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“cause they say it’s a virtue to not let good love go to waste.”
word count: 3,661.
summary: as old feelings become impossible to ignore, you and theo are finally forced to confront the painful misunderstanding that changed everything between you. what began as a harmless night quickly unravels into a truth neither of you were prepared to face.
author’s note:🧍♀️me standing here knowing you all very much want to throw tomatoes at me for leaving this chapter on a cliffhanger. it's worth it though, I promise. now that the truth is out, what do we think will happen next?
♫ begged - olivia rodrigo. nav. chapters. more theo.
Present
June 30, 2003
The Biltmore — London, England
Dear Bella,
It’s a strange thing, falling back into loving you so easily.
A year apart should’ve changed something. It should’ve made me forget the little things. The way you take too much honey in your tea. The way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard. The way your hand always finds mine when I need grounding, as though your soul knows mine is unraveling even before I do.
But it hasn’t.
Loving you is muscle memory.
It’s instinct and marrow and breath. It’s as natural to me as breathing. I spent a year trying to carve it out of myself, trying to become someone who could survive without you, only to find that every fractured piece still belongs to you anyway.
And now you’re here.
Back in my orbit. Back in my home. Back in the spaces I swore would never know your warmth again because it hurt too much to imagine.
I should be grateful, and I am.
But I’m scared, too.
Because each smile, each touch, each quiet moment beside you feels dangerously too close to before. Like slipping into an old jumper that still smells of home. Like pretending we are untouched by grief, by silence, by all the ways I failed you.
Part of me, the cowardly part, hopes we never speak of it.
That perhaps we can simply continue on like this. You beside me. Nonna healing. Our friendship stitched together so gently that we never have to tug at the seams and risk watching it all unravel again.
But I know better.
You deserve answers.
And I know, sooner or later, you will ask for them.
I only hope that when you do, the truth doesn’t cost me you a second time.
For Always,
Teddy
Present
July 3, 2003
Nott Manor — Dorset, England
The carriage ride to Dorset was far too quiet.
Not uncomfortable, never that, but weighted. The sort of silence that came when something heavy sat between two people, acknowledged but not yet named.
Theo’s fingers were tense beside him, curled tightly enough that his knuckles had gone pale.
Without thinking, you reached for his hand.
His breath caught.
For a moment, you were thirteen again. Sitting in that rattling Hogwarts carriage with autumn fog pressed to the windows, his small trembling hand clasped tightly in yours as skeletal wings moved in the distance.
Only this time, he was no frightened boy.
And yet, somehow, he still held your hand exactly the same way. Like you were the only thing keeping him anchored.
“I’m here,” you said softly.
Theo looked down at your joined hands, then at you.
“I know.”
Nott Manor loomed like a wound against the grey sky.
Tall iron gates, dead gardens, dark stone stained by generations of cruelty. Even abandoned, it felt oppressive. Like the house itself remembered every scream buried within its walls.
The Ministry officials carried on with clipped professionalism, assessing the estate’s value, documenting cursed artifacts, and discussing property transfers.
You barely heard any of it.
Your attention remained fixed on Theo.
His shoulders were rigid, his expression unreadable, but you knew him too well. You could see the war raging behind his eyes.
A week ago, he had received a letter from the Ministry stating that his presence was required for the official magical transfer of Nott Manor. You insisted on coming with him. It had been a point of contention between you for the past few days. Theo insisted that he could do it alone, but when you reminded him that he didn’t have to, the argument died within him.
It helped that Nonna had smacked him upside the head and told him to stop being so bloody foolish. In the end, he was grateful that you had gone with him. It only felt natural to face all the horrors he had overcome with you standing beside him.
When the final signatures were complete and the officials apparated away, silence settled heavily over the grounds.
Theo stood behind you at the front steps, staring at the manor with an expression that wasn’t quite grief.
It was release.
“What happens now?” you asked quietly.
Theo exhaled slowly. “Now, I tear it down.”
You blinked, glancing at him. “All of it?”
He nodded. “Every stone.”
There was something deeply poetic in that. A son dismantling the legacy of the father who had spent his life destroying him.
Then Theo turned toward you, his gaze softer now.
“Though,” he said, almost casually, “I thought perhaps one part of it might be worth rebuilding.”
You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
Theo’s mouth curved into a small, tentative smile.
“Your blood curse research.”
Your breath caught.
“Theo…”
“You’ll want a proper facility one day,” he said. “A place for research. Treatment. Somewhere people who have been failed by old magic can finally be helped.”
You stared at him, unable to speak.
“Nott Manor has been steeped in darkness for far too long,” he said, his voice gentler now. “I think it’s time we finally bring light back into it.”
Your eyes burned instantly.
For once, words failed you.
So instead, you threw your arms around him.
And Theo held you like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Present
July 11, 2003
Nott Manor — Dorset, England
When Nonna was finally cleared to return home, the entire ward seemed to breathe easier.
She flirted shamelessly with her discharge healer, declared for what must’ve been the hundredth time that British tea was an insult to civilization, and loudly informed everyone that she planned to live long enough to see Theo married, preferably to someone intelligent enough to keep him in line.
You laughed so hard you nearly cried.
For a little while, it was easy to get swept up in her warmth. Easy to focus on her sharp wit, her dramatic complaints, and the undeniable relief that she was going to be alright.
But beneath all of it, there was something bittersweet curling quietly in your chest.
This chapter was ending.
Outside her room, once the final paperwork had been signed and the healers had gone over every last instruction twice, the corridor fell strangely quiet.
Theo turned to you then, and before you could think too hard about it, he pulled you into his arms.
He held you carefully. Like he was handling something precious. Something he was still a little afraid he might lose.
And maybe that’s why your breath caught.
You went willingly, your arms sliding around him as naturally as they always had. Your cheek pressed against his chest, and beneath your ear, his heartbeat was steady and strong.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt yourself stop thinking.
You simply stood there, held.
And Merlin, it was terrifying.
Because being close to Theo had always felt like this. Like stepping off something enormous and somehow knowing he would catch you before you shattered.
It was overwhelming and comforting all at once. Like grief and peace had somehow learned to coexist in the same space.
His chin brushed softly over your hair.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than you were used to.
He said it like you wouldn’t have gone through hell and back for him. Did go through hell and back before crawling toward him again. Toward home.
“You never have to thank me.”
Your voice came out softer too, thick with something you weren’t ready to name.
Still, neither of you moved.
For one fragile moment, it felt like the rest of the world had simply disappeared.
Then reality returned all at once.
From farther down the corridor, Cedric stood watching.
His expression was carefully composed by the time you stepped away, polite enough that most people wouldn’t think twice.
But you knew him well enough by now to notice the tension in his jaw. The stiffness in his shoulders.
Theo, thankfully, seemed oblivious.
Cedric offered Nonna a courteous farewell, smiled where appropriate, and played his part well.
But later, when you returned to your office to finish chart updates, the tension he had been swallowing all day finally surfaced.
“You seem awfully close again.”
His tone was light, almost teasing, but something underneath it felt sharp.
You looked up from your paperwork, already tired.
“Theo is my best friend.”
Cedric gave a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Funny.”
Your brows furrowed. “What is?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded.
“Best friends don’t usually look at each other like that.”
Your stomach tightened. “Like what?”
For a second, something flickered across his face. Frustration, maybe. Hurt.
But just as quickly, it was gone.
“Forget it.”
He pushed off the frame and stepped closer, smoothing his expression into something more neutral.
“I made reservations for dinner tomorrow.”
Guilt tugged at you automatically, though it felt weaker than it once had.
“I can’t,” you said gently. “Hermione and Padma are coming over, remember? I told you.”
The shift in him was immediate, even if subtle.
His jaw flexed.
“Right,” he said, though his tone was flat. “Of course.”
“Cedric…”
You weren’t even entirely sure what you meant to say.
Sorry?
Please don’t do this?
I’m trying?
But he was already stepping back.
“Another time.”
The office door shut behind him a little too firmly.
For a long moment, you simply stood there in the silence.
And for the first time, the guilt you usually felt didn’t come rushing in after him.
Present
July 12, 2003
Your Flat — Primrose Hill, London
You had insisted on hosting.
After everything Hermione and Padma had done over the past few weeks, from covering shifts to helping monitor Nonna’s treatment to simply being there when you felt like you might collapse under the weight of it all, cooking for them felt like the very least you could do.
So your flat was warm with candlelight, the scent of garlic and rosemary filling the kitchen, and a bottle of good wine already breathing on the counter by the time Hermione arrived.
She stepped inside with dessert in hand and an amused smile.
“You know,” she said, slipping off her coat, “most people just send thank you cards.”
You grinned, taking the dessert from her.
“And deprive myself of feeding my favorite witches? Never.”
Hermione laughed softly, leaning over to kiss your cheek.
Padma arrived shortly after, carrying an assortment of expensive cheese and looking deeply unimpressed with the state of her evening.
You barely got the door shut before narrowing your eyes.
“What happened?”
Padma sighed the long-suffering sigh of a woman truly burdened.
“Blaise Zabini happened.”
Hermione immediately brightened in a way that could only mean trouble.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Padma said darkly. “Another bouquet.”
You blinked. “Another?”
Padma fixed you both with a look.
“This one sang.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then you nearly inhaled your drink.
Hermione was already laughing too hard to be helpful.
“Not just sang,” she corrected through her laughter. “They harmonized.”
Padma looked genuinely offended all over again.
“They were outside my office.”
“Oh, that’s horrifying,” you said, though you were grinning far too hard for your sympathy to be believable.
Padma dropped dramatically into one of your dining chairs.
“And then, because public humiliation wasn’t enough, I got home to find earrings.”
Your brows shot up.
“Jewelry?”
Padma groaned.
“Custom.”
Hermione clasped a hand over her heart.
“That’s absurdly romantic.”
“It’s absurdly excessive,” Padma shot back.
You leaned against the kitchen counter, swirling your wine with far too much amusement.
“He’s wearing you down.”
“He is not.”
“Oh, come on,” you laughed. “You don’t keep the earrings if he’s not at least making progress.”
Padma pointed at you accusingly.
“They matched my favorite sari.”
Hermione gasped.
“Oh, he’s good.”
“He’s manipulative.”
“He’s thoughtful,” Hermione corrected.
“He’s rich,” Padma muttered.
You were still laughing as you plated dinner.
“And yet somehow,” you said lightly, “you aren’t as impervious as you think to the infamous Zabini charm. It’s working, isn’t it?”
Padma’s scowl deepened.
“It’s not.”
Neither you nor Hermione believed her for a second.
Dinner itself was exactly what you had hoped for.
For the first time in what felt like ages, your flat was full of laughter instead of worry. Between bites of pasta and generous pours of wine, conversation flowed effortlessly.
Hermione updated you both on her latest tea visit with Narcissa at Malfoy Manor, which somehow remained one of the more unexpected developments of adulthood.
“I still can’t believe Cissa asks for your opinions on centerpieces,” you said, laughing.
Hermione shrugged, entirely too casual about it.
“She values precision.”
Padma smirked.
“She likes Hermione because Hermione tells her when she’s wrong.”
“That too.”
You smiled into your glass.
It felt nice, this. To sit here with your friends, surrounded by warmth and normalcy after so much emotional turmoil.
But eventually, the conversation shifted.
It always did.
Hermione’s expression softened first.
“How are things with Cedric?”
Your smile faded a little.
“Rocky.”
Padma frowned immediately.
“Because of Theo?”
You sighed, setting your fork down.
“Yes.”
Neither of them interrupted.
You appreciated that.
“He’s been…off lately,” you admitted. “And I understand why.”
Hermione tilted her head slightly.
“Do you?”
You stared down at your plate for a moment.
“Before Theo came back, I was content.”
The words felt hollow even now.
You gave a small, humorless laugh.
“I had my career. My relationship. My plans.”
Padma stayed quiet, watching you carefully.
“I thought that was enough.”
Hermione’s voice was gentle.
“But?”
Your throat tightened.
“But I wasn’t happy.”
The admission settled over the table with surprising weight.
You exhaled shakily.
“Theo coming back…” You shook your head lightly. “He reminded me that there’s more to life than just tolerating it.”
Your fingers tightened around your wine glass.
“More than surviving. More than settling.”
Hermione reached for your hand without hesitation.
“This is the happiest we’ve seen you in a long time.”
Padma nodded. “She’s right.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because they were right.
You were happier.
Even with the confusion. Even with the fear. Even with the ache of unanswered questions.
“I am happy,” you admitted quietly.
Then your voice softened.
“I’m just scared.”
Hermione’s thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“Of what?”
And there it was.
The real answer.
“Losing him again.”
Neither woman looked surprised.
Padma’s expression softened, some of her usual sharpness giving way to understanding.
Hermione spoke carefully, as though afraid to push too hard.
“Have you and Theo talked about what happens now?”
Your silence was immediate.
And telling.
Nonna was healed.
She was going home.
And with that came the inevitable truth neither of you had fully addressed.
“No,” you admitted.
Padma sighed, though not unkindly.
“Then you need to.”
You looked up, troubled.
“I know. We will eventually, it just hasn’t been the right time—“
“No,” Padma said more firmly. “Not eventually. Not when it’s comfortable. Now.”
Hermione nodded. “You both keep dancing around it.”
Padma leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “You can’t build something real by pretending the ruins underneath it don’t exist.”
The words struck deeper than you wanted them to.
Because beneath all the healing, all the laughter, all the moments where it felt like maybe you had found your way back to each other…
There were still ruins.
Still unanswered pain.
Still the very real possibility that silence could destroy you both all over again.
“You need honesty,” Padma said softly now. “Even if it hurts.”
Hermione squeezed your hand.
“Especially then.”
For a long moment, you said nothing.
You simply sat there in the warmth of your home, surrounded by two friends who loved you enough to tell you the truth.
And deep down, you already knew they were right.
Present
July 15, 2003
The Leaky Cauldron — Diagon Alley, London
By the time the group finally spilled out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the cool London night, your cheeks hurt from laughing.
It had been the first real evening where old friendships and new dynamics had merged seamlessly. Somehow, against all odds, your worlds had joined together into something surprisingly natural.
Hermione and Pansy had argued over charity logistics.
Draco and Ron had nearly come to blows over Quidditch statistics.
Luna had spent twenty minutes explaining to Blaise why moon frogs were misunderstood creatures while Padma tried not to laugh.
And Theo, to your quiet relief, had fit right back into it all as though he had never left.
Watching him laugh with Mattheo, argue with Enzo, and exchange sharp insults with Draco felt strangely healing.
Like perhaps some fractured part of the universe was finally correcting itself.
As the others gradually peeled off in pairs and groups, saying their goodnights and heading toward Apparition points or nearby Floo stations, you and Theo found yourselves walking side by side through softly lit cobbled streets.
The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of London around you.
For a while, it was easy.
Comfortable.
Theo shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, shaking his head with genuine disbelief.
“Pansy and Longbottom?”
You laughed immediately.
Theo looked over at you, horrified.
“What in Salazar’s name did I miss while I was gone?”
Your smile widened.
“I think they make quite a cute couple, actually.”
Theo stopped walking for half a second just to stare at you.
“Cute?”
“Yes.”
“Y/N.”
You were already grinning too hard to be taken seriously.
Theo resumed walking beside you, clearly disturbed.
“What do they even talk about?”
You hummed thoughtfully.
“I don’t think they do much talking behind closed doors.”
Theo made a deeply offended noise.
“Ugh.”
He physically recoiled, sticking his tongue out dramatically.
“Please refrain from making me hurl my dinner all over the street.”
Your laughter rang louder this time, bright and unrestrained.
“Fine,” you said, looping your arm through his. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, Teddy.”
Theo groaned. “You’re deeply immature for a healer.”
“And yet you adore me.”
Theo glanced down at you then.
His expression softened in that quiet way of his. The one that almost felt more intimate than words.
“Unfortunately.”
Your chest squeezed unexpectedly.
Moments like this felt dangerous.
Like slipping back into something beloved and familiar without acknowledging how badly it had once shattered.
You could almost pretend, for a little while, that nothing had changed.
That the year apart hadn’t happened.
That there were no wounds still left unspoken between you.
But as you approached your building and the laughter between you gradually softened, reality began to creep back in.
Because beneath the teasing and warmth, there was still something unresolved hanging heavy in the air.
Theo felt it too.
You could tell by the subtle shift in him. The way his shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.
The way his smile faded at the edges.
When you reached your front door, you turned to him.
“Theo.”
His expression immediately shifted.
Guarded. Not closed off entirely, but bracing.
You hated that.
“We need to talk.”
“Y/N…”
“No.”
Your voice was softer than you intended, but no less firm.
You couldn’t keep doing this.
Couldn’t keep accepting half-truths and careful avoidance simply because having him back felt better than losing him again.
“I mean it.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
“Can’t we just… have tonight?”
The question was so quietly vulnerable that it almost broke your resolve.
Almost.
Your heart ached.
“Do you really think I haven’t wanted that?” you asked softly.
Theo’s silence was answer enough.
You swallowed hard.
“I want you in my life,” you said, your voice trembling now despite your best efforts. “But I can’t spend every day wondering if you’re going to disappear the second things become difficult.”
Theo looked stricken.
“I won’t.”
Your eyes stung.
“That’s not enough.”
He looked away, his expression pained.
“It has to be.”
“No, Theo.”
Your voice cracked then, emotion finally splintering through.
“You left me.”
The words landed between you like shattered glass.
“You shut me out without explanation. You disappeared and I was devastated.”
Theo’s breathing had gone uneven now.
“I need the truth.”
For one awful moment, he said nothing.
Then something in him finally gave way.
“I tried to tell you!”
The force of it stunned you both.
The street fell eerily quiet around you.
Theo looked almost sick the second the words left him, like he regretted them immediately.
But it was too late.
Your breath caught.
“What?”
Theo’s chest rose and fell sharply, his composure visibly unraveling.
“After your graduation,” he said, his voice trembling now, “I wrote you a letter.”
You blinked. “A letter?”
His eyes shone with emotion you had never fully seen directed at you so openly before.
“I put it in your bag.”
Your stomach dropped so suddenly it was almost physical.
Theo’s voice was rougher now.
“I told you everything.”
Your pulse thundered.
“How I felt. What you meant to me.”
His laugh this time was bitter enough to wound.
“And you never responded.”
You stared at him, horrified.
“Theo…”
He shook his head, grief and frustration colliding all at once.
“So when you said nothing…when weeks passed…and then Cedric…”
Your voice barely worked.
“I never got a letter.”
Silence.
Not ordinary silence.
The kind that changes everything.
Theo froze.
You felt your own thoughts begin racing.
The train.
Your bag.
Cedric.
Your blood turned to ice.
“Oh my god.”
Theo went visibly pale.
“No.”
But deep down, you both already knew.
Your voice came out sharp with dawning fury.
“He took it.”
Theo looked as though the ground beneath him had vanished.
And suddenly, every confusing moment. Every unanswered question. Every painful misunderstanding twisted into one horrifying truth.
Cedric had stolen your choice.
Your heartbreak ignited into something far hotter.
Rage.
Without another word, you turned sharply toward the street.
“Y/N—”
But you were already moving.
Already furious.
Already shaking.
Because there was only one person you intended to see.
something something sebastian wilder x reader where reader is a writer/director and recruits him to compose their movie soundtrack in an old hollywood jazz style and they end up falling in love over their shared passion for art and romantics
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hihiii saw you were opening requests for ryland grace and i would love to see soulmate au 94 “Bond Suddenly Activated If Someone Is Gravely Injured” from the list of prompts if u are willing !!! thank you so so much <333
Oooohh I like this one
I do have some ideas, I just need to... organise them
Heloo! Soulmate AU- you can’t die as long as your soulmate is alive with certified “I think I’m invincible, I don’t think I can die” grim reaper dodger Holland March would be hilarious
You work in a job that puts your life at risk every day and even if you get injured badly you simply can’t die because Holland is always dodging your bullets for you somewhere else
Oh my god this is SO smart how did i not think about this earlier?!?
The thing with this is idk how to not make it angst bc i don't want to write angst with Holland. Man has been through enough 💀
I will definitely figure this out and tag you when I'm done w it 🤩
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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i need more of ur sneaky dbf!holland !! PLS PLS PLS
want him in an inappropriate place
my closet risky adventure kink has risen up !!
As you wish, ily nonnie xx
“I’m home alone for the weekend. You wanna come over?”
Those were the words you’d used when you’d called Holland.
He’d sent Holly to Jessica’s for the weekend and he’d been outside your front door not two minutes later, a bag in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other, because he knew your dad would notice if his alcohol went missing.
You’d spent the majority of the weekend lounging on the couch and in your parents’ bed in your underwear. Holland had attempted to make breakfast and nearly burnt your kitchen down, but he managed to save it with a nice dinner—takeout from the chicken place down the street.
On Sunday afternoon, you were sticky and sweaty from too much sex and too much booze. The master bathroom was right there. Your parents, lucky sons of bitches, had an in-ground jacuzzi and a walk in shower.
So, as Holland reasoned, why not use both? You filled the tub with warm water and bubbles and got in.
“Holland!” You called toward the bedroom. “I’m in, are you coming?”
“I’m stuck in my pants,” he called back. You heard a knock against the wall, then on the carpet, then a thrashing on the ground. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, hands on his hips like he hadn’t just fallen over. He puffed up his chest, flexing, then let his hands drop. “I really like this view. We should make a calendar or something. It’ll be like sexy firefighters, but better.”
You shake your head and wave your hand at him. “Get in here, dummy.”
He walked across the bathroom, dick swinging, and climbed down the steps to get in the tub with you. He picked up the glass you’d set on the edge of the porcelain and took a long sip, his arm finding its way around your shoulders. His bicep hugged the back of your head, and you leaned against him, your legs hooking over his under the water.
Holland leaned over, pressing his lips against your temple in a wet, sticky-with-alcohol kiss. “Tub sex?” He murmured against your ear.
You looked at him like you hadn’t considered the possibility, then cupped the back of his neck and crushed your lips against his. He groaned, his tongue slipping into your mouth and dancing against yours. You could feel his dick harden under the water, and you reached down to grab it.
Holland gasped, his hips lifting under the water. “Fuck—“
You broke the kiss, then trailed your lips down his jaw and throat, licking at the hickeys you’d left during days before. Holland groaned, his wet hands finding your hair. Shifting into his lap, your knee found the other side of the tile bench, and pressed his tip against your entrance, sinking down on him with one smooth motion. You both gasped, mouths open against each others. He filled you perfectly, your hips right up against his, and you ground down against him. Holland let out a high-pitched moan, one that wasn’t unlike one of yours, and you let out a shaky giggle, lifting yourself up before sinking back down.
“Ho-Holland,” you mumbled. One of his hands found your hip, guiding your pace, and the other wrapped around your back, pulling your chest flush against his. “God, you’re good.”
“You’ve been saying that—oh, fuck—for the last two days. Oh my god!” Holland’s fingers dug into your skin the same place they always did, at your shoulder blade. You had to have a permanent bruise there by now. “Should I…” His head fell back against the tile edge of the tub, his eyes closed.
“Touch me,” you mumbled, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “Touch me right now.”
Holland’s hand dropped from your hip to rest against your pelvis and his thumb found your clit, swirling perfectly pressured circles against your throbbing sex.
“Goddamn,” Holland gasped as you squeezed around him, the pressure steadily building in his groin. “God—fuck, yes.”
The front door opened, and you almost didn’t hear the intruder; not until your mother’s voice cut through your pleasure, calling your name.
You yelped, shoving yourself off Holland’s dick and throwing yourself backward. Your head slipped underwater, and you shoved yourself up. The house was a wreck—more dangerously, your father’s best friend was in his bathtub with you.
You hoped your parents would just assume you’d thrown a party, like any young adult who was home alone, never mind whether you were the type.
Holland whined, his orgasm lost, and you grabbed his shoulders. “You gotta fucking get out. Get out, get—go out the window, idiot!”
Holland spluttered, anxiety filling his eyes when he heard your dad’s voice. “Shit. Fuck. Uh—“
“Forget your pants! Forget them! Go out the window!” You leaned over the edge of the tub and shoved the window open. “Go! Go home!”
“You said they weren’t going to be home until tomorrow!” Holland hissed, grabbing a towel and pressing it against his crotch as he shoved himself up, hooking his leg over the windowsill.
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” You snapped back, shoving at his ass. “Go—“
“Sweetheart?”
Your mother was in the bedroom.
Holland finally fell out the window, and you slammed it closed, then sunk back against the tub wall.
“Honey, are you in there?”
“Mommy?” You called innocently, putting a thicker tone in your voice. “I fell asleep in the tub. Why are you home so early?”
“Your father finished his work early, so we got to come home. Why are there clothes all over the house? Did you go shopping?” She asked through the bathroom door.
“Yeah, um, and I had a little fashion show. Sorry, I’ll clean up as soon as I get out.”
“Take your time, honey. Dad’s going to see Mr. March, he brought him a nice bottle of whiskey.”
genuinely obsessed with dbf!holland march omggg YOU WRITE HIM SO GOOD ARGHHFGRRGH
Omg thank you I literally hate him so bad (I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer this I have the block BAD rn)
The first time you had sex with Holland March, it was in your shed, just a quick fuck. Holland was looking out the shed window the entire time, convinced your dad was going to come out and find you fucking his best friend, a man who had known you when you were little.
“What if—what if your dad comes out here?” He pants, hips rocking against yours insistently as he chases his orgasm. He's harder than he's ever been, the thought of getting caught turning him on. He doesn't exactly want your father to catch him, because he knows he'll get his ass kicked.
“He won’t,” you mumble, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to face you. “He never comes out here, Mr. March.”
“Goddammit, don't call me that,” Holland huffs, gripping your hips tightly and hiking you up further against the wall. The splintery wood digs into your back and you wince. “It's fucking Holland.”
“Mmh—okay, okay, fuck—“ The new height, the new way his dick drives into you, makes you want to cry. He’s not even that big, but god does he know what he’s doing. “I’m so—oh, oh, god—“
“Yeah, yeah, gettin’ close,” Holland huffs, pressing his mouth against your ear. “Shit, you’re so good.” He reaches down, pressing his hand against your stomach to feel himself inside you, then presses his thumb against your clit as it throbs. You squeal, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Baby, baby, shit—“
“God, Holland!” You gasp, throwing your head back as you cum around his cock. “Oh, oh, god, god—“
Holland finishes inside you with a low moan, one that bounces around your skull. “Yeah, baby, oh, yeah…”
“Holland,” you whimper softly, lifting your head to stare at him through teary eyes. You’ve never cum so hard in your life, not by yourself, not with any of the stupid guys at school who disinterestedly finger-fucked you and didn’t know where the clit was. “So good, mmh…”
“Yeah, baby, so good, fuck…” Holland pulls out, cum dripping down the front of his slacks. “Shit.”
You look down, letting out a sputtering, wet laugh. Your knees are weak and your brain feels like mush. Holland March, as taboo as it may be, was the best lay you’d ever had.
The back door slams, and Holland looks out the window. “Mother fuck—“ He drops you, tugging his pants up and tucking his dick away. Your knees give out, and you nearly crash on your ass. “It’s your dad, it’s your fucking dad—“
“Holland. Holland!” You almost slap him, your hand a sharp spike of pain against his bicep. “He’s not coming out here. He doesn’t even keep the lawn tools in here, they’re in the garage. He’s probably picking up from the party or something.”
Holland swallows, his heart pounding in his chest. “Are you sure? Okay, okay…” He nods, anxious.
You pull your clothes back together, and by the time you’re dressed, your father is back inside. You push the shed door open, peeking out, then step into the yard. Holland makes a break for it, sprinting across the yard to his own. He hops the fence and doesn’t look back until you call his name.
“What? What?” He asks, looking around wildly. “What’s wrong?”
You plant your hands on the fence, leaning over it to press your lips against his. When it breaks, he grins stupidly, then straightens your shirt’s strap. “Bye, kid.”
Cannot judge you, i got a google sheets with every single fic I've read for the past 3 years across 3 different platforms w 10+ categories to organise (author, wc, media, mark, etc)
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Oh my gosh. I just found this website that walks you though creating a believable society. It breaks each facet down into individual questions and makes it so simple! It seems really helpful for worldbuilding!
Heads up that this is a very extensive questionnaire and might be daunting to a lot of writers (myself included). That being said, it is also an amazing questionnaire and I will definitely be using it (or at the very least, some of it).
Pairing: Holland March x f!reader
Warnings/Tags: Soulmate AU, no beta we die like Misty Mountains, canon typical violence, Holland is a loser but he's my loser
Word Count: 5.2k
A/n: hi, I have been possessed once again. We need more fics of this wet cat of a man and I'm here to solve it. Also, I have barely slept a wink (2 hours) in the last 48 hours so excuse me if there are spelling mistakes or yada yada. Gonna have a part 2 btw
Cross posted to Ao3
Holland March had always been somewhat crossed with his soulmark. Who could blame him, really? After all, it did say a pretty unpleasant thing. What could possibly have his soulmate written that made that better?
Holland lived in a world where soulmates were a thing. Who thought of implementing that? Why not let people choose whoever they wanted? Not like they didn't already do it, but still. Why would fate choose to do that?
At some point in one's life, half a sentence would appear on someone's skin. The other half would be on the soulmate's body.
Was it some kind of sick joke from destiny? What was he supposed to do with that?
"You will never be happy"
Bullshit.
He could be perfectly happy. And without a soulmate, at that. He had the best daughter anyone could ask for. And his private investigation thingy wasn't going half bad. He didn't need them.
He had already found love before. And without help from a higher being: his late wife.
Their soulmarks didn't match. At all. But when a pregnancy test comes back positive, very little else matters. They had to drop out of college and figure things out.
But that's water under the bridge. She was long gone.
The point is, Holland March didn't need anyone else in his life. Not his soulmate, not another wife.
And then you showed up.
It happened on a regular day. If you call throwing hands at someone regular— which for both Holland and Jackson did.
They were following up on some clue about a house break-in and theft. A posh woman had called them, in a desperate attempt to find her stolen jewelry. The police were apparently too busy to look into it so they were called right after them.
After investigating a bit and messing around some more at the scene, Holland found a single button.
"Leave it already." Told him Jackson after a while. "Are you even trying to find anything?" He called him out as he dug into a small mount of broken debris.
Holland fumbled, almost dropping what he was holding.
"I am investigating!" He bashfully answered. "I've been checking the closets."
He returned the last garment to the closet before going back to his partner.
"Found anything else?" He asked and Holland could only shake his head in denial.
Fast forward that same night, Holland pulled up to their usual bar. He already knew Jackson was inside, nursing a drink. He never waited for him.
Mid afternoon Jackson had to leave to take care of some personal issues and they had agreed to meet up again after dark.
And, unlike him, Healy was punctual.
Holland strode inside the dive bar without even bothering to take off his shades. His eyes were already where he expected his partner to be. And he found him right where he was supposed to be: on the same stool as always.
Plopping down by his side with a sigh, Holland ordered himself a whiskey. Neat, of course.
"I assume you got nothing done after I left?" Jackson said as he sipped his drink.
Holland gasped with feigned offence, a hand grasping dramatically at his chest.
"Why do you think so lowly of me?" He cried
"Am I wrong?" Pried Jackson with a tired look.
Holland blinked a couple times, perplexed, but answered anyway.
"Well— Yeah." He said, flippantly in his voice.
"Yeah?" Parroted Jackson, genuinely surprised.
Holland wasn't the smartest cookie of the batch. That was undeniable. But sometimes he did have brilliant moments. Fool's luck, one might say. But when the fool narrowly escapes death more than twice, maybe it's skill.
Was he underestimating Holland? Quite a lot.
Should he have more credit than what he already gave him— which was practically none? Probably.
Holland did have some interesting findings from time to time.
...from time to time.
Was this one of those moments? Jackson would know shortly.
"What did you find?" He asked with a mix of expectation and scepticism.
"You remember the button?" Holland drew out a small zip-lock bag, immediately eliciting a loud groan from Jackson.
"Are you still with that stupid thing?" He said, dragging a hand down his face.
He should have expected something like that from him.
"Hey! Don't call it stupid." Holland scolded, as if the button had feelings that could get hurt.
Jackson could only roll his eyes and raise his eyebrows.
Seeing he had nothing to say, Holland went on.
"You see, while you were doing God-knows-what, I went to my tailor." Now Jackson wanted to say something, but March just didn't stop talking. "I asked her about our little friend here-" he flicked the bagged button "-and she knows where it comes from."
Holland reached out his hands as if he were Jesus Christ performing a miracle.
And, well. Jackson would have perfectly bought it. Again, poor Holland March wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. So when he did make a breakthrough, it could perfectly pass as a miracle.
"Really??" Jackson asked in genuine disbelief.
Holland nodded confidently. "Mhm. Wanna go over there now?"
His mischievous smirk was something dangerous, taking into account the time. It was pitch black. What were they gonna do at the place? Wake everyone up?
...Yep. That's exactly what they did.
Well, they were already awake. And they were either on high alert or they were waiting for them. Because as soon as Holland and Jackson got out of the car, bullets started raining on them.
Seems like March did hit the nail on the head this time.
Fastforward a lot of shooting, ducking and whatnot, the fight turned physical for some reason. That's what usually happens when both sides run out of bullets.
Jackson was dealing with two of them, and was doing fairly well on his own. Hitting people was kind of his thing, after all.
Holland... Well, he wasn't doing so well.
He was fighting the last guy and somehow the whole thing looked a bit too much like a cat fight. There was a lot of back and forth involved with multiple feints and barely dodged hits.
Fortunately for him, his enemy fought in a similar way to him, making the fight surprisingly balanced, skilfully speaking.
"March!" Jackson called as he dodged a kick, retaliating with a punch. "Are you done over there?"
"Not at a- Jesus!" Answered Holland with a high pitched tone. His opponent had taken out a pocket knife.
Apparently the poor bloke had forgotten he had it. If not, he'd taken it out from the start.
"Healy?" It was now Holland's turn to call for help. "I need a-a hand or whatever!" He said with a panicked voice.
Jackson rolled his eyes. He often thought about driving to the country and dropping him off in there. But March's like that puppy you don't want. It ends growing up on you and you can't throw him out anymore.
Using the inertia of a hit, he moved through the wrecked space towards anything that could be of use.
His hand came in contact with a crowbar. That'd work just fine.
Wait, who has a crowbar out in the open at home? These guys, apparently.
His luck, as he'd been the one to get it first.
Now armed with something more blunt, Jackson had a bit more leverage. Which allowed him barely enough time to grab something and toss it to Holland.
... a wooden plank.
These guys seriously had to get their shit together. This was no space to live in. Full of dangerous stuff, unfit for everyday life.
Holland fumbled with the incoming plank, almost dropping it. He glanced at it and made a face.
"Seriously?!"
He whined as he swung the board around like a bat in an attempt to either hit the other guy or drive him away. It was not the finest weapon. But he was not in a position to choose.
"Would you rather fight unarmed?" Retorted Jackson and Holland's mind was quick to change.
"NO!" He grumbled loudly as his grip on the wood tightened.
A surge of determination coursed through his veins and he swung the plank with purpose.
The knife guy was not expecting it and narrowly avoided the hit. Unfortunately for him, Holland had finally locked in. Doubling down, his speed increased and his adversary was forced to walk a couple steps back in order to keep dodging.
But he stumbled with something on his backwards walk and Holland took the opportunity to disarm him. The wooden plank smashed against his hand, forcing him to drop the pocket knife.
The poor bastard let out a pained scream as he cradled his obliterated hand.
It was far from obliterated, but it did sure feel like it.
Holland lifted the board one last time with the intention of delivering a final— and hopefully incapacitating —blow. But as he was about to swing down, someone else swung.
One of the guys who were handling Jackson had managed to get away from him long enough to sneak up to Holland. In a swift move, the butt of his gun came down on Holland's head. And just like that, he was out like a light.
When he opened his eyes again, Holland March was absolutely sure he had died and was now in heaven— for some reason.
The most beautiful woman was right in front of his eyes. A soft aura was around her that made everything but her blurry. Her mouth moved but nothing came out of it. Or at least not that he could hear. Her hand was stroking his hair and she looked oh so concerned for him.
He definitely had to have died.
Fortunately, he had not.
As his mind fog faded away, his vision cleared up and his hearing came back.
"—ar me, sir? Sir? Can you hear me?" Oh, even your voice was nice. It was soft and calm and made him giddy.
"Wh- wh- where..." Holland attempted as he tried to sit up. Big mistake, everything hurt.
But then your— albeit gloved —hand came down to his chest and gently pushed him down again. And he complied. How could he not? Your hand was warm under the latex, your voice made him feel at ease, what else could he ask for?
Jackson.
Where's Jackson?
Holland immediately sits up and you cannot stop him. His eyes start to dart everywhere. He's inside an ambulance. The doors are open and he can hear sirens.
He's still at the scene. Okay. Someone called the cops.
Still, no Jackson.
"Wheee's Heelee?" He mutters and you only manage to understand him thanks to your experience in the job. It seems his brain is still booting.
"Your partner?" You asked and he nodded wobbly, yet energetically. "He's getting checked up over there. He's fine, don't worry." You smile at him.
A wave of relief washes over his body and he lays back down, closing his eyes. Now that he thought about it, his head was killing him.
What in the world had happened? All he had was foggy memories.
Taking advantage of his now calm state, you got back to work. With careful hands you cleaned scratches and patched up cuts. He was mostly fine. The worst had taken it his head.
The hand on his hair moved and that's when Holland realised. You were not stroking his hair. You were cleaning the wound on it.
Ouch.
Both physically and emotionally.
Once he was all fixed up, you sighed at the good work.
"Do you want me to bring your friend?" You asked.
You were so nice. Offering to do stuff for him and taking care of him. Yeah, yeah. It was your job or whatever. Who cared? The point is that he was being taken cared of by the most ethereal looking woman he'd ever seen.
"Yes, please." He croaked out, both from a dry throat and the fact that he had to talk to you. Holland hoped it hadn't sounded as pathetic as he thought.
It did.
But you didn't care. He was kind of cute and dorky. Like a confused puppy.
Without another word, you handed him a water bottle and jumped off the ambulance.
Holland loved the gesture, even if it was only made out of politeness or protocol compliance. He still loved it. What he didn't love as much was you leaving him.
As soon as you left his vision field, he felt compelled to follow after you. It didn't really make any sense. But something in him was telling him to go with you, to stay with you.
Perhaps he had a concussion. Yup, that gotta be it.
Also, his right hand was kinda itchy. A bug bite, probably. It was starting to be that time of the year anyway. And at night time? Mosquito party.
Stop, because why does his body want to get up so damn much? He's hurting all over his body. He'd rather be laying down, like he was doing right now.
You came back just in time because he was about to get up, against his own wishes. Jackson Healy trailed after you.
"Hey, March. You look awful." He pointed out and Holland sighed.
"Yeah?" He nodded. "You know what? You're not doing much better, uh." He said, making an attempt of a counter.
Reaching into the pockets of his dress pants, Holland took out a cigarette and his beaten up zippo. How they managed to stay in his pockets was a mystery. He placed the butt between his lips and just when he was about to light it up, you yanked the tube off of his lips.
"No smoking here, mister." You scolded him like one would do to a child.
He pouted but did nothing about it. He still couldn't bring himself to go against you. Jackson laughed. Obviously.
You turned around to look at the man, who schooled his face in record speed.
"Your friend here is good to go. But I fear your car has been totaled." You said, wincing at the last part. "If you want, I could drop you off—"
Before you could even finish speaking, Holland barged in.
"Yes please!" He said, sounding strangely close to a plea.
Both your head and Jackson's turned to stare at him, who in exchange looked like a deer in the headlights.
He had absolutely no clue why he'd spoken up, but he did. Did he regret it? Not at all.
You only smiled and nodded, like the angel you were.
"Sure. I'm going to wrap some things up and tell my partners I'm done for tonight. Join me out there when you can." And after that you were out of the ambulance, laving the two of them alone.
"March." Jackson called with a warning tone and a raised eyebrow. "What was that?" He asked.
"I don't know!" Answered Holland with a perplexed expression as he hastily sat up in the ambulance's stretcher.
"You don't?"
"I panicked!"
"You panicked?"
"She's so beautiful and her voice is so soft!" Holland started to rant nervously. "I don't even know what I'm doing!" He hissed-yelled.
Jackson stared at him with a mix of awe and appalment. Holland was gesturing profusely, hands flying all over the place as he spoke. They went from his face to loosen his tie, then to his hair and lastly back to his face.
"I just know that she's perfect or whatever!"
The older man starts to get concerned. He hasn't seen his friend so confused and distressed in a very long time. Whatever's going on inside his mind is serious.
"I just-"
Holland stops halfway with a choked voice, unable to continue. Dragging a hand down his face, a shaky sigh left his lips.
Jackson quietly passed him the water bottle, and Holland was quick to chug half of it. The water was cold and comforting. The temperature decrease helped him calm down a little bit and think.
"It's that-"
The second attempt didn't make it either. Holland looked away, joining together his shaky hands.
"...it feels like her." He finally croaked out, choking something really similar to a small sob.
Oh.
Jackson Healey knew pretty well who she was.
March's late wife.
He'd told her a lot of times, mostly when he was drunk. They weren't soulmates, but they did love each other. Even if the circumstances for the start of their life together were not the best.
The loss of his wife was a huge blow for him, even if it's not as noticeable now— he still wore the ring on a chain around his neck. In short, Holland March was not over his wife's death.
At all.
"She feels like her." Holland confessed, burying his face in his hands.
He shouldn't feel like this. He should be mourning his wife. After all, it was his fault that she died. If only he'd listened to her, she'd still be here to take care of their daughter. And Holly wouldn't hate him for killing her mother.
Now Jackson understood— to some degree —what was going through his partner's mind. It was a feeling that surrounded him like a warm embrace, but instead of comforting him it was suffocating him in guilt.
After a while, Holland had calmed down enough to finally get out and face you again.
As soon as he was out, his eyes found you automatically. You were leaning against a car, talking to a colleague of yours, taking the uniform.
Your eyes found his and he forced himself to look away. It burnt at him to look at you.
Jackson caught the interaction but remained quiet.
You waved off your coworker and waited as they walked up to you.
"Ready to go home?" You asked and a strangled sound left Holland's throat.
Jackson was quick to cover up for it.
"Thank you for doing this, you didn't have to." He said gratefully as he slid to the passenger seat. There was no way Holland sat there, taking into account everything that now swam in his head.
The engine came to life and soon you were on the move. You drove gently, like everything else you did. The gear shift was practically unnoticeable and you braked so softly he didn't even notice.
Holland shook his head. Every time he thought about you, the face of his wife appeared in front of his eyes.
"Who should I drop off first?" You asked.
"No need. We're going to his place." Jackson said before giving you the address. "Gotta watch he doesn't trip and die."
A light chuckle left your lips and Holland wanted to die for real. It was lovely in a way that gnawed at him.
He shouldn't be feeling like this.
His hands reached down to take out a cigarette, but then your words echoed in his mind. 'No smoking here, mister.'
He was gonna be sick.
The rest of the drive was quiet. The night wind felt cold against your skin in a nice way.
Not long after you arrived at a nice looking house that matched the address.
One after the other, the three of you got out of your car.
"I'm sorry if I keep repeating myself, but thank you." Said Jackson
"It's nothing, really." You waved it off. "I couldn't just leave you guys there. It's so late that there are barely any taxis available."
You were barely turning back to your car when Holland spoke up.
"Would you like to come in?" It was short and chipped, but it sounded genuine.
Jackson shot him a quick look that screamed 'what are you doing?'
Your face softened when you looked at him. He sounded genuinely confused by his own actions.
"It's alright. I should head home anywa-"
"I insist."
Jackson glared at him again.
Now it was your turn to be unable to decline.
"I, uh. Yeah, sure." You nodded and followed them inside.
As soon as Holland crossed the threshold, he regretted his words. He didn't want you coming in anymore.
The whole place was filled with alcohol containers of any kind: cans, stubbies, whole bottles, cartons, even a decanter was somewhere. If he wanted to look good in your eyes, this was not it.
Also, God knew what it smelt like. Not like he could know. But he figured out it'd be a mix of stale beer and cigarettes.
He decided to barrel straight through all of it and go straight to the kitchen. At least that area was decent.
"You, uh- You want anything? Whiskey, wine?" He anxiously asked as he shuffled around for glassware.
You gave him a sheepish smile.
"I gotta drive, so water if you don't mind."
"Yeah, right! Of course!" He said as he rushed to get you a glass of water.
Then he attempted to get himself a whiskey.
"Nuh-uh, sir." You said as you reached to take the bottle from his hands. "No alcohol for you for at least a couple days." You told him with a serious face.
Holland looked around awkwardly. He was used to drink all the time. What was he supposed to do now?
He could ignore your words. After all, you'd be gone forever after this. Also, he was an adult. He could do whatever he wanted.
How it happened can be only called coincidence. Perhaps some people would call it destiny. Because if it was not that, then there was no way of explaining how Holland March's soulmate ended up at his home without him even knowing.
It was either a coincidence or fate's cruel way of messing up with his life.
It was Jackson who broke the awkward tension in the room.
"Uh, I don't think we've introduced each other properly. Have we?" He said after clearing his throat to draw the attention to him.
You quickly fumbled at his words. He was right. You did know their names— or at least their last names. But they didn't know yours.
You had both hands busy: one with the whiskey bottle and the other one with the glass of water Holland had given you. A handshake required a free hand.
This is where fate's influence came in. Because it was the only explanation why you— a right handed person —decided to set down the item in your left hand and reach out for a handshake with said hand.
"It completely slipped my mind, sorry." You apologetically said as you introduced yourself. "Nice to meet you-"
"-Jackson Healy." Jackson said as he shook your hand.
His keen eye caught it, even if he only saw it for a fleeting moment. There was something on your left hand.
Could be a work related scribble? Sure, but you worked with gloves on.
Perhaps your kid wrote on you? No, you'd probably washed it away for work.
Was it- was it your soulmark?
In truth, it could be anything or nothing at all. Still, Jackson filed it in his mind.
Then it was Holland's turn. When you spun to look at him he was already reaching out to shake your hand.
"Holland March, at your service." He said with a smile, trying to sound smooth. It came out as awkward. Obviously.
"Nice to meet you too, Mr March."
You gave him a smile so bright and genuine he had the urge to squint, as if he were looking at the sun. But he did not. He'd look at you even if you burnt his retinas to a crisp.
Perhaps it was destiny's doing too that Holly happened to come out of her room, despite the late hour.
"Are you even aware of what time it is?" She said as she walked up to them. She hadn't noticed you yet. "And what happened to you?"
Holly's gaze darted between both men as she folded her arms over her chest.
"We were following a lead-" Holland attempted, but his daughter was having none of it.
"Yeah, sure. Because clues make you come home all roughened up!"
Holly rolled her eyes and that's when she finally spotted you out of the corner of her eye. A frown set on her face as she spun her head to look at you.
"Who are you?" She snapped at you. You couldn't blame her.
But Holland could.
"Holly, manners."
She was about to talk back but you cut in before she could. The last thing you wanted was a fight, taking into account Holland and Jackson's state and the late hour. Everyone was tired, there was no reason to squabble.
"I just drove them home. Their car is in a pretty rough shape." You explained with a calm expression. "It was not their fault, though."
Somehow that was enough to defuse Holly's anger. You were so... soothing?
Holland thought that maybe you were an angel for real. Because there was no way a regular person could placate a teenage girl that easily.
You reached out to her to introduce yourself, even if you might never see that kid again. "Nice to meet you, Holly."
Of course, Jackson's gaze was zeroed in on your hand. Specifically on the inside of your palm, where your thumb met your wrist. This time he could see what was on it.
And Holly saw it too.
'on your own.' was imprinted on your skin in a familiar handwriting. And right above it was a smiley face upside down.
Both of them knew where they'd seen that before.
Hell, it was on one of the four people in the kitchen.
Holly made a not-so-subtle face at the sight before shooting Jackson a quick look. He raised his eyebrows in response and then they scurried off without nothing more but a "Healy, want to see what Janet did now?" "Sure, let's go."
Not suspicious at all.
Which now left you alone with Holland March, who was about to vibrate himself into another timeline.
His eyes zipped from you to the whiskey bottle, and back at you. He wanted a sip so bad. But you were giving him the warning look. That one you put when a child is about to do something they shouldn't.
But instead of a kid it's a thirty-something man with too many issues.
But you found it endearing, for some reason. You had seen a lot of people in the years you've been working as a paramedic to know Holland was a severe alcoholic and a chain-smoker. And watching someone that far in try so hard just because you said so was heartwarming. Like a puppy struggling not to look at a treat you left on the ground.
"So, uh... Lovely weather we're having." Holland croaked out as he fidgeted with the buttons of his sleeve.
You could only smile in fondness. He was so awkward.
"It's 2 in the morning, Mr March." You said, almost feeling bad at pointing it out.
"CallmeHolland-" He sputtered and immediately regretted saying anything. You could see it on his face.
Gosh, he was an open book.
"I- Yeah- I knew that." He attempted a recovery. "I meant the night. Yeah, that."
He dragged a hand down his face nervously as he looked away.
Fuck, he was making a fool of himself. Wasn't he?
You hummed lightly in agreement.
"It is a nice night." You nodded, gazing through the open window.
A nice breeze came through and you briefly closed your eyes.
Of course, Holland used that few seconds to ogle you shamelessly.
You were beautiful under his eyes. And the thought still made something in his gut churn. Both in excitement and guilt.
He needed to do something. Anything.
"Wanna go out?"
Your eyes snapped open to look at him.
Oh no, that came out the wrong way.
"To the backyard- I mean." He fumbled, tripping over his own words.
His shoulders were all stiff as he motioned with his chin to the glass door. You followed with your gaze and soon enough the two of you were standing in front of the world's biggest ashtray, as Jackson called it that one time.
Once again, Holland regretted inviting you out there. It wasn't worse than inside the house, but this didn't help with your mental image of him either.
You didn't seem to mind, though. And he was definitely going to cling onto that like his life depended on it.
Holland walked over to the pool and got on the diving board, sitting on it like he'd done so many times. The aluminium sheet wobbled under his weight. He took a deep breath with closed eyes and unstiffened his body. He could feel his muscles complaining at the prolonged tension.
It's alright. He could do it. You only were the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on, but he could do it. He could not make a fool of himself for 5 minutes.
When he opened his eyes again, you were still where he left you. Standing by the door, eyes shut and hands behind your back. You looked at ease as you let the night breeze kiss your skin.
Mustering all the bravery he had, he spoke up.
"Wanna come over?" This time his voice didn't waver.
You opened your eyes, orbs immediately on him. He looked calm, for a change. Sure of himself even. It made something in your chest stir.
He patted the space beside him and you felt tempted to join him. Very tempted.
So you did it.
You started walking to the diving board with the intention of getting on it. But as soon as you put the first foot on it, your phone rang.
Both of you cursed internally.
You looked at the caller and your face fell.
You were not gonna stay, were you?
"Sorry, I-"
"It's alright." Said Holland with a smile.
You could only give him back an apologetic one before stepping back to take the call.
Once your eyes were off him, Holland sighed deeply. His mind was a mess and he was running around like a headless chicken.
He really shouldn't be doing this.
But why did it feel so... right?
He didn't have a lot of time to delve into it as you came back. And he didn't like your face at all.
"It's an emergency, I gotta go." You gave him a sad smile and his heart clenched at the sight.
'No, please. Don't go. Stay with me.' Wanted to say Holland. But he knew it wouldn't be okay.
"Yeah, of course." He answered instead, with a small smile.
You started to walk away but stopped halfway and spun to look at him again.
"Mr Mar-"
"Holland." He interrupted.
"Holland." You parroted.
Oh, he loved his name on your lips. It almost gave him 5 years of life. As if the ash and smoke covering his lungs faded away into nothingness.
"No smoking and no drinking." You told him with your stern work face.
Holland felt himself nod, as if he couldn't say no to you. And some part of him didn't want to.
"I'm serious, Holland." You shot him a look and he nodded again.
"I won't."
His name was the seal on the deal. You just had to call his name and he was at your feet, no matter how cross he felt with it.
"Good."
A last smile crept up your lips. Then you turned around and faded into the night.
