Hey hey hey!
I was suddenly inspired to write this this morning.
Discalimer: I don't own anything - it's all JKR's!
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She can't fall asleep.
She's been trying for 3 hours, but she can't.
She's turned over and over about 300,000 times, examined every inch of the bed.
When she finally fins a comfortable position, she can't actually fall asleep.
She's counted sheep, Death Eaters, bars of chocolate, broomsticks, people who died in the war - but it won't work.
Her gaze finally lands on her sleeping husband, and she decides to use the opportunity to examine him without being made fun of.
He's unbelievably beautiful, she decides.
While he's never been conventionally handsome (not like Sirius), he's still beautiful.
He has a long, thin nose, with a slight bump in it where his glasses have rested comfortably for 10 years.
His eyes are ones to get lost in - a warm hazel, framed by impossibly long and almost feminine eyelashes. Even though she can't see them right now, she's got every fleck of gold in them memorized, can read even the slightest change in them as easily as he can read hers. She loves that sparkle he gets in his eyes when he feels particularly Marauder-ish - that sparkle that means trouble. The one that used to mean that a Slytherin was going to get humiliated, but now means a day well-spent in bed.
He's got the Potter cheekbones - high and well-defined.
His jawline is... Merlin. He's got a fine, fine jawline.
But his nose is crooked - Bludgers and fights with Sirius have seen to that.
His jaw is slightly off-kilter - from a particularly bad fall from his broomstick in 6th year.
His hair is wonderfully untamable (she can't believe she ever used to hate it. It's too soft and lovely to be hated anymore - he has made sure that she knows this through fucking fantastic methods. It's a great way to anchor herself when she's feeling particularly float-y, if you catch my drift).
His hands are large and comforting, roughened from years of handling Quaffles and Dungbombs.
His arms are lovely - scrawny but muscular, dusted with dark hair.
He likes to laugh at how easily rolling up his sleeves can make her blush.
But the point is, she loves him.
And not just because of his delicious, Quidditch-toned abs (though, when it comes down to it, they did play a huge part in her love), but because he's also fucking amazing.
He makes her laugh.
He makes her cry.
He makes her breakfasts-in-bed.
He makes her tear her hair out.
He makes her want to understand Quidditch.
He makes her want to cook burnt pasta and feed it to him for every meal.
He gives her a reason to get up in the mornings and face the death and destruction.
He gives her a reason to stay in bed all day and never get up (did she mention that the sex is mind-blowing?)
He leaves her love notes in the egg cartons.
He leaves his socks on the sofa every. Fucking. Day.
Even just his name is bloody wonderful: James. James. James Godric Potter. She fucking loves it.
In fact, this session of James-loving is so rejuvenating that she wonders why she has banished him to the couch - she can't remember for the life of her!
She suddenly wants to be wrapped in his arms, but she doesn't want to wake his peacefully-sleeping figure (they get so little of it these days), so she gets up and climbs onto him, curling up on his chest.
He stirs beneath her, then rests his hand on her slightly protruding stomach.
She smiles.
She'll tell him tomorrow.
Then she - finally, finally, oh sweet Merlin, finally - drifts off to sleep.
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Thank you for reading! :)
If you liked it, please please leave me a review so I know what you think - thanks!
Also shameless self-plug: I have another (slightly darker) story up called Runaways! I encourage you guys to read it and let me know what you think! :)
Have a fantastic day! :D
