when he said it aloud, it felt even sweeter.
“You mean the world to me,” he hummed, the pads of his fingers smoothing over her temple, stroking down to caress her jaw, “I love you.”
Her heart swells full, and she bites down a grin that threatens to split her cheeks.
“I love you too.” She responded, lowering down so her face was pressed to his chest. He’s warm -- she lets her eyes flutter closed as she immerses herself in him. His essence and his being; she breathes him in greedily.
Harry is quiet for a moment, long enough that she thinks they may be going to bed for the night, but he chuckled suddenly.
“Weird,” he murmured, “Feels like we’ve said that before.”
#WOOOOOOOOOOO#YAHTZEE#SHE'S FINISHED :D#I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE HER#WRITING#HARRY SMUT#LOVE THESE GUYS#LOVE YOU GUYS#WOOOOOO
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the wishlist (m) - 3
“You used it.”
> genre : smut, fluff
> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)
> words : 4.2k
> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; masturbation (f); ambiguous infidelity; awkward oc; koo being cute but insufferable
previous - next
For about a week and a half, you simply ignore the outrageous box sitting in the centre of your living room.
If you omit to remember what’s inside, it’s just a nice-looking decoration, embellishing your messy coffee table. It’s perfectly fine sitting between the unopened mails and the takeout brochures. You see Jungkook glance at it each time he comes over but he has the decency to not mention it. You might have read a little disappointment but he didn’t share it with you, not wanting to bother you, as you rightfully assumed, and in any case, you’re just doing exactly what you said you would: not use it.
Then comes a glorious day of resting from work for you, and miraculously it matches your two closest girl friends' schedules and they owe to come over, celebrate a belated Christmas with you. And as you’re quickly tidying up the place, the question of the box being way too present here is raised again. They will ask about it. One will surely open it before you even get to answer.
The box has to go.
And in your room, hidden in your bedside table where you know no one will peak, it goes.
When you wake up from the fantastic, long-awaited Christmas celebration, it’s with a terrible headache. Mary, the amateur singer, received a ridiculous karaoke mic and if karaoke is involved, so is alcohol. You didn’t know that but apparently, you can get a severe almost deadly hangover from rosé. Well. Starting this new year already learning new things, how great.
One thing that’s unchanged for this new year, as it seems, is Jungkook's talent for psychic arts. He somehow knows you need a copious breakfast made with love and by him, and the curious hangover shot only his roommate has the secret recipe of, to cope with being alive this morning.
“Hello, Sunshine.” Your face feels so bloated and tensed at the same time like it’s made of playdoh and some devilish kid came and punched at it then squished it hard with its chubby mean fingers.
Very unpleasant.
You know you have very little to do with a ray of sunshine at the moment. You're more alike a gremlin or something. Therefore, as a gremlin would, you groan an answer. You catch through the minuscule slits you now own for eyelids a grin from him. It’s not even vexing or upsetting. His lovely, lovely smile is always a blessing. It’s the only thing that makes you not want to head back to bed and just sleep until death ensues. The pretty, pretty thing. With the big bunny front teeth. He is the sunshine.
“Had fun last night?” He asks, still grinning, once he’s served you and himself two good plates of pancakes. He’s sitting in front of you, in front of this delicious looking good, yet he’s ogling you with a strange insistence. When he starts eating because you take too long to formulate a response, he munches slowly, still staring, instead of stuffing his face and swallow down the whole thing like a starving man, like he usually does.
“Yeah. They spoiled me.” You say, quietly. You’re confused. You feel uneasy like there’s something you’re not getting. You hate this feeling. Usually, this friendship is filled with inside jokes you can make up exclusively via telepathy. But here you’re missing something, it feels. Or you might just be confused by the headache and possibly somehow still a bit drunk.
“Oh did they?” The beam is even wider. You frown, nod, decide that it’s too early and your brain too foggy to try and investigate a confusion that might just be the product of your imagination.
It doesn’t click then. It doesn’t click the next three times he asks you again, with slightly different formulations if, really, you had fun last night.
He departs an hour later because he has an appointment with a client, as always leaving some of himself for your guilty pleasure and the marking on your eyelids of that curious grin. That curious mischievous grin. With the crooked shape, the white teeth looking menacing like a wolve’s and the eyebrows arched in suggestion.
How come such an attractive look can be so anxiety-inducing? You’re too fidgety, too confused and concerned to focus on anything. Remnants of the conversation rolling back again and again, trying to make sense of things that probably do not necessitate further explaining.
The whole ordeal made you so nervous, you end up after an hour of trying to go about your day and failing poorly, sitting on your sofa, lotus style, eyes closed and hands turned up to the universe (hoping It might offer you some clearance It would just drop off in your palms). The thing is meditating is hard. Making so your brain would shut the fuck up is hard as hell. And you suck at it.
Spoiler alert, you don’t reach the state of inner peace and quiet you wished to find. Instead, you make enough silence for your noggins to be more performing and suddenly it hits. Your eyes grow ten times in size, you almost fall from your sit for the shock is violent.
The moron.
You or him, probably both.
You
I did NOT use it.
You
I put it away because the girls were coming over but I DID NOT USE IT
He simply replies with a winking emoji and you hate him for it.
You
Jeon Jungkook, ur a dick I said I wouldnt use it EVER and I won’t, have a nice day moron.
And again, this time, you mean it. You’ve never said anything with this much conviction in these twenty-five years of living.
Why would you now? When you now have experienced what it felt to have him look at you thinking you’ve done it. It felt mortifying without even knowing why. In all the case scenarios you could have come up with, you’ve never imagined that one. You would use it, he would know about it somehow, he wouldn’t be disgusted (it wouldn’t make sense for him to be as he is the one who offered it to you but your brain and soft ego sometimes are annoying like that), he would be amused, maybe content, but he wouldn't make you feel mortified.
Having him considering you in a sexual position should be... cool, shouldn’t it? If you really like him that much. Maybe you were confused all along and actually, you don’t, you mistook your own feelings.
Just a quick check of a mental picture you have of him, the fond smile growing just from his pretty face with the pretty everything on it can’t be trusted because, for all you know, everyone smiles this way when they think about him. On the other hand, the swift blush invading your cheeks when you (by accident) linger on parts you really really like about him -like his thighs or the man titties he’s been growing lately- serve to remind you that yes, yes indeed you like him.
But he’s an asshole.
No matter how much you thought about it (and you thought about it a lot even though you’re ashamed to admit it), you've never consider it to realize, you never and you still don’t believe anything non-platonic would ever happen with him. You’re just made to be friends. The best of friends but still just friends.
Not even taking a step but simply dipping the tips of your toes in these unknown waters turns out to be terrifying and you're mad at him because he’s putting you in this situation where you feel awfully uneasy.
It should all remain a very personal, very intimate fantasy: your attraction for him.
He cracked the wall for a second, it felt wrong and terrible but it’s done and over with now.
It’s only you and your thoughts.
You don’t ever mention it, he doesn’t bring it back up. Soon the season of celebrations and wishes is behind you, the world starts rolling slowly, boringly so with its lots of little annoyances and distractions and you’re not even thinking about it anymore, neither is he.
You’re stressed out. Work is being a bitch as it does. And because it sucks most of your time and patience, the only quick way to unwind you know comes to play.
But the hassle is not worth it. Unfortunately this you always need to realize afterwards. After having searched the internet for good masturbatory content for half an hour, working yourself for two hours and then, there’s the safety wee and the freshening up before bed, to wake up the next morning feeling like shit because of course, you sacrificed hours of sleep for an unsatisfactory outcome.
It’s not worth it.
It hasn’t been for months. Even if you’re still more able to take care of yourself and pleasure yourself better than most if not all men you’ve ever been with, something is missing: a man (or maybe just a dick).
You feel bored and empty (in both senses). Stuck because the more you need to unwind, the more you try, the less you feel better.
It’s the snake biting its own tail.
Until a certain pretty blue box, sleeping inside your bedside table, recalls itself to you. It feels like a century had passed since the box arrived in your life, it doesn’t seem as scary as it used to, as stressful. The fact that Jungkook hasn’t mentioned it, might even has himself forgotten about it, help immensely.
And it is the very moment, you forget to remember about this promise you made to him and yourself, the promise that you would not use it.
Right about now, not only stressed and annoyed by everything but also horny for no particular reason, this dildo with the box that matches your planner sounds ideal.
And it is ideal.
Feels like exactly what you needed. The size is not ridiculously big, it’s fairly tiny actually but given you haven’t had sex in a while, it suffices to stretch you out just fine. It’s new and exciting. The texture feels really nice, smooth, slipping perfectly right between your walls. It’s rather long, slightly curved, filling you in deep and teasing the spot that you could never even dream of reaching with your short ass fingers. And in no time (and you actually regret that) you’re on cloud 9, it’s a thought of the Santa that brought this blessing of a gift in your life that sends you there. You feel satisfied, content, fulfilled from the tip of your hair to your toes, smiling like an idiot because damn, that was a good orgasm.
Right this moment, you feel fine about using the present. About quickly having thought about him too because it’s not that much of a big deal. He won’t know about it. He doesn’t really seem to care about your sex life anymore (which is, ironically, a blessing). Therefore why should there be a problem? Why would there be?
Apparently, you’ve underestimated the crankiness of your attitude for the few weeks that passed before the phenomenal orgasm.
Apparently, you had been the worst kind of truculent bitch there is, to a level you didn’t even know you could reach (also no one told you!), because when Jungkook meets up with you, maybe after the third or fourth times of having used your lovely new companion, he noticed something has changed. Instantly.
“What’s going on?” He asks with a bright smile and excited shiny eyes as if he expects you to have great news to share.
“Nothing special...” Tilting your head to the side, you drag the words out as you try to think about it for a second, wondering if there’s something that needs to be told.
“Really?” He sucks on his banana yoghurt with eyebrows frowned, staring at you as if he’s studying you. Once the thing is empty, he tosses it in a nearby bin, crosses his arms on his chest and glares. He looks like a detective about to interrogate you. He would look intimidating if it were not for his lips, sucked in to gather the last taste of his yoghurt. “You look awfully happy.”
“Do I?” It makes you smile, shrug your shoulders. It doesn’t hit just then. It should be fine. He can’t unravel something that you don’t even have knowledge of, can he? But Jungkook is a little weasel. He loves to know everything.
Especially when it’s about you.
“You better not be seeing anyone-“ You should wonder where this is coming from, all of a sudden. Instead, you take offence, how dares he?
“What do you mean ‘I better’? I do what-“
“Without telling me? You better not.” He has that shit-eating grin, his signature brat's smile, because he knows you can’t reach over the table to smack him in the head without risking to tip over your drinks or dip your sleeve in soja sauce.
“Anyway. Nothing's going on.” For a second, a staring contest takes place on this convenience store's terrace. You’re not sure why. He’s daring you for no reason. Until his mouth twitches, wanting to smile and it makes you laugh so he follows along. “Were you not supposed to tell me about your next appointment?”
“Client Amy, yes!” It shouldn’t make you laugh to hear him name her like that as it’s been his trademark to mention his clients as if they were Pokémon trainers but it does.
You’ve always thought that it’s his very personal way of living this childhood fantasy of existing within the Pokémon universe. His life is full of potential trainers. Most of the time it’s just Client Enter the Name here but sometimes it’s Baker Jin -who’s not actually a baker but a salesman at his neighbourhood’s bakery-, there’s Dancer Hoseok, who’s the main dance partner of his best friend and Roommate Park Jimin. Sometimes he calls you Friend Y/N, it’s frustratingly funny. You hate that you spill at least a nose snort at each and every single one of his stupid jokes. His grin always grows ten times bigger, his eyes twinkle in a lovely way but you know that you are encouraging him. Encouraging him to be fucking annoying, like a little brother who’s just pushing unfunny jokes too far, just keep repeating them because he knows he can get a reaction. “She wants me to tattoo the dragon from Spirited Away on her arm-“
You gasp and he smiles even wider.
“I know, right? And I was thinking- to give it flow, I would have it- like fly through cherry blossoms.” Attentively, you listen, squinting a bit when he gets technical to try and picture the project you have a hard time making up alone in your mind.
Imagination and creativity have always been his thing. He had you impregnated with it long ago because he is too passionate and too much of a sharer to allow you to keep away from all arts -because you can’t hold a pencil straight without panicking at the idea of having to draw something- which you would have gladly done if it weren't for him. He’s the gifted one. And his drawings, either on paper, screen or skin, have always been a subject of huge admiration for you. You’re a bit ashamed to admit it but you’ve never really touched to anything really artistic. You often don’t really get it. But his stuff does something to you -and not only because you adore him but actually impartially. There’s no finesse, no pertinency, no trait nor emotion you’ve acknowledged and connected to better than the ones he creates. “You know this scene where he’s struggling against the little paper thingies and he’s flying through them and they’re going everywhere, I was thinking that, replace them with cherry blossoms. And there would be little petals like everywhere around it. Sounds cool?”
“It sounds fantastic.” You say honestly. You’re impressed by every single one of his projects. Always surprised, somehow, by the pieces he ends up making. Sometimes scrolling through the Instagram page he uses as a book, where he publishes his most elaborated, most expensive pieces and while recognizing his touch, the delicacy in his traits, the peculiar curls of certain lines, the overall feel to them, there’s always this sort of paradoxical disbelief. How could this kid make these and at the same time, who else but him to have made these?
Cute nose scrunches up.
“I’ll send you my drawings when I’m done with them.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.” He is mimicking you. Same pose with the head nod and the leg cross. Same tone and same expression apart from the discreet light dancing in his eye. “So what’s up? You needed to talk to me about something yesterday, didn’t you?”
It takes a second for you to remember as the drastic change in your mood makes it seem the distressed text you sent him yesterday, right when you left work, was written a whole week ago. You don’t remember very well having felt so stressed and pissed off, pushed to your very limits by useless co-workers, that you felt the urgent need to rant about it all, vent your anger and frustration out to him. He was busy and didn’t answer right away. You got home, find the comfort of your sweater sitting on the warm heater and the glorious stand of your dildo and it all went away, bad mood, headache, grudges.
Of course, it awakes a wave of shame within you. If you have been able to use it without feeling guilt nor embarrassment on your own, it’s something else to think about it in front of Jungkook. You’ve made sure not to think about this dildo in front of him ever. But here, it’s him recalling it to you without even knowing.
Whatever, you can pretend that everything’s normal. With a barely natural cough, and the even more suspicious dismissive wave of the hand, you try to kill the conversation, “It was just my coworker getting on my nerves again, it’s whatever.”
Jungkook is watching you soundly. It’s nothing unusual for him. He’s the kind of persons that lean in when they listen to you, you never know how conscious they are of it but it’s like they really mean to make you feel important and heard. Therefore it shouldn’t worry you, he’s just doing his usual thing.
It still makes you grow increasingly more nervous.
It is factual that it is never “whatever”. The topic of your stupid dumb bitch of a coworker messing with you has always been a pressing subject you, every now and then, more often than you’d like, needed to ramble about to anyone willing to listen because she tended to make your life a pure living hell. The job sucks in itself but she made it a hundred times worse. And here you are, dismissing it. How suspicious.
“When you texted me yesterday, I thought it was for something bad.” He starts, frowning and staring deep inside the empty cookie package sitting on the table. “Then I saw you earlier and I thought it was for something really good, because of your face.”
“What’s up with my face?” You try to play it cool. Play it nonchalant and oblivious. If you can’t see the aura of contentment he can visibly observe around you, surely you’ve seen the glow up your skin has encountered since you’ve started using this sex toy. Unexpected benefit of using it that wasn’t even listed on the box, the stress it’s relieved and the pleasure it’s given have just cleared your skin out. Unbelievable but true. And apparently, he noticed.
“I don’t know. You look really... contented.”
“Contented?”
“Yeah...”
You shrug, looking down, at the crumbs on your side of the table, praying silently that the embarrassment you feel creeping up your face doesn’t show. “I’ve been used to you looking tired and all but you look-“ Like every single once of misery has been fucked out of your system. “Lately, you look... good.” The chosen adjective makes you tilt your head. For so many reasons, you didn’t expect to hear this one and for similar reasons, you don’t understand what he means. Without having you saying aloud anything, he gets your dubious grimace and chuckles, “Rejuvenated, actually.” Even worse.
To simplify in a few words, you used to look like an old decrepit hag and now that you’ve been thoroughly fucked -by yourself technically but still- you look rejuvenated. A word literally no one ever uses in real life.
You detest that he’s probably right. And now, embarrassment is not creeping but actually moving in, with all its stuff and luggage. Hopefully though, again, it doesn’t show on your stupid youthful face. “Are my compliments making you blush?”
Great.
“You can’t make me blush, moron. And if you think those were compliments then-“ You give him big wide eyes of “well fuck” and of course he laughs at that.
“Indeed, I can’t make you blush.” He has his serious, investigating type of expression again. You almost expect him to fetch a little notebook out of his pocket and start scribbling observations while asking you more questions.
“What’s making you blush then?”
“I’m not blushing, it’s just hot.” His eyebrows jump in a rude disagreeing curve. You don’t get why. It can happen, to be hot outside, at the near end of Korea’s winter, while simultaneously having red and painful looking fingers on the verge of congelation desperately seeking warmth in your pockets.
And maybe because it’s not the first time, he’s getting better at catching the signs, at drawing the lines in between the clues. Your caricatural post-orgasm happy face, your systematic defensiveness whenever the conversation is leading somehow to your sexuality, the blatant tell of shame on your cheeks when there’s nothing else ever that embarrass you in front of him. There’s only the common cause missing and quickly, ignoring completely your attempts at diverting the conversation on something else, a giant light bulb turns on on top of his head. It brings the light of understanding through his eyeballs who suddenly look extra bright.
“You used it.” For a second, you consider packing up your things and just leave this fucking terrace along with the conversation. But you’re cold as fuck, the way home seems like too much torture to be going through alone.
Why are you like this?
Maybe there’s a vain hope that it will lead to some resolution. Some pleasant resolution. Maybe he won’t talk about it ever again if you just accept to have this conversation without showing the stubborn reluctance you’ve used each time.
“Yes, I did. So what?” His grin is blinding. It’s one of the very very wide, very very bright ones. So wide it shows all his teeth and it doesn’t even look like the cute bunny smile anymore. It’s the predatory grin. It’s intimidating to solely focus on therefore you chose to pick the corner of his eyes and the top of his nose, all wrinkled up that have anything but intimidation to them.
“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” You grimace. Indeed. You have no idea because you don’t even fucking understand.
“You’re a weirdo.”
“I’m just happy you used my dildo.” You scoff and almost choke at both his phrasing and the way he so naturally says the word while you’re outside. There’s no one as dumb as you to sit outside with this weather but still, someone passing by could hear.
Maybe there’s no deep further explanation to look for. Maybe it’s literally as simple as him getting you a present and him being happy that you found usefulness to it. Like most people. People are saddened sometimes pissed when they flop with presents. Maybe it’s that simple.
“Don’t say it like that.” He cackles like a witch and you know, that once again he’s just messing with you, knowing exactly what to do or say to tickle your patience.
“So I can gather it was good?” The worse of the nervous wave has passed. He asks quite nonchalantly. Perhaps it’s your ego wanting that but you hate the idea that you’d find yourself in a situation where he’s clearly more adult than you -even if on so many levels he is. If he can talk about it then you can. Try. You can try.
“Hm. Was nice.” You kind of sound the way you do when as a teen your mom would ask you about your day and you just didn’t want to answer because of laziness, lack of interest, lack of willingness to share, but that will do. He nods, smiles with his lips tight, rather fondly.
“How many times did you use it?”
Taking a deep breath, you mumble, shrugging faux casualness, “A few times.” More like a dozen times but he doesn’t need the details, does he? He nods again, still smiling, taking in your answer.
“Cool.” And he’s satisfied. With the answer and the turns of events as it seems.
There you go, you did it.
You resolved the thing.
Now he can leave you alone with your fantasies and your -not his but your- dildo and there wouldn’t be any further occasion to bring it up. You might be a coward but it’s perfectly fine by you.
Sounds absolutely peachy.
If he chooses to play his part right.
A/N: oh myyy, we’re getting somewhere arn’t we? i really hope you enjoyed this part, let me know your thoughts, scream your frustration, i’m all ears (or eyes). next update will be a double one because the first part is quite short. hoping you’re excited. i wish you a beautiful sunday and a lovely week. take care, lots of lots love.
Tag list: @infernal-alpaca @kaepjjangiya @channiespup @jinsonaz @kpopfandomftw @ggukkieland (sorry love)
IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, PLEASE ASK IN THE COMMENT, THANK YOU :))
#btswriterscollective#networkbangtan#ksmutclub#ggukienet#bts fanfic#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#jungkook fanfic#jungkok smut#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#my writing
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Can I ask for the nsfw alphabet for hoshi 👀
Sure!!!! Hope you like it! <3
RYOMA HOSHI N//S*FW ALPHABET
A=Aftercare - What they do/act like after sex.
⦁ He is shy. Will be probably distant because he is deadass shy, so pls go and hug him. It'll make him so happy-
B=Bondage - Are they into BDSM, and how far they’ll go if they have a green light.
⦁ Nah, he is vanilla.
C=Cum - pretty self explanatory.
⦁ Cums a fair amount. Kinda bitter, but his cute face and sexyass voice makes up for it!
D=Dom - Are they dominant, submissive, a switch?
⦁ Hmm, that troubles me a bit... I think he is just a shy dom? Yeah, I feel like being sub isn't his thing. A dom boy!
E=Edgeplay - Similar to ‘Kinks’ except it’s a lot riskier than usual kinks (knifeplay, breathplay, etc.).
⦁ No, sorry...
F=Fantasy - A fantasy of theirs (ex: a teacher/student fantasy).
⦁ There is no way he'd admit that but he would love to have you after getting done with a satisfactory tennis match, right after everyone leaves, just the two of you in the changing room. The mere thought of it is super embarrassing to him, but having you after winning a tennis match makes him really happy...
G=Got Caught - How they react when they get caught having sex.
⦁ THAT. DEADLY LOOK. IN HIS EYES. The look is enough, but when he talks with the deep voice of his, even if it's a simple demand like "get out"? Yeah, even Miu would run for her life instead of trying to tease you guys.
H=Hot Spots - A place that drives them crazy when stimulated (EX: neck).
⦁ Hmm, his jawline maybe? Like it tickles him a bit, but surprisingly when you kissed his jawline one day he didn't complain. He simply just. Let it happen. And he seemed to enjoy it, even... What more could you ask for?
I=Intimacy - How romantic they are, or can be, before, during, or after sex.
⦁ Ryoma isn't a big fan of expressing his feelings verbally, so he tries to do it via his touches. But if he is really really emotional at that moment, he'll blurt out lovely "I love you"s or, things like "you don't even know how much you mean to me" etc.
J=Journey - Their ideal way of leading up to sex.
⦁ ...Hurt & comfort? Like our angsty boy will not show it and will deny it firmly but he likes it when you actually try to cheer him up a bit and you look like an angel while trying to do so, so he can't help wanting to touch you... And you certainly won't regret it, he will make sure to treasure you.
K=Kinks - I’ll list a few of their kinks, be they the normalized ones or kinkier kinks.
⦁ F...Fingering. I... Don't know why. Handjobs work too, just, fingering. He has magic fingers and your reactions are adorable so that's probably why.
⦁ Idk if this counts but he likes morning sex??? Like getting to feel your touch to start his day is so good for him.....
L=Location - Where they like to have sex at, do they like risky locations, etc.
⦁ Not really risky, prefers to keep it in the bed to avoid getting caught. Or couch. That works too. Maybe armchair, just maybe.
M=Masturbation - How they are when they get themselves off, what they get themselves off to.
⦁ Ah, him... I think he only does it when he absolutely has to... Like, for health reasons or sumth. He probably thinks of you guys' intimate moments while doing so, at most.
N=NO - A few things that they will absolutely, under no circumstances, ever do.
⦁ Not anything that's prison related, no handcuffs etc. just- please.
O=On’s - Their top turn on’s that they have (things that’ll get them super horny super quickly).
⦁ Maybe it's weird but when he gets to protect you from something/or someone? And you calling him your hero etc. Bonus points if you talk about how you never wanna leave by his side and how much he means to you- vanilla much, Mr. Hoshi?
⦁ You stroking his hair and overall being all lovey-dovey in a sensual way gives him an instant boner too. He likes the soft feeling he gets from spending time with you so much, that's just how he is.
P=Position - Their favourite position to have sex in.
⦁ Doggy style. Idk why, I just felt like it. He gets to see your ass jiggle, I just feel like he likes asses-
Q=Quickie - Do they like it, do they prefer quickies over actual sex, etc.
⦁ Not really. This boy is into l o v e m a k i n g
R=Rough - How rough they are, or get, when in bed.
⦁ Kinda rough, if he gets too caught up in the moment. He is usually careful with you, though his voice is enough for you to get wrenched AKFDFHKHSKFHDSKJHAK
S=Stamina - How long they can go before they tap out.
⦁ 3-4 usually, I suppose.
T=Toys - Do they use toys, do they own them, what kind, etc.
⦁ Why do I feel like he'd have anal plugs? Like, he'd put them in you while taking you in doggy style, or during a hand job etc. Double penetration baby.
U=Unfair - How much they tease you, how they tease you, etc.
⦁ Not a big fan of it, and I feel like he'd get mad if you were to tease him... Welp, that'd make the punishment even more fun now, wouldn't it?
V=Volume - How loud they get when having sex, things they might say, etc.
⦁ Quiet ass mfer. But like I said, when he does talk it's the most precious thing ever. His moans are so deep and sexy too ughHGUHuhg...........
W=Wild Card - a random letter for the character of your choice.
⦁ I feel like Ryoma would like to see you in thigh-high socks. He just would. He'd just stare at them all day. Needless the say, it'll be a fun night for you two if you wear them...
X=X-Ray - How they look with their clothes off.
⦁ Kinda chubby?? Not too much, he has a cuteass belly pooch!! Seriously it's adorable!! Don't play with it tho, he'll be mad.........
⦁ I... Am lost about his dick size. I don't know at all. Either it's gigantic or it's way under average. Schrödinger's Cat perhaps? Lol
Y=Yearning - How often they need to have sex.
⦁ Not too often, naturally at least. I'd say once in two weeks or so.
Z=ZZZ - How quickly they fall asleep after having sex.
⦁ Makes sure you sleep first, in order to stroke your hair lovingly as he looks at you with his eyes full of love. Then falls asleep happily. Will wake up even happier if he realizes that he has became the little spoon during the night.
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In other news bc I have no where else to spew this
I have decided that all of my characters have a tumby
Specifically games AU tho. All other stories are different as of rn sobs
EXCEPT FOR
Milo for no discernible reason he just doesn’t have a tummy. Wack genetics maybe idk
Xavier bc it’s just not in his genetics, he’s a naturally skinny lanky man. Most snakes are though, so that’s normal for him.
Jonathan bc of his health complications making it difficult to eat regularly but he tries. He’s also a forgetful fuck
Scout for a similar reason but he’s also just generally unhealthy.
Other bc they’re technically undead and therefore do not need to eat.
Mystery bc they’re just unhealthy someone please help them.
Mistress. Because she hasn’t done JACK SHIT TO DESERVE THE GLORY THAT IS A SOFT TUMMY SMH. fuck mistress.
Evryone else has some level of tummy uwu
Winter has a little bit of tum chub in her Amki form. It’s much more noticeable in her Changeling form tho and it’s great for snuggles!
Miles is just slightly chubby. Not a lot but slightly. It’s a soft tummy, good for bongos !
Cad has a hidden tummy. U can only see it when he’s not wearing anything or wearing something skintight. It contrasts with the rest of him which is tall and lanky, and it’s only the lower half of tummy. It sticks out just a bit, and he tries to hide it but he also tries to hide all of him so that’s not unusual for him unfortunately qwq
Mishka is generally stocky and tends to suck her tummy in a lot (she says she looks more intimidating....she kinda does), but when she’s relaxed she’s definitely got a bit of chub there. It tends to blend into her hips though which are also chubby, so u do gotta look a little.
Ray has a teeny little tummy! It’s soft! It’s there! It’s just hard to find. She is smol so that doesn’t help either. It does bongo tho so it counts.
Tina! Has tummy!! I need to update her ref to reflect this new choice but she is chubby! And she loves it! Vv good for bongos! 10/10! She is a strong chubby bitch and she will not hesitate to yeet u across a field like football! She’s not just chubby in the tummy tho oh no. She got the hips and the butt and the legs and the arms and cheeks to match! Overall, she is best chubby bongo and she loves it. If u ask nicely she’ll let u pat the belly for the bongo noises, good stim!
Lisa!! Also has tummy!!! She’s much more chubby in the hips and lower belly department instead of Tina’s generally chubby tummy, but she still has vv good bongo tummy uwu She’s vv shy abt her tummy tho and tries to hide it with flowy skirts and poofy shirts, but Tina says she looks vv pretty when she shows off her tummy and it makes her blushy. She’s getting better abt loving her tummy!
JOLDEA IS MY FAT BEAN AND I L O V E HER!! She is!! All the chubby!!!! She’s definitely got the most fat of all of my games AU beans and part of that is simply bc she doesn’t compete in the games anymore. She does have a bit of that luxury. But even before then she was always fat! And she doesn’t hide it! She looks fucking fantastic and she! Fucking! Knows it!! She got them stretch marks! She got that big ol b shaped belly, she got the chubby arms and cheeks and neck and legs and hips! She is overall just a big ol bean! She is a QUEEN AND SHE FUCKING KNOWS IT 💅👑
#games au#winterline13#OC stew#fat positvity#I love my beans and I wanna have more chubby and fat beans!#I plan on adding some more as I make more characters for the games AU too bc I want to show that anyone really can be anything#I’m really looking forward to doing the research and adding diversity to my cast!
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Legacy [ Avengers x Male Reader] Ch.4
Happy Fourth Of July! Hope you enjoy this chapter! I gotten help from someone to make this story even better!
The rest of the afternoon I spend it by staying inside my room. I stood near the big window of the room and watched the rain fall. I gathered all of my thoughts and memories of everything that's occurred from today and from my last days in 1975. 'I never got to say goodbye to my mother.' I took out my new wallet and took the folded picture of Tony when he was one and stared blankly at the little boy I got to know. 'The Tony from this era is a lot different than the one I came to know. Maybe having too much money changed him. When he was still young he never took any wealth for granted. At times it seemed as if he had no idea he was rich. He thought of himself as any other boy would.
"Tony hurry up I'm going to be late if we don't leave now." I was downstairs in their house waiting to take him to school before work like every morning but he didn't seem to hurry up.
"I'm going big brother, just gotta to remember how to tie my shoe laces." Tony was coming down the stairs with his shoes untied.
I sigh. "Your mother told me you were ready, why are your shoe laces untied. Come on, I'll tie them for you, so hurry we need to leave." I walked over the stairs carried him down.
"I had to untie them! I want to learn how to do it on my own. So I won't leave this house till I can do it myself." He sat down on the last step focusing intently on his shoes, determined to figure it out.
I looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was already close to seven thirty. I was supposed to arrive at S.H.I.E.L.D thirty minutes ago. Not to mention Tony is supposed to be in school already. I tap my foot impatiently, trying to keep my cool down. Tony was saying a bunch of funny things in a clear attempt to distract me. I was not having it that morning. I quickly grabbed his school bag and scooped him up onto my shoulders. "What are you doing?" Tony asked me through his giggling. I juggled him on to my neck and held both of his hands with mine, imitating an airplane with the arms and moving here and there. I managed shut the door behind us and we made our way out to the streets.
"Big brother, not cool! I wanted to tie my shoe laces by myself." He complained.
"I know buddy but we're running late and if I don't get to work your dad is going to ki- be mad at me," I corrected myself to make my words much more child friendly. "I promise to teach you to tie them today. And I don't want you to be late for school. I always want you to arrive early to any place, always remember that. Arriving late looks bad on someone especially when they're this adorable." I said speed walking down the street. Tony grabbed his small chubby hands on each cheek and bent down to kiss my nose.
That afternoon I kept my word and had headed back to their house to teach him.
"Okay buddy this is how you tie a shoe. Take one lace in each hand and make an X. Draw the top lace through the bottom of the X and pull the two laces tight. Then make a loop out of each lace." I showed the example to Tony while he did the same with his shoes.
"Like this big brother." Tony asked. I nodded my head.
"Then cross the bunny ears over each other, cross one ear over the other in the opposite order of your overhand knot. Run the bunny ears over each other the bunny runs around the tree by bending one loop over the other. See the bunny jump in a hole now the bunny sees a dog and jumps in the hole because he's scared. Now pass the tip of the bent ear through the hole. Now pull both loops tight with all your strength for extra security you can double the knot by making another overhand knot with the loops and you get a perfect shoe lace tight." I showed him my tie shoe and help him after with his.
I took a fond look at him while attempting to tie his shoes. He followed the steps slowly before he was able to perform the directions on his own. "I did it big brother." He yelled in happiness. I ruffled his hair. He always got whatever he was taught down so quick. He was a genius, just like his father.
"I didn't think you would do it buddy, this was a complicated version of tying your shoe lace. I learned it when I was away at war when someone I knew taught it to us just for fun. Things could get boring out there," I mused, saying the last bit to myself more than anybody
"It was super easy brother. I'm going to show it to Jarvis and to mom. Thank you so much big brother." He hugged my side and I bent down as always, allowing him to plant a kiss on my cheek. It was a ritual at this point.
"You're welcome buddy."
_________________________
A knock on the door snapped me back to reality. I quickly placed the photo back inside the wallet, putting it away in my pocket. I walked away from the window. A quick glance at the mirror showed the offending evidence of my crying. I wiped the tears away with my hands before walking to the door and opened it to see my father standing.
"Hey, [Fake Name] the rest of the team is here and I thought it would be a great idea to introduce you to them now that you're all settled in."
At this moment all I wanted was to spend time alone with him and learn more about him. To hear the stories I had been told first hand. To experience that son and father bonding that I always wanted to experience. I thought about the question for a few seconds before coming up with an answer.
"I'm sorry Cap but, I just want to spent some time alone. There's a lot of things going inside my head that I need to clear up. If you can apologize to them for me I would appreciate it." I answered sincerely, guilt clouding my expression. I truly did feel bad about blowing everybody off.
Steve's face expression changed to concern but tried to hide it. "Yeah, I'll uh- let them know. We're going to eat so if you'd like I can save you food for later in case you get hungry."
I thought about it for a moment, gauging my hunger. I could go a night without food easily. After all if I could go 40 years, another few hours wouldn't be too hard. "No it's fine go ahead and eat with the Avengers. I'm not exactly hungry but thanks for the offer Cap." I said reassuring him, a half smile on my face in an attempt to make my self seem more okay than I really was.
He turned around and left with a sad smile on his face. I watched as he stood in front of the elevator before closing my new bedroom door and returned to the window to watch the rain fall for the first time since I had been frozen. You would think I had gotten enough of the weather after Vietnam.
It's not that I didn't want to eat and come face to face with everybody. It's just hard to look at him without wanting to tell him the truth. I have no other choice but to be distant with him. Thinking about my situation, I didn't realize that I was drifting off. My head hit the pillow and I was out.
___________________________
Steve's Point Of View.
After leaving [Fake Name]'s room I went downstairs with the team to eat. Not having [Fake Name] come down to eat with us made something inside me made me feel strange, but I tried to ignore the feeling and went down with everyone to enjoy a meal.
"Cap, what took you so long? Where's the new guy." Rhodey asked, sounding unintentionally harsh as I took a seat in the other side of the table on the left of Sam.
"He didn't want to eat. Said he wasn't hungry and wanted to be alone," I said, voicing my frustration as I serve myself food.
"And that's how we're supposed to get along with him. Even when he doesn't want to come down and meet us?" Asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't know Sam. This is all new to him it takes some time to adjust. You know how I was when I first woke up. It was like being in an entirely new world."
"Yeah, but he's from this time, not from the past. If he's what Fury says he is then he wouldn't have a problem dealing with new people," said Rhodey. I was about to respond back when Wanda and Vision joined us for dinner.
"What's this about a new guy joining our team." Wanda asked taking a seat next to me, Vision taking his place across the table next to Rhodey.
"It seems like we have a new guy but seems like he didn't want to come down here. All we know is his name." Natasha answered Wanda's question.
"I completely understand him. It's not easy adjusting to a new life and to be surrounded by heroes. Does anyone know if he has a family or a reason why he's joining us out of the blue?" She asked but everyone stood quiet.
"No clue. I haven't even seen the guy." Rhodey spoke in between bites. "We should have asked Fury before he dropped the new kid here, like a scared puppy."
"Whatever the reason, we're going to need all the help we can get. Bruce is gone and we have no clue where he went, and Thor is back in Asgard. It wouldn't hurt to have one more person helping us." I said defending him, eyeing Natasha and everyone else.
"Steve's right who knows how long this peace will last until a villain decides to show up and attack the city again." Vision spoke, "Statistically, with the pattern shown, it won't be long."
___________________________
I had woken up in the middle of the night to see that I had fallen asleep with my clothes on. The lights where still on so it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the blinding rays of LED lighting. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at the time. 1:30 A.M. I stood up and took my shoes off. It was nice to get up and stretch my arms. I felt my joints crack, a noise that would sicken most but simply caused me to groan, the feeling reminding me of being released from the years long sleep.
As I glanced around the room and caught sight of the door that I assumed was the bathroom. I mentally reminded myself to take a nice hot bath the next day. Every joint was stiff and while the stretching helped I couldn't deny that a nice bath would do my body some genuine good. Maybe a nice nap too? I thought of all the luxuries and new experiences I could have and it excited me.
My daydreaming didn't last long. My train of thoughts were broken off as my stomach had groaned. I hadn't since I haven't eaten anything in over forty years. Maybe I couldn't last a night without a meal. 'I want a cheese burger' my thoughts betrayed my earlier statement to Steve. I remember dad- Steve saying there would be food in the fridge. Maybe I can take a look around since by this time everyone should be asleep.
I went over to the door and opened it slowly before taking a peak outside. Slowly, I walked out closing the door behind me quietly. The lights of the hallways were still on. I walked past my father's- I mean Steve's room and walked to the elevator. The doors soon opened I quickly stepped inside and pressed the buttons on the right side to the first floor where the kitchen is located. I ran my fingers over the shiny buttons, letting myself finally take in the beauty and expanse of how technology had evolved.
The doors ding and open, revealing a quite fancy kitchen with the lights still on. The tile of the floor and walls was smooth against my hands and feet, not to mention how clean this place is. The cabinets in the walls were a dark brown shade, still showing the grain of the wood it was made of. The counter seems to be made of rock there was all sorts of fruit laying there. On the left side was a big grey oven which I assume they never use because it looks new. They also had a big sink in between the counter. What really shocked me was the gigantic fridge they had on the right side corner. The kitchen was connected with the living room in a way that made them seem to be one whole room. They had a big table in the middle with what I assumed to be modern chairs on all sides.
"You've never seen a big kitchen before huh kid?" I turned around to see Tony walking in with a few brown bags, a swagger in his step. He placed them on the table. He motioned for me to take a seat so I sat in front of him at the counter, watching him place down the bags and eye them hungrily.
I shook my head. "No my Ma- I mean in Japan they.... had.... small kitchens... small places." I said praying that's how Japan looked like.
"Right... Anyways what are you doing up so late." He asked while digging inside the brown bags. Once he opened the bag, a strong smell of sorts hit my nose and made my mouth water, and my stomach growl. Tony must had noticed because he tossed me something wrapped in a yellow paper that I immediately recognized as McDonald's wrapping. The first of the chain restaurant had opened in 55' and quickly spread. The things lasted forever and whenever someone's family sent some we all swore they were better than any rations in Vietnam. "You can have it." I looked down, suspicious it would be some cruel trick. I unwrapped the paper to find a big delicious looking cheese burger. Just like back then. I took a first bite and tasted really good. It tasted like home. Tony got up from the chair and walked over to the kitchen and brought back two small transparent glasses filled with a bit of ice and a strange color of liquid inside them. "Cheers for being the new edition of the team." Tony handed me the glass and took his seat again a strange new smell filled my nose. Whiskey.
"Can I have something else I'm not a big fan of whiskey." I said handing him back the small glass and trying not wrinkle my nose at the strong scent. Tony got up again from the chair and walked over to the kitchen. He returned back with a beer in his hand and placed it in front of me in the table.
"I hope you like beer because there's only that and water." He said as he began to eat his burger.
I took a small sip of the beer taking in the taste of it. I was surprises because it didn't contain a painful amount of alcohol. "This beer is pretty good." I commented, trying to act casual around the man I had known as a surrogate little brother.
Tony placed his glass down. "It's everyone's favorite beer around here. It doesn't contain much alcohol because we never know when we might be needed."
I nodded my head with a hum. "It's really good I almost forgot how a hamburger and beer tasted like. I used to eat these burgers a lot with my little brother." 'Oh crap I wasn't suppose to talk about.' I thought. I froze like a deer in the headlights.
"You seriously need to eat fast food from now on because that's what everyone around here eats. And a little brother huh, it must be nice to have siblings. Growing up an only child can be a bit boring. You can have the other burger that's in here if you want." He said as we continue to eat and drink. I snatch it from the bag, afraid he would change his mind and place it in my lap. He seemed to ignore my slip up as if it were nothing.
He snorts out a laugh and takes a swig of his whisky. "It's like you haven't eaten in years huh? Well its good to be protective of your food here. It's first come first serve at meals"
"Yeah, I have well.... had a little brother. We used to be super close, I was always helping him with things, I used to take him to school and go out to eat at our favorite burger place. But then something happened and I never saw him again." I closed my eyes and took what felt like a painful breath before looking back up and shooting him a weak smile. "So, tell me about you. How was it growing up as an only child where you close with anyone growing up?" I asked in curiously as I finished eating the burger and unwrapped the other, taking a big bite.
Tony shook his head. "Actually no the only person I was ever close growing up was.... my butler. He's name was Jarvis he was a very nice person always saw him as my father." He took a sip of his drink.
I stopped eating placing the burger down I tried to hide the sad expression from him but I wanted to ask about what was the relationship between him and Howard like. But I didn't want to ask too much. What threw me off more was he didn't mention me. Was it possible that he had forgotten about me?
"Earth to [Fake Name]." He asked sitting again on the chair and snapping his fingers in my face. With my sudden spiral stopped I finally started looking at him. He now had a white box filled with food. "Great Cap left some food left over's for me, bless his heart." He took a bite at what seem to be some sort of spaghetti with vegetables. Oh crap I think that was the food he left for me. I decided to let it slide though, Tony somehow seemed hungrier than me.
We continued to talk with one another after we finished eating we decided to call it a night and when to our separate rooms. I almost wish he would kiss my cheek or forehead. I missed the old Tony. Wistfully I returned to my room though and shed my clothes till I was just in my boxers and a soft cotton grey shirt. I flicked off the lights and squirrled myself under the covers as best I could without ruining how well made they were. Curling under the covers that seemed softer than anything I had ever felt, I found myself at peace in the dark, the pitter patter of the rain and the lights of skyscrapers keeping me company until I drifted off again.
#avengers#tony stark#tony stark x reader#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers#thor#thor x reader#loki x reader#loki#loki laufeyson#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#natasha romanoff#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff#sam wilson#chris evans x reader#chrisevans#peter x reader#peter parker#scott lang#tumblr#reader#male reader
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Quantum Leap - Season Two Review
"He works in mysterious ways."
While still formulaic, season two is much better than the brief leap-of-the-week season one. Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell are a lot more comfortable with their roles, and many of the leaps are more interesting and complicated. There are also some intriguing additions to what we know about our main characters and some progress with the arc story — particularly in the premiere and the finale.
What works
Sam is enjoying leaping around and helping people. He doesn't seem to mind that he left his own life behind, although the continuing partial amnesia could be responsible for that.
Another issue they begin to address in season two is what became of Sam's physical body. In season one, the saga sell says that Sam "stepped into the quantum accelerator and vanished." In season two, we're told that Sam's physical body is in a "waiting room" back at the project, and that when he leaps, Al questions whoever just leaped into Sam's body so that he can locate where and when Sam went.
The best episodes of season two are the premiere and the finale.
2.1 "Honeymoon Express (April 27, 1960): I love this episode, mostly because of the cleverness of the twist ending. Al, whom we learn here is an admiral, is testifying before a hostile senate subcommittee responsible for further funding of the Quantum Leap Project, while Sam leaps into a cop who is on his honeymoon. Sam's bride, Diane, is a law student who is preparing for her bar exam.
Although it was mentioned in the season one pilot that God might be responsible for what is happening to Sam, here it is confirmed. Because Sam virtuously avoids hitting the sheets with Diane even though he is attracted to her, he keeps trying to help her study for the bar instead. At the very moment when Sam is ready to give in and make love with Diane, she has a breakthrough, finally grasping a key legal concept that would have made her fail the exam, and Sam leaps out. At that moment, the grumpy male head of the senate subcommittee turns into Diane, thirty years older, and she tells Al that the Quantum Leap funding has been approved. Only Al is aware that anything has changed.
Two of my other favorite shows had finales that centered on the existence of God, which didn't make me happy because it felt like a cop out. Not Quantum Leap though, because honestly, the only possible explanation for what is happening to Sam is divine intervention.
The only problem I have with this episode is the multitude of smoochfests. I did like that Sam and Al discussed the moral implications of Sam having sex with Diane, even though she wouldn't have known because she believed Sam was her husband. I also like the implied feminist message that Diane is no one's possession, and that she was destined for great things.
2.22 "M.I.A. (April 1, 1969)": Sam leaps into a San Diego cop. Al tells Sam that the purpose of the leap is to convince a Navy nurse named Beth Calavicci to not give up on her M.I.A. husband, who has been imprisoned in Vietnam for two years. But as it turns out, Sam is there to save the life of another cop, his partner, Roger Skaggs (Jason Beghe).
This episode features an exceptional and moving performance by Dean Stockwell, who ripped my heart out in the last ten minutes. Al is clearly signaling confusion and distress throughout the episode; he describes to Sam the torturous confinement that Beth's husband is experiencing without revealing that it is himself who is enduring it. When Sam guesses correctly that Skaggs is the reason for the leap, not Beth, Al confesses that Beth is his first wife and the love of his life, and when she had him declared dead and remarried, Al never recovered, and his other marriages never worked.
"God" allows Sam a few extra minutes before leaping so that Al can say goodbye to Beth, even though, of course, she can't see or hear him. He tells her how much he loves her, begs her to wait for him when we know she won't, and then they dance to Beth's favorite song. The thing is, what happens with Beth explains everything we need to know about Al, and it turns him from Sam's supportive friend and occasional comic relief into a tragic figure. Susan Diol as Beth Calavicci also does a wonderful job. We can believe she is the love of Al's life, that she is incredibly special to him, and her conflict is so well done. Sam's gentle treatment of Al, even though Al misled him and nearly caused Skaggs' death, is also touching. This episode never fails to make me cry.
The music replacement controversy, particularly regarding the episode "M.I.A."
As I mentioned in my review of season one, when Quantum Leap was initially released on DVD way back when, Universal had neglected to get the rights to a number of the songs featured on the series, simply because it was prohibitively expensive. Changing the music changes the series, and the fans were, to put it mildly, livid about it. Although the music replacement had a serious detrimental effect on "Good Morning, Peoria," the worst offender was "M.I.A." because that final scene where Al says goodbye to Beth is framed by the Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody" and Ray Charles' "Georgia," two memorable songs that truly cannot be replaced.
Netflix and Amazon have the original version of "M.I.A." Hulu does not. For what it's worth.
Other episodes of note
2.2 "Disco Inferno (April 1, 1976)": Not really notable, but if you're watching Quantum Leap on Hulu or Netflix, you've probably noticed that this episode is missing. I went to the trouble of buying it on Amazon because I'm hung up on that completion thing, and it's not worth it. "Disco Inferno" is about a stuntman who helps his younger brother defy their stuntman father and become a musician. The only important piece of it is that Sam remembers that he has an older brother named Tom who died fighting in Vietnam.
2.4 "What Price Gloria? (October 16, 1961)": This episode is notable because it is the first time that Sam leaps into a woman, so of course it goes the preachy route and is all about sexism. Al is hot for Sam in a woman's body, which I just found uncomfortable. What I liked most was Scott Bakula wearing women's clothing without making too much of a thing about it. It feels like for Bakula, it's just another costume and he's such a good actor that playing a woman doesn't throw him.
2.6 "Good Morning, Peoria (September 9, 1959)": I loved this episode; it was a lot of fun. Maybe it because the stakes were less life and death and more personal. Patricia Richardson does such a great job as Sam's love interest, and the romance actually works this time. It also features a lot of great old music, and Sam pretty much channeling Robin Williams in Good Morning, Vietnam.
Like "Honeymoon Express," the question of Sam having a physical relationship while he is in someone else's body is again addressed. Sam is uncomfortable about romancing Patricia Richardson's character, but he does it anyway and it turns out that it was the right thing to do.
2.8 "Jimmy (October 14, 1964)": Sam leaps into a young, developmentally disabled man who is trying to hold down his first job while encountering bullying and prejudice. The most interesting thing about this one is Sam starts acting differently, clumsily, because he is being treated that way. Possibly a little preachy, but very well done.
2.10 "Catch a Falling Star (May 21, 1979)": Quantum Leap does Man of La Mancha, with the great actor and singer John Cullum as a guest star. This episode is pretty much an excuse to have Scott Bakula sing show tunes onstage and romance his teenage crush music teacher, but there's nothing wrong with that. There was also a deeper meaning when you think about it, because Sam really is like Don Quixote, spending his life rescuing others. Wonderful episode.
2.18 "Pool Hall Blues (September 4, 1954)": Loved this one. Maybe because Sam is so convincing as an adult woman's grandfather (loved the costume). I also loved the laser lines that allowed Sam to be a brilliant pool player.
What doesn't work
I don't usually point out the badness of bad episodes, but these three are truly awful.
2.11 "A Portrait for Troian (February 7, 1971)": We have a haunting, a mysterious lake full of bodies, a vanishing housekeeper and a pointless romance, none of which work. Which is too bad, since it stars Deborah Pratt, who was a writer/producer of the series, the saga sell narrator, and later the voice of Ziggy.
2.16 "Freedom (November 22, 1970)": Another poorly written stinker about an elderly Native American who wants to go home to die. See rule five.
2.17 "Good Night, Dear Heart (November 9, 1957)": This time Sam is a mortician who solves a murder instead of preventing one, which makes absolutely no sense to me. The circumstances of the victim's life and demise are depressing, and it all seems incredibly pointless.
Bits and pieces:
-- "Sea Bride" featured the Queen Mary, which is a tourist attraction in Long Beach, California. I toured it twice and I always enjoy stumbling over stuff that was filmed there.
-- I particularly liked that his second leap into a woman's body ("Another Mother") had nothing to do with sexism; he was there to save his host's son.
-- Famous people: The Beatles and Chubby Checker. In fact, it's the real Chubby Checker, who did a cameo in "Good Morning, Peoria."
-- Notable actors: Lorne Greene (Bonanza), a teenage Kelli Williams (Lie to Me), Robert Duncan MacNeill, Marcia Cross, and Troian Bellisario when she was still a very little girl in "Another Mother."
-- Sam's hair is way too long at first, and is later a good bit shorter. But if he's in someone else's body, can he even get his hair cut? Maybe someone cut Sam's hair in the Waiting Room.
-- Small children and animals can see Al, and genuine psychics can sense his presence. Al's presence affects EMF.
-- Sam creates the Heimlich maneuver.
-- More about Sam: he was a child prodigy, not a surprise, and a concert pianist.
-- More about Al: he was an astronaut. His mother abandoned him when he was a child and his sister was disabled. Al also looks better in red than in green.
-- The cliffhanger endings referencing Sam's next leap still bother me. Especially when we get one that relates to a rerun.
To conclude
I haven't finished my rewatch yet, but "M.I.A." and the two-parter that starts season three are my favorite episodes of the series,
Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.
#Quantum Leap#Sam Beckett#Al Calavicci#Scott Bakula#Dean Stockwell#Quantum Leap Reviews#Doux Reviews#TV Reviews#something from the archive
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For You
The music pulls her from her despairing thoughts. She follows the dark pathways of the Underworld, enchanted and hopeful for the first time in what feels like years (she’s only been here for two circuits of the moon, the lunar orb pulling pulling pulling at her even buried so far from its rays).
She steps into a cavern she’s never seen before, and a gasp escapes her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she says, meeting his gaze for the first time since he’d abducted (rescued) her from the world above.
His lips curve in a small smile. “I made it for you,” he says simply, this man who is far from simple. A God, like her, but one made for dark secrets and death and the cold of the grave.
No. He is more than that, she knows that now, has learned it (unwillingly at times, but this is not one of those times). This cave of wonders he’s created (for her?), the beautiful melodies he coaxes from the strings of his lyre, the glittering black blossom he used to entice her to his kingdom - all of that and more tells her that the truth she thought she knew is only a small part of who he is.
She circles the cavern, taking in the details and finding more and more to admire with every step, every lingering glance. The flowers formed of gemstones, lit by the phosphorescent glow of the unique mosses and lichens that are the only plant life that thrive here. The roots of unknown trees festooning the high arched ceiling, busy with insect life - insects that produce their own soft glow, blues and yellows and reds, royal purples and verdant greens.
The soft moss that gives comfort to feet grown weary of hard stone and cold dirt.
“You made this,” she says, and he nods. Slowly. Gravely. He is always so serious, so unlike herself...but of course he is. His duty is to the dead; he is bound to his kingdom even as his brother is bound to his, so far away in the world above. The world of sunlight and green growing things and animals and the fascinating humans whose souls eventually find their way here (they die so quickly, humans, and for so many reasons and she’s always found that fascinating even if her mother is horrified by that fascination).
“I made it,” he says, his voice a soothing baritone rumble that nevertheless sends prickles of...something...down her spine. She spins away from him, reaches out to touch light fingers to the sparkling rubies and emeralds and diamonds glittering in the wall in front of her. “I made it...for you,” he adds, and her breath stops in her throat (no need for a Goddess to breathe but still they do, one of the many ways they emulate the humans that worship them, something she’s never questioned until now but it’s not important, no, only his words are important).
Slowly she turns back to face him. “For me?”
He nods, rises to his feet, his lyre forgotten on the stone floor. “I cannot give you sunshine and life, Molly,” he says quietly, “but I can give you some small reminder of the world you left behind when I brought you here.”
Something flashes in his quicksilver eyes - is that regret? Yes, she thinks it is. And feels a flush of shame, for she was the one who provoked him into bringing her here, all to spite her clinging, overbearing mother. In her pride and foolishness she’d done the one thing forbidden to her as a Goddess of Nature - she’d deliberately, maliciously, plucked the dark bloom that had the Lord of the Dead’s first attempt at creation.
She feels shame, hangs her head, but raises it when he speaks again. “I know it’s not enough to entice you to stay,” he says indifferently (oh but she knows better, knows him well enough to recognize what is true and what is false and this is false false false, he is anything but indifferent here, in this fraught moment). “But I had hoped...”
He stops speaking, Holds out his hand. In it are six pomegranate seeds. “I had hoped,” he continues softly, “that I might convince you to stay of your own accord, and not allow your mother to bully my brother into demanding that I return you.”
She sees the flicker of emotion in his sea-green eyes, and wonders at never having noticed how those cat-like orbs reflect the things she longs for most - the greens of living things, the blues of the sky, and the gold of the sun. All those colors and more are blended in his eyes, and now that she is looking at him through new eyes of her own (brown as the earth beneath and above them)...now she realizes that giving herself to him is not the sacrifice her mother and the other Gods seem to think it is.
She closes the distance between them. Takes the hand he is holding out, raises it to her lips...and delicately, deliberately, licks the six seeds from his palm. Swallows them down. Smiles at the sound of his indrawn breath, knowing it for surprise and startlement and - yes, she sees hope in his eyes. “When my mother brings her forces and demands that you surrender me, you can tell her I’ll stay with her six months out of the year. But that I must stay with you for the other six months.”
He understands; of course he does, he’s far too clever not to make the connection. Six seeds, six months. “And now, Husband,” she says huskily, finally acknowledging the truth of their relationship, “show me how pleased you are that I finally believe you.”
He’d told her he loved her, said it like he meant it - but it had taken her far too long to accept that truth. Two months wasted, and now she finds herself impatient to make up for lost time.
When he remains unmoving, she felts a quiver of uncertainty - and then a smile blossoms on her face. Raising herselp up on her toes, she rests one hand on his and the other against his chest. Feels the beating of his heart as she presses a soft kiss to the perfect Eros’s bow of his lips. “I love you,” she murmurs against the soft, warm flesh of his mouth. “It’s true, Sherlock. It’s always been true.”
He crushes her to him, lifts her in his arms, and carries her swiftly across the cavern, to the spot where the moss is as soft and springy beneath their bodies as the finest bed. He makes love to her, worships her, and she does the same for him.
And nine months later, when her mother finally gathers enough support to storm the entrance to his kingdom, she is unsettled to find her daughter smiling next to him, welcoming her into the Underworld...and her granddaughter cooing and waving her chubby little fists as her father cradles her tenderly in his arms.
All bargains, all battles are forgotten in the wonder and joy of the new life created by the daughter of Nature and the Lord of the Dead.
Forever after, Molly spends six months out of the year away from the Underworld...but her husband and child come with her.
For those six months, the dead are left to care for themselves.
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Fic: Saving Christmas
Throughout all my Christmas fics over the last two years, I've mentioned that in this universe, Santa Claus is real. Here is the fic that first introduces this!
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“You’re telling me,” Leonard was saying skeptically, “that Santa Claus is real.”
“Undeniably so, Mr. Snart,” Rip Hunter replied.
He and the rest of his team were standing in Sara and Leonard’s kitchen. It had been a mutual decision between Leonard and Sara to not rejoin the team when Rip tracked them down in 2018. When the first mission ended in 2016, they went home, introduced each other to their families and then were left to figure out how to have a normal life.
As it turns out, a reformed crook and ex-assassin can’t really have a normal life, but they did their best. They may have moved into a blue house with white shutters in a suburban neighborhood, but behind a locked door in the basement there was every type of weapon imaginable, including an extensive collection of knifes, several shiny bō staffs and a gun that shot jets of ice.
In 2018, Rip tracked down the entire team and asked them to help him on another big mission, like the first one they’d been on together.
Like last time, he gave them all a few days to think it over. Mick didn’t need a few days, he agreed then and there and followed their old captain back to the Waverider. Kendra and Carter, and Jax and Stein decided to join as well. Their abilities were better suited for that kind of work anyway. Ray joined soon after, missing the “good old days” as he called it of traveling through time and saving the world.
Sara and Leonard, however, declined. Rip understood, of course, although he was a bit disappointed, and then they took off.
Even though they didn’t accompany them on the mission, they were always ready to be called on to assist the team of Legends if they ever needed them. They also occasionally traveled to Star City to work with Oliver and his team, but they spent most of their time helping out the Flash in Central City.
A few more years passed by. Sara and Leonard had their daughter, Rory, and the team stopped by to meet her, and a few more times after that. But this visit was a bit different for a number of reasons. First of all, the team showed up unannounced. Second, it was eleven thirty at night on Christmas Eve.
While Leonard and Sara weren’t yet asleep, they had settled down for the night. Rory was asleep in her crib. Her first Christmas was the next morning, and her gifts were arranged neatly under the tree. Her parents were on the couch with hot chocolates and a blanket and were twenty minutes into Sara’s favorite holiday movie, A Christmas Story.
Neither of them were pleased when Rip and his team arrived and knocked on their front door. They did let them in though, albeit it a bit begrudgingly. Once inside, Rip began to explain why they had showed up on their doorstep.
According to Rip, Santa Claus was in trouble, and if the team wanted to save Christmas, they needed Captain Cold and the White Canary.
It was at this point that Leonard skeptically asked about the existence of Santa Claus.
“I don’t buy it,” he continued.
“Did you always have presents under your tree when you woke up on Christmas morning?” Rip asked, and he saw Leonard’s eyebrows furrow, “You did, didn’t you?”
“There was a neighbor who always looked out for me and my sister. I figured…” he trailed off.
“Alas, no — well, at least not entirely, anyway,” Rip said, “Believe it or not, Santa Claus is real, and he needs our help.”
Rip was just about to begin explaining the mission when Sara walked through the back door.
“Good, you’re back,” Rip said, “I was just going to explain the mis—”
“I dropped Rory off at my mom’s house.” she told Leonard, a nod in Rip’s direct being the sole acknowledgment of his presence she gave him, “She was a little confused because it’s so late and I said we’d only be gone an hour, but whatever, I guess.”
Leonard nodded his understanding.
“I wasn’t sure if you two would agree to this mission,” Rip said, “but I’m very glad that you did.”
“We haven’t left yet,” Leonard replied stoically.
“We better make it back home, Hunter,” Sara said, taking an intimidating step towards Rip, “Ollie’s throwing a Christmas party tomorrow and I want to show off my kid.”
“It’s also Rory’s first Christmas,” Leonard reminded her.
“That too.”
“I understand,” Rip said, backing up against the kitchen island, “I assure you, the both of you will be home before you know it.”
“We better,” she said threateningly
“And anyway,” he continued, “this mission will ensure your daughter will have a good Christmas tomorrow and for many years to come. I’m sure you can see its worth.”
“Don’t play that card with me,” Sara said, although her glare was noticeably lackluster.
“Right,” Rip said, stepping away so he was standing in front of a semicircle of time travelers.
“What exactly is wrong anyway?” Jax asked, “Hasn’t Santa been doing his thing for, like, hundreds of years? What happened that made this time go so bad?”
“Santa Claus,” Rip began, “is a subsidiary of the Time Masters. One particular Time Master, Nicholas Claus, decided to use his powers for good and used his timeship to deliver gifts to a village that had just survived a flood. Eventually, it turned into something a lot bigger.”
“What’s wrong?” Leonard repeated, trying to hide his surprising amount interest in the subject, “Why does he need our help?”
“When the Oculus exploded, so did the Time Masters’ headquarters. The ripple effect that followed caused problems along the way. It just took more time to reach Time Master Claus because his base is on the North Pole, instead of in the time stream like other locations.”
“Did something happen to the North Pole, like the Vanishing Point?” Jax asked, his face full of concern and worry.
“Not exactly. The damages were minimal because it took so long for the effects of the Oculus explosion to reach Santa’s headquarters. It simply caused a minor setback, and he needs our help delivering the presents in time.”
“This is so cool!” Ray grinned, “Saving Christmas! This is the best thing we’ve done yet.”
“Never lose that optimism, Mr. Palmer,” Rip said, “Let’s head out, team. We don’t have much time.”
They arrived at the Waverider to see the cargo bay filled nearly to the brim with wrapped gifts; there was only a narrow passageway for them to walk through. As they walked through the timeship, they saw room after room filled with gifts.
“How in the name of hell are we going to deliver all these in time?” Sara asked.
“A lot of patience and a whole fleet of jumpships,” Rip replied, “It’s best we get started.”
There were three extra jumpships docked in the landing bay, as well as the one already on-board the Waverider, so the team paired off and, taking what must have been a town’s amount of presents with them, went on their way.
Sara and Leonard went together, of course. Sara’s catlike movement allowed her to move from house to house with ease, and Leonard remained on the jumpship, his organization and attention to detail helping them sort through gifts and get through the list of children’s names Rip had given them as quickly as possible.
Another pair was Jax and Stein, who were an obvious choice. Their mental connection allowed them to work in perfect sync. Ray and Mick each took one of the new teammates, Nate going with Ray, and Amaya going with Mick. Rip remained on the Waverider to oversee their progress and help restock the jumpships with gifts when need be.
It took nearly four hours, but they delivered all the gifts Santa had given them. They had one last stop: the North Pole. Santa Claus himself wanted to thank the team of time travelers for the help they gave him.
They just needed to make one pitstop.
“Do you mind if we stop at my mom’s house?” Sara asked, “I want Rory to be here for this.”
“Certainly,” Rip replied.
“Shouldn’t your kid be asleep right now?” Jax asked.
“I wish,” Sara laughed as Leonard snorted, “I bet anyone ten bucks she’s raising Hell for my mother right now.”
She was right. Dinah Lance loved her granddaughter, and was always grateful to spend time with her, but it was also draining to take care of a six-month-old baby who didn’t stop crying unless she was with her parents, especially at eleven o’clock at night.
Once they had picked up Rory, the team continued North to Santa’s headquarters.
“You know what I just realized,” Sara said, looking over to where Leonard was sitting in the same metal chair he’d occupied during the first mission. He was bouncing Rory up and down in his lap, her chubby legs kicking wildly.
“What?” he replied.
“This is Rory’s first time on the Waverider,” she replied, smiling proudly.
“That’s right,” he said thoughtfully, “It is.”
“It’s Rory’s first time on the Waverider?” Ray exclaimed enthusiastically. He’d apparently eavesdropped on their conversation, “We should celebrate!”
“No,” Leonard and Sara said simultaneously.
Not too long later, they docked the Waverider at the North Pole and were greeted by several short, dapper-looking men and women who were unmistakably elves. As they were led towards a tall, illuminated, glass dome, Ray leaned towards Rip.
“Where’d the elves come from?” he asked.
“It’s a long story,” Rip replied.
They were brought into the glass dome and through several brightly lit hallways to a big office.
“Mr. Claus will see you now,” the elf said. He pushed open the door to allow the time travelers into the room. He nodded once and then let the door close behind him as he left.
Santa Claus was sitting in a red velvet armchair looking onto a screen similar to the holo table on the Waverider. On it was a little girl unwrapping a doll. He was smiling fondly at the bright smile on her face.
Rip cleared his throat.
“Time Master Claus?” he asked. Santa turned to face him. Once Sara found out that Santa Claus was part of the Council of Time Masters, she began to picture someone else, someone stiff and formal like Druce or Declan, but the man standing in front of them was nothing like that. He looked just as jolly and bright as the books and songs said he did.
“Why hello there, Mr. Hunter!” Santa said cheerfully, his face brightening, “And this must be the team who helped me deliver presents.”
“Yes, we are!” Ray grinned, stepping towards Santa.
“Well, you all did such a nice job that I even had a few minutes to thank you before I get started again,” he said, “Thank you all so much. I can’t even imagine how many boys and girls would have been left behind this year had it not been for your help.”
“It was nothing,” Martin said, “Helping people is what we do.”
Santa Claus smiled, his eyes meeting each and every one of them before falling on Rory, who was gurgling happily in Leonard’s arms, pointing up at the ornament adorned garlands draped around the room.
“Who might this be?” Santa asked, taking a step closer to get a better look at the baby.
“This is Rory.” Ray said before Sara or Leonard could say anything. He pointed to them, “She’s their baby, but it’s sort of like she’s all of ours.”
“You’ve seen her three times in her entire life, Raymond,” Leonard drawled.
“Well I’ll make sure she has the best first Christmas,” Santa chuckled.
“Merry Christmas Santa,” Ray said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Merry Christmas,” Santa Claus replied, his eyes twinkling, “Merry Christmas to all of you.”
This was the fourth and final fic of Olivia’s 2017 Christmas Extravaganza! I hope you enjoyed!
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4 Ways the Cat Butt Can Give You a Bigger Picture of Your Kitty’s Health
The post 4 Ways the Cat Butt Can Give You a Bigger Picture of Your Kitty’s Health by Caroline Golon appeared first on Catster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Catster.com.
What do a bunch of cat veterinarians talk about when they’re hanging out at a party together? Cat poop, of course, says Dr. Jean Hofve, holistic veterinarian, author, and founder of the site Little Big Cat. Why? Because the state of a cat’s poop is one of the fastest ways to help determine what might be wrong with an ailing kitty. Poop is important to your cat’s health, so it stands to reason that the place where it exits, the cat butt, would be, too. Here are four important things you should know about caring for the cat butt.
1. Cat butt dingleberries
Dingleberries are just one cat butt problem. Photography ©LeventKonuk | Thinkstock.
If you have a longhaired cat like my Romeo, you’ve probably seen little pieces of poop clinging to a cat butt now and then. It’s especially awesome when you discover this right after your cat has jumped up on your pillow and your face is two inches from the offending clump.
Dingleberries can occur if your cat’s poop is soft and is especially prevalent in cats with diarrhea. If your cat has the runs, it’s a good idea to take him to the vet right away to get him checked out.
The best thing to do to keep the berries at bay is to keep that cat butt trimmed of excess fur. You can carefully do this yourself or take your cat to the vet or groomer for a “sanitary trim.”
2. Should you wipe a cat butt?
Well, it depends. Does your the cat butt in question need wiping? Technically, your cat should be able to handle that himself, says Hofve. However, she adds, there are circumstances when he’s going to need some assistance.
Soft poop: If your cat’s poop is softer than normal, it could stick to his bottom. Typically your cat can get to this himself, but he might not get it all so a little help may be required.
Overweight cats: If your cat’s overweight, it might be hard for him to reach all the way behind him to clean up, explains Hofve. That’s good incentive to get your chubby kitty on a diet, yes?
Arthritic cats: If an older cat suffers from arthritis, he might also have trouble bending that far to get to his poop chute.
Warm water on a soft washcloth is the best way to clean a cat butt, Hofve advises. You can also use baby wipes or pet cleansing wipes like Earth Bath All Natural Cat Wipes, which I sometimes use.
Wipes are fine if your cat can’t reach his bum by himself at all. But if your cat can reach but simply hasn’t done such a bang-up job, just use plain water. You don’t want your cat licking himself and then ingesting chemicals, however mild, from the wipes.
3. Cat scooting
Cat scooting is an indication that you should take your cat to the vet. Photography © GlobalP | iStock.
We’ve all witnessed this common cat butt issue. Your cat hops out of the box and immediately plops down onto the floor and appears to be wiping his bum with your carpet. Or sometimes it may happen out of the blue. Regardless, no one wants to have to clean up skid marks from her light-colored Berber rug.
Cat scooting, though, is actually a good thing, because it indicates there’s an issue at hand. From diarrhea to allergies to worms, something’s going on back there and your cat’s scooting should tell you that he’s not feeling comfortable. If your cat is dragging his bum on the floor, take him for a visit with the vet.
4. Common health issues associated with the cat butt
Paying attention to what’s going on in your cat’s butt is a good idea. By knowing what’s coming out, you’ll be attuned to health issues. But also pay attention to the cat butt area itself. If there’s anything weird going on down there, get your kitty to the vet right away.
One common problem you might experience with a cat butt is swollen anal glands. The anal glands, located on either side of the anal opening, secrete an important scent that coats the poop and is used for marking. A normal poop coming through the rectum puts just enough pressure on the glands to release the scent. But if a poop is too hard or too soft, it won’t prompt that release. Over time, the glands back up and become swollen and uncomfortable.
You probably won’t be able to see the impacted glands because “they swell to the inside,” says Hofve. But, she says, “scooting is one of the signs that anal glands are impacted. Or your cat might be licking a lot at the area or doing strange yoga positions to try and get at it.”
If your cat is exhibiting any of these behaviors, take him to the vet to get him checked out. If the issue is impacted anal glands, your vet will manually empty them. And, cautions Hofve, don’t try to express the glands yourself. Improper technique can create quite a mess.
You also might periodically see little wiggling things (gag) in your cat’s poop or hanging out of the opening. If you do, get your cat to the vet right away. These are likely worms, and if they’re hanging out in the exit area, the problem is already advanced. In fact, if anything odd is hanging out of your cat’s butt or in his poop (like string, for example) take him to the vet. Even if the string appears to have come out completely, there may still be a piece inside your cat’s body. Your vet will do an X-ray or ultrasound to be sure no string is left, tangled up in your kitty’s organs.
Who knew the cat butt was such an important area? Staying up in your cat’s business will keep you aware and informed about the state of his health.
Tell us: What cat butt issues have you encountered?
Thumbnail: Photography ©Tomwang112 | Thinkstock.
This piece was originally published in 2012.
Read more about cat health on Catster.com:
Denver Outlaws Declawing Cats
Is Your Cat Losing Weight? How to Tell and What to Do
9 Ways to Find Affordable Vet Care for Your Cat
The post 4 Ways the Cat Butt Can Give You a Bigger Picture of Your Kitty’s Health by Caroline Golon appeared first on Catster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren't considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Catster.com.
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Boys Pt. 2
“That one bloke, the John one-”
Ivan cut Paul off and chuckled.“Yeah he’s an odd one.”
Paul raised his calloused hands in protest. “No no no, I think he’s fascinating.” A dreamy glare gleamed over his eyes thinking of the older boy. Ivan raised his eyebrow and breathed a note of protest, but allowed Paul to continue, even though his words contradicted his actions at the show. “He challenges me, I love being underestimated for my age sometimes, and proving the sorry lads wrong.” He cutely smiled at Ivan who was sipping his Lady Grey and nodding in response.
It was a couple days after the show on the lorry and Paul couldn’t stop thinking of the was Johnny looked him up and down with those distant eyes. John’s eyes were slender and composed which mesmerised the young pianist. Those hands too, possessive and worked like a real man. He bit his lip in content with his own wandering thoughts.
Paul checked his watch, “6:49” it read. His face turned a deep shade of vermilion. “Hey Ivan… I gotta go, Dad’ll kill me if I’m not home on time.”
Ivan set his cup down. “Aight mate, be careful, storm’s a bitch outside so don’t get too wet.”
The young McCartney swiftly got his tattered leather jacket and swung his bass on his back. “Yeah yeah mum, see ya.” He ran out in the rain with the screen door shutting behind him.
*******
Rain poured down John’s back, soaking his auburn hair blocking his vacant eyes. ‘Another fight with Mimi and I’ll be kicked out.’ Grim thoughts of being kicked out of the Robin’s nest before starting his first year of college marred his mind. Technically, he wouldn’t have a place to go or furthermore a reason to live. Life hasn’t been kind to young John Lennon. No mum, certainly no dad, and no lover to call his own. He is in his darkest place in his adolescence, the consistent thought of being replaced, unwanted, and unloved plauged his mind. Nevertheless, he shook his violent thoughts out of his genius mind away.
John knows no one could ever love him, he is stubborn, passionate, and domineering. He thinks those qualities are best on their own, but like oil, flame, and wood they create a blaze of fury. A fury that can sometimes be categorized as lust or just simply teenage horniness, or in other cases… Anger.
Lennon’s bonfire was lit tonight (I sWEAR) and he wandered the streets drabbling about how all he needs his love and he’ll find a way.
He looked up expecting to see the hideously vulgar grey row homes but was met with doe eyes and a wet lipped grin.
“J-johnny!” The beautiful boy, the Ray of sunshine of John’s dreary artistic life called out.
The boy came bounding down the pavement in his lovely disheveled state. “Hey son what’re ye-oof!” Paul hugged his middle and shoved his chubby teen face in his chest.
There was a moment of silence between the two, John then enveloped himself around the now hopelessly adorable boy happy to see his idol around the town. They pulled away from each other after experiencing the wholesome warmth.
“I missed you Johnny.” Damn that innocent voice. “B-but you must be going somewhere so I’ll leave you be.” Paul retracted suddenly, earning a strong glare from the older boy. He started to walk forwards past John, but he grabbed Paul’s hand. THAT’S ALL YE GET FOLKS.
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