#it's just.... how the cookie unfortunately crumbles in this case

[signedkoko]

Could I get a Mammon, Vox and Husk with a S/O who gets harassed on the street and their reaction? You can have full creative control over what type of harassment!

I love your fics- if this isn’t getting the creative juices flowing just let me know and I’ll request something different <3

🦷 anon

Husk | Mammon | Vox [Romantic]

In which some loathsome idiot thinks they'll get away with harassing their beloved s/o.

One of your favourite date nights is spent bar hopping

Pop a drink or two in each one, sometimes sharing one cocktail, his wing draped around you, your head leant on his shoulder, humming to the music surrounding you

Both of you had a preference for the less popular spots, the kinds of places you got the weirdest combinations, where he could be inspired and you could give him thoughts

The plus side of the smaller joints was that the music was never too loud, drinks were cheaper, and there was always a few spots free at the bar

Downside was that most places had their regulars, the kind of people who couldn't get in anywhere else

The kind of desperation that builds and spreads like mold in the corner of a dark room next to a leaky pipe

On a few occasions, someone would harmlessly ask to buy you a drink and would turn tail when Husk gave them his usually 'fuck off' look

But this time, the guy would just not get the hint

" What? Already claimed dibs on the bitch? "

Yeah- no, that attitude towards you is not going to fly

Not even three seconds and there's a bottle smashed on the drunk demons head, and three cards flying back into Husk's hand

That's when the bleeding starts

You slap a 20 down for your bill and jump straight up, already being dragged by Husk out the door

Insists if he stayed there you would have both gotten banned anyways, and he likes that spot

You guys don't really go out so casually without a good reason, or just for old times sake

A sin and his spouse on a city street in greed was just asking for bad things to happen

But still, if you asked and he had nothing that day, Mammon would always rather get quality time with you and people watch

Thats most of your conversation, pointing out demons and joking about what you think they are like, what the do, how they speak

It's always a fun game, until some newcomer saw you laughing at him and marched right up, clearly on something and clearly ready to have a go at someone

The moment he reaches for your wrist, his thumb falls to the floor, a messy and jagged cut the only sign of attack besides one of Mammons spider legs now revealed

Before he can even realize the pain or what's happened, Mammon lets out a menacing laugh

" Every extra inch towards my broad is another finger. "

That demon was already screaming and running away, most the crowd on the street that was watching now hurrying in any direction opposite of you and Mammon

" I'm only worth one finger? "

" Nah. Just being generous for once. "

Not really a street guy, but unfortunately some press conferences and events require mingling and interacting with others, which he never liked

Thankfully, with you he has an excuse to stay away from others, or show you off

He usually goes for the latter

He's all 'Have you met my wife?' 'My wife loves x and y!' 'Isn't my wife absolutely gorgeous?'

You are the first topic he speaks of after his company; you'd be the first if he didn't have to waste so much time being a salesman, but that is how the cookie crumbles

Sometimes when there's specific press releases, he has to send you off for a moment, where you usually go and mingle with some of the others in his industry you befriended

During one such interview, he couldn't help but spot out the corner of his eye, some lousy business woman drape her arm around your waist and grab at your hip

" Sorry yeah, this interview is over. "

Literally shoves his way over, sparks and electricity flying, to rip you out of her arms

" Baaabe, is this a friend? Whatever the case, we really gotta get going! "

Jealousy 3000

He's glad he stepped in after he overhears that lady had a habit of harassing other attendees

New clause in every interview; they have to include you or provide security over you while he is busy

Author's Note - Tooth anon comes in for another PIPIN HOT request!! I actually feel so bad because every time I take a break form writing is on yoru request and that really makes it look bad I am so sorry 😩

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #mammon #mammon x reader #vox #vox x reader #husk #husk x reader

[theobsessedcookiefan]

I had an idea but you can tell me if you like it! In poll below.

:ﾟ･*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

Part Two. Hints of creation.

"And then what?" One of the little cookies asked as he moved forward as if to hear better. "The witch crumbled him?" one asked before another gave it a little nudge. "Of course she didn't! Witches are good duh!" The old cookie let out a sigh and smiled softly. "If you want to know what happened then please don't interrupt me please."

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

"Oh, well actually this is the first time a cookie has spoken to me so um..." The witch paused for a few seconds before adding. "If I answer your questions you'll answer mine?" That was the opportunity he was waiting for! Blueberry Milk nodded quickly and with a smile replied. "Sure! Anyone who seeks knowledge is my friend." She sat back down in the chair in front of the table and rested her face in both hands. "Ok, let's start with our names, I'm Y/N and you?" she asked as she offered him a hand as if to shake before realizing the difference in sizes between both hands, at this he laughed a little and took her hand as best he could. "Don't worry, my name is Blueberry Milk Cookie and I carry the virtue of knowledge.. And that's just what I wanted to ask you about, do you know anything about SoulJams?" At this question she nodded slightly, she seemed impressed. "Indeed I do! It's one of the most powerful things ever created, unfortunately I didn't get a chance to be part of its creation, what's more, you are also one of those awesome creations, almost all of us know you for that!" Now she sounded quite excited, so much so that in a small moment of curiosity she carefully picked him up and lifted him into the air, trying to get a closer look; obviously this made him nervous and he held on tightly to her hand, just in case. "Um- be careful please, I'm kinda fragile, not like you-" She nodded and still being quite gentle inspected his appearance.

"Fascinating.. I can tell you were made with effort" She said with a smile as she set it back on the table carefully. "Heh- thank you?" He sat back, looking away with some embarrassment at having heard that uhh- compliment? It seemed the witch was really interested in him now, possibly for a good reason or so he hoped. "Well, have you managed to bake any cookies like me?" he asked rather curiously, he didn't know at what point someone was capable of creating life like that and it made him curious. "I wish I had, I'm barely in potions class! My mentor Marlene on the other hand yes, I believe she was part of your creation in fact! She knows about the composition of Souljams and everything! We might as well ask her." She suggested with another excited smile to which he responded with one of his own while nodding several times. "Yes please! I'd love to ask her several questions about me and my friends. Could you take me with her?" Y/N nodded and offered her hand for him to climb up, he hesitated but still took a big breath and climbed up, once in the witch's hand she began to walk carefully so as not to make him fall on accident or damage him in any way.

"And so... What's your life like?" She asked, feeling more than just curious, at this Blueberry Milk was thoughtful before answering. "Well I really don't know how to explain it, I have several responsibilities of course, I am necessary for our society! Or so I think, I investigate the most useful and interesting things, if I didn't do it who would? Besides several people come to me to ask about doubts they have, it's a bit tiring but at least I don't have to protect the villages like my friends." And it was true, he really did not have much free time, in fact he had escaped from his place to come to investigate, he had not even told Sweet Sugar (Eternal Sugar) that he was coming.... That probably wasn't a good decision but who could blame him? Nobody else was concerned or interested in this question, he needed to find answers to his questions and he could not ask any of his friends because they did not care, but he knew why they had been chosen consumed him inside, he wanted to possess this knowledge more than anything, he was the one who had the virtue of knowledge for something, wasn't he? He had to know everything or so he thought, obviously the contrarian knew nothing of this so she just looked at him with a curious expression. "Uh I mean.. Yeah, I'm someone pretty busy, what about you?" She let out a chuckle as she reached the tower room. "Well I'm a student, I want to get to learn about how to create life, I'm interested in how from some dough and life powder you can create something as impressive as you. It's fascinating isn't it? I mean, how do you function? How can you move? Do you have a heart? Blood? Brain I think so, you're pretty smart!" He laughed a little at the tide of questions and then answered her. "I know! I'm curious too, but I guess we do have heart and blood? I don't really know what that is-" She thought for a moment and picked up one of the pencils she had in her apron, using the tip to make a tiny wound on one of her fingers, a droplet of blood coming out of it. "That's blood!" On the other hand the blue haired cookie almost had a heart attack, for a moment there he thought she would attack him as it had been such a quick action that it left him confused. "Oh! Yes, I have that but it's not called blood, it's jam, mine is blackberry jam, which shouldn't be a surprise because of my name actually-"

Before the witch could answer a door opened, revealing another of the witches living in that tower, Y/N in a quick move hid her little companion, moving her hands behind her back so the third one wouldn't see him, as she had had such a sudden reaction she didn't have time to process who the new person was, it was her mentor! "Y/N? Aren't you supposed to be studying? I left you a big exam so you can make the love potion we will be performing tomorrow, I hope you don't fail this. You have great potential I hope you don't waste it." The younger witch shook her head and then smiled at him, she thought it would be a good idea to show Blueberry Milk as a surprise. "No miss! But you'll never guess! Remember you mentioned to me about the cookie heroes and the SoulJams you helped create?" When he heard that he stayed in his place, waiting for the signal to appear, he was quite nervous about meeting his creator. "Yes, I remember, what with that? Y/N, don't tell me you're trying to create life before you learn the basics? You know what would happen if you did that don't you? It would result in disaster." Y/N tried to speak again. "Yes teacher but-" "And besides we are trying to locate the "heroes"." This got both of their attention. "Really? The council?" Marlene nodded. "We found out it's not safe for them to have that much power, we need to find them so we can remove the SoulJams and keep the power from fusing with their bodies." Y/N took a step back, still keeping the cookie behind her and increasing the grip on him a bit as he had become alert. "And what if he power fused with their body already?" The younger girl asked, worried for her new friend's safety. "They will be crumbled and we'll create new ones, we have no choice."

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

:ﾟ･*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

I was thinking of calling reader a name like Yannette!!

#cookie run #cookie run x reader #crk x reader #shadow milk cookie #TheWitchAndTheHero

[adoptsomecookies]

Shrimp Anon here again!

After a bit of resting for the night the Dark Enchantress was still there, however now looking at her she seems to be more young looking than most of her kind from what I have seen? (and usually I have Dark Enchantress visitors because they are strays which I give them food, though they often give off snappy remarks if I try to pet them or even ask how their day was)

I did ask my family if anybody had a Dark Enchantress though none of them know who's it is or why it would be in my house. She does seem really interested in my Twizzly Gummy by wanting to play (who mind you is a bit more calmer than most of her other Twizzly Gummy counterparts due to old age. She still has her crazy meter broken at times)

* Hm. This is quite odd, while most Dark Echantress Cookies do look a bit aged, they are usually quite young, their baking process is just quite harsh unfortunately.

*If a Dark Echantress Cookie is smaller than the rest and alot less aged, it could be the rare chance that someone had accidentally used a child sized cookie cutter instead of the normal adult one for her recipe. Which could mean a child Dark Echantress Cookie, ah if only every Dark Echantress Cookie was previously a White Lily Cookie, but unfortunately, those cookie types have drifted apart over the years in relations.

*I suppose you will just have to keep an eye on her then, since she doesn't seem to be wanting to go anywhere at the current moment and is even tempered enough to be handled by an older cookie. As long as nobody gets crumbled, including you, I think everything will be fine. Yes.

*Though, perhaps maybe invest in a Pomegrante Cookie just in case if you're willing, as the cookie type is very helpful with handling Dark Echantress Cookies. Do keep me updated, as per usual, Shrimp Anon!

#dark echantress cookie #shrimp anon #anonymous #cookie suggestions #cookie run #cookie run au #roommates au

[informaticn]

y’all are asking a lot of me at 1:37 on a friday afternoon

#i'm sorry the mouse gave you a na/zi & told you he wasn't #i am but he is #& i'm sorry if that makes you feel bad #blame the mouse for being so money hungry they did that #but zemo is a known na/zi & he's been around for YEARS his symbol is ALL na/zi #no matter how the mcu tries to wash that out #& esp when they're still blatantly pulling from his na/zi roots #trying to profit on it but also make him easier to swallow #it's just.... how the cookie unfortunately crumbles in this case #zemo is a nazi he has been for years in everything until now #ooc / shit posting from marble's basement. #delete.

[ppersonna]

half baked - pjm | m

baby we two distant strangers. i know you don't speak my language, but I love the way she's talking to me - love talk, wayv

↳ summary- park jimin gets a job at your bakery, and you can’t help but find yourself annoyingly attracted to the cocky man.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ word count- 5.2k

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, lightly dom!jimin, sub!reader, slight enemies2lovers, sex in a kitchen, please god don’t fuck in a kitchen its a health code violation, spanking, nipple play, cum play, fingering

↳ a/n- ahHH!HHHHhhh!H! i blame this 100% on @wwilloww​ for merely putting the idea in my head and i had to take it and run with it.  also thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ my babe/my loml for the amazing banner! i truly do not deserve u but ily so much.  and thank you to @chimoona​ @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @taetaewonderland​ for being the best mf squad a lady could have and beta-ing this for me! i love you all so much! i hope you enjoy silly cocky jimin!

 Two cups of flour, one and three quarters cup sugar, 2 cups of butter.

You know the recipes by heart.  In fact, one might postulate that the recipes themselves are the sole contents of your heart.  

You live and breathe baking. It is your solace and your truest love.

Which is why it is all nearly thrown into catastrophe when Park Jimin comes into the picture.

It starts on a rather busy day.  You’re hard at work in the kitchen, prepping the finished products and presenting them in neat little boxes, when your best friend and co-owner of Wake ‘N Bake, Willow, lets out a frustrated squeal..  You turn your head to find her covered head to toe in flour, making you snort as she shoots you a playfully ominous glare.

“Shut up,” she sniffs as she attempts to pat some fine dust off of her, to no avail. “I only have two hands and about fifty things to do with them at the same time.”

Your lips part to reply something equally sassy when the bell over the front door rings, notifying you of a paying customer.  Grabbing a towel, you quickly wipe off cookie debris and throw it at your best friend to do her best to clean off as she follows behind you.

You pause as you take stock of who stands there. A handsome man arrives at the cash register and peers around, presumably looking for an employee.  He is gorgeous—ethereal even and looks like someone who walked out of the pages of a magazine. His bone structure screams model, and you can’t help but feel the stirrings of desire for the beautiful stranger.

“Hi! Welcome to Wake ‘N Bake!” Willow sings cheerfully, despite being coated in baking flour.

The man eyes her with a glint of humor in his eye, and Willow’s cheeks turn a hue of pink when she remembers her current appearance.

“Hi,” he speaks. His voice is smooth like butter, and gentle. It makes you feel weak, like you’re warming in the very ovens that your pastries rise in.

“I saw your shop from down the street and I had to stop in. Your desserts look amazing.  Is the owner here by chance?”

Your smile fades as he looks around the room for someone else, someone beyond you and your best friend.

Of course.

No one believes that two young women could start and maintain their own business. Everyone assumes that some older, well-off man was at the helm while you and Willow toil for minimum wage.

Your arms cross over your body in clear displeasure.

“We are the owners.”

“Oh!”  The man looks surprised but not put off. “Awesome. I was hoping I could… talk to you about, err—… a job?”

His face is sheepish and Willow nearly coos at the sight.

Unfortunately, it appears you and your best friend have warring ideas.

“Yes!” She chimes at the same moment you dead-pan a resounding ‘No’.

Your heads spin to stare at each other—Willow’s eyes wide in disbelief and yours in annoyance.

“We need the help!” She huffs.

“We can do things on our own, like we always have,” you remind her.

Willow gestures to her flour covered clothing in desperation.

“We clearly could use help with how successful we have gotten!”

To your chagrin, she has a point. It might be nice to have someone to help in the front while the two of you manage the kitchen in the back.  It would increase your productivity by double what you’re able to do now.

But there’s something about his attitude coming in that rubs you the wrong way.  Like, he’s too pretty. Too confident. Too nice.

“What’s your baking experience?” You ask as you turn back to the hopelessly lost, yet ever eager man.

“Oh, err—,” he stutters. “I worked at my friend Jin’s restaurant. That served desserts, too?”

You shake your head in disdain while Willow claps her hands in excitement, a puff of white flour dust pluming into the air.

“Perfect! So you could do sales!?”

“Yeah! I can do sales, no problem.”

You turn your gaze back to Willow who stares at the man like he is her knight in shining armor.

“Willow?! Can I talk to you in the back?”

She knows that tone—the one that tells her you’re not pleased with her decisions. She nods once and politely excuses the both of you from the man before heading back towards the kitchen.

“What in the world is wrong with you?!” She asks the moment the swinging door closed.

“Me?!” You’re incredulous—hands flying in the air. “You’re over here trying to hire the first Joey Hot-Lips who walks in off the street!”

Willow’s anguished face falls and turns into a devilish smirk as she leans back on her heels.

“Aha! You’re attracted to him,” she notes as if she figured out the world's greatest mystery. “That’s why you don’t want him here.”

“What? No!” Your defense crumbles around you. “Did you hear him? He totally acted like he didn’t believe we could be the owners!”

“Oh, come on, that was a simple mistake and you know it!  You’re just being protective.”

You ‘humph’ a non-committal response—unable to argue.

You are protective of your bakery. It’s your combined love child with Willow. What started as a dream between cocktails with your best friend became a real brick and mortar reality.  You had been through enough trying to open it you can’t help but feel skeptical of anyone trying to get involved. Many tried to discredit your ability to maintain such a successful shop, and you’d rather continue to run it with no one else than see it fall at the hands of another.

“Just as I thought,” Willow hums. “In that case, he’s hired!”

You’re given no chance to reply—the flour-covered girl pushes through the swinging doors and announces to the handsome man that he’s hired and free to start the following day.

“Great!  Thanks!” His smile is sincere—blinding and breathtaking, and you hate how much you want to see that smile again.

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, waving goodbye as he exits the chiming door.

“Now, you need to deal with whatever issues you have about letting others into the shop,” she says pointedly, pushing a finger into your arm gently. “And whatever issues you have with wanting to bone him.”

“Willow!” You gasp. “I do not want to bone him!”

“Sure, babe. You think you can fool me but I know you too well. Just try not to fuck him in the kitchen, alright? I don’t need the health inspector up our ass.”

The next early morning starts at 4:30 am, with you elbow deep in cookie dough for a catering order.  You’ve nearly forgotten about the new employee starting until the man himself strolls into the back kitchen as if he’s worked there for years.

“Hey!” He says cheerfully, two cups of coffee in his hands. “I got you a coffee. Willow said you’re a nightmare without some in the morning.”

Your eyes narrow at the man. It’s unfair how delicious he looked so early; while you look like a frizzy mess who rolled out of bed and walked into work (which you did), he looked polished and crisp and clean. It’s infuriating as much as it’s glaringly attractive.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you pick cookie dough off your hands and pull off your plastic sanitary gloves. “Every girl loves hearing she’s a nightmare.”

He chuckles behind his steaming cup and places yours on the workbench next to you.

“Those were her words, of course. I’d never call you a nightmare.”

You easily flush, then chastise yourself for allowing him to make you feel so weak so early in the morning.

“To be fair,” he continues. “I don’t even know your name.”

“___,” you sigh as you grab the coffee and bring it to your lips. “And you?”

“Jimin. Park Jimin.”

The first sip of coffee is like a soothing hug. He somehow knew how you took your coffee—two creams and two sugars.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just guessed.”

“Good guess.”

Jimin smirks and looks proud of his accomplishment.

“You seem like the type of girl who likes balance to her sweetness.”

You stare at him curiously over your own steaming paper cup, unsure of what to make of his comment.

“Good morning to the love of my life!” Comes the voice of your best friend entering through the back door.

You roll your eyes in amusement as she teeters in, peppy and perky as she always is this early.

“Oh! Hi, Jimin.”  Her cheeks turn a familiar shade of rose as she realizes he heard her. “I didn’t know you were here yet.  That’s just a… thing we say to each other every morning.”

“Cute.” Jimin smirks at you, making your stomach lift with unwanted butterflies. “Where do you want me?”

Underneath you, beside you, above you, any possibly way...

You shake your head quickly to push away the sexual thoughts of the gorgeous man taking you from any position. No, you refuse to let your mind wander there.

Willow finishes washing her hands and putting on her apron before she nods to the fridge.

“If you can get the milk, eggs, and butter out, we’ll use you for creaming.”

Your cheeks heat impossibly as Jimin smirks even wider.

“Oh, I’m fantastic at creaming.”

Your hands pause from where they massage dough while you close your eyes and breathe, before lifting to glare at your best friend who wears a faux-innocent look.

“I’m sure you are, Jimin,” she chimes virtuously, before getting to work.

The next few weeks were a haze. You’re so caught up with graduations, birthdays, weddings and major events that your time spent at the shop overtakes your time sleeping, breathing, existing in any way that isn’t baking.

Even Jimin was busy.  Despite your initial hesitancy, he was proving to be an excellent third member of your team.  He’s a pro at sales—you’re sure his good looks and the mostly female clientele helps—and he pitches in in the kitchen without fail. He even tries his hand at decorating cakes, with only one frosting-based spill.  You would never give Willow the satisfaction of telling her outright, but she made an excellent decision in hiring the dazzling man.

But it doesn’t stop your annoying heart from fluttering every time he comes close to you—rubs elbows as he helps you roll out dough or smiles at you from across the workbench as he stamps out sugar cookies.  You refuse to allow yourself any thoughts on what it would taste like to lick dough off his fingers or how he would look bending you over the countertop to take you from behind.

You only allow such thoughts at night, safely tucked into bed with your vibrator cranked to the highest setting.

It doesn’t help that Jimin solidifies himself in your life by introducing his handsome and dopey best friend Jungkook to your gorgeous and clumsy best friend Willow.  The moment they laid eyes on each other, you knew you were doomed to have Jimin in your life with or without the bakery.

And you weren’t sure how to handle that notion.

Was Jimin flirting with you simply because you were there?  He seemed to have no problem flirting with the customers.  Sure, the shop has never made more money than when Jimin works his charms and seduces women of all ages to buy the extra cookies, cannolis, and cakes—not that you watched or glared or hated every second. No, of course not. It was for the good of your business and the angry jealousy demon inside you would need to stay firmly locked away.

Except, it’s on a particularly crowded day at the shop that your jealousy gets the best of you.

You’re up front assisting Jimin by boxing and bagging the treats he rings up.

You know he’s flirtatious, but it’s when he goes the extra mile for an extra pretty girl that you lose your cool on him the moment the customers leave.  

“Do you have to eye-fuck every single co-ed that walks in this place?!”

Your hands fly up in frustration, and Jimin watches you with a soft gaze.

His silence and knowing smirk makes you continue.

“Seriously? What the fuck was that about?! You’re acting like you’re about to bend her over right here in front of us! Jesus!”

Willow hears the commotion from the back and comes forward.

“What’s going on here?” She asks suspiciously.

You point towards Jimin who maintains his poised demeanor.

“I’m reminding Jimin that work is not a place to sexually engage our customers!”

Willow rolls her eyes as she pulls her apron off and grabs her coat from the hook.

“Whatever, you’re being ridiculous. Jimin’s never been inappropriate. Plus, he’s making us a fuck-ton of money,” she sighs. “You two can close up without killing each other right?”  She eyes you in particular.

You cross your arms and huff, glancing at the clock to find you have two hours still until closing. “Why? Where are you going?”

Willow’s annoyance fades away as if it never existed.

“Jungkook is taking me to the Museum of the Printing Press!”

You can’t help but choke a laugh while she pushes your arm.

“Shush! You know how much I love them! And he totally surprised me with tickets!”

Willow can’t shake that lovesick look in her eyes and your heart melts a little. She’s your best friend and you’re thrilled she’s found someone who wants to indulge her in her nerdy fascinations.

“Go have fun, babe,” you smile sincerely. “We can take care of closing. Now, go fuck on a letterpress or whatever!”

Willow snorts and hugs you tight, bids goodbye to Jimin, and exits the store.

Now that your quick anger is gone, you feel sheepish around the man who has yet to reply to your tirade—but you refuse to stick around under his piercing gaze.

“I’ll be in the back,” you mumble under your breath before slipping into the kitchen before he can get any word in edge wise.

You spend the rest of the evening monologuing an apology as you prep ingredients for the next morning and clean your workstations.  The shop is closed, doors locked, and Jimin is somewhere at the front of the house finishing his duties.

“‘Hey, I’m sorry for the way I acted’,” you practice out loud. “Hm—no, not humble enough. ‘Hey Jimin, I was a real bitch’, too degrading?  Maybe something like, ‘Hey Chim, can I call you Chim? That was fucked up, wasn’t it? Haha.’ God!” You throw your rag down in a huff, frustrated at your inability to form a decent apology.

“You can call me Chim, if you want,” a voice speaks from behind you.

You squeak in surprise and turn around, clutching your apron in your hands as you find Jimin leaning against a wall with a smirk on his face.

“Only my closest friends call me Chim, but I think we’re close enough.”

You swallow hard and nibble at your lip.

“I’m assuming you heard that whole… thing,” you mumble anxiously.  His nod confirms that he heard your entire play-by-play of the apology you would deliver to the handsome man.

“Yeah,” he licks at his lips. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re jealous.”

“J-jealous?” You nearly trip over your own tongue.  “I wasn’t—, I’m not jealous!”

Jimin begins a slow approach towards you, striding as he keeps his sparkling eyes on yours.

“Oh?”  He quirks his head, making his soft hair fall into his face.  You desperately want to push it away, cup his cheek, kiss those ridiculously plump lips.

He can tell you’re staring at this mouth and it makes his smirk turn nearly feral.

“So, you weren’t jealous? Not a single bit?”

He inches closer and you can feel your heart tighten in your chest and your stomach twists in on itself in excitement, in nerves.

“N-no,” you whisper, unconvincingly.

“You didn’t want to be the one I was making eyes at?  The one who ‘gets bent over the counter’ as you said?”

“I—,” Jimin cuts your words short as he stands a breath away from you.

“I guess if you weren’t jealous, then I don’t have to tell you you’re the one I really want to bend over the counter.”

You’re sure your heart stops beating—positive that it will fall from its place in your ribs into your feet.  

“What?”

Jimin cups a hand to your cheek and smiles as he steps even closer.

“If you’re not jealous, then I don’t have to reassure you you’ve got nothing to be jealous over.”

Your lips run dry, throat parched as if you’ve never had a sip of water.  Jimin is standing so close to you you can feel the heat coming off of him in waves.

“Jimin—,” you breathe and he continues forward until he presses you against the countertop and crowding you into the metal and wood.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

You gulp, eyes seeking his for an answer, for any information.  Is he playing you? Does he know you’re hopelessly attracted to him?  Does he find it humorous to tease you when Willow isn’t here to insert herself into your flirting.

“I was jealous,” you admit slowly. The words are hard to release, but once they do, the floodgates open. “I wanted to be the one you flirted with.  I was jealous because I want to be the one you notice.”

Jimin smirks, then pulls your face in quickly for a heated kiss.

His lips are just as plush, just as soft as you imagined.  They’re puffy and sweet and he tastes like one of the treacle tarts you made that morning.  He must have had one with lunch, and you find yourself addicted to the way he tastes with your creations on him. You wonder what he’d taste like with your arousal coating that tender, plump mouth.

He bites at your own lip and tugs, chucking under his breath as you mewl your desire at the slight hint of pain.

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re angry like that,” he breathes as he presses his forehead to yours.  “I nearly popped a boner while you were yelling at me. I could tell you were jealous, and it made me want you more.”

It’s hard to hear him speak so candidly—it makes you groan.

“Jimin—fuck,” you sigh. “I’ve been attracted to you since you walked into this goddamn place.”

He smirks and snags your lips up in another desperate, yet quick, kiss.

“I know.  It’s why you didn’t want me to work here.”

You grumble after he pulls away, tired of the teasing and wanting nothing more than to stop talking and start doing.

“I didn’t like you because you assumed I wasn’t the owner.”

He smiles and rubs at your arms, a softer expression crossing his face.

“No, but I hoped you were.”

It’s silent for a moment and you let his words wash over you as he continues.

“I was attracted to your authority.  I could tell you were important here somehow, just didn’t know in what way.”

You swallow your growing guilt.  You had clocked Jimin entirely wrong.

“Jimin, I’m sorry,” you start.

“Hey, hey, I already heard your apology, remember?” He smiles.  “Although, I could think of a great way to mend the wounds if you’re interested.  No pressure.”

His soft smile becomes a devilish grin instantly and your body lights with instant arousal.

“What did you have in mind?”

His lips press to yours again and you nearly lose yourself completely in his embrace.  Your arms circle his neck and he holds you tight at your waist, before pulling away from you, yet again.

“I happen to be very good at creaming, if you’ll recall.”

You can’t hold back a snort of laughter, that quickly gets covered by Jimin’s hot lips, one’s he will not pull away from you any time soon.

“You want to, right here?” You ask as he trails a hot line down your throat.

“Yeah, do you?”  

You vaguely remember Willow’s threat of not fucking in the kitchen, but find you can’t seem to care an ounce.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

Jimin needs to hear no more.  He pulls you close and kisses you with the remaining amounts of pent-up passion and emotion he feels for you.  He’s grown to love the way you take charge, the way you move through the building like you own the place—because you do.  He loves the power you radiate and wants nothing more than to make you give up that power for a single night, to him.

“You wanna do this… all the way?” He asks, re-assuring himself that he’s not throwing himself at his boss.

“I want you, Jimin.  I want you to bend me over this workbench and fuck me until I’m crying for more.  Please.”

He grins and lays a hand on your neck, fingers tracing the gentle lines.  

“I might not let you boss me around,” he warns.

“Take control.”  Your eyes are blazing with need.  It makes him smile, and he gives the moment a slight pause.

“Then, get on your knees and show me just how sorry you are for yelling at me.”

You’re sinking to your knees quicker than you can comprehend.  Jimin is almost thrown at how instantly you caved and submitted to him.  He watches as your eyes stay fixed on his and your hands work at the button of his tight jeans.  

“That’s right,” he murmurs.  “Right where you belong.  No one else.”

You preen—heart warming at the idea that you’re the only one he wants kneeling before him and tugging his cock out of its confines.  

It springs forward, and it pulls your gaze from Jimin’s magnetic eyes.  It’s long and thick, just like you suspected all those nights with your vibrator stuffed where he should be.  Your mouth waters at the sight and you lean towards it to mouth at it gently—pressing soft open-mouth kisses to the tip.

“Oh, shit,” Jimin gasps.  Your fiery mouth feels like heaven on his cock.  It’s something he’s equally dreamed about—spent many nights fisting his cock to the thought of you.

You take your time, licking tiny stripes around the head and down the shaft, until Jimin becomes weary of the teasing.

“Please, take it all.”  His request is so genuine, so needy, that you’re loath to deny him.

He slips into your mouth with ease, slicked up just enough by your trailing kisses that he slides in and hits the back of your throat in seconds.  His eyes close as he feels his cock-head hit the back of your throat—a tighter and more constricting feeling in your already impossibly tight mouth.  It feels like absolute bliss, and he’s gasping for air after mere moments of you holding him inside your mouth to the hilt.

He doesn’t need to speak; you know what to do.  Your mouth works him in and out, tongue swirling around any open real estate of his cock.   His moans echo around the tile of the kitchen walls and he’s sure that the sight of you on your knees with his cock disappearing in and out of your mouth will have him cumming in no time.  

He steels himself, makes his body behave because he wants to enjoy this and the way you feel.  As good as your mouth feels, he’s desperate to know what it’s like to slide into that cunt he’s spent too many nights dreaming about.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as you make delicious, slurping noises from the gathering saliva.  It’s a wet squelching sound that makes him even harder than what he believes is possible—all blood in his head now completely rushed to his dick for his pleasure.

“B-Babe!” He calls as he feels his balls tightening.  He doesn’t want to cum, not yet.

He grips your head by the scalp of your hair and pulls you off his cock that is seconds away from losing control.

“Please, I’ve got to fuck you,” he nearly begs.

You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand and smirk, licking the tip of his cock teasingly before standing up to his full height.

Jimin’s hands fly to your expensive leggings that you insist on wearing to work while he kisses you.  The kiss is feverish, frantic. It’s full of tongue and teeth and desperate moaning against each other as he pushes down the pants and delicate panties, and cups your cunt in one hand.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper against his mouth as the pad of his finger slides against your clit.

“You’re fucking soaked.  All from sucking my cock?”  He’s cocky and sucks a mark onto your neck as he massages the bundle of nerves.

“Don’t be arrogant now,” you warn with a smile.

He presses his tongue to your ear and licks a stripe and chuckles.

“I think you like it when I’m arrogant. Your pussy sure seems to like it.”

He emphasizes his words by slipping two fingers into your channel and fucks into you, scissoring you open.  He cuts off any chance for you to retort by launching his lips back to yours and prowling around your mouth with his tongue.

His fingers are small but fill you so deeply, and you’re sure his hand is drenched with your arousal.

“J-Jimin, please,” you gasp as you pull your mouth away to breathe in deep.  “Please, just fuck me already.”

He growls into your ear.  

“I thought I told you you’re not in charge.”

He spins you easily until your back is pressed to his chest.  He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts, throwing the shirt away and quickly making work of your bra clasps to join the shirt on the floor.

His hands cup your full breasts and you can’t help but whimper at the feeling of his soft and warm hands.  He feels so good against the chilled skin of your chest and he tweaks and thumbs your nipples until they stand perky and erect.

“I’ve always wanted to bend you over this counter,” he muses in your ear as he pulls a nipple harshly.  It makes you squeak out at the pain, then moan as the pain turns into a sizzling, pleasurable spike that runs through your veins.

“Every time I would catch you staring at me, I just wanted to fuck your cute little throat until you were gagging around me.”

Your eyes close as he continues his abuse on your perky nipples and whispering his deepest thoughts about you.

“I wanted to lift your cute dresses and eat your cunt until you’re wailing loud enough all the customers can hear.”

“Jimin,” you nearly cry.  “Please, fuck me.”

You can feel his hardness lining up behind you, rubbing at your sodden folds to cover his length in your slick juices.

“I like it when you beg.”

He kisses at the juncture of your neck before letting his teeth graze over the spot and bites down—right as he pushes your face down to the workbench and slides his cock into your spread heat.

He bottoms out easily.  You’re soaking wet and he buries himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.  He groans out loud—stunned by the heat and wetness of your pussy and how tight it grips him.

“Oh, holy shit,” he gasps as he gives himself and you a moment.  His hands grip at your waist, one hand coming to rub the tender skin of your supple ass.

“Jimin, fuck, you’re so big,” you whine.  

He brings his hand up, then slaps it down on your ass hard, hard enough that the crack echoes around the large kitchen.  You cry out in delight, in pain, as the reverberation of the stinging wraps around you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, princess,” he whines as he sets a pace.  Your ass meets his hips and claps with each thrust, and he punctuates every few pumps into you with another hard slap to your ass.  He wants you screaming his name, crying out for him loud enough that the neighbors know who he is.

He’s relentless in his pumps—gripping your hips tight as he fucks you deep and senseless.  Your eyes roll back into your head at how well he works your body.  Your tits rub raw against the wood of the workbench and you’re weeping fat tears of pleasure as Jimin continues his plight.

“God, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warns.  “Cum on my cock, princess.”

You slide a hand down to your clit, eager to add the ultimate piece to what makes you unravel.  He grins and pumps into you harder, slaps your ass repeatedly until he knows it’s going to leave bruises.

“That’s right, baby, rub that pretty little clit,” he urges.  “God, I can’t wait until you you sit on my face and let me eat this fucking cunt for hours.”

You blubber a response of desire, nearly begging him for more and more, as you swirl your fingers around the tight bundle.  You’re peaking towards the summit of your climax, ascending to a point you’ve never gone before.

“Fuck, Chim!” You scream. “Gonna cum!”

Your warning falls on deaf ears—you’re cumming and pulsating around his thickness instantly and Jimin moans mix with your own to create a symphony of pleasure.

“Good fucking girl,” he coos.  “Your cunt is so good to me, baby.  Mmph—let’s frost this cake, now.”

Instantly, he’s groaning as he pulls his cock free from the vice-grip of your cunt and jerks himself twice to completion, allowing his hot seed to splatter against the tender flesh of your ass where he’s left a clear print of his hand.   The warmth soothes the battered skin and you shake your ass teasingly as he continues to stroke himself through his climax.

“Ohhhhh, my god,” he breathes as he finally comes down from his high.

Your face is resting on the cool surface of the wooden workbench as your breathing slowly settles back to normal.

“That was fucking good,” you whisper with a smile.  Jimin bends down to press soft kisses to your spine, before grabbing a towel to gently clean his cum off your beaten ass.

“Willow’s going to kill you for fucking me in the kitchen,” he warns with a laugh as he kisses the same spot he came on.

“It takes two to bake a cake, buddy,” you tease.

He laughs and brings a hand down to your untouched asscheek, making you squeal with delight.

“That’s not how the saying goes, but sure, doll.”

The next morning, you’re hard at work making a five-tiered wedding cake with Willow at your side, when Jimin throws open the door.

“Good morning to the loves of my life!”

Willow chokes on her own air while you hide a giggle behind your cake covered hand.

Jimin approaches the pair of you while she splutters and gasps.

“What?”  What happened last night after I left?”

Your cheeks heat and Jimin wears a face of pure cockiness.

“Oh my god,” Willow gasps as her eyes open wide, snapping your tender ass with her rag.  “You did NOT fuck in my kitchen!”

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

taglist -  @preciouschimine​ @nyamjinnie​ @unicornnomore​ @bangtansbun​ @theneighborhoodfangirl​ @cyberbunny21​

#bts smut #bts jimin #bts park jimin #park jimin smut #bangtanarmynet #jimin smut #bts fluff #bts au #bts alternative universe #bts jimin smut #heartsforbtsnet #ficswithluv #bangtan smut #bangtan jimin #park jimin #bts imagines #bts fics

[hes-writer]

The Tarnish Series - Complete

Summary: y/n finds a letter that isn’t meant for her

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of vomiting and nausea, mentions of implied smut, mentions of drunk driving, angst in the beginning, angst in the middle, angst near the end, time skip of 2.5 years and slight fluff

Word Count: 32.3k words

A/N: a repost of my collab with @devilinbetweenthesheet-s​ so you can find all the series parts in one post! p.s the word ‘thought’ was used 72 times

DISCLAIMER: this is not an accurate description of who Harry/Camille are in real life. this is purely fictional for the purpose of entertainment. 

It was one of those days where Y/N had a sudden itching in her body to clean. Not just her closet, or her and Harry’s room--but the entire fricking house. The size of their shared home was ridiculous. There were many times when Y/N suggested moving into a smaller home, a cozy house with just enough rooms to hold them and an unexpected guest for the rest of their nights. It led to numerous fights about how Harry felt like she was dictating how to spend his hard-earned money, but they all ended in mushy hugs and soft-spoken apologies.

Y/N learned how to wake up in an empty house. The sudden chill raised goosebumps on her skin as she walked into the home studio Harry had installed a few months after buying the mansion. He felt as though he would be more productive knowing that he didn’t have to travel when inspiration struck. Harry was a bit private with the room, opting to not have anyone else in there unless he was present; not even Y/N. She understood that he needed something that was just for him. Living in the spotlight surely strips an individual out of their humanity and presented in a cookie-cutter way as if he was perfect. All his childhood memories were simply origin stories--a life he once lived before it changed forever. Now, he was Harry Styles the singer/songwriter, actor, host, and situational comedian.

Despite the voice at the back of her head practically screaming at her to not enter, Y/N was stubborn enough to ignore it. It was the last room she had yet to clean and she wanted to feel accomplished knowing that she was productive today. Y/N hummed mindlessly, twisting the knob before pushing it open. The lights flickered on to dim lighting, the clear glass reflecting a subdued figure of her as the glowing bulbs highlighted the expensive instruments littering the room.

Y/N puffed her cheeks out as she inspected the space. It wasn’t as messy as she had expected, only a few crumpled pieces of paper probably thrown out of frustration beside the trash can, the couch and the mechanic board. She rolled her eyes at Harry’s tendency to not clean up, especially after scratching ideas that weren’t good enough. He didn't want to give those a second thought.

As she approached the coffee table in front of the sofa, Y/N couldn’t help but notice one of the many leather-bound journals that Harry kept to scribble his thoughts and ideas into. A sharp corner of a crisp envelope was buried beneath it.

My love.

Y/N raised her brow at the cursive lettering on the back, assuming that it was her for her. She should have known better when she caught sight of the stamp at the left-hand corner, ready to be mailed but her excitement overshadowed the looming truth, gently raising the flap to pull the handwritten letter out.

My love,

    I hope you find this letter well. I apologize for acting like such an old man, sending a letter by post instead of living in the modern age of instant messaging.

She chuckled at the words Harry wrote. He really did have an interesting sense of humour.

    First of all, I’d like to thank you for sticking with me throughout our relationship. I know that we’ve had our ups and downs but I wouldn’t have anyone to spend it with aside from you, my love. I’m away too much—I know. I leave for work to see the world, to see the fans while sharing them a piece of myself. But I could never forget giving a piece of myself to you. You absolutely have my whole heart in the palm of your hands’.

Y/N blushed at his confession. She felt a little guilty for reading without his explicit permission but there was no doubt in her head that he was getting the best treatment as soon as he walks through the front door. Y/N couldn’t believe how lucky she was for finding a man like Harry willing to be so open and vulnerable with his feelings.

    The times at the cafe where we read together, sipping on our coffees and I’d catch your eyes staring at me.

She sighed dreamily, picturing his forest green eyes in her head. The intensity that he wore whenever he observed made a flush appear on her cheeks and butterflies to go haywire in her stomach. It was what they had done during his break. Starting a book club with him made the actual book interesting because he read to her in the softest voice and asked her what she thought when a character seemingly has done something out of the blue.

    The Beachwood Cafe will always have a special place in my heart.

That was the moment when anxiety struck her like a bolt of lightning; quick to change the enchanted feeling in her heart and replacing it with fear. Harry talked about the cafe with such adoration that Y/N requested for him to bring her there one day. They haven’t done so yet.

Y/N bit her lip nervously, gnawing at the skin despite applying lip scrub on it the night prior. The organ in her chest pounded with each syllable sticking to her tongue as she silently whispered along. Hands shaking with passing seconds, Y/N almost did not want to let her eyes drift to the bottom of the page, fearing that what she feared would stare at her straight in the face.

    I’m finally ready to face my fears of telling her that our relationship isn’t working out. I know that we have both been wanting it to be just us for a while.

She repeated the statement over and over, trying to make sense of who he was talking about. Was it their relationship? It couldn’t be because that would mean that Harry was being unfaithful. Was he cheating on her? Y/N’s mind was dizzy with thoughts being fired back and forth. The impulsive side of her was dead set on confronting Harry about this letter but the logical pair wanted to reach the end of the letter before making an assumption. She couldn’t just start a fight based on a misunderstanding; that was one of the things that Harry hated about his exes. They were too easily manipulated by the media to immediately doubt him when the tiniest rumour rose. But this letter was written right from Harry’s hand, his pen lying innocently on the table beside the journal.

    You're the love of my life, Camille. I promise I'll end it with Y/N soon. We're meant to be, I truly believe it. I love you so much.

Petrified. If there was one word to describe the lump building in her throat and the churning of her stomach going awry; it was petrified. The sinking feeling as if her esophagus was stretched to its extent, swallowing a chunk of realization down her throat to the pit of her stomach swelling in nausea and nervousness.

Four years, Harry and Y/N have been together. There was no doubt in her mind that she loves him dearly, dreaming of a life that they would share in the future. He wanted it with someone else. He was building it with someone else. Y/N released a sob from her soft lips, her breath hitching as she tried to calm down. Talk to him first, she reminded herself. But what was there to talk about? Y/N had evidence in her hand that he was still speaking to Camille (Did he even stop?). That Harry was going to leave her, that he was cheating on Y/N.

Y/N had a plan in case this happened to her. She has watched way too many movies and snickered at the way the character always seemed to let the news of a cheating partner break their whole being. And she would like to apologize to them right now because she understood exactly the type of weight smashed unto her shoulders; too heavy to lift up by herself and it seemed as if she was crushed, watching Harry walk away from them; from her.

The words appeared to jump out of the page, especially her name. Camille. Written so prettily as if Harry took the time to pen her name with such carefulness and design. Y/N wanted to projectile vomit from her discovery but she couldn’t leave a mess in his fancy studio. And God, she hated herself right now for thinking about how Harry would react when her world was crumbling around her.

    I’m leaving Y/N. We can finally be together and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught, Camille. I’m sorry that it’s taken me such a long time. I’ve kept you waiting for me but your patience is something that I greatly appreciate.

With her heart rate picking up, Y/N’s hand shook as she struggled to fold the letter properly as if she never saw it. One glance at the paper showed dotted streaks of wetness and only then did she realize the tears lathering her cheeks. Her cornea stung slightly, sensitive to the air as she blinked hard to will her tears back in. How long has this been going on?

“Y/N!?” Harry’s husky shout of her name boomed from the entrance. The large interior reverberating his voice, yet she failed to hear.

Harry quickly walked to the studio to retrieve the letter he was supposed to mail out today before he came home. Unfortunately, he forgot it in the midst of rushing after a slow-session of love-making with Y/N between the sheets early this morning.

Y/N did not know who’s heartbeat was thumping in her ears; hers or Harry. His lids peeled back to showcase surprise and horror plastered on his lips in the shape of an ‘o’. Harry could only hope that Y/N hadn’t gotten too far in reading the private letter. However, the way she rejected to meet his gaze after catching the guilty expression of his features; it was too late.

“Baby, please,” He whispered, the humming of the mechanic board switched on from last night’s session. Y/N shook her head, refusing to hear a bullshit apology spewing out of his mouth in a word vomit of ‘sorry’s’ and ‘i didn’t mean to’ because if he didn’t, why did he do it in the first place?

She walked past him, flinching as her shoulder brushed his and a gasp fell out of her mouth. Y/N didn’t know what to do but she knew that she wasn't to be surrounded by the one person who she thought would never hurt her. Long strides led her to the bedroom where she swiftly grabbed a duffel bag hidden away in the corners of the closet to pack a few items.

Harry stared at the piece of paper gracefully wisping against the air to fall on the ground. It was crumpled slightly on where Y/N held it. Tear stains blotted some of the ink, causing it to bleed through. Did he feel guilty? Of course, he did. Harry felt terrible that Y/N had to find out this way, but he cannot lie that he felt relieved because it’s finally over.

He walked to the seating area just after the entryway to the main door. He stood in the middle of the room with the letter tucked away properly in the envelope. Harry guessed that he didn’t have to mail this anymore. He heard her before he saw her, huffing slightly from the heavy bag on her shoulder. Sniffles scrunching up her nose like a cute bunny.

“Y/N, I’m--,” Harry reached out to her, not knowing why he did but seeing her struggle was never a sight he wanted to see.

Y/N stuck the palm of her hand out to him, pausing him in his footsteps, “I never want to see you again. Don’t contact me.”

The shiver crawling up his spine was something that he would never admit. Fear was picking away at his insides but he won’t let it show. Not when Harry was the one that insinuated it in the first place. And he won’t lie, his ego was as bruised as a ripe peach because annoyance immediately filled his body right after.

“Thank God,” He rolled his eyes upwards, placing his hands on his hips, “Took you long enough to realize that I don’t want you around anymore,” The moment the words leave his lips, Harry regretted even thinking about them. It wasn’t exactly the whole truth. He still cared for and he still wanted her around--just not in the way he used to. Maybe they could even be friends but he fucked up that chance when he decided to speak like an asshole to her, especially when he could practically see Y/N holding on to her last thread of not letting the tears fall in front of him.

His ego clawed at his muscled chest, exacerbating everything when he continued, "I'm not in love with you. Don't think I ever was. You're nothing compared to her and you know it. Can't believe I ever dated you,”

Y/N was trying to process his words on top of the emotions that were swirling inside of her. She felt as though her mind was about to explode. It was overwhelming. All these feelings and new information confusing her to the point where she was rendered speechless because didn’t Harry just tell her that he loved her last night? And weren’t they talking about starting a family last Christmas in his childhood home? Anne had even dropped the ‘baby’ bomb during dinner to which Harry blushed and stuttered his words over. Memories flashed before her, yet the only thing that came out of her mouth was a dreary, flat question of, “How long?”

“A year,’

Y/N knew that she had opened a can of worms ready to plague every happy memory she shared with him because a year ago, Harry and she were celebrating their third year together in Italy. A year ago, he promised to stay by her side ‘forever, until the end of time’. Exactly twelve months ago did Harry slow dance with Y/N at a friend’s wedding, drunk off his ass but coherent enough to mumble, ‘Want you to be my wife, Y/N,’ in her ear.

Harry was remorsing it more and more with every word that came out of his mouth. Though, he could not stop because he wanted to get the last word before she left.

“Y’know when I said I wanted a family with you? I lied. I felt sorry for you. No one else is going to want you anyway, so I thought I might try.” He was close to tears himself, his lip pursing tightly because all he ever wanted was a family with her. They had spent so many nights planning where to live if kids came up in the future. Harry can’t give up his facade now, not when suddenly apologizing will make him look like a jerk and an asshole.

“She's pretty y’know? Could’ve never have lived up to that. . . Camille, she's someone I'd want a family with. I'd marry her because she's worthy of me. Who are you in comparison?"

Who was she? Who was Y/N without Harry? Her life was centered around the one man she thought would stick around until her skin wrinkled in old age. Until her voice withered with a shaky plead. Until her arms felt too weak lift and so they had to settled for a simple graze on the hand.

Her shoulders slouched with emotional exertion. She didn’t even notice her fingernails digging into her skin as she pondered over her next words. Staring at him with a wilting confidence as he breathed heavily, daring her to talk back at him. To answer his difficult question fully knowing that Y/N didn’t know the answer to it and Harry has no problem taking full advantage of the way he was put on a pedestal in this relationship with her.

Y/N was trying her hardest to be strong. No way was she going to let Harry see her cry. Harry who has seen her cry many times before due to serious reasons and silly breakdowns because the book she had been reading didn’t end the way she wanted it to. And this relationship wasn’t progressing like how she had envisioned it to.

He was blatantly describing how much he did not appreciate her. Putting her down by attacking her with dreams that she had discussed with him because it was the easiest way for him to dispose of the guilt and sorrow he would’ve been feeling otherwise. Making it seem like it was her fault for not being enough for him when she has always been a match for him. Y/N knew that she was worth something and Harry not seeing how valuable she is doesn’t mean she had lost the ability to see herself as someone worth loving.

Y/N held his gaze, memorizing every speck of gold litter on his irises as she took off her engagement ring, throwing the jewellery at him without a second thought. In a rush of confidence, Y/N raised her arm to retreat behind her and shoot forward with a slapping sound as her palm met his cheek. If Harry taught her anything during their relationship, it would be to ‘treat people with kindness’ and that included herself.

She staggered a few steps back, watching as he stayed unmoving, his cheek reddening with a handprint. Shaking her head, Y/N aimed for the exit, opening the door to leave.

“Wait!”

She was only human to admit that that one word sparkled the light of hope within her. Y/N turned around, gripping the door handle.

“I feel guilty, my love. Please don’t leave, let’s talk about this properly,”

“I’m sorry you feel that way but you’re a liar for making me think that this relationship wasn’t over a year ago when you started cheating on me with her. You’re a coward for not telling me that your feelings have changed and an arrogant son of a bitch to not admit that you’re sorry,” It was her turn to speak now and it was best if Harry stayed put and listened. Perhaps it would even be the last time that he shared this close distance with her.

“I can see it in your eyes, H. I know you. You don’t mean it when you say you didn’t love me because I felt it and you showed me. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t tell me when—” Y/N suddenly clutched her stomach, cupping her hand over her mouth.

Harry’s body moved before he could even think, reaching his arms to steady her as she stumbled slightly. The hinge of the door creaked as she used the momentum to stabilize herself and push him away from her. She coughed harshly, piercing his ears as the dreadful sound scratched her throat. Harry was scared because Y/N wouldn’t let him touch her.

Y/N gagged, racing to the kitchen sink to empty her stomach. Retching sounds filled the otherwise quiet home as Y/N held her hair away from her face. Harry offered to thread his fingers through but she shook her head. He backed away.

Hushed coughs dripped past her lips, her body slouched and panting over the sink.

“Love? Are you okay?” Harry remained his distance, following her body in case she fell. The furrow in his brow warmed Y/N’s heart but she soon realized that caring was in his nature.

The refrigerator door opened, Y/N grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap open and putting the opening against her mouth. “Don't touch me. I don’t want you near me. I never want to see you again,” She slammed the half-drunk bottle on the counter, not caring if the water spilled; it’s his mess now.

Harry followed her like a lost puppy, “Where are you going? You can't go out in that state,"

Y/N ignored him, opting to crouch down to pick up the duffle bag she had dropped with a searing glare directed to him.

"Please wait, stay here. You're sick. Y’can't go out, love,”

At the sound of the word ‘love’ leaving his lips, Y/N shuddered. All she can remember was reading the letter addressed to someone else when all this time she thought it was reserved for her. She turned around, gasping in surprise when he abruptly stopped in front of her. Harry’s hands wrapped around her waist to prevent Y/N from falling backwards.

Upon inspection, Harry could see that Y/N was paler than usual. Her eyes decked out with glossiness and he wasn’t sure if it was from the tears she had managed to hold back or from the recent sickness. She pushed him away harshly, heaving all her strength to create distance between them.

“No,” Y/N spoke with grit, “You wanted to leave, right? I’ll make it easier for you—I’m gonna leave first.” Her clumsy nature decided to act up, causing her to stumble down the short steps of the door to the walkway. Harry caught Y/N by the forearm.

Y/N shrugged his warm hand off of her, “Get away from me!” Her shrill voice pierced a knife in his chest. Harry’s lips began to quiver because she has never pushed him away before.

“You'll never speak to me again?"

The door slammed in front of his face in response.

“Hmm, I guess not.”

The driveway is littered by the sound of her engine starting, then driving away. Now, Harry’s alone in the spotless house that Y/N had cleaned all day. He sat on the sofa, fiddling with the ring that Y/N had taken off. He had not let himself fully immerse in the gravity of how much he had hurt Y/N yet. He was about to--but one ring of his phone distracted him.

Harry smiled at the caller ID, swiping his thumb to answer.

“Hi, my love.”

When the relationship ended, Y/N imagined being bed-ridden. A lack of motivation to do anything casual such as standing. Watching the television seemed to be a task that required all of her energy and full-attention to be able to understand the subtitles on the screen. Her friends would knock continuously on her door to be met with no response because she was asleep or Y/N couldn’t be bothered with pitiful conversation asking her if she was okay. She would be too tempted to ask how Harry was doing when she could easily pull out her phone and search his name in a few quick taps. These used to be easy; as easy as breathing and loving Harry was easier than loving herself.

How was he doing? Y/N hoped that Harry was regretting his actions. She was yearning for the vibration of her phone to restart her heart like an AED stuck to her chest, sending her pulses to remember that they were not what they used to be. Or maybe the snippy ringtone Y/N had set specifically for him and only him would ring through the air as she wallowed in a burrito blanket. Frankly too emotionally worn out to even move an inch as she watched her phone face down on the bedside table of her new apartment.

Life doesn’t wait until Y/N is capable of being back on her feet before thundering down with the foundations of living. Five days into the breakup did she realize that the money she had saved up would be spent faster than she can replace it if she stayed any longer at the hotel near the heart of downtown. It was a spur of the moment decision to ‘treat herself’; she thought she deserved it after being called names and thrown aside like a used toy. And on the fifth day, she was on the lookout for places to live in as she adjusted to her new life without Harry.

It wasn’t like Y/N was completely dependent on him. She had a well-paying job; just not as good as his. And she could afford a nice apartment, just not as nice as his mansion. Nor did it have the same toasty feeling that enveloped her when she walked through the doors. Y/N told herself that she would give it a few months; that maybe it was just the change in setting that misplaced every bone in her body because everything she did felt off. Deep down, Y/N knew that things weren’t the same without him. She could either live a life reminiscing how she--they--used to do things or she could change and adapt to this ball thrown at her.

The decision was in her hands, yet she hesitated with every gambling thought crossing her mind. On one hand, she was used to a routine. It was a routine that never got boring to her, solely because Harry found a way to make things interesting; refreshing. On the other, Y/N would be in a never-ending comparison of how much she missed him or pat her shoulders because she was able to compromise the old parts of her that existed when Harry was around and to integrate it with a new version that was wary of anybody getting close to her.

The challenge was not easy when the media got hold of the news. It seemed as if everywhere Y/N went---mixed reactions and judgement attacked her with doe eyes offering the best of luck or disgusted snickers telling that she deserved it and that they--Camille and Harry--were perfect for each other. But when Y/N quite literally was carrying a piece of him and her inside her stomach did she step up to what she had to become to raise her baby.

It seemed like yesterday when Y/N stared at her reflection in the en-suite bathroom of Harry’s home, pinching at a subtle layer of fat that she was sure wasn’t there a few days ago. Bloated cheeks that added a fullness to her face were substituted as the result of a bright smile plastered on her face because she Harry had pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before she left for work that day. The sudden aversion to fragrant foods she absolutely adored flew right over her head and excused as a bad batch.

And the most painful memory was the day Harry and Y/N’s relationship ended. The beginning of something new, something beautiful was right under their noses. Y/N wondered what could have happened if she didn’t find the letter. When the symptoms of pregnancy became more obvious each day; would Harry notice the change in her physique? The crinkle of her nose when met with a sandwich containing pickles that she used to love?

Y/N couldn’t help but envision holding the stick with a tiny ‘+’ pixelated by dark colours. Sitting on the closed toilet seat as she contemplated delivering the news to him in the early hours of the morning after she was awoken by a flush of morning sickness. Y/N daydreamed about watching his sleeping face smooth out of any lines as he dreamed peacefully and wondered if this was still a part of what he wanted with her. Maybe she would jostle him gently, rousing him with a poke as she kneeled on his side of the bed, flailing the pregnancy test between her fingers until he blinked the sleep out of his waterline. Harry would present her a doozy smile before realizing what she held--to which he would sit up faster than he had ever done, gazing at her with a pleading stare. For Y/N to confirm that yes, she was pregnant. Yes, they were going to have a baby and yes, Harry was going to be a father. A little family in the works.

But that daydream was reeled in like a fishing hook in grave waters as reality grounded her. She was apparently two months into her pregnancy when Y/N had mistaken the sickness as an inevitable reaction to finding out his infidelity. Hearing him say the term of endearment as if he had not used it with another person made Y/N want to grab him by the shoulders to hold a steady contact, jostling him until answers spilled out of his mouth. Answers that Y/N deemed justifiable but was there ever a good excuse for cheating? She wanted to strip him out of the apologies filling his mouth and get straight to the question of why he had done it. But even then, Y/N knew that there was no way she was going to be satisfied with his answers. It was just a matter of her accepting that the idea of ‘what could have been’ would live inside her head because she was the only one that knew about the life inside of her.

Harry had not made an effort to speak to her besides arranging the dates to pick up her things. She had to wear large clothes to hide her growing belly because Y/N wasn’t sure if she even had the right to tell him something so personal anymore. It fit well with the narrative that she was a depressed homebody that craved the touch of his fingertips on her skin, the taste of his lips on her tongue and the weight of his arms around her. Albeit that he was the father, Harry had obviously moved on way before they ended; a little over a year ago now to be precise.

Y/N was almost one-hundred percent sure that Harry had blocked her number. Scratch that, she was certain if the way her messages failed to send were anything to go by. She could handle seeing the handle of ‘read’ on the bottom of a message because at least she’d know that Harry did read it and that he was aware. But watching the encircled, crimson exclamation point appear was just another reminder that he planned to erase four years from his life to start anew.

So what if at four months, Y/N was attending another doctor’s appointment by herself, trying to amount to as little attention as possible? Well, today was the day that she was going to find out the baby’s gender. Her bump was definitely noticeable now and extremely uncomfortable especially sitting on a plastic, grey chair in the waiting room. The device in her hand felt like stone perceiving the icon of blaring red that indicated yet another failed message to the contact previously named ‘My Love’, now to just ‘Harry’.

Y/N: I’m finding out the gender of our baby today

Y/N: I’m hoping for a girl but either way, I just want the baby to be healthy.

“Y/N? Dr. O’Sullivan is ready to see you,” The nurse clad in scrubs walked out with a clipboard gripped in her hands.

Y/N stood up, pausing to retrieve her items. She took a breath before entering the room, catching sight of the doctor in his stereotypical white coat focused on the computer screen that showed her information.

“You know what to do. Good luck today,” The nurse mused, handing her a folded hospital gown to change into as she pointed towards the direction of the room with a little nook to change privately. After struggling a bit with pulling off her top, Y/N tied the strings of the hospital gown.

“Hi, Y/N. How are you today?” He asked, standing up to gather the items he would need. Y/N made herself comfortable on the small bed, the white paper crinkling as her weight shifted.

She sighed deeply, “I’m alright. Really excited, actually,” A grin appeared on her face with just how close she was to find out the gender of the baby, “How about you?”

“Good as always,”

Connor O’Sullivan was the name of the doctor. They met when Y/N was in search of the top-tier family doctor’s around the city and instantly had a connection. He had a trustworthy aura that Y/N deemed acceptable to guide her to a healthy pregnancy. A friendship had definitely blossomed around the doctor-patient boundary but they stayed within their limits. Inside jokes existed but it had never crossed the line. And sure, touches to the shoulder happened once in a while but nothing had escalated further.

Y/N’s baby bump was exposed to the cool room. She shivered when a gloved hand applied the gel on her taut skin. Stretch marks were littering the sides of her tummy. It was itchy and uncomfortable. However, it was tolerable especially after applying a combination of creams and oil to soothe the ache. It was also another reminder that she really was about to become a mother.

“Cold?” Connor teased with an easy smile. Y/N rolled her eyes upwards in response, “You’re the doctor here,”

He chuckled, directing her attention to the small screen beside them. The static fizz of black and white slowly morphing to a more discernible image as he attached the device to her skin, finding the perfect angle to produce a clear picture. The first time Y/N saw her little baby; it was the size of a lemon. The next couple of visits showed progression in their growth; tiny baby feet, stubby legs, and sprouting fingers could be seen on the ultrasound.

They looked more and more like a proper baby now--like the ones one would see in the clinics and Y/N really couldn’t believe that she was about to find out their gender. Y/N couldn’t tell just by inspecting the picture because of her lack of expertise.

“You’re having a. . .” Connor began, edging his voice at the last word. He wiggled his brows as Y/N’s eyes widened.

She balled her fists, “Oh, hell. Just spit it out, C,”

“A girl. You’re having a little girl,” He peered up at the patient, watching tears fill the brim of her waterline as she gasped, palming her slightly open mouth.

“A-a girl?” Y/N craned her head to look at the square image, blurrier because of the tears but beautiful nonetheless. “I can’t believe I’m having a girl,”

The doctor wiped the gel off of her tummy with a cloth, switching off the machine as he waited for another reaction out of her. Y/N tossed her legs to the side, putting on her slip-on vans to fully-comprehend the news. “I’m having a baby girl,”

Connor nodded, releasing an ‘oomph’ at a sudden pressure around his middle. Y/N wrapped her arms around him, feeling the tube of his stethoscope dangling against her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, happy tears streaming out. He returned the gesture with soft rubs on her lower back.

“I’m sorry, I’m so emotional,” Y/N pulled away with a huff, using her fingertips to rub the wetness towards her temple. “I’m so happy but I just wished that he was--,” She cut herself off, pursing her lips as an image of Harry carrying their baby appeared in her head.

“I understand, Y/N.” Connor mirrored her distraught expression as he really did feel sorry for Y/N. However, he couldn’t explain the extra twinge in his heart at seeing her frown over a lost love. “You’re doing great on your own,”

She sighed for possibly the tenth time that day, “We both wanted to name her Halo if it’s a girl or Arlo if it’s a boy. It reminds me of what an angel she will be,”

“Wait until she gets older,” Connor joked to lighten the mood, receiving a glimmer from Y/N. “What d’ya say you get changed and I’ll print out this ultrasound, sounds good? A few more months then we can meet baby Halo,”

Halo.

Harry’s relationship with Camille was a dream. It was everything he imagined, maybe even better. The first time they dabbled on getting together was four years ago, before Y/N was even around in his life. There could be so many things right about a relationship and it could still be wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the right place, the right time, or they simply had too many disagreements and flaws that both parties were unwilling to work it to make them--work.

Usually, the third time would be a charm but Harry felt that he and Camille didn’t need a third time. As he said, the past couple of months felt like a dream. He could close his eyes and still feel the soft skin of the woman he loves grazing his fingertips. He couldn’t help but transpire into a new chapter of their love; one where it wasn’t just them tumbling in the sheets. When the squeals in the kitchen while making breakfast were paired with pleads for whipped cream on their pancakes; a child.

Harry was old enough to know what he wanted--at least, he thought he was--and a family was in his books. He finally found a partner who had the same mindset in their future; Camille. At first, he was absolutely sure that Y/N could not be erased from; but her name wasn't set in stone and once he found someone better--no way in hell was he going to let that be a missed opportunity.

__

Camile sighed softly, laying on Harry's bare chest as he pulled the sheets over their clammy bodies. Their orgasms settled in their veins, the rush and panting breaths calming down with each blink of an eye.

With her finger swirling patterns on his skin, Harry stared at the ceiling in hesitant contemplation, “Babe, have you ever thought of getting off the pill?” She paused.

“Uh, sure, but then we would have to use a condom?” Her voice raised at the end in curiosity.

Harry released an awkward chuckle, gently swivelling her body off of him so he could sit up. Reaching over, his fingers found the flip of the light switch that turned the bedside lamp on. He smiled at her appearance, mirroring his stance as she sat on the bed, a sheet clung around her body.

He shook his head, “No, no. No condoms, no pills and, y’know. . .”

The confusion was evident on Camille’s features, “I don’t exactly understand what you’re trying to say, H--,’

“‘M asking if y’wanna try for a baby, love.’

Silence overtook the room. Harry held his breath in his throat, seemingly trying to swallow down the lump that had formed because of her lack of response. She cleared her throat.

“A baby?” Harry nodded with excitement despite the flat tone whipping past her lips. “I--don’t know how to say this, Harry. I’ve never wanted kids.”

His face fell, the words lingering around his head like a flock of birds. The dizzying epiphany rattled his head clear of any other thoughts besides the fact that there was a hole in his book; burnt and toasted with sparks inkling his skin.

“W-why not?” His palms fell flat on the silky sheets, fisting the fabric to keep him settled. “A mini you and a mini-me running around the house. Won’t that be fun, baby? Don’t you want that?”

It almost hurt Camille to see the grin plastered on his face, hopeful eyes practically begging her to change her mind. But she couldn’t.

“Harry, that part will be fun. What won’t be fun is getting huge, morning sickness, weird cravings, hormonal imbalance, the aftermath of labour, the sleepless nights, the puke, the changing diapers, the back pain, the headaches, the fights when they’re older and so much more” Her accent rippled with each explanation rejecting the idea.

Harry huffed, crossing his arms subconsciously to shield himself, “But it’ll be worth it,”

“It won’t be,” Camille scooted closer to him, situating herself on her knees so that she could look into his eyes clearly. “Look, I made up my mind ages ago and I thought you felt the same since you haven’t settled down yet”

“I was jus’ lookin’ for the right person,” His head dipped down, dropping his gaze their intertwined hands. “It’s gonna’ be okay, Cam. We can make it work. We’ll have our own family. We’ll be okay,”

She shook her head in refusal, “It will be okay for you, H.” Harry could feel her hands itching to slip past his. He held her tighter. He didn’t want to lose her. “You can get back to work immediately. I’m a model and it takes time to lose weight. Even when I do--I won’t look the same. It’ll take me months, if not years to even resemble my present body.

“I don’t care how your body looks. You’re still gonna’ look amazing. You think I won’t love you after birthing our little baby?” With brows pressed together, he pouted his lip in curiosity as she rolled her eyes.

Camille sighed exasperatedly, “I don’t want children, Harry. The sooner you understand that the better. It’s MY body. I’ll be carrying the kid around for 9 months. No thank you.” She stood up, stumbling slightly as the sheets tangled around her feet.

He followed suit. His height towered over her as she crouched down to collect the pieces of clothing strewn around haphazardly in a rush to have each other. “But it’ll be MY baby, Cam. OUR baby, don’t you want that?”

Fingernails dug into the skin of her palm, holding her clothes as she spoke, “I don’t, Harry. Why can’t you just accept that?”

In the heat of the moment, Harry couldn’t help but quell the ache in his chest with a memory he thought he had thrown away, “Because Y/N and I planned to have a family. A-and I thought you and I could have one too,”

Camille huffed, keeping her distance. She walked to the bathroom, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fucking cheated on her then,”

His fight with Camille left the both of them on edge, barely able to handle the thick tension surrounding the house. Even though she took refuge in the bedroom and Harry wandered to the kitchen to cool off; it was impossible for them to stay in one place without having another argument.

Harry didn’t mean to let the memory slip past his lip. He hated it when he found himself comparing his past relationships to his current one. He felt that there was no need to do so, especially when the point of all of it was to start anew. Harry guessed that his desire to have a family was too powerful to keep his thoughts in check. The ache bubbling in his chest rose to a boil with each rejection that Camille answered with.

It wasn’t like he didn’t respect her decision. He really did. But Harry didn’t know if he was going to be happy being with her without progressing into something more through the years. What he was asking from her is just as difficult as what she was asking from him. Camille didn’t want to have children and Harry didn’t want to not have kids. There was no room for compromise if they both, mutually, wanted to respect each other's' decisions’ to the absolute fullest. However, the chances of him living a content life were zero to none.

And that was how Harry ended up at a bar, alone, at nine o’clock in the evening. They were invited by his friend, Kora, to a birthday celebration. Harry was reaching the limit of his threshold having to fake a smile and a chuckle while saying, “Camille’s feelin’ a bit sick tonight. ‘S just me,”

The thing with this celebration was that Kora was initially Y/N’s friend. He and Kora had become close friends while he was with Y/N and he guessed that that was the reason why he was invited. Although, it made him wonder why one of Y/N’s best friends invited him when she was aware of what happened between them. Surely, there was no way that Kora would invite Y/N, Harry, and Camille to the same crowded space, would she?

The sudden nervousness swirling at the pit of his stomach came with a quick neck as Harry scanned each premise of the bar. It was difficult considering the dim lighting and endless amounts of heads moving against each other. He hoped to see Y/N; just to see how she was doing! But he also felt like puking the alcohol he consumed because--as much as he wanted to admit it or not--he missed her.

After a half-hour of being vigilant, Harry willed himself to relax by the counter. Leaning one elbow on the wood as he spoke to another person regarding his upcoming album.

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s goin’. ‘M really excited for it cause’ I’ve got a lot of inspiration for some reason,” Harry answered with unyielding precision.

“We both know where that came fro--Oh hi! Sorry, H. Gotta check in on, Johnny,”

He rolled his eyes under closed lids, sipping on his drink, eyeing Kora when he heard a quip of Y/N’s name. Harry inconspicuously moved closer to her, making sure that he didn’t catch her attention.

“You’re not here,” Kora yelled with a whine to her tone. Her drunk self was still coherent enough to embark on the bartender to make another drink for her. However, Harry guessed that her senses were obscured with the way she yelled through the phone despite it being held to her ear and the function tapped to ‘speaker’.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise to make it up to you, Kora,” Y/N’s gentle chuckle rumbled through the speaker, making Harry smile. It was the first time he heard it in a while. He sometimes wondered if he had the right to feel relieved when Harry was the one that blocked her number in the first place.

“It’s my birthday! Why aren’t you here drinking with us?” Kora quietly thanked the bartender.

Harry’s curiosity spiked; why wasn’t Y/N here tonight?

“It’s because I’m pregnant, silly. Can’t really do that when I’ve got a bubba in my tummy,” Both women giggled, Kora, making a sound of acknowledgement, “Ohhh right!“

He really wished that he would have stuck by long enough to hear more of their conversation but Kora’s boyfriend was approaching her and he wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything if he was honest.

She moved on fast, Harry thought. He was definitely sounding like an entitled jerk. Hear him out though; Harry was happy with Camille. Yes, he had been cheating on Y/N for a whole year and yes, she had to find out through a letter but Y/N was pregnant. Did she really move on that quickly?

Despite the guilt gnawing at her for missing her best friend Kora’s birthday, Y/N was also looking forward to getting some sleep. It was a couple of hours after their phone call together when the nauseating tightening of Y/N’s chest woke again and had been for the past three days.

It was a horrible feeling that spread from the confines of her stomach. The bile rising up from her throat that left a burning feeling from the acids that escaped her mouth as she quickly threw the covers away from her legs, running towards the direction of her bathroom where she emptied the remnants of her stomach from last night’s craving of pickles and hot Cheetos. Her chest heaved with exertion as she draped her arms over the white porcelain of the disinfected toilet, hunching over as her stomach seemingly pumped away toxins.

Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, visibly shuddering as she pointed a finger to flush the toilet. She had a feeling that she won’t be getting any more sleep despite the time being three o’clock in the morning. Halo was insistent on staying up past normal bedtime hours. Y/N sighed, walking lethargically towards the dresser to retrieve her phone before heading to the living room nearby.

Y/N: You up, doc?

The blue loading bar swooped to the right as Y/N sent a message to Connor. She was at the peak of her pregnancy and her due date was occurring within a few weeks. A lot had changed since the day she found out the gender of her baby. Between the emotional trauma of having been broken up with--the hard-hitting fact was that Y/N was pushed into a direction of pregnancy that wasn’t exactly her ideal path. She pretty much preferred the dream-like sequence of having Harry accompanying her to her ultrasounds.

Just as Y/N was about to delve into another imaginary scenario of Harry sending her cute baby onesies that he would absolutely need to purchase for their little one, the humming of her phone pulled her from drowning in pathetic wishes and desires.

Connor: What’s up, Y/N?

She jutted her lips as she typed out a response. Contemplating whether or not to send the message as Y/N’s thumb hovered over the arrow, she paused to wonder why she was feeling so guilty in texting another man months and antecedent her break up with Harry. He was happy with someone else, yet Y/N felt as if her feet were planted in a puddle of sticky glue; unable to move on from the life she built in her head. Although it hurt to admit that Harry only existed in her memories now, reminiscing the spoken words they have discussed was another stab to her already bruised heart.

Y/N: Halo’s keeping me up again..

Connor: Want me to come over?

To keep you company

The reply was instantaneous and she could not deny the flutter of her heart beating subtly despite the extremities it had endured. And Y/N couldn’t help but notice the jitter of her baby bump morphing a plump bulge where Halo had kicked it as if it was a stamp of approval of the man coming over.

It wasn’t the first time that Connor drove to her place at the brink of dawn to keep her company in case the sickness became too much for Y/N to handle. The first time was simply a desperate action because she was rattled by the sudden spike in dizziness and incoherence of her sickness that Y/N wasn’t confident in herself to handle it alone. Times after that were more for his comfort when Connor said that he would ‘rather be safe than sorry’ while he rubbed his palm up and down her back.

Minutes later, a knock on her door sounded, forcing Y/N to haul her plump body to the comfort of the sofa, pausing the rerun of a television show. She waddled towards the entrance, the fit of her pyjama waistband snuggly wrapping around her mid-belly. A stretch of skin exposed between her bottoms and her tank top.

“Hi, thank you for coming,” Y/N greeted shyly, widening the door to let Connor in as he chuckled, toeing off his shoes by the closet door.

He waved her off, “It’s no problem, really,” Connor assisted her back to her couch, aiding her by letting his hands stabilize in the air in case anything happened.

The moment their bottoms hit the cushions did Y/N realize the gravity of the guilt spiralling in her chest. Connor laughed softly, his back resting on the couch with his right arm resting on the top, fingertips barely brushing over her shoulder. He reached over the coffee table to obtain the bowl of freshly popped popcorn, picking one to munch on but not before looking over at Y/N.

“Want some?”

She snapped out of her daze, cheeks heating profusely at being caught blatantly staring at how Connor fit naturally into her home both physically and metaphorically. He couldn’t have appeared at a better time when Y/N not only needed medical assistance and a support group by her side. However, she asked herself if he could be anything more than a friend. She shook her head ‘no’.

“No thanks. I’m quite full,” Y/N pressed a palm to her belly when a kick halted her breath. ‘Okay maybe a little,” She rolled her eyes, scolding Halo. “She’s a hungry one,”

“I’m gonna pop some more popcorn, kay? Be right back,”

Y/N heaved a sigh, watching Connor’s retrieving figure. Her admiration was cut off by the ringing of her phone.

Harry wasn’t so sober when he opened the door to his car. He wasn’t in his right mind either when he unblocked Y/N’s number and tapped on her name, switching the screen as it rang. He threw his head back against the headrest, biting his lip when the dial tone rang and rang.

“Hello?”

Harry’s breath hitched, losing his voice momentarily before his slowed brain caught up to move his tongue.

“Y/N? It’s Harry,” He spoke quietly, “Don’t hang up. Hear me out,” His ears stretched to pick up the click of a dropped call but he didn’t hear any.

“Heard from Kora that y’were pregnant, yeah? And I was wondering, whose is it?” The venom in his voice dripped. His drunken stupor rendered him unable to grasp reality.

“I’m not answering that,” Y/N’s tone was firm and direct. Harry could imagine her pursing her lips inwards.

“Why not? Scared that y’gonna have to admit that everything you put on was an act? How can y’move on so fast and give me shit about it?” The parking lot was filled with cars yet Harry could see that he was the only one currently occupying one. If there was a better metaphor of feeling alone in a crowded place; then he would love to hear it.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Harry? You cheated on me! You slept with another woman while we were together. You loved another woman while we were together. For an entire year, you lied to me and deceived me,”

“Jus’. . .answer the question,” He pinched his nose bridge, a headache pounding from the bottom of his skull.

“How dare you speak to me this way? You have no right calling me up out of nowhere,” Y/N lowered the volume of her voice, “and asking all these ridiculous questions,”

“S’not ridiculous,”

She gave a smile to Connor who entered the room with a bowl of delicious smelling popcorn. Y/N clutched the phone to her chest. Connor situated his body beside her with a glimmering smile, his mouth twitching as he eyed her bump, “Can I talk to her?” A gentle question breezed past his lips, moving closer when Y/N gave him approval.

The man kneeled down on the floor, leaning his head downwards to speak to Halo, “Hey little one, y’gotta be nice to momma, okay?” His fingers waved when her feet kicked out. Connor looked up to Y/N with a proud smile, “Did you see that? She responded!”

____

Harry felt his heart clench as a new voice filled the speakers. His neurons were fried with each thought firing endlessly, “Who’s that?

“Don’t call me again,”

The dial tone rung in his ears, echoing in the quiet space of his Range Rover.

_____

Pressing the power button for a few seconds, the device turned black and was left on the arm of the couch. The excitement in Connor’s voice brought a dreamy smile to Y/N’s face, chewing on some popcorn. The beating of her heart seemed to double at the sight of him being so thrilled with her baby.

“We can’t wait to see you. I bet you’re gorgeous,” Connor dropped his volume to a whisper to prevent Y/N from hearing, ‘’Like your mom,”

Y/N’s relaxed and comfortable state of mind mindlessly worked her hands to thread the hair on top of Connor’s head. Just like she used to do to Harry. Her expression dimmed at the thought, painting a faint simper when Connor looked at her in surprise before shrugging it off, continuing to talk to her bump. She shivered when a warm pair of lips attached to the skin of her stomach. Gentle pressure planting a kiss as Connor said his goodbyes to baby Halo.

“She’s a smart one, that much I can tell,” He confirmed, moulding his body to the lingering shape he had left behind in his previous position. And Y/N was flustered to say that she might have scooched a little closer to his body, snuggling her head at the junction of his shoulder.

“Can I?” She asked, doe eyes raising a question that would allow them to cross the boundary they had limited themselves to. He nodded reflexively as if he was awaiting this moment. Connor took the initiative to pull Y/N closer to him, subconsciously kissing the top of her head. The scent of the woman’s shampoo wafting through his nose and invading his senses in a sweet smell that he would gladly immerse himself to.

It was the most pleasant feeling for Y/N to completely let go of her former worries about starting anew when Connor was as cozy as a heater. He made Y/N feel safe and secure with his body shielding her and his actions hinting at a subdued attraction he hadn’t fully shown to her.

And Connor was proud of himself for not quite literally freaking out when Y/N smothered her face to his chest as time passed and the sun rays filtered through the blinds as she fell asleep. Her words mumbled in a jumbled mess about how she wished that morning sickness wasn’t called morning sickness.

It wasn’t totally accurate, she complained. She thought that it was a misleading name; catfishing perhaps. He had chuckled in response, tracing his fingers up and down her arm and feeling goosebumps rise on her skin.

The orange hue of the bright star painting the sky lighter and lighter until the pitch-black sight morphed into a mixture of shades that could only be described as beautifully grandiose--just like Y/N’s sleeping face when the sun casts a shadow to highlight her nose, scrunching with the slight graze of the back of Connor’s finger rubbing the tip. Or the way the luminescence caressed the apples of her cheeks where her lashes rested, mouth puffing breaths of air as she allowed herself to be vulnerable for the first time in months.

____

A heavy feeling had settled into Harry's chest after Y/N hung up the phone. The new voice he had heard had unmistakably been a man's. Who was he? Was Y/N having that man's baby?

Before he could help it, Harry was seething. He saw red, and if he were in a children's movie there would be steam coming out of his ears right about now. How dare she move on so fast? How could she have a baby with another man so soon? But when he thought about it; Harry couldn't even recall how long it had been since they'd broken up. It made him feel somewhat guilty. He hadn't meant to forget her. It had just happened.

His guilt soon manifested into frustration-- her being pregnant was a constant reminder that she had moved on with another man. Insecurity clawed at his insides- did he really mean that little to her? 'You cheated on her' his conscience pricked, but he brushed away the thought. He hated being reminded of his infidelity to his fiancée.

His defence mechanism kicked in like clockwork, using aggression to shield his insecurities. He opened his messages app and clicked her contact, typing drunkenly.

Harry: 'Your a whore'

'You're*'

'Diid yu cheat on me? I bet youu did'

'Do u sleepp arond a loot?'

'fck u'

He smiled smugly at his phone screen, satisfied with what he had sent her. He shut his phone off, and started his car, ready to drive back home. He knew he was being irresponsible, but between his current girlfriend not wanting a child and his ex being pregnant with one; he couldn't bring himself to care. He drove himself home, only to find a terribly worried Camille waiting for him to arrive.

He glanced at the huge clock on the wall behind her. 1:32 am. He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past her to their bedroom. In his drunken gait, he knocked over a metal tray. The loud 'clang' made him hiss and clutch his temples, a headache pounding in his skull.

Camille sighed and made her way over to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and muttering a "come here, H" Despite his sour mood, he found himself craving affection. What he wouldn't admit was that he didn't crave Camille's affection in particular. He just wanted to be held and feel safe in someone's arms. Anyone's arms. But despite himself, he mumbled, "m'sorry I left like tha'. Should'nt 've spoken to ya that way,"

She nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "It's okay, Harry, you're back home now. C'mon, let's get you changed and then let's sleep."

He bobbed his head up and down, willingly letting her drag him up the stairs to their shared bedroom, "Love ya,” Camille helped him out of his trousers.

She smiled softly, "Love you too, mon Cheri,” He giggled drunkenly at the showcase of her accent.

Harry woke up with a pounding headache, whining as his alarm rang at eight am in the morning. He opened his eyes to see that Camille wasn't in bed with him. His lips fell into a pout because of waking up alone.

There was a note on the bedside table.

'got called in for an emergency meeting for the show next week. be home by 5pm. love you!'

He sighed and reached for the glass of water she had left him. His brows furrowed when he didn't see Ibuprofen next to the water. Y/N left him ibuprofen beside the glass of water. Always. Harry snapped himself out of his daze, reprimanding himself for even thinking about her. Why is he thinking about her?

__

After a hot shower, Harry made his way downstairs to make himself breakfast. 'Eggs and toast', he thought. Placing 2 eggs in water and setting it on the stove before loading the toaster. He looked mindlessly through the drinks in the fridge, settling on 'Organic Orange Juice'. Y/N had introduced him to this particular brand after he had complained that all the others had too much sugar to be 'healthy'.

"This has no added sugar, H," she mentioned, "They sweeten it with honey."

Harry groaned, snapping himself out of the daydream, ashamed for thinking about his ex. Again.

He placed his breakfast on a plate and poured himself a glass of juice, sitting at the dining table alone. He chewed slowly with a mouthful as he unlocked his phone, beginning to go through his notifications.

Camille sent him a text. It was a selfie of her at her meeting, smiling and holding up a peace sign. He mirrored the expression, sending a tet back

Harry:  "stop being so cute"

He clicked the ‘back’ icon.

The second he does, his heart positively skips a beat. Not in a good way, either. Y/N's contact was just below Camille's, suddenly remembering the nasty things he had texted her the previous night.

"Fuck," He whispered under his breath, opening her contact. 'Read' was plastered under the messages he had sent. Y/N had seen them.

____

Connor had left a few hours later because he had morning rounds at the clinic the next day. Y/N had bid him goodbye with a shy kiss to the corner of his mouth,

“Thanks for coming, C,"

He smiled and pulled her into an embrace "Anytime, angel," into her hair. A warmth spread through her chest--one that she hadn’t felt in a long while.

After Connor drove off (with a final wave from his car window, of course), Y/N walked back in to settle on her couch again. Halo kicked a few times as she sat down, making Y/N squirm and giggle.

"Hi, you little goose! What's got you all excited, hm?" She rubbed over the area where Y/N felt the kick. As if, in response to her mother's voice, baby Halo kicked out again, right where Y/N's palm was. "Are you trying to high-five me, precious girl?"

Y/N cooed at her swelling tummy, a huge smile plastered across her face. "Or are ya just excited about Connor coming over to spend time with us? Got a good feeling about him, have you?"

She feels a gentle kick, it was almost as if the baby in her tummy wanted to say 'yes'. Y/Nhummed softly, caressing her tummy, "Me too, angel. I've got a good feeling about him, too."

___

A few minutes later, Y/N reboots her phone her previously switched off phone so that she could see if Connor had texted her. He had.

C: Thanks for letting me spend time with you and Halo tonight. I loved it. I have a  bit of time off on Sunday, do you want to get Pizza?'

Her eyes gleamed, but she hesitated for just a second.  Connor had texted her. But so had Harry. He had sent her five messages, and Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted to see what he had to say.

She wanted to make sure before texting Connor back. Y/N was not sure what she was expecting or hoping for, but what she saw was certainly not it.

Harry: 'Your a whore'

'You're*',

'Diid yu cheat on me? I bet you did

'Do u sleepp arond a loot?'

'fck you'

She felt tears stinging her eyes, cursing at the pregnancy hormones that have gotten her feeling this emotional about drunk texts from her ex. Her body ignited with fury quicker than she realized she could. Y/N doesn't hesitate to click the 'block' button to his contact.

She didn't need a man like him around her or her baby. Or her potential boyfriend.

Y/N: 'Hiya!,'

'it was great having you over, and I'd love to hang out! Down for pizza anytime. Halo loves it too :P'

The reply was instantaneous

C: 'Great!'

'See you Sunday, then! What are your favourite toppings?"

Y/N smiled brightly, finding his curiosity incredibly endearing. She typed back a response, gleaming with joy at the fact that she finally had someone she could rely on.

____

"Fuck. fuck fuck fuck," Harry repeated, clicking the call button to Y/N's contact. He needed to apologize. Desperately. He needed her to know that he didn't mean any of those things; he was just drunk. Not that that was an excuse.

'The number you are trying to reach is not in service', an automated voice said.

Harry groaned in frustration, opening her message contact, typing out;

Harry: "I'm so sorry, I don't know what had gotten into me. I was drunk. I'm very sorry, Y/N xx H."

He took a bite out of his toast before looking back at his screen to see if she had read the message yet. He almost wished he hadn't. Harry’s heart plummeted. His chest constricted as tears stung at the back of his eyes. Throwing up the meal he just scarfed sounded like an option right now.

A flaming red exclamation mark met his startled glance, and his chest heaved as he read,

'Not delivered,'

A writer that cannot write is dead.

When one loses the ability to tell their stories and anecdotes through the mere action of swirling words together to create an imaginable atmosphere of real-world fantasy; they are dead. A writer recovering from the mundane and mediocre way of penning experiences to bounce back into what they used to be is difficult. It is easier to free fall and drown in the depths of despair. The moment thoughts and rumination fog up to form a blurry image of conviction is a warning sign, blaring at the back of their minds and sometimes even in their faces.

Harry is a writer--or, he was. Picking up the pen to style the words lingering in his head used to be as easy as blinking; quick and natural. Now, the words claw at the swell of his throat, trying to spit an adjective to describe the way he felt. It was at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be lathed into existence. It did not matter if his cognition was mingled with various chemicals aimed to be able to feel happiness.

He was sober but he had trouble placing his finger on why it was so strenuous to narrate his feelings throughout the breakup. Being high or drunk was never the answer for him. Weed made him tired and made him have a case of cottonmouth. Harry learned from a young age that he should only ever engage with alcohol if he was in a mindset and setting that catered to increase existing good vibes. He thought that maybe he was in an odd phase of perceiving the opposite, and so he intoxicated himself enough to understand that it didn’t matter if he was soaked head-to-toe in sobriety or whizzed out of his mind by the amber liquid swirling in the glass in his hand. But that wasn’t the circumstance. It also didn’t matter if he was grasping his favourite pen to write--because it was comfortable--or tapping his calloused thumbs against his phone keypad. Hell, it didn’t make a difference when he sat down and prepared his typewriter to indulge in a headspace of vintage songwriting. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

He had stories to tell. Everything was laid out in misty overcast yet Harry’s great ideas morphed into gentle mistakes, harsh mistakes and discoveries that had him almost ripping his hair out of the roots of his scalp. When he felt the wave of his ocean-thoughts rise and peek where the sand shifted, his fingers were ready to move and discern for the eyes to see. But with each fritter, he couldn’t seem to get even two paragraphs in to decide that it was utter shit.

Harry was old enough to understand that slumping on the wet sand was a part of life. Sometimes picking up a fistful of grains and throwing them back to the sea was a great way to release frustration. But it seemed like this plunge of his ability to write was a hole of quicksand. He was trying his hardest to displace himself as swiftly as possible but it only made his scenario worse. The muddy sand clung unto his legs like sticky glue, heftier with each effort to leave. He wanted to move on. He wanted to forget everything that occurred in the past four years. Harry wanted to erase Y/N from his life because she wasn’t around anymore to bring those memories back to sparkly existence.

What he needed to do was nestle himself into a certain depth, calmly, in order to pull a limb out and ensure that his progress on the so-called ‘moving on’ did not have any drawbacks. Until then, he cannot possibly create songs that he was well-known for if he wasn’t patient enough.

He wanted so badly to tell his side of the story. Harry craved to think as clearly as he did when he told Y/N about his plan for their future. Admitting to his feelings was a hard route. Sure, he can be vulnerable but it took a great deal of convincing on his part to immerse himself in the deepest parts of his brain to understand why he felt the way he did. He usually had the means of songwriting to help him out but that obviously wasn’t working out that good for him.

___

Harry was packing the rest of Y/N’s things in boxes to be picked up later in the afternoon. He was annoyed at first at how she depended on him to fold her clothes properly instead of doing the bundle of the work herself. But he guessed that she didn’t want to be around him for longer than she had to. To be frank, he also did not want to indulge in what might turn into an argument if they spoke about the reason for their breakup. It was just a bit confusing because he had an urge to still want her around despite their less than likely situation.

Torture. If Harry had one chance to describe the way he felt right now; it was torture. With every nook of Y/N’s side of the closet emptying into brown, cardboard boxes--he physically how much she had integrated her life with his. How much space she took up in his life. How his clothes and her clothes were so interchanged between them that he couldn’t decide if the gray pull-over was actually his or hers. And in a moment of selfishness did he tuck it away for his safe-keeping despite seeing the tag imprinted on the inside; a shop that he hadn’t set foot in so it was a guarantee that it was hers.

Her scent embedded in the thin threads of each fabric wafted to his nose; each with a new wave of memories engulfing his senses as if each piece garnered a specific scent tailored to a specific event. Like her sunflower sundress--it smelled of fresh flowers as if the print was a scratch and sniff that released a fragrance. Or their DIY-ed tie-dye shirt of pastel blue and cotton candy pink. It was a matching piece made out of the cheap dye and a simple white tee but it was theirs. Things like these made Harry want to yell in frustration because every time he thought that he was completely over her-- Y/N appears out of visibly nowhere and towers over him.

Seeing her for the first time in days was a breath of relief. She looked fine. Glowing even, and Harry did not know what to make of it. As sadistic as it sounded, he was expecting dry-stained tears and a birds’ nest of hair trampling her head. Instead, Y/N was dressed for comfort in her baggy jeans and an even looser sweater covering her body. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, giving him a nod in greeting as he gestured to the boxes littering the floor.

Harry offered to help--it was the least he could do. And somehow, silence protruded from the tense atmosphere, begging to be cut by a knife yielded through their voices nipping at each others’ emotions.

“Let go of my damn hand,” Y/N stated, her hard stare could turn Harry into stone. He just wanted her to listen before she left.

He shook his head in denial of her request, tightening his grip further. “No. Listen to me, Y/N,”

“What do you possibly have to say that will change anything between us?”

And maybe it was her fault for assuming that he wanted to fix things. The sliver of hope thinly dressed behind closed lids enabled her to think that maybe he was going to say that he wanted to make things work again. That he had broken up with Camille and he realized what a stupid he had done throwing away everything they built up to for the past four years for an affair that couldn’t quench the thirst of his desire to have a family.

Harry sighed, a shadow of mischievous smirk painted on his lips. But maybe it was Y/N’s sight in deception because she could never see Harry as anything other than sweet and kind Harry incapable of hurting a fly.

“What? I don’t intend to. We’re broken. We’re beyond fixing,”

The hitch in her breath was as sharp as the stare he was searing her with. Forcing her to please understand that this would be their last conversation--if time and fate were on their side. “You’re not something I would take the time to handle,”

“Stop saying shit you don’t mean, Harry” Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. His macho act was barely an act and more like a stage curtain easily pushed with a flick of a wrist.

“Things I don’t mean?”

“You heard me,” She crossed her arms over his chest in defence, leaning against the closed trunk. “Say what you will but our love was real. Don’t make me seem like I’m crazy. Don’t tell me that I’m a mistake,” Her voice was filled with confidence because she knew the affection that Harry diffused.

The cradles of his palm at the small of her back when they had to walk past a crowd. The subtle graze of the back of his fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. Kisses pressed to her temple as she read a novel and swirling fingertips twirling her hair. These were acts of love that happened nearly every day in their relationship. A routine that felt different if it wasn’t done to or with each other.

Exasperatedly, Harry felt the same itching crawling up his spine. His ego ballooning into a delicate size and one more word from Y/N’s lush lips would have him on his hands and knees, begging for her back.

“This, us, was a fuckin’ mistake,” Harry’s accent thunked heavily in her cochlea, practically spitting the words out of his mouth as if they were poisonous. Ringed fingers gesticulated the space between them to emphasize how much of a misunderstanding they truly were. “I should’ve known the second things went further than planned,”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her full stomach. The feeling so nauseating that she instinctively palmed her belly over the fabric to protect her little baby from his harsh words. Even though they weren’t directed towards anyone but Y/N. She didn’t think that their unborn child deserved scrutiny from their own father.

“You don’t mean that, Harry.”

Because how could he? Not when he emulated sincerity through his syrupy voice. Not when he spent hours loving on her tummy and spoke to it like he would if she were pregnant. Especially not when every kiss from him felt like a buzz of electricity coursing through her veins because he was the main distributor of her happiness.

Harry truly was an asshole for making her hope and wonder of what the future held when he was unsure himself. He did want a family. That was a statement in all its truthfulness. What he wasn’t sure about was if he wanted a family with Y/N. He could have a family; kids of his own in his own time. But Y/N didn’t have to necessarily be the mother. So was he besotted with the concept of family and marriage regardless of who it was with?

“But I do,”

The rain started drizzling in frequent spurts, planting a fat droplet on her cheek that could be argued as a tear escaping Y/N’s eye. It hurt a lot to hear that from him. The man of her dreams blatantly denying each sugary word because his plans had changed.

“You’re a goddamn mistake is what you are,’

“Why are you. . .saying all these things to me? Are you trying to hurt me?” The shakiness of Y/N’s tone had Harry swallowing his words down his strep throat.

He shook his head in disagreement, “No, I’m not. ‘M just tryna make you see my side. So you can understand,” His head dipped to the side, softening his tone yet stern as though he was speaking to a child.

And that was one of the reasons why Y/N didn’t believe his all-too stoic demeanour about her. Harry was great at making others see his side regardless of how much in the wrong he was.

So why was he struggling?

___

Needless to say, he wasn’t very respectful towards Y/N any other time afterwards. He had unblocked her number months after blocking it at one point and demanded answers that he didn’t have the right to know. In retrospect, Harry was embarrassed by the way he acted. He did cheat on her and suddenly he was a saint because she moved on quicker than he thought she would? Unbelievable.

In his defence, the night he became the drunk caller was the same night he fought with Camille about having children; having a family they can call their own. Ever since that discussion did Harry notice a dispatch in their relationship. It was like they were aware of a missing link that had disappeared in their connection, but neither one of them wanted to be the one to bring it up. Harry supposed that now that Camille knew what he wanted (and vice versa)--she was feeling the pressure of giving in to him. Don’t get him wrong, Harry absolutely wanted a family and he thought that Camille was the right partner to build it with. However, he couldn’t help the voice at the back of his mind slyly whispering that he had forced her to give him what he wanted for the sake of saving their failing relationship.

It had been two and a half years since he mildly and miserably accepted that his dream family was being erased like a pencil on paper.

The first year; Harry still clung to the obscure hope that Camille might change her mind of having kids. Many fights sprouted between the two of them concluding in them sleeping at different places for weeks on end until they eventually crawled back to each other like an invisible string. The second-year; Harry brought up the idea of adoption. It was a hard choice for him as he desperately wanted kids of his own. A boy that looked like him and his love or a little girl that smiled at him with deep dimples mirroring his own.

And Harry liked to think that he was just on the edge of convincing Camille to consider the option when his tour was scheduled a few months after. A new dealbreaker was that Harry wasn’t going to be around much to watch and nurture the little bub they might’ve adopted. It was a sudden intrusion to think about since Harry was good with kids. He knew that. That was why he had three godchildren of his own. But what hit him the most was how sure Camille sounded when she yelled at him about leaving for months at a time and returning for a bit, only to leave again. Now, Harry hadn’t considered that part. But surely he will be ready to choose between a family and his career, right? When the time comes, he thought.

It pained Harry to admit that his relationship with Camille was dwindling down the drain. The knowledge that there was no future--the one that Harry envisioned--for them was getting more and more real each passing day.  

A late-night grocery trip was one of the many examples that had Harry rethinking his actions for the past couple of years. It was the time period where night owls arose and barely any customers littered the aisles. Still, Harry made sure to keep his hoodie up to shield his face.

Camille had an early flight to Milan in just a few hours later that day and she wanted to purchase some things to bring with her; in case they weren’t available in the country. So here they were at three in the morning.

As Camille walked ahead of him in her sweatpants and a plain tee, Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker to the clothing section to his right The first-floor space was decorated with pastel blues and pinks; a stroller was displayed with a price would not make a dent in Harry’s bank account.

“‘M just gonna grab somethin’ over here, Cam,” Harry muttered as he pointed a thumb behind him. She nodded, “Meet me at the produce? Need to get you some fruits,”

Harry felt guilt thudding his chest because although he was losing feelings he thought were written in stone, Camille appeared to care for him the same way she always had.

He walked to the brightly lit area, puffing his cheek as a cute onesie caught his eye, “You’re so golden” with the word ‘golden’ printed in a shiny, yellow glimmer. He smiled at the thought of baby angel cooing at him as he tickled her tummy. Harry passed by the shoes next, picking up a pair barely the size of his palm. His mind flashed back to a conversation with Y/N years ago,

“I’m just saying,” Y/N took a bite of a pickle she held on her left hand, “Baby shoes have no business being that expensive,”

Harry chuckled from his place across the counter, “Babies need shoes too, love,’

She grabbed her fork and stabbed a piece of strawberry from her bowl, “I didn’t say the don’t need shoes. For tiny things, they could at least be a bit cheaper,”

Harry watched as she munched on a pickle on her left and took a bite of a strawberry on the other. His tongue poked out in a gag at the odd combination, resorting in glare and a huff from Y/N.

“You should try it instead of judging me,’

“No, thank you. Watching you eat it is enough for me,’

Harry craned his head at each aisle, hoping to find Camille and to distract himself from the endless Y/N related thoughts that somehow returned to his brain. He needed his girlfriend to remind him that he cannot just knock on Y/N’s door and ask her about the baby she has. If he could hold them for a bit because his baby fever was through the roof.

Locating the produce section, Harry whistled mindlessly as he searched for a blonde head of hair, failing to notice that there was a basket in front of his feet. He had kicked it, jolting him out of his thoughts in a hurry.

A man with brown hair sporting an outfit similar to his (sweats and a hoodie), chuckled at him as Harry leaned down to retrieve the gray basket filled with a jar of pickles.

“Sorry man,” Harry muttered, holding the handles up for the man to carry.

“It’s alright, it happens,” The guy had not seen his face yet, too busy inspecting the carton of strawberries.

He decided to continue the conversation, “Strawberries and pickles? Odd combo, huh,” Harry was briefly reminded of Y/N’s obsession with the two rival products.

“Yeah, m’lady loves ‘em. Had a craving in the middle of the night. She’s in the car right now with our lil bubba,”

Harry’s heart fluttered at the mention of a baby. He needed to get his rails in check. He cannot keep having his heart bursting with adoration at the mere mention of a baby.

“I’m Connor,” He said, finally facing Harry after choosing the best carton.

“I'm--,”

“Harry!” Both men turned their heads towards Camille carrying a basket full fruits and green veggies, “Got you some stuff to blend for your smoothies,”

Connor squinted his eyes at the couple and Harry internally screamed because he knew that he and Camille had been recognized. “Harry. Yeah, I know you,” The sudden hostility made Harry confused as Connor grasped his basket from him in a harsh manner, heading towards the checkout.

The rest of the time inside the store was filled with curiosities as Harry carried the paper bags towards the car, barely recognizing Connor’s figure heading towards his own vehicle. Luckily, Harry has parked only a few slots away and could inconspicuously watch Connor and his so-called ‘lady’.

Except, Camille was ushering him to hurry up as she still had a few things to pack at home.

On most days, Harry was used to waking up alone. Used to feeling the shiver crawling up his side, used to seeing the indent left by Camille’s body instead of her. He had grown familiar with the sudden cast of loneliness blanketing him thicker than the duvet on top of his body.

The early morning trip to the store had tired him out, paired with the overthinking of the man named ‘Connor’ that flipped his attitude towards him quicker than he could kick the grey basket with his feet. He flopped back to the mattress after washing his face and brushing his teeth. It was noon when he jolted out of bed again at the sound of his front door opening, voices filling the empty space that had Harry running towards the foyer in case there was an intruder.

His tense shoulders sagged in relief when he caught sight of his mum and Gemma, “Oh, s’just you guys,”

Both women looked up at him at the top of the stairs, “You forgot we were coming over for the weekend, didn’t you?” Gemma teased as she headed to the living room. Harry followed, walking down the stairs.

He scratched the nape of his neck nervously, “No. . . “

���Can you help me reach this, H?” Anne called out from the kitchen.

His mum gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, you did, by the way. Slept through the whole morning. Good thing Camille let us in before she left,”

At the sound of a bag crumpling and squeals echoing the hollow house, Harry scrunched his nose in curiosity, briskly walking where Gemm was currently holding up tiny baby clothes in front of her. “Who’s that for?” He thought of any possible friends that had had a baby recently but couldn’t recall any.

She immediately stuffed the clothing into the bag, nervously placing a hand on her chest, “Gosh, Harry, you scared me,” Her brows went high on her forehead in alarm, sharing a look with her mum trailing behind Harry.

“Well? Did I miss something?”

“Oh, it’s for one of my friends,”

Harry contemplated on his next words, “D-did you know that Y/N had a baby?” It couldn’t be right if his sister and mum knew about his exes baby and not him, right? That’s just plain odd to still be in touch with an ex's family. His brows furrowed in suspicion as both of them declined his question.

“What? Nooo,”

Awkward silence filtered through the air as Anne sipped water from her mug and Harry was slowly putting the pieces together. Gemme dove to the centre of the couch where her phone was when it rang suddenly, surprising all three of them. Harry was quicker, eyeing his mum and sister and inspecting the emoji substituting as a name before sliding his thumb to answer it.

"Hey, Gems! Are you coming to the park? We're waiting for you,”

Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach just as the phone nearly slipped from his clutch. That voice. He could recognize it from everywhere having spent nearly every morning for the four years that they were together hearing it lulling him out of sleep. It was Y/N’s voice calling his sister who was looking extremely anxious.

He tapped on the ‘mute’ button, “What does she mean ‘we’?”

“Nothing! Give me my phone back,” Gemma tried to reach for the device but Harry held it high beyond her reach.

“I saw the picture you sent me. I told you that you and Anne didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry felt dizzy. “Connor and I got some things a few weeks ago. But that skirt is so adorable!”

One part of him was glad to hear her voice. In fact, Harry found himself smiling too, despite what he just heard. Connor. “Harry, won’t be there right? Hello? Have I been talking to myself this whole time,” Y/N laughed a little; she had a habit of talking endlessly when she was excited. It made Harry more sombre, letting his guards down and his arm in reach for Gemma to grasp.

“Hey! I'm just organizing the clothes, see you soon!" Gemma jammed her finger on the red end call, anxiously glancing at her brother, piecing everything together.

“Who's Connor?" Could it be that the Connor he met last night was the same as Y/N’s? The one who bought pickles and strawberries--one of Y/N favourite food combinations? He mentioned that he had a little girl and Y/N just called to meet his sister and his mum at the park. And baby clothes?

Anne and Gemma looked at each other, quickly deciding that for the benefit of Harry that they should tell him at least a little bit. He was looking as if he was going insane, especially with his bed head pointing his hair out in different directions.

“He’s Y/N’s partner”

Harry gulped, reeling his thoughts to a halt, “Partner? And the baby is...?” The last bit of confirmation was all he needed to lash his feelings out.

“Is... waiting for us at the park! Sorry H gotta go,” Gemma was swift enough to gather all the bags without having Harry chase after her. His state of confusion and shock was enough to render him partially speechless and immobile.

“Hey wait!”

Anne garnered his attention, “Oh, Mrs. Q from next door wants me over for dinner. I’m sure wants to see us both. Why don’t you get ready, Harry?” Anne tugged his arm in the direction of the staircase pushing him to stumble up a couple of steps.

Harry was confused. He made the sounds of his footsteps creeping up the wooden stairs, hearing his mum quietly talking to Gemma on the phone, “Elmsway Park, you said? How long till you're home? I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied,”

With that being said, Harry was out of his house, silently unlocking and locking the door. He was dressed in some basketball shorts and a graphic tee, slipping on the first pair of sneakers he had tossed aside. Harry jogged to his car, typing in the name of the park on his phones’ GPS. The route was only a few minutes away so he decided to take his time, gathering his scattered thoughts along the way.

He parked just beside the playground scouting the trees around the premises. Harry decided that it was the perfect day. The sun was out. It wasn’t too humid and the birds were chirping on the branches. He could see why the playground was full of children running around in delight. The green patches of grass were partially filled with picnic blankets and food to be shared. Families laughed with each other as one in particular caught his eye.

It made him smile at first, seeing just how adorable the couple was with their baby. He exited the car, making sure to lock the vehicle. With his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his shorts, Harry could feel the tethered grass rubbing against his legs. As he got closer, he couldn’t help the twinge of familiarity spark in his chest, recognizing that what he was staring at was Connor playfully chasing a little girl of about two-years-old as she squealed at how close he was getting to tagging her.

Harry stood by a tree, shielding him away from view. He tried to appear invisible without seeming too creepy. He knew that it was only a matter of seconds before his eyes found the woman he had been missing, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Connor picked up the little girl in his arms, dotting pecks all over the girls’ cheeks, causing her to giggle and push his face away with a tiny palm. And there she was standing outside the raised platform of the playground, coming up to the both of them with a juice box in hand to hydrate the little angel. Connor turned his attention to Y/N, planting the most adoring kiss on her lips that made her smile so wide and the baby cover her eyes. They laughed together, looking like a picture-perfect family.

Gemma sat on the bench, flickering her gaze to the precious family in front of her and to the figure of her brother walking away from the scene. Her heart broke for Harry, and it cracked, even more, when he turned back. This time, watching Connor and Y/N cheer on baby angel to go down the slide. Both of them clapped their hands in enthusiasm as the girl hesitantly slid down the plastic slide. The smile on her face was infectious.

It almost made Harry smile, too.

Harry was crying.

Admitting his feelings when he was younger was quite a task for him. Now that he was nearly in his thirties, the journey of being vulnerable with himself and with his feelings became easier with each emotion that he permitted himself to submerge in. Harry validated those emotions--he was allowed to experience them because it makes him human. It added texture to the ever-growing mosaic that painted who he was as an individual. Adding to the people that surrounded him, influenced by their kind-nature and the goodness of their heart to become who he was now.

And now, it seemed like his emotions increased tenfold. The clench of his abdomen and the harsh jolt of his chest forced his slouched shoulder to stay deflated. His breathing hitched as sobs threatened to take over, throat sore with the effort to keep it all in because Harry was smart enough to know that these emotions coursing through him right now were ones he wasn’t validated to feel. Paired with the latest information that that little girl being held by another man was his own daughter--and that the woman who was glowing with her caring, motherly-instincts was supposed to be his family; it broke him completely.

Quaking thoughts circled his brain and punctured his muscles as if they were attacking him not only mentally, but physically as well in exchange for his past mistakes that he couldn’t quite place if he deeply regretted or not. Was it a mistake to cheat on Y/N? To leave her alone in the exposure of the public eye while she was carrying his child in her tummy?

Harry should have known the day she fell sick and vomited in their kitchen sink. He was, sadly, too busy throwing a subdued celebration of finally having time alone with Camille. He should have noticed the way her face brightened with radiance. Or the way her cravings for strawberries and pickles either grossed her out or completely compelled her to consume more than she usually would.

But Harry guessed that that was around the time his efforts went out the window because he didn’t have to pretend to care as much anymore. Camille appeared to be his one and only. With their relationship coming so close to being revealed and Y/N having one foot out the door, Harry let fate play out the rest. Don’t get him wrong, Harry still loved Camille; that was why his slashed heart still throbbed at the sight of her watching over her little cousin, yet knowing that the topic of children was still not a card on the table.

The distress that he was feeling right now was core-shredding, heartbreaking grief that left a hole in his heart. The worst part was that Harry didn’t exactly know how to fix it or whether he even could. As he walked to his car with hands jammed into his pockets, he was grateful that the hood of his sweater hid his face and the tears sliding down the slope of his cheeks.

His senses were in overdrive, figuring out how to fix the mess he created. Wanting to run up to Y/N and ask her why she didn’t tell him, needing to feel his little girl in his arms. Pinching his skin to transfer the pain he felt in his heart because of the thought that he missed his baby’s first words, her first steps. Was it ‘dada’ that babbled out of her mouth? Did she reach out for Connor when she stumbled over nothing when she walked on stubby legs? Did Y/N mention his name to her?

“Harry!”

He kept on walking despite the hushed call of his name, assuming that it was a fan that caught sight of him and wanted a picture. Harry adores them, but now is hardly the time to fake a smile or act like his life didn’t just flash right before his eyes--quite literally.

The vehicle beeped as Harry pressed the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob, just about ready to pull the door open and shield himself from prying eyes. He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder, “Harry,”

He looked up to find Gemma panting, resting her hand on the roof of the car, “Are you. . .alright?” Her drifting eyes inspected his face, tinted a slight pink and moist with the salty liquid dripping from his tear ducts.

Huffing in annoyance, Harry clutched the handle to let himself in. Gemma followed his actions, shutting the door and locking it. The tinted windows of the car provided a semi-private enclosure that was filled with Harry’s sniffling and Gemma’s heavy breathing, trying to catch her breath.

“H-her name is Halo,” Gemma began, gulping when Harry paused his ministrations, straining his ears to listen despite the dull thud occupying his vessels. “She’s almost two years old,”

“You said you didn’t know,” Harry’s gruff tone echoed. Gemma anxiously rubbed the ends of her palms against her jeans. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all this time and y’didn’t tell me,”

“I-I was--she didn’t want me--”

“Why would she tell you and not me? I’m the one that dated her,” He raised his voice with every syllable he spoke. The frustration he felt from seeing the woman he once loved living the reality they shared together, except he wasn’t anywhere in the picture and that reality was only a fantasy in his life now. “It doesn’t make sense,” He rested his forearms on the wheel, facing the car’s symbol.

“The baby is yours, Harry,”

His head quipped with speed, grazing his forehead on the rounded leather but that pain didn’t amount to the new wave washing over him. “W-what?”

“It’s really not my place to tell,” Gemma said nervously, making eye contact with Harry’s searing yet teary gaze. “She wanted to tell you but you were so happy with Camille. She was posting these things on her Instagram about your trips and Y/N called me crying because you looked so free and happy without her. Y/N didn’t want to ruin what you guys had by dropping this on you,”

"That's-that's my baby?" Harry stuttered over his words while tugging his head out of his memories. Gemma nodded in confirmation. “Then why in the world was she--Halo?--calling him ‘dada’?

“Look, Harry, you’re not stupid. You know why Halo called Connor her dad,” Gemma spoke slowly, “This is a conversation that you need to have with Y/N if she lets you,”

At the mention of the man’s name, Harry couldn’t help but be filled with anger. He barely knew this man yet he received everything that Harry wanted in life. ‘But she’s my kid. I’m her dad. I’m the one who’s supposed to give her kisses and make her laugh,” He mumbled quietly as if his inner thoughts were far too strong to be kept in his mind

He was staring mindlessly at the numbers on his dashboard, hands gripping the leather steering wheel to try and ground himself. "But if that's my baby, how can she call someone who's not her father, dad?" He whipped his head towards Gemma, searching for validation that would make him feel better but the siblings were aware that he lost that title three years ago.

“I think you know you lost that place in their lives,” She reached a comforting hand to pat his arm, feeling just how tense he was under the fabric.

Harry shrugged her off, pinching his brows and pursing his lips as sadness began to swirl down the drain only to be replaced with resentment, irritation and bitterness. The taste on his tongue was hot with anger and his ears felt warm as he wheezed air instead of opting to yell his dissatisfaction near his sister.

“This isn't fair. She's m’baby too. Connor is not her father,” He spat with venom, “I am,” A pointed finger poked his chest. "She knew she was pregnant when she left me. She’s so fuckin’ selfish. How could she do this to me?

Gemma was quick to remind him of his actions, "You cheated on her, Harry.” Gemma cowered back at Harry’s beady eyes glaring at her with an unreadable emotion, stone-cold. “Maybe you should go home. Calm down a little bit,”

“No!” Harry cut Gemma off, “Need t’a hear her say it myself,”

Harry didn’t know what his plan was when he harshly slammed the car door behind him, practically storming on the patches of grass like a mad man. It wasn’t hard to spot the picture-perfect family sitting on a park bench which brought a scowl to his shielded face. He wanted to give Y/N a piece of his mind and it wasn’t necessarily the nicest thoughts that crossed his brain.

Halo was sitting on Connor’s lap while he was feeding her a peeled cupcake. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting--Harry felt like he was punched in the gut. The baked good was Y/N’s specialty and it had a lot of sentimental value to both of them. It was what she baked for their first year together. He could vividly see her frosting-dotted nose, aiming to splotch the cream on his cheek while she laughed. Harry wrapped his arms around her, hugging Y/N from behind and proceeding to kiss her sweet cheek, leaving the perfect opportunity to stain his skin with the frosting.

But he didn’t care if he was smashed headfirst into the cake (as long as it wasn’t ice cream cake)--Harry just wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh heartily.

Y/N was snuggled on Connor’s shoulder, fixing Halo’s hair as she made grabby hands at the confection. He cannot lie--Connor was a handsome man. Harry rarely felt intimidated or insecure, but seeing that this man managed to snatch everything Harry could ever want seemingly in a blink of an eye; Harry felt very jealous.

He pouted, eyes rimmed red and lips quivering wishing that Cory or Connor--whatever that little shit’s name was would disappear so that Harry could take his place instead. Actually, it was his spot in the first place. Only if he didn’t mess up, he thought. He missed Y/N so much! Seeing Y/N in her element of niceness and bright-gleaming smiles sent a truck full of sand down his throat as he gulped his emotion below the surface. The closer he got to them, his vision tunnelled towards Halo; brown, flouncy curls and a cute dimple embedded in her cheek as she giggled, accidentally knocking the cupcake on the ground.  

If that wasn’t symbolism staring at Harry straight in the face; a sign that their so-called relationship really had no chance of reprieve. Harry chose to ignore it.

Connor clutched Halo tightly against him, crouching down with a napkin to clean up the scattered cake on the ground. Y/N was the first to notice him, her forehead creasing as her eyes bulged at the sight of Harry walking towards them. She subtly poked at Connor’s arm, hurting Harry even more because it meant that Y/N felt uncomfortable with his presence.

He was close enough to read her pink lips, “We should go,” matched with Y/N’s frantic actions of packing the juice boxes and the Tupperware of cupcakes into the tote bag beside her. Connor searched the park until his gaze landed on Harry, protectively shielding Halo from him.

Is he serious? Harry thought. That’s my own daughter.

Speaking of Halo, the two-year-old happily continued munching on her new cupcake, frowning slightly when Connor stood up, “Why we leaving, Daddy? Did I do somethin’ bad?”

Y/N sighed, they promised that Halo could play at the park all day and now it was cut short because of a certain someone.

“No, you didn’t, bub. Let Daddy explain at home, okay baby?” Connor hitched Halo higher on his hip, hoping that she wouldn’t ask any more questions until the trio left.

“Who’s that?” Halo asked, pointing at Harry only metres away from them. Her stubby finger outstretched at the stranger in front of her, eyes bright and sparkling with curiosity. There was no sign of recognition painting her green orbs.

Harry gulped, wanting so badly to scream “I’m your dad!” but he knew that Y/N will add that to the list of his mistakes he had made.

“No one, angel,” Connor planted a kiss on her head, looking over at Y/N who had finished packing everything up. He tilted his chin in an attempt to scare Harry off.

But the thing was, Harry was already scared. He could feel his stomach in his throat but vomiting wasn’t the right word to describe it. His heart drooped deeper than the levels of the Earth. He was scared because his family was right in front of him but he couldn’t touch them or hug them in his arms. He was only allowed to look from the outside because there was a small possibility of being forgiven.

“Y/N. . .” Harry began hesitantly. The surge of confidence he had decreased with each passing second. He kept a close eye.

Y/N shrugged the strap on her shoulder, “Leave us alone, Harry.”

He felt his anger disappearing, a new emotion cascading his tear ducts and the blood in his veins. Harry looked back in retrospect; she really did mean it when Y/N said that she never wanted him around again. “I just want to talk. Please, let’s talk,”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Harry,”  Connor interrupted, grabbing the bag from Y/N and wrapping an arm over her shoulder, guiding them away from Harry. “She’s happy without you, mate. can’t you see?”

Harry kept his gaze trained on Y/N’s face, actively avoiding eye contact but drifted when Halo’s frown caught his stare. The little girl’s chin was hooked over Connor’s shoulder, squirming in his arms in an attempt to stop him from walking. Halo was smart enough to know that Harry’s expression screamed sadness and her mummy said that “you need to find a way to make them happy” if someone was sad.

“Wait!” Her shrill yell caused both Connor and Y/N to turn around. A piece of Harry’s heart shattered on the floor when Halo pulled Connor down by the nape of his neck, small hand leading his ear next to her lips. Then, she did the same to Y/N, pointing at Harry which caused him to straighten his stance, wanting to impress his daughter even though there was no point.

The couple shared a look before ultimately having Connor walk closer to Harry. Halo gripped her cupcake towards him, “‘ere y’go hawwy,’ She still couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s’ yet.

Harry began to sob.

It was his daughter and those were the first words she had uttered to him. She didn’t know him yet Halo treated him with kindness and it ripped at his chest because Y/N must’ve taught her that. His palms became wet as tears streamed from his eyes, dampening the sleeves of his hoodie. He didn't care about looking foolish in front of them, not when his daughter saw him as a stranger and called Connor her ‘dada’.

Halo recoiled at the sudden reaction, her lips curving downwards, “Dada, mama, he’s cwyin’,” She tucked her face at the junction of Connor’s shoulder and neck, scared that she made him cry. Halo didn’t mean to make him cry. She felt so guilty that she started spilling tears of her own too, her face contorting into a scrunched expression as her mouth wailed open sobs, matching Harry’s.

Harry’s first instinct was to take a step forward and comfort Halo but he was rendered frozen when Connor shot him a glare, shifting Halo’s body out of reach and he could only see her face over the man’s shoulder. Y/N dimmed her eyes, brows pinching when she couldn’t help but let a smidge of sympathy wash over her. She muttered a few words to Connor, pushing him by the small of his back towards the parking lot.

When they were out of earshot, Y/N faced Harry, “What were you thinking? Are you trying to mess everything up again?” He tried to cut in, “Isn’t it bad enough that we’re talking about this in public? Why must you ruin everything, Harry?” She whisper-shouted, trying her best not to garner them any attention.

“N-no, Gemma told me and I jus’ wanted to see her--and you. Wanted to hear the truth come out of your mouth,” His large hands jammed into his pockets to prevent him from fiddling with them.

“Look, you have no right coming here,”

“I know that b-but I--,”

She held a palm up, “I’m not sadistic like you Harry. If you thought that I wouldn’t let you around her then you’re wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss you and I wish that you were there for us when we needed you,”

“I had no idea--,”

“Will you let me speak?” Her tone carried irritation. “But we’re alright now and we don’t need you anymore.”

Harry never thought that those statements would ever come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Don’t you think I deserve to get to know her?”

She sighed, “Deserve? Definitely not.” He nodded in agreement. “But I’d live in regret if Halo never got to know her real father. . .”

Harry’s expression lit up, hopeful eyes shooting glances at her, “D-does that mea--? Are you--?”

“You can see her. You can get to know her but only because you’re Halo’s father,” Y/N took a brave step forward, ignoring the way her heart throbbed as if she was being stabbed by a thousand knives. Painful memories drifted in and out of her train of thought until she shook her head to muster them out. It was in the past but she could never forget the feeling of hopelessness taking over her whole body.

With a hand on his shoulder, she continued, “Anyone can be a father and you’re just that. Don’t think that you’re entitled to anything more. You will never be her dad. Connor is. Understood?”

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed a heavy gulp, “I. . .understand. Thank you, Y/N. For letting me back in when I don’t deserve it,” He glanced at the two tiny figures piling in the car. He could just imagine himself plucking little Halo into her booster seat, booping her nose as she asked for the hundredth time why she had to sit at the back and not at the front with them.

“I’m not finished,” She deadpanned, “You are going to be there for her. Not for me, not for us because our relationship is over. You can hurt me as you did before and I can accept it but don’t you dare try to hurt her,”

And it was true. Having endured his painful game once before, Y/N was stronger now. She could take heartbreak as agonizing as that but she wouldn’t dare stand seeing Halo’s teary eyes staring back at her, asking why Harry had left them. She was far too young to experience the feeling when a piece of herself is ripped apart.

“I won’t hurt her. I promise,”

“I heard those words come out from your mouth years ago and look where we are now. Once you hurt her, it’s over.”

“Y/N, t-that’s hardly fair. I am her dad, aren’t I?” Harry cleared his throat at Y/N’s raised brow.

“No, you’re not. We just went through this, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that,” He muttered quietly because she only ever called him ‘baby’ or ‘h’.

“Will you stop? I laid out my cards. If you want to even have a speck of presence in her life, then you have to abide by what I said,” She crossed her arms in defence, “You will never be Halo’s dad, Harry. Connor is her dad. I don’t know how many more times I have to repeat this before it gets through you thick head,”

He opened his mouth to talk, “No wiggle room whatsoever?”

“No. Do I have to write a letter for you to understand that?”

In a moment of hurt and despair, Harry spat out, “Might as well, yeah? Waited over two years to tell me anyway,”

“Are you kidding me?”

His throat ran dry, realizing that he just ticked another box to favour against being a part of his daughter’s life, “I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to,”

“Whatever. Are you willing to make the sacrifice?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Harry suggested, wanting to have some sort of foot on the ground so he doesn’t feel like he’s topping over with guilt and sadness. “Maybe you can come over to my house,”

Y/N shook her head, glancing briefly at her phone when it buzzed, “No. I will not step foot in that house again. If you really want to discuss it, you can come over at our place,”

“Your place?” Did they all live together? Well, that was another slap to the face. Not only was Connor playing dad to Halo, but he was also part of the household. Harry’s face must have contorted into a grimace because Y/N sighed softly.

“Yes, our place. Meaning all three of us,” She gestured behind her. “I have to go. You can probably get my number from Gemma; you can text me then.”

“Yes, yes! Of course, I want to talk to you. . . about this, I mean,” Harry lowered his enthusiasm. The small voice in his head reverberating that this was not about him and Y/N; this was about Halo.

“And make sure you don’t bring anyone else,” Y/N said sarcastically, subtly pointing in the direction of the paparazzi hiding behind some bushes. Harry was usually good at spotting them but today was just a puddle of hurt and confusion. “I don’t want her having to read nasty things like I did,”

What Y/N said may have been a side comment, but Harry couldn’t help but take it to heart. Was this a good idea? Sure, he wanted to be a present dad in Halo’s life. However, is it worth it to stir unwanted drama? If only he didn’t cheat on Y/N, all of this could have been avoided.

With his mind in a haze, Harry barely noticed Y/N’s figure moving away from him. He jogged to catch up with her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry felt numb to the way she shrugged her touch off of her immediately, “Were you ever going to tell me about our daughter?’

Y/N stared at him quizzically, tilting her head a little bit sideways, “I thought I did? Wait!” A look of recognition plastered across her features, “I did try to tell you but you blocked me before the message sent through,”

Harry gulped with realization. He blearily remembered  bitterly blocking her number just as she texted “I need to tell you something,”

Y/N: Since you’re not picking up my calls

I need to tell you something

Y/N took a deep breath as her thumbs tapped on the letters slowly as if to withhold the news from him. She was not at all ready to reveal that she was pregnant and that he was the father but Y/N knew that it was the right thing to do. Despite the fact that he was currently out of the country on vacation somewhere on an island with sandy beaches with Camille. Y/N was aware that this spike of courage was rare and so, she had to do it now.

Y/N: I’m pregnant

And you’re the father

She locked the device as soon as she pressed the arrow to send the message, clutching the phone close to her chest and shutting her eyes so tightly that it hurt. Minutes passed with no response and Y/N was shouldered by curiosity to check if he had sent anything back or simply left her on ‘seen’.

It was neither. The screaming red exclamation mark surrounded by a circle indicated that she had been blocked.

The times when she left missed calls on his phone were for a reason much bigger than the two of them. Y/N didn’t call to beg for him back or to ask Harry to want her again. He was ashamed to admit that he had rolled his eyes upwards every time he clicked on a voicemail she had left, stating, “Hey H, it’s me. Call me back when you hear this. I need to talk to you,” which he deleted without a second thought. She didn’t text him endlessly to politely ask for her things packed and settled for her pick-up because Y/N could not bear to spend another second in a room with him.

It wasn’t that at all.

Y/N was physically moving farther and farther away from him, settling herself into the car before driving off to hers and Connor’s shared house. Halo sat in the backseat, singing along to the radio.

Harry was surrounded amidst the joyful squeals of children and reprimanding voices of their parents.

He stood alone with no one but loneliness by his side and the brisk flash of cameras in his peripherals.

Harry felt out of place.

As a world-renowned pop star, he was used to being paid a different kind of attention in most of the places he went to. He should be used to it. Harry had to take measures in order not to get recognized for stepping into a local coffee shop. Even in hot weather, his recognizable tattoos gave easy access for fans to whisper amongst each other, wondering if it was the right time to ask for a photo or merely share a conversation with him.

His voice--the thing that made him as famous as he is now--was tinted into his fans’ heads. Recognition blaring in their ears when the deep, gruff tone projected the open air. It would be quite disturbing if he had to change the pitch for everyday errands. Harry would rather feel out of place than go to extremes to change who he was.

This lifestyle was something that he was used to, having been under the scrutiny of the public eye for a little over a decade now. But Harry knew that Y/N was a small, town girl practically bickered and poked until she was forced to cough something out to taint Harry’s name in vain. From the way, he preferred sniffing his nose into a hanky instead of a Kleenex. The way he snored loudly when his nostrils felt dry. The way his hair isn’t as naturally curly as it appears to be. All of these things were the borderline crossing of his privacy that she could’ve taken to the press, urging in many articles written about his odd habits or preferences.

Not that he thought Y/N was that type of person to spill secrets in the midst of desperation, but Harry had cheated on her for God’s sake. If she did run her mouth, Harry wouldn’t blame her. He was horrible to her; cheated on her for a year, not even bothering to tell Y/N that his affection was teetering in favour of not hurting her and wanting to keep his side relationship a secret for a taste of adrenaline that came with his less-than boring life.

Harry left her alone while she was going through a life-changing period of her life. To be fair, Y/N didn’t actually tell him. She tried, but the message never reached his cognition. Harry wanted to save his salvation by choosing to believe that it was her fault for not visiting him in person to tell him the news.

Really though, how could Harry possibly know about her pregnancy if she didn’t make the effort to inform him of his own child. It wasn’t like he was supposed to check in on her, his ex-girlfriend, right? That was unheard of. And frankly, Harry thought that the day everything blew up--when she read the letter meant for Camille; Y/N made it very clear that she did not want to speak to him again. So really, Harry was just respecting her wishes.

Y/N was supposed to be the one feeling out of place; not Harry. If only she had told him when she identified the symptoms of pregnancy, he could have helped out. Harry wasn’t sure if he would have left Camille to begin a family with Y/N (if she took him back) or if he was only a parent of support. One that was there for the sake of raising a child but not sharing the means and affection to build a relationship with Y/N.

These were Harry’s thoughts as he sat with the family of three. In between Y/N and Connor as they sat on opposite ends of the round table with baby Halo in her high chair and Harry across from her. Halo was staring at him with wonder and curiosity; a shy type of look that tinted her cheeks a tad rosy and her lashes to peer at the man adjacent to her, wondering why he was joining them in their family dinner.

Harry felt out of place.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Connor asked, feeding the child a spoonful of peas. “Not usually like this,” She shook her head, tucking her arms together and pursing her lips inwards in a sign of rejection.

Halo looked at Y/N who was giving her a soft smile, then to Harry. “She’s not usually like this. She must be shy that you’re here tonight, Harry,” Y/N explained, a tone of indifference that she tried to mask to help Halo feel a little more comfortable.

Harry gulped heavily. His child was uncomfortable because of him. He almost felt guilty for wanting to scoop her up and canoodle Halo in his arms. Harry still hadn’t had the chance to do that.

When the door opened earlier this evening, Harry was met by Y/N’s furrowed brows, firmly reminding him that this dinner was for him to be slowly introduced into Halo’s life. Harry would get the chance to care for her by helping the child with her nighttime routine. That included brushing her teeth, tucking her in, a bedtime story and possibly a kiss on the forehead.

Harry was giddy, to say the least. Harry was confident with kids and could easily mould into what they needed. If they wanted him to pretend to be a car while they jumped on his back as they grasped onto his curls to steer him, he would. If Harry was instructed to be a pretty princess with a plastic tiara on his head, he would exaggeratedly lift a pinky up to play the part. It was easy for him to win the hearts of his little nieces and nephews because they were familiar with him. They knew him as ‘Uncle Harry’ who gave them gifts whenever he came over to visit or if there was a large family reunion.

He couldn’t exactly do that with Halo. She was familiar with him, yes. However, the one time they interacted, Harry had made her cry. It didn’t sit right with him that tears sprung from her corneas when she was only trying to make him feel better, sensing that her parents wanted nothing to do with him.

It wasn’t like Harry knew what she liked either. Did Halo like playing with dolls? Animals? Race cars? The most basic of things, Harry didn’t know. What was her favourite colour? When was her birthday? His resumé was already tarnished since he wasn’t present when her mother fell pregnant. Then, he missed her first steps, her first words. He was just a stranger to her.

And it showed from the way he stepped foot into the kitchen.

Harry heard her before he saw her. Tiny squeals and giggles fell from her mouth as Connor chased her around with plates grasped in his hands. Y/N had scolded the man for getting distracted instead of setting the table. Halo’s noises quieting down when she caught sight of the familiar yet unfamiliar man loitering the doorway.

“‘M sorry, love. Halo wanted to play,” Connor gripped her waist to pull Y/N closer to him, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she fought off a smile from splintering her face. “Right, cutie?”

“Wanted to play! Sowwy mama,’ Halo apologized, tugging on her pant leg.

That was when Harry realized the possibility of ruining the little family they had in the words. But this was supposed to be his in the first place so he couldn’t care less if he wrecked it. As selfish as it may be, Harry thought that there was meaning in him accidentally hearing Gemma’s conversation with Y/N. Sure, it was bound to happen, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. The hole in his heart caused by Camille’s confession of not wanting kids was growing each day, accentuated by the late-night trip to the grocery store and seeing the small baby clothes that took up half of his palm.

It was a sign, right? He felt like he was drowning in a relationship that had no future and the next day, he was met with Y/N and their baby.

Symbolism. As a writer, it was absolutely crucial to introduce some sort of word, item, place, or person and infuse it with impeccable meaning. Irrefutable to the point that that noun is and will be what the writer makes of it.

Round tables were supposed to be better at sprouting conversations than rectangular or square tables. Any conversation between a pair must be shared with everybody who sat around it. There was no room to quietly snicker or ration secrets. Yet somehow that theory was not working. At all.

Harry felt like an intruder sitting in a table that never held more than three people because it was always just them: Y/N, Connor and Halo. As the child got more comfortable with his presence, she slowly started babbling incoherent and coherent words alike, conversing with her ‘parents’ as they asked her about her day at daycare. Y/N asked about Connor’s day at work and the latter reciprocated the question which she was currently answering.

“It wasn’t as busy as I thought,” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, forking a piece of mash. Connor made a sound of recognition, “S’that why you texted me to go home instead?”

Y/N nodded, helping Halo scoop her own forkful of mash, “Yep, I had time to go to the store. I know that you were swarmed at work,” The couple allotted a loving glance towards each other.

Harry’s heart was cracking. He was witnessing what he could have had and He had a front-row seat to it. Was it jealousy? Maybe. He was in a relationship so he shouldn’t feel like swarming Y/N’s smaller frame in his arms, shielding her and baby Halo away from Connor. But he did.

“What about you, Harry?” Connor questioned him with a kink to his brow. Harry could tell that the question wasn’t sincere, purely out of consideration.

In a surprise, Harry coughed a little, reaching out to his cloth to dab the corners of his mouth. Truth to be told, Harry spent the day in a state of anxiety. From the moment he woke up, Harry could feel his chest expanding with nervousness, heart beating loudly and pounding in his ears. He picked at the skin of his lip in the wonder of what he was going to wear. If he should wear cologne or if it will irritate Halo’s senses. He spent the better half of the morning browsing online for toys he could get in a hurry to give to Halo.

Harry contemplated cancelling the dinner because of the uneasy feeling boiling in his stomach. Heightened senses and pinched nerves convinced Harry that he could feel the muscles of his esophagus contracted as he swallowed. Lungs punctured with the tip of the pen he was using to scrawl a list of ideas to build a bond with his daughter

“It was alright,” Harry said warily, “Didn’t really have anythin’ to do today except come here,”

Y/N pulled her head back in surprise, “Sorry, we ruined your day off,”

His eyes widened immediately. Harry’s usual aura of confidence nowhere to be seen, “N-no, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” He could feel stray curls hitting his cheekbones lightly. “I jus’-- it’s m’break so I haven’t got anything for the next couple of months,”

___

Harry’s settled nerves were awoken when it was time to clean up. Y/N insisted on doing the dishes with Connor while Harry bonded with Halo.

“Remember, you’re doing this for her,” Y/N whispered in his ear, causing shivers to crawl up his spine, “Don’t be nervous, Harry. She’s going to love you,” She added, seeing the way he blinked warily at Halo and Connor. Even going as far as giving him a comforting smile.

“Thank you, Y/N--for giving me this,” She nodded in response, jutting her chin downwards.

“Hawwy? Mama said you gonna help me get to bed?” Halo’s green eyes still shone despite the dim kitchen lighting, reminding Harry that this was his and Y/N’s creation. Throughout the dinner, the child had somehow warmed up to Harry’s presence. With a promise of an ice cream trip after her nursery classes earlier in the morning, Halo was quick to befriend the man who she pointed out: ‘has the same dimple as me!’--while poking a stubby finger to her plush cheek, grinning to showcase it.

Harry could feel his heart thud, crouching down to her level, worried of her straining her neck looking up at his tall stature. “Tha’s right. Wanna show me where the bathroom is?” She nodded, grabbing Harry’s index finger to drag him along, exerting his lumbar to keep his height low. He could feel Halo’s feet stumbling, keeping her balance by tightening her grip on Harry.

Their time in the bathroom was fairly short. Halo had learned to brush her teeth by herself. She only needed Harry to guide her up the stool so that she could reach the sink, spitting the foam from her mouth when Harry made a funny face in the mirror, giggling loudly that had Harry’s chest feeling light.

As they walked through the hallway, Harry couldn’t help but let his ears be numb to Halo’s babbling about her favourite stuffed toy. He didn’t mean to. Instead, his neck craned to the door left agape, assuming that it was Connor and Y/N’s with the way the Gucci shoes that Harry had bought her were neatly placed at the bottom of the foot of the bed. He stared down at his moving feet, mood souring despite the bright colours of his loafers imprinted in a little rainbow--the same ones that he just caught sight off and wavered just as quickly.

“You like it?”

He snapped out of his thoughts when Halo climbed on her tiny bed, clutching her favourite stuffed toy. Harry plastered a beaming grin on his face, inspecting the painted room, the small desk pushed against the wall and the numerous artworks taped to almost every surface.

One, in particular, had his heart aching more so than it already was.

It was a hand-drawn stick figure portrait of Y/N, Halo, and Connor. Harry couldn’t even pretend that the skinny, stretched black marker was him because the child messily penned Connor’s name underneath. The figures were holding each others’ hands, oblong faces paired with a curved mouth shaped upwards. It didn’t help that the title at the top was “My Famli” which was crossed over with a red marker and re-titled underneath as “My Family” in neat handwriting that Harry could recognize as Y/N’s.

“Hawwy?” She repeated, wondering why he was staring so hard at the drawing taped on her bedside table. Her brows furrowed when a drop of tear fell from his eye and landed on Connor’s head, smudging the ink and making it blurry disarray as Halo gasped. “Oh no!”

“‘M s-sorry, Halo,” Harry’s tongue felt too thick in his mouth, sobbing threatening to escape but he remembered how that would make his daughter feel. Halo placed her soft hand on top of his.

“It’s okay, Hawwy. I can do it again,” Her timid voice made his heart flutter. Halo didn’t want Harry to cry again and it looked like he was about to so she scurried in planting her shaky legs on the floor. A blank paper was already stable on her desk, grabbing a marker to draw the ruined project again. She could see Harry’s shadow towering over her, thanks to the light projected by her lamp.

Flipping the paper over, Halo giggled, “Go away! Y’cant see it till it’s done,” She used her force to push him backwards which wasn’t a lot so Harry walked backwards until the back of his calves hit her bed frame. “Stay there and play with Honey,”

As she got back to work, Harry searched for ‘Honey’, finding an oatmeal coloured bear with a pot of honey clutched between its threaded paws. He stared at the plush toy for what felt like forever, wondering how special this must be to her. And how Harry wasn’t the one to have given it to her.

“Done!” Halo’s timidness returned, hiding the paper behind her back yet Harry heard the slight crumple.

Placing the stuffed toy on the bed, he asked, “Are y’gonna show me?”

She handed the artwork to Harry while he watched, smiling softly. Halo slapped her palms on her cheeks when Harry turned it over, his breath hitching when he saw the extra figure that she had drawn.

Harry. With a head of wild curls and dotted green eyes that appeared more black with the lighting.

He couldn’t help it when happy tears seared his waterline which Halo mistook for complacence. “You don’t. . .like it Hawwy?”

“I-I do. I love it, honey,” Harry admitted, chuckling slightly as he patted his upper thigh. She climbed onto the bed with him, the wood creaking beneath Harry’s weight. Halo clumsily climbed on his lap, lifting his heavy forearm so she could sneak between his legs.

Harry could feel his nonexistent double chin crowding his neck as he looked down at Halo who was cuddled to his chest, lips turned into a pout, looking at her quick-minute work. “I like it cause you’re there,” She pointed at the ice cream in Harry’s hand before yawning loudly.

“You’re sleepy, baby Halo?’

She nodded, pressing a small hand on his chest. Harry took the initiative to lay the child down on her pillow despite every nerve in his body urging him to stay in that position. But Harry figured that he had probably overstayed his welcome for the night.

Harry pressed a passionate kiss to her forehead, caressing her head gently. Sleep eyes stared at him as he pulled her fleece blanket to her chin. “Stay?” She questioned, fists crumpling to clutched the end of the fabric.

“I can’t, bub,” He informed with regret, shaking his head sadly and his mouth curved downwards. His knee was sore with weight pressed on his knee cap and his lumbar was aching with how he crouched down one too many times this evening, but all pain seemed to disappear when Halo picked up Honey the Teddy Bear from beside her and gave it to Harry. “For me? Thank you,”

Halo laid back down on her bed, “Mhm,”

“Why?”

As a two-year-old, Halo could only say so many words, yet her thoughts went far deeper than her brain could comprehend. That she felt a profound attachment to Harry despite seeing him twice. How pleasant it was to spend even just a small amount of time with him. Harry was nice and gave her forehead kisses and rubbed her head that placed a smile on her face. He cried because he loved her artwork and he apologized when he did something wrong. He contorted his lips into a silly face to make her laugh. He was going to be picking her up from school and Harry said he was going to buy her ice cream tomorrow!

“I dunno,” Halo shrugged, peering downwards to avoid eye contact. Harry chuckled heartily, puckering his pink lips to another peck on her forehead, and then both of her cheeks.

Harry tried to see the brighter side of the situation because it truly was something to look forward to. Having the chance to get to know Halo was something that he should be grateful for. As Y/N said, Harry did not deserve to be a part of her life, despite the fact that he was the father. And somewhere, somehow— he understood where she was coming from.

Harry honestly wouldn’t know what he would do if the roles were reversed; if Y/N were the ones to have been cheating on him. He would not have a clue if Harry would be as kind to her as she was with him. If an outsider were to assess the situation between Harry and Y/N, they would definitely choose her side to be in favour of. So far, Harry still wasn’t able to pinpoint what exactly Y/N had done wrong for him to be swayed by an illicit affair. Was there even a moment in time that he could vividly see where he made the decision to just up and betrayed her trust? Because if there was; either his memory has gone to shit or Harry was more of a jerk than he served himself.

To put things into perspective, Y/N was the perfect partner and Harry had somehow lost sight of that by cheating on her. Don’t get him wrong; Camille was good, great, even. Yet Y/N was an amazing woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Coincidentally, those were the same type of things that Harry needed, too. As much as it pained him to say it, Camille’s rejection of their own little family made him rethink his decision-making process. Harry has learned more about himself in these past few months than he did in his entire lifetime.

For starters, he cleared it up that he had absolutely no excuse for cheating on Y/N except the fact that his retention span lasted a good few years before he was in search of something fresh; something new and exciting. Maybe it scared him just how serious she was in having a family in the future that his subconscious thought that Harry needed one last hurrah to get the infidelity out. Besides, divorces are more complicated when there are children involved.

Secondly, being with Camille was an infatuation that lasted for a long, three years—beginning while Harry was in a relationship with Y/N. Feelings were still there for sure, but he just didn’t know if it was enough to make him stay, especially when Y/N and baby Halo were right there waiting for him. They actually weren’t; Harry just liked to pretend that they were so that he could justify the consequences of his actions.

Camille was trying to make things work with him; Harry could see that. However, there were only so many things that she could do to improve their relationship before she had to change the choices that she had made years prior. Camille really didn’t want to say that she had refuted the idea of not having kids for the sake of making a relationship prosper, but maybe it was what she had to do to make him stay. She wanted a happy life with someone who wanted the same things as her. Harry wasn’t the man who shared a mutual agreement and she was pushed to question her options.

Nonetheless, Camille and Harry stuck with each other because they were all they knew for the past three and a half years. It was definitely ironic for Harry to say that he couldn’t just leave a three-year relationship behind for another woman; because he had done that before. Now, he was a hypocrite too? His ego cannot take it.

Connor wrapped his arms around Y/N’s middle as she washed the dishes in the sink. Their water heater was broken so the stream that came from the faucet sometimes teetered from freezing cold to extremely hot. Right now, she was scrubbing the sponge on the porcelain as quickly as possible while the water was at the right temperature.

Y/N turned her head to the side, pressing a kiss on Connor’s cheek. He rested his chin on her shoulder, bobbing up and down as she moved her arms.

“Is this really a good idea, baby?” Connor asked, staring at the way her lashes fluttered in a pregnant pause, taking a deep breath.

She nodded, reaching over slightly to rest the wet dish on the drying rack. “Halo deserves to at least know her real father,”

And it was true. What kind of mother would Y/N be if she kept a secret like that from her own daughter? The past two years was a constant ping-pong battle of reaching out to Harry and sharing the news to him; then, Y/N would be hit with a shot of realization, wondering if this would ruin his current lifestyle.

“I understand. What if he leaves again? Hate to remind you but Harry left you once before, don’t think he’ll hesitate to do so again,”

She froze at Connor’s words. Y/N was aware that he only said that in good faith, to remind her of how hurt she was at the time and just how long it took for her to be able to finally breathe again.

One side of Y/N urged to still defend Harry. She wanted to turn and around, yell at him because Connor doesn’t know Harry as she does. Harry wasn’t the type to build a child’s dreams up only for him to personally manhandle the heart and crush it in his fist. There was a reason why he was a godfather to so many kids; Ruby, Arlo and Jackson—because he was capable. Harry was a nurturing father who put himself on the back burner in favour of making sure that the little ones were safe and secured. He had no problem being third if it meant that the kids were first, then Y/N, then him.

It all sounded so good in Y/N’s head; so well-rehearsed and very well thought out. The monologue that had somehow stuck in the sides of her brain like a script taped to the wall, ready for the time it needed to be recited. The shredded pieces of paper also reminded her that Y/N might’ve known Harry before, but she certainly doesn’t anymore. In fact, she knew just as much as Connor did.

Just like Y/N had grown and evolved into a new person, Harry was not the same guy he once was when they were together.

“I told him the consequences if he did,”

Connor pulled back, stepping away from her. “But wouldn’t it be better if we didn’t take that chance? Who knows what he might do. . .” He trailed off, grabbing a dry rag to wipe the water dripping from the dish.

Y/N took a leap of faith in letting Harry in. He was a wild card. He could promise one thing but would mean another. Or he could recite a vow and completely annihilate the person as he did with her. Yet somehow, Y/N couldn’t resist the opportunity to give him one chance. Maybe it was because a small part of her craved to re-create a happy family that they had always wanted.

“It’s a risk. I know that” Y/N rinsed a cup, swirling the water in circles. She felt like that whenever Harry was around.

“So why are you still doing it?” Y/N opened her mouth to answer, “And tell me the truth this time, yeah?”

Her boyfriend stared at her with an unreadable emotion in his eyes, lips drew taut in a straight line and arms were crossed over his broad chest. The pressure was immense on Y/N’s shoulders. She was torn between admitting what she had buried deep below the sand or simply glossing over it like a figure skater. Nonetheless, Y/N was on thin ice.

For years, she had flicked away the remaining feelings that stayed with her. But they were persistent in sticking by her side. It wasn’t like Y/N could completely erase Harry from her life--from who she was. She still dressed like him, evidenced by the matching pair of Gucci loafers she chose not to wear for the night in fear that he would coincidentally be sporting the same footwear.

Furthermore, they had a child together! Halo was the spitting image of him. It was hard not to be reminded by a man she once loved when their little baby was both of them mixed in one. So did Y/N still love Harry? She couldn’t deny how much her heart fluttered seeing him stutter over his words at the park. Y/N just wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety and nervousness or excitement and anticipation.

Unbeknownst to the couple, Harry had sneakily closed a sleeping Halo’s bedroom door. His trek back to the kitchen was slow, slightly afraid of the awaiting talk he and Y/N--and possibly Connor-- have yet to have. Harry wanted to be there for Halo and for Y/N every step of the way, but he knew that Y/N would not allow him around if his intentions were to cater to a relationship with her. She was already tolerating him as is.

Standing behind the thin wall that acted as a partition from the hallway to the kitchen, Harry carefully placed his hands against the barrier to steady himself. He didn’t know if his legs could take whatever answer would spill from Y/N’s mouth. If she admitted her true feelings, he would stumble and melt into a puddle. He would be confused, but Harry wouldn’t be opposed to it; he was in a relationship after all. If she denied it--which was the more likely option--, his heart would break silently in his chest.

Harry numbed himself of the guilt raking at his ankles. He was well aware that this was a private conversation but hey; it was not his fault that he had ears straining to listen to Y/N’s reply.

“Do you still love him?” Connor followed up, voice grim. Almost fearful to find out the truth. Harry was, too.

Y/N paused her thoughts as well as her actions, flinching at the sudden intrusion of Connor’s question. She flinched, yelping a little and jumping backwards when the broken water heater subdued the filtering liquid into a burning hot splatter on her skin. Connor picked his feet up in alarm, grabbing at Y/N’s wrist to see the minor injury on the back of her palm.

“Ow!” Y/N whisper-shouted, soothing the ache by situating it between her thighs before shakily showing it to Connor; the doctor.

“Let me see, baby,”

Harry peeked his head around the corner, almost losing his cover with the way his feet instantaneously wanting to move towards a hurting Y/N. Good thing he caught himself. Surely they would put two and two together and realize that Harry was eavesdropping.

That decision came with a laceration to his heart. Harry got a first-class ticket to register that the couple was everything he and Y/N were. The pet names, the domesticity of their actions. The caring glances and constant check-ups.

Deciding to come out of hiding, Harry almost had a heart attack when he turned the corner and was met face to face with Connor. His brows had dipped in worry, face determined to grab some cream to apply to the burn from their first-aid kit in the bathroom. Harry guessed that his whizzing thoughts failed to hear the quiet instruction.

The man jolted in surprise, stopping quickly in his tracks, “Oh hey! Is Halo asleep?” Connor gave him a smile despite the confusion etching in his forehead. Harry nodded dumbly, lips pursing like a fish. “Y/N’s just burned her hand, nothing too serious though,”

He looked over his shoulder to see Y/N eyeing the both of them suspiciously, still clutching the burnt skin close to her. “Oh, I see,”

Connor smacked a firm hand on his shoulder, stepping around him to grab the cream. Harry walked towards Y/N, noticing that she was soothing the painful ache with ice wrapped in layers of tissue. She was softly hissing through her teeth once in a while.

“You okay?”

She tilted her head at him, appearing to be dazed out in her thoughts. “Yeah, uh, nothing too bad,”

Harry kept his distance, leaning on the other side of the counter. He started off by saying, “Thank you for giving me this chance,”

Y/N graced him with a smile, standing up straighter when Connor appeared with a tube in his hand. Harry watched as he unscrewed the cap, placing it beside her. He squeezed a bit of the cream unto his fingertip before applying it directly on Y/N’s skin. She winced, wanting to pull her wrist away from his grip but Connor didn’t let her, “It’s gonna be fine, baby,”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, continuing to rub circles on the burn until Y/N visibly relaxed through slouched shoulders and less shaky breaths.

Harry was staring at them like a kicked puppy. He was fussy and frustrated all in one. He wanted the attention that Y/N was giving Connor. He wanted to be Connor, but both of them were too wrapped up in their little love bubble to notice Harry’s squinted eyes and pinched brows.

He was frustrated because even if he wasn’t the direct cause of her pain, Harry had somehow found a way to continue hurting her and Connor was always there to pacify his wrongful actions. Harry hated that this was how fate had planned his life.

Harry cleared his throat, raising a fist to his mouth, “Think I should go,” His thumb pointed over his shoulder, “Uh thank you again,”

Y/N snapped her head to him, gaze lowering in a timid manner as if she forgot that he was even there in the first place. Connor was the first to reply, “Alright, man. See you whenever,” He capped the tub, shoving it in his back pocket to return to its place.

She leaned on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips, muttering something in his ear that had Connor teasingly wrapping his hands on her hips. Harry looked away, taking long strides to the entryway instead.

“Harry, wait!”

He shuddered at the memory of the words that had changed his life when Gemma told him the truth. Harry’s shoe was half-way one when he turned around. “Yeah?”

Y/N was holding a folded brochure, “Halo has a recital this weekend for her dance class,” She handed it to him, “Maybe you’d want to go? You can bring Camille if you want but I think it would be better if you didn’t. She’s still new to this and I don’t want her asking too many questions until she can unders--,”

“I’ll go,” Harry cut her off, unfolding the folded paper. The venue was about twenty minutes away from his place. It was only an hour-long considering the skill set of two-year-olds but it was a fun way for parents to cheer on their little ones. Harry’s previously sour mood was now replaced with giddiness at the sight of his daughter in a pretty pink tutu, twirling on her feet. He was sure that Halo was born to become a performer like him.

She sighed in relief, puffing her cheeks out cutely, “It’s a private dance class. Pretty high end so the security should be okay,”

And there it was again. The constant reminder that Harry was otherworldly to some people. As much as he loved living his lifestyle, he sometimes wished that he was a normie. That was a lot to ask for considering his current situation with his daughter, but a man can dream.

“Got it,”

Y/N leaned over to show him the back of the leaflet, “Just show them this ticket and security should let you in. Halo wanted me to give that to you because she was too shy earlier. I know it’s short notice but I guess she was comfortable enough to ask you,”

Harry blushed at the admittance, mentally patting himself at the back for making his daughter feel at ease in a short amount of time.

“I’ll be there,” He pushed his heel to adorn his sneakers. Y/N bit her lip, she looked hesitant, “It’s okay if you don’t want to go, by the way. I can explain that you’re busy. She’ll probably understand,”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Harry wasn’t going to ruin his progressive relationship with his daughter on ‘probably’. “Y/N, s’alright. No problem, yeah? I’ll be there,”

Where was he?

It was two days after the dinner and Harry’s promise of attending Halo’s recital was vanishing with each passing second. Every time the hand of the clock ticked to indicate that another minute had elapsed. Harry still wasn’t jogging through the carpeted middle of the small theatre to where Connor and Y/N were seated. Two empty seats were left at the end of the aisle to aid Harry--and possibly Camille--a smooth arrival without creating any distractions.

There were only five minutes left before the stage crew were to dim the spotlights illuminating the room. Y/N was checking her watch what felt like every second, clicking her phone on and off once in a while worried that something may have happened to Harry. Maybe security wouldn’t let him in. The gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach suggested that Harry just forgot the event tonight but Y/N would cross the bridge when they got to it. Regardless, her nerves were left unsettled as swallowing proved to be more difficult with the way a sip of her water had her gulping audibly. Connor wasn’t there to lend a soft hand on her upper back to help her breathe.

Speaking of, Connor had taken the initiative to visit Halo backstage. The ballet teacher was growing weary of the way the little dancer ran out from beside the stage to stop in front of her parents, asking, “Where’s Hawwy?”.

Halo had done it three times in hopes of receiving an answer aside from, “He’s not here yet,” Y/N tucked a fallen strand of hair from the otherwise sleek bun from beside her cheeks. Her daughter’s form slouching as her pretty eyes watered slightly, “He’s not coming? You told me he was coming, mama,”

Y/N glanced at Connor nervously, being met with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look which didn’t really help the situation. Luckily, the teacher had approached them with a clipboard on hand, searching for the ballerina. The teacher had suggested that one of them stay with her behind the curtain until the show began. Connor volunteered.

“Better hope he comes or else we’ll have to deal with the consequences. I really don’t want to see her heartbroken before of a promise he couldn’t keep,” Connor muttered, following the woman but not before thumbing circles on Y/N’s flushed cheek.

Y/N knew that he meant well. She also didn’t want to comfort a heartbroken Halo because Harry failed to show up where he promised he would be. And now, with a little less than two minutes before showtime, Connor was sent back beside her. Parents were being ushered to find their seats before the lights dimmed and it would be difficult to maneuver through knees and legs.

“Is he here?” Connor questioned, draping a hand on her shaking knee. Y/N shook her head, casting another glance at the auditorium doors. He waved at Halo who peeked her head between the silk curtains, wandering eyes looking at the empty seat beside Y/N.

“No. Hasn’t texted or answered his phone either,” Y/N was about to dial Harry’s contact once more in a desperate attempt to reach him. However, the dimming lights indicated that it was too late. Connor laced their fingers together, offering apologetic eyes and a tight-lipped smile; they would have to nurse a broken heart later tonight.

Harry was in the middle of buttoning his patterned shirt, staring at his reflection in the mirror to silently judge his fashion choice for the night. Was it too much for a kids’ ballet recital? He deemed that it was, stretching his arms to remove the fabric adorning his chest, moving to grab the pink, flamingo patterned shirt instead. He took his time, granted that he had about an hour before the recital started.

He smoothed the fabric over his broad shoulders, pausing when Camille walked in. Harry locked his green eyes at her through the mirror as she walked to their shared bed, sitting at the foot of it.

“What d’ya think?”

She hummed in response, absentmindedly nodding in agreement when Harry asked if it was good. Both Camille and Harry had talked about his relationship with Halo as soon as she landed at the airport. He didn’t want to keep any secrets from her. Fortunately, Camille was very understanding of his situation, offering him support and encouragement to build a bond with his daughter.

What Camille didn’t reveal was that she was a bit antsy of Harry’s relationship with Y/N. She meant everything she had said to him, but it was no guarantee that Harry would ignite another connection with his ex-girlfriend. Not that Camille didn’t trust him. It was just a bit concerning because she believed that how a relationship starts is how it will end. Harry certainly had a history of straying away from his present partner.

Harry was currently in their walk-in closet, finding a pair of slacks that weren't too formal or casual. Camille mulled the thoughts in her head. She loved Harry dearly and would do anything for him. Well, anything except having children of their own. He had mostly accepted her decision, only wincing a little when the topic of a family was brought up by mutual friends and family once in a while.

Truth to be told, Camille was scared. She was afraid that Harry would leave for Y/N because she had Halo. They were the family that he had always wanted and although Camille wasn’t too keen on giving him the same; she was debating on it.

“How’s this, Cam?” Harry retreated with two pairs of pants. On one hand was a pair of straight-leg skinny jeans that he hadn’t worn in years. The other held brown, corduroy, striped slacks. “Or this one?”

She bit her lip, standing up slowly, walking over to him. “What do I think?”

He nodded, innocently jutting his bottom lip at her as he looked back and forth.

Camille swathed her hands on his shoulders, ghosting her mouth over his ear, “I think I like you better without them,” Her finger traced his collarbone, swirling at the dip of his throat. “Without anything,”

Harry gulped harshly. He felt Camille unbuttoning his shirt, gliding her palms downwards until she was cupping his bulge, “Camille, wait,” He flicked his watch to check the time. It took twenty minutes to get there, maybe even more with traffic and parking.

She dragged him to the bed by the ends of his opened shirt, locking her lips with his plush ones. He rested a knee on the mattress, his hands at the back of her head as Camille continued to pull him down.

Pulling away, Harry panted, “What are you doin’?” He laid his creased forehead on hers.

Camille supported herself on her hands, moving her face back until she was able to get a clear view of his perplexed expression, “I was thinking that maybe we could. . . try having a baby, H,” Her voice was soft, almost timid and she was doing her best not to break eye contact to show her sincerity.

Harry gasped in surprise, “Wha--? Really? Are you serious?” His tone gained a pitch as excitement enthralled his senses. The smile on his face was wide and reached his bright eyes. “Baby, are you sure?”

Camille nodded, grinning softly. “Yes,’

“Oh my--this is. . .,” Harry pulled at the locks of his hair, pacing around the room. “This is great! Our own family. Jesus. I can’t believe it,” Tears sprung on his corneas.

He kneeled between her legs, taking her wrist and pressing a gentle kiss on her skin, murmuring ‘I love you’ repeatedly.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Camille asked, spreading her legs rhetorically. Harry observed her position, nodding enthusiastically.

Another glance at his watch indicated that Harry was absolutely pushing it with being late to Halo’s recital. Yet one enchanting kiss from Camille wiped his thoughts clean. He was getting what he wanted; a family of his own.

Harry puffed a breath of air from his plump lips, chest weighing heavy with the pressure that came from Camille’s head. Her blonde strands were splayed all over his inked chest, fingertips softly tracing over the detailed butterfly on his belly. The giant smile spread over his cheeks made the muscles hurt, yet Harry couldn’t help the expression from overtaking his face.

He was happy.

Camille nuzzled her face closer to him, only looking up when she felt Harry thread his digits through her hair, “Do you think we did it?”

Harry chuckled, wrinkling the skin under his chin as he captured her gaze, “If not, we can always try again, no?” He leaned over to press a kiss on her hairline, breathing deeply to catch the last scent of her shampoo.

The woman cast a glance over the shimmering metal-wrapped around Harry’s wrist, the hands of the watch ticking with each second passing by. “Wanna try again now?”

Harry blinked his lids, tired from their ministration. However, the enthralling feeling boiled from deep within his chest, excitement buzzing all over his vein. The throbbing itch on his fingertip had him doubting the events of today. Like a red shoe-string knot tied over his index, Harry felt like he was missing out on something important.

The discarded shirt laying limply on the floor had Harry’s thoughts humming with whispering desire. Was he too fascinated with the prospective idea of starting his own family that he forgot about the one he already had?

With that thought zooming in his brain, Harry sat up with intensity, accidentally jolting Camille’s upper half with a quiet ‘oomph’ slipping past her lips.

“Sorry! Sorry Cam,” Harry yelled over his shoulder, bending down to grab his shirt. He trudged down the steps, sliding his taut arms over the holes of the shirt as he scrambled to button the stubborn links to close the shirt.

He almost lost his balance on the last couple of steps because of his socked feet against the varnished wood, catching himself at the last minute with a ringed-hand clutching the railing tightly. Harry reached the foyer dresser where he kept his essentials--his keys and leather wallet--, patting down the back pocket of his dress pants to check if he had his phone with him.

Harry paused for a few seconds once he slammed the front door shut, catching his breath. He watched the last rays of sunset projecting over the horizon from where his mansion stood from the hills, wondering if he was too late. Clicking his phone on, Harry’s eyes bulged from the white letters bolding the time.

A few minutes left before Halo’s recital was yet to begin and Harry had to figure out some magical way to make his twenty-minute trek shortened into a mere five minutes. Not including the time he had already wasted frozen on his porch step because of idling fear creeping up his spine. He was scared because there was no way that Harry would be able to make it on time-- he knew that. But he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

Y/N cheered Halo on when the curtains swayed to reveal the tiny dancers. Her fluffy tutu made her look absolutely adorable as she stood on her tiptoes, gracing her arms over her head with a practiced smile on her face. The music from the speakers shifted the mood to gather the guests’ attention to the girls on stage, parents cooing at the sight of their small children dancing their hearts out.

Y/N was unofficially assigned to gesture with silent claps and bold thumbs ups’ whenever Halo happened to glance over in their direction. Connor squared his fingers to clutch the edges of his phone, the red button rippling as the time duration changed, recording the whole performance from start to finish.

Despite the fact that the dance classes’ media team made an announcement that a professional videographer would be capturing the whole thing, Y/N wasn’t going to let memories of her child be left in clear-cut transitions. Both her and Connor wanted the recital captured from their point of view. To be reminded of the time Halo rewarded their sleepless nights with a proud, gleaming smile because of how talented and well-rounded she was at such a young age---it was all worth it.

For a moment, Y/N was reminded of the empty seat beside her, the cushions cold and not at all moulded to the shape of Harry’s body. She wondered if his expression would mirror hers; brows drawn in, eyes wide and lips slightly agape as their little girl gave them a subtle wave before doing a twirl.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice Halo’s dimmed features when she caught sight of the gap beside her mum, her ballet slippers skidding of the varnished flooring of the stage, causing little Halo to stumble and fall hard on her knees. A loud thud echoed throughout the auditorium from the hollowness of the flooring, her head staring down at her hands, shoulders slouched as her tutu spread over her minuscule limbs.

Connor shifted his device lower, peaking over his hands to see the child glance around helplessly. Her lashes fluttered around the room; the concerned faces of the audience, her teachers’ gesticulate hands urging her to stand tall, and finally, to her parents’ gentle encouragement.

Y/N shared a quick look with Connor before the couple directed tender smiles to Halo.Y/N mouthed silent cheers, watching Halo’s lips morph upwards, green eyes gleaming against the reflection of the stage light. With one last hopefully glance at the doors, Halo’s pink tights stretched over her knees gathering the strength to push herself up. She shook her head, her adolescent thoughts wondering why she ever put her trust in Harry.

Halo didn’t even know him that well! He was just a person that showed her much of what she wanted, enabling her to the type of love that felt so natural to the point that she pondered why Harry hadn’t been there to drop her off on her first day of preschool. Or made pancakes for breakfast with the small breaks of flour fights in between while Y/N slept soundly in bed. Why Harry’s eyes were the same shade as hers and how her tiny fingers fit perfectly well on the dimples on his cheeks---the same one she had on her plush ones!

The pain in the child’s chest was confusing for her to fully comprehend, yet Halo understood enough that it had to do with Harry's absence in a performance that she was excited for him to attend. Halo tried her best not to look at where her parents stayed seated because she knew that that empty seat would make her lose focus and that was exactly what happened.

With the remaining minutes of the set, Halo blocked the sight of the unoccupied chair, opting to watch her parents instead until the set came to an end and she was to switch costumes for her the grand finale with the rest of the students later on in the evening.

Harry slammed the end of his palm against the leather material of the horn, honking blaring sounds that hurt his own ears. Cursing under his breath, he huffed at the driver who flipped him off for not running through the yellow light, causing Harry to get stuck behind him. He could’ve pressed on the pedal and speedily grasped through the next intersection. Albeit unsafe, but that was the last thing on Harry’s mind.

The digital clock on the dash switched to ten minutes after the performance. Harry was hoping that there was some sort of technical difficulties that pushed the designated time back. Possibly rowdy parents were unable to find their seats because of excitement. And as ashamed as Harry was, he hoped that a child had thrown a fit about performing because that always ate uptime.

His fingertips tapped in a staccato pattern against the rim of the wheel while the other pinched the skin of his bottom lip between his index and thumb. Sweat formed on his hairline, only then did he notice the heat turned up to the highest level from the night before. Harry adjusted the knob, feeling immense coolness from the air vents, thinking once more when the light turned green.

It was an asshole move to honk 0.001 before the light turned green, but every nerve in his being urged Harry to move faster and quicker. He really wished that he could snap his fingers to erase the traffic ahead of him, his mind immediately crossing the bridge to wonder if there was even any parking at the lot--but that was a problem that he’ll handle once he gets out of the congested roadway.

Harry knew better than to text and drive, knowing that his attention span wasn’t meant to be split. Not when his gaze was wild on the road, eyes bouncing back and forth from the time to the seemingly endless traffic. He attached his phone on the car mount, speaking hoarsely to ask Siri to ‘call Y/N’

After the call went straight to voicemail, Harry spewed the words clawing up his throat, “Hello? Y/N? It’s Harry. I’m sorry that I didn’t make it on time. S-something came up and I’m runnin’ a bit late--fucking shit!”

His foot slammed hard on the brake pedal when a sneaky traffic light switched to red. “Sorry I-I’m almost there,”

The beep sounded a few seconds after. Harry was grateful because he had no more words to say after that, realizing that whatever he had to say had to be spoken in person. It was much more sincere--and with the way, his chest was being burdened with guilt---apologies over the phone were never going to fix this.

“Mumma! Dada!” Halo squealed, running over to the both of them. Y/N and Connor were down on one knee, greeting Halo from her height with an engulfing hug with the child in the middle.

The medal on her chest bounced against her body, wrapping her short arms around both of their necks. The couple showered her chubby cheeks with endless kisses, making Halo giggle with delight.

“I’m so proud of you, angel,” Y/N spoke, grazing a thumb over her hairline. Connor handed her a mini-bouquet of flowers which she accepted with glee. “Thank you!”

The dance teacher, Mrs. Dabney, approached the couple armed with compliments for little Halo.

“She truly does deserve that award. Halo comes to class with a friendly aura. Always eager to learn,” Mrs. Dabney shared, evoking a heartwarming feeling in both Connor and Y/N. “You two did a great job raising her,”

Y/N blushed, glancing in amazement at her child. Connor chuckled, kissing Y/N’s temple, “It’s mostly her doing. Such an angel,”

Halo’s grip loosened the slightest bit on Y/N’s and Connor’s hand, zoning out when the adults got into specifics of the choreography and future tuition prices due to the expansion of the dance studio. Looking around to see the families celebrating with the performers, Halo couldn’t help but let curiosity take over her.

Where was Harry?

“It was great seeing you guys,” Mrs. Dabney concluded, rubbing Y/N’s shoulder softly.

Connor examined the emptying room, seeing the families exit through the doors, probably heading out for dinner. The rumbling of his tummy reminded him he was hungry too.

“Ready to go, love?” He asked. Y/N nodded, pursing her lips at Halo’s sad expression.

“Yeah, it’d be best to take this off of her mind,” She kneeled down to Halo’s level, lifting her wobbly chin. Y/N’s heart shattered upon seeing the teary irises staring back at her, “He didn’t come, Mumma. Hawwy didn’t come,”

Halo’s tiny whimpers were a stab to the heart, nearly dropping her mini-bouquet as she sobbed into her mothers’ arms. Her salty tears damped the skin of her neck. “I know, bubba,”

Y/N made eye contact with Connor, who offered her a sympathetic smile, stroking the nape of Halo’s neck in a comforting manner.

Connor crouched down as well, muttering quiet phrases of ‘it’s okay, angel. “How about we get something cake, yeah? ‘Know y’like those, don’t you?”

Halo lifted her splotchy face-off of Y/N, swiping a small finger under her eyes. “A cake?

Her pretty pupils dilated with the light, as well as the prospective concept of her favourite treat dangling under her nose. “Yeah, baby. A chocolate cake,” Y/N voiced out, aiming to remove the pain from the little girls’ heart.

“That’s right, Halo. You can have as much as you’d like,”

Y/N squinted her eyes, she really wasn’t up to a sugar-high Halo nearing bedtime but she guesses it was better than nursing a mopey one. Connor mouthed a ‘what?’, his grin betraying him.

“Alright, let’s go,”

Harry frantically rammed his thumb on the key fob to lock his car. The latch of the door barely grazed past the edge of his sleeve before it slammed shut. He inhaled deeply, not taking notice of the nearly empty parking lot as he ran as fast as he could. Harry’s many experienced years of physical activity--including yoga, football (soccer) and early morning jogs-- have made this so much easier on his calves and asthmatic lungs.

“Fuck,” He whispered out, tightly closing his eyes, backtracking the progress he had made. He unlocked the car, hastily walking over to the passenger’s side to retrieve Honey the Bear situated on the leather seat. With the stuffed animal gripped tightly in his hand, Harry boosted his speed once again towards the entrance.

He stopped in his tracks abruptly when a family opened the door from the inside, almost hitting him square in the nose if his fast reflexes didn’t halt his frame. Harry smiled apologetically, large hands clasping in front of him as he bowed slightly to show sincerity. He could see the flash of recognition whizz past the man’s eyes.

Before he could say anything, the little girl coming to about hip level tugged on his pants, reflecting his attention to her. Harry quickly slipped past the opening, adjusting his vision to the dim lighting. He jogged down the slanted flooring, the carpet aiding him not to skid, especially since he was not wearing sneakers.

Harry panted with exertion, feeling the uneasiness weighing in from the tips of his fingertips, buzzing through his forearms and embedding itself in his taut biceps. His shoulders slumped, using his arms to propel himself towards the front faster. The emptiness of the room should already tell him what he was frightened to face. However, Harry wouldn’t let this stop him.

He dashed straight to the backstage area, not caring if he was caught since he really wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. Still clutching the toy in his palms, he peeked his head in every room he found only to conclude that it was barren of life, lights switched off and the only sound that echoed was the radio somewhere in the area.

Harry could feel his slim hopes dwindle down the drain. He rested his lumbar on the wooden stage, staring at the Honey the Bear and wondering if it was worth it to miss Halo’s recital for selfish reasons. But was it really selfish?

Halo would have a half-sibling. She would be an older sister. Surely, it wasn’t too selfish of a deed, right?

He sighed lowly. Disappointment showing with the way Harry closed his green eyes in realization. The sound of rolling wheels snapped him out of his destructive thoughts, making contact with the janitor sweeping the dusted floor covered in pink confetti and ruffles. The broom shifted the dirt into one area.

The janitor took note of the paper that Harry held in his hand--his ticket that granted him access to the venue. “A bit late, huh?”

Harry chuckled bitterly at the sarcastic humour. Of course, he was too late, emphasized by the emptiness of the room and the barren reverberation of his voice.

“Just a bit, I guess.”

“Got a lot to make up for, then?” The man asked him, whistling during the pauses they took in the conversation.

Harry nodded, nudging his chin outwards. “S’messy out there, yeah?”

“After every show,”

Harry glanced around at the amount of tidying there was to do, halting suddenly at the row near the stage. He briskly walked over the little ways towards the spot, focusing his gaze on the stickman drawing on the blank paper, moving slightly with the wind.

“Harry”

The label at the centre of the page was capitalized in black marker with stars around his name. Brown circles of curly hair rested on the oblong shaped face that Halo had drawn. His arms, legs and body were thin lines but the smile on the drawings’ face was wide--similar to the one Halo had drawn in her bedroom. The sheet was crumbled, creasing more with the compression of Harry’s grip.

He messed up. Really bad.

With a sleeping Halo nuzzled under the crook of Connor’s arm, the little family cuddle on the soft cushions of the couch with a Barbie Mermaidia movie playing on the screen.

It was only about halfway through the plot when Halo fell asleep. Her hair was freshly washed, smelling like grapefruit and berries. The tendrils of her hair were released from the tight bun which sat at the top of her head for the majority of the night.

Her tired body was exhausted from the activities of the day, begging for relaxation and sleep that came easily with the way her tummy was filled with yummy food. Halo mumbled something in her sleep when the doorbell rang. The loud sound ringing through the house.

Connor hummed in his sleep, shifting his neck to rest more comfortably on the neck of the couch. Y/N rubbed her eyes clearly, checking the time and wondering who could possibly be ringing the doorbell at this hour. She stretched her arms over her head, releasing a sleepy yawn.

She stuffed her feet into her slippers, shuffling the soft footwear towards the front door. Y/N peaked through the hole to find Harry’s face filled with worry. Rolling her eyes, Y/N unlocked the barricade, swinging the door open.

“What do you want?”

“Look, before you say anything,”

Harry paused, looking up at Y/N with a pleading gaze.

“I told you not to hurt her. I told you that you had one chance and you messed that up,”

“I know but I was--” Harry shut his mouth instantly. What was his excuse?

Y/N raised a brow, annoyance wafting from her body language and the firm tone of her voice. “Well?”

He gulped hard, shown by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “There was traffic. . .”

The woman in front of him laughed humorously, “Oh there was traffic? That’s what you’re going with? You could’ve left your house early, you know?”

He agreed with her, “I know, but I--Camille, s-she told me--”

“Camille?’

Y/N crossed her arms, kicking off the doorframe where she previously rested her body.

Scratching the nape of his neck nervously, Harry meekly responded. “Camille said that she wanted to start a family. She didn’t want to before but she must’ve changed her mind,”

Harry’s usually syrupy speech increased in speed. The information swirling around Y/N’s head as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. He missed his daughter’s recital for what?

Y/N shook her head to herself. There was absolutely no way that she could get herself to think that Harry was capable of doing that but the facts were stacking up against him.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” She spoke, hating the way a pleading tone was drifting in and out. “Oh God, you did!”

Harry didn’t say anything; he could barely move. He stayed stoic and let his silence do the talking.

“You missed your daughter’s recital to have sex?” Y/N said incredulously, trying to keep her volume down to no wake up the sleeping individuals in the living room. “You’re despicable,”

“Y/N, you have to understand. I just wanted--,” Harry paused, his gaze landing on the small child creeping behind her mum.

Y/N snapped her neck to look behind her, seeing Halo walking over towards them in the chilly night air. “I’m sorry, did Mumma wake you up, bub?” She stroked her head softly, feeling Halo nod.

“Hawwy?”

“Hi, my love,” Harry greeted, crouching down to get closer to her. However, the child moved away from him, hiding behind her mothers’ leg. Harry felt the pinch in his heart at the action.

“You didn’t go,” Halo said, stating the obvious, yet both Harry and Y/N knew that the statement ran deeper beneath the surface. “You pwomised Mumma you’d come. I was waiting fo’ you,”

“I know, baby,” He cooed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t make it, angel. I promise I’ll come to the next one,”

Y/N snickered under her breath, like hell she was inviting him again. Harry stared at her briefly with pain in his eyes.

“Look who I brought,” He revealed Honey the Bear in her sight, giving a smile in hopes that that would make everything better. Halo merely stared at the toy in his hand, a sad pout on her lips. She was even hesitant to make eye contact with Harry.

With a bit of coaxing, Halo took the bear from Harry, inspecting the animal with a careful gaze before throwing it on the dirty ground. Y/N tensed at the action while Harry audibly gasped.

“I don’t want it and I don’t want you!” Halo ran back inside the house, disappearing through the wall that separated the living room.

Harry slowly picked up the dirtied fur, holding it by the clean area. Y/N felt bad for him but she knew that he deserved it. There was only so much she can do to console the child to forgive him and Halo was pretty adamant about not doing so from their talk earlier.

“I hope it was worth it, Harry.”

“No no no, please. Give me one more chance,” Harry slumped his knobby knees on the welcome mat, grasping at Y/N’s exposed ankles from the short stature of her pyjama pants.

Y/N tried to kick him off, but he was insisting. “Get off of me, Harry!”

“Not until you give me another chance. I can fix this,”

“No, you can’t,” Y/N stayed firm, “I made it very clear that if you hurt her, it’s over. And you did. Over what? So you can have sex while Halo spent her time looking for you? Do you know how helpless I felt seeing the way she looked at the door, hoping that you would walk through?”

Harry expected that, but it did not do grace to the guilt that was mounting.

“She fell, Harry. Halo stumbled on her spin and she fell because she saw the empty seats beside me and saw that you weren’t there,”

Harry stood up to his full height, staring at Y/N and waiting for her to tell him that it was all made up. “I-I didn’t mean to,”

“Of course, you didn’t. You never mean anything, do you, Harry?” Y/N stated exasperatedly, “You didn’t mean it when you said you loved me, that we would wed and that we would start a family. You didn’t mean jack-shit when you promised not to hurt Halo--your daughter--but you did. You didn’t mean it then and you don’t mean it now. So please, save both of us the energy because we both know that you’ll break it over and over again,”

“T-that’s not true,”

“Is it not? You hurt me. I’m still hurting from what you did to me and I tried so hard to protect Halo from you. I gave you a chance because I couldn’t take the burden that Halo might never meet her real father and this is what you do?” Y/N closed the door behind her when she took notice of her voice rising.

“All you do is hurt people, Harry! You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You wanted a family so bad that you leave the one you could’ve had to start a new one,”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry said more firmly. “You would’ve never let me back into your life and you know it,”

“That’s not the point! I wanted you to be present in her life, not mine,” Y/N coughed a little, lifting a balled fist towards her mouth, “We have a child together for God’s sake. I love you, Harry. I still do and I don’t think I’ll ever stop because every time I look at Halo, I’m reminded of you. The good, the bad, the happy and painful memories. I can see it all playing in my head when she looks at me with those big green eyes or gives me a smile and your dimple pops into my mind,”

Y/N sighed, “I love you but I know my limit. I wanted you around for Halo, and now--I understand why we would have never worked out. You’re too selfish,”

“Selfish? That’s hardly fair, love. I tried my best, didn’t I?”

“That’s not enough. You’re too enthralled by the idea of this perfect family that you run back and forth between Halo and I or Camille. When the other doesn’t play out the way that you want, you change gears so fast to the other. That’s selfish in and of itself.”

Y/N lingered her hand on the golden doorknob, twisting the mechanic to open the door. “You can’t just leave when things don’t go your way, Harry. That’s not how it works.”

“What does?” Harry stuttered out.

“That’s not how love works,” Y/N smiled sadly, looking into his eyes as if trying to take him back to their relationship years prior. “That’s not how a family works.”

Harry’s expression crumpled, wrinkled his eyes and dampened his rosy cheeks.

“I hope you find your happiness one day, Harry. It wasn’t with me and it’s not with Halo. Wherever it is, don’t mess it up as you did with us.”

Harry was rendered speechless.

His mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The arm of Honey the Bear dangling from his fingertips as he watched the door shut behind her.

Over the years, Harry had tried desperately to get in contact with Y/N and Halo. All he wanted was his family back. His relationship with Camille was spiralling down the drain with each passing day, dwindling hopelessly, and Harry felt helpless.

He had overheard that Y/N and Connor had moved houses-- somewhere a few miles away. He had persuaded her old landlady to give him her forwarding address, and he had flown out that very weekend. He wanted his family back-- no, he desperately needed them.

He doesn't know what exactly he's expecting when he shows up at the doorstep, but Y/N's harsh tone of voice and unwelcoming demeanour was not it. He had hoped-- prayed, that there might be a sliver of a chance that she might forgive him; that Halo might forgive him. He hadn't seen the little girl since that night; Y/N hadn't allowed it.

"Come here again and there will be a restraining order sitting on your doorstep, Harry, I promise you that. And unlike some people, I keep my promises."

"A restraining order--? Y/N that's not fair!"

"Take it up legally if you'd like. Want to have a custody battle? Bring it on. Let's see whose side the judge is on after they find out that you cheated on me while I was pregnant with Halo."

"I didn't know you were bloody pregnant, dammit!" He yelled, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Oh wow! That makes it all better! You didn't know I was pregnant so you cheated on me. Nice. Great going, Harry!"

"Please for heaven's SAKE stop fucking calling me that!"

"Get out, Harry. Leave. I don't want you here. She doesn't either. And if you think I'm joking about getting a restraining order-- think again. I'm serious. Do not come near my daughter."

"She's my daughter too!," He all but shouted, "you can't keep her away from me!"

"Watch me."

And with that, she slams the door shut in his face, ignoring his incessant knocking and pleading through the wooden panel.

It was years later.

It was a cold February morning, and Harry was fresh out of a hot shower, and he put on a woollen jumper to keep from freezing.

The weather was distasteful, dull and cold, but a smile pulled on Harry's lips. It was her birthday. His little girl's birthday. So what if he hadn't seen her in 10 years? So what if Y/N hadn't spoken to him in a decade? Tears stung in his eyes at the thought that he was missing yet another of his baby girl's birthdays. Except, she wasn't really a baby anymore. She turned 13 today.

There was nobody on the planet he felt more love for than that little girl, of that he was certain.

So when Harry sat down with his letter pad and ink pen, his thoughts drifted to the short span of time he had spent with her. He reminisced on her sweet smile, the tiny dimple that carved into her cheek. Her tiny lips quirked into open-mouthed laughter. He walked to his closet and picked up Honey the Bear from among his clothes.

"Hi," he grinned, talking to the bear as if he were 5.

He sat the bear in his lap and sat at his dining table, and began to write. To his daughter, his little love. He knew that a letter wouldn't make up for what he'd put her through. He didn't even know if he was going to send her this letter, or if Y/N would let her read it.

But what's the harm in trying?

From 'Hawwy',

Hi, my love

______

Reading this again brought a lot of emotions to the surface

#harry styles imagine #Harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles x you #Harry styles angst #harry styles x blurb #harry styles

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2663 Warnings: fluff, light angst, brief mention of smut

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: I’m still sorry... or am I? 😂

PART 12 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Sunlight filters in through the part of the window not blocked by opaque curtains, the golden glow reaches Billy’s eyes making him throw an arm up to block out the brightness. He’s careful of his movements, not to disturb you as you sleep against him.

He had a good time last night bowling and meeting all your friends but when you accepted his offer to come back to his place that was when the real fun began. In the comfort of his apartment you sat curled against him on his couch, feeling warmth spread through your body from the amber colored drink in your hand, though Billy was more intoxicating.

You quickly found your way into his bed, tangled together as your hands and lips explored every part of each other until you reached soaring heights of passion and pleasure. Billy was an incredible lover and you hadn’t thought that simply because he had broken your dry spell. He knew how to please and did so generously. You didn’t intend on staying over but truthfully your legs felt like jelly afterwards you couldn’t do anything but stay beside him, falling asleep in his arms.

Billy puts his arm down, shifting just a little so he could face away from the sunlight, the slight movement unintentionally waking you. He felt bad, watching as your heavy lids blinked themselves open a few times before they focused on his beautiful smile.

“Sorry, go back to sleep babe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A smile pulled at your lips as you felt the soft lingering touch of his lips. “S’okay, I want to stay awake.”

Billy smiled at the soft noises you made as you took in a stiff inhale of breath, your body tensing up as you turned away from him, bringing your hand to cover your mouth as you yawned. The feel of morning breath was heavy on your tongue so you decided to go to the bathroom, hoping there would be mouthwash you could freshen up with.

Goosebumps prickled at your skin when you pulled off the sheets, sitting up as you scanned the floor for your clothes that had been scattered around the room amidst the throes of passion. Billy’s eyes roamed your bare skin, memories of last night bring warmth to his body, feeling himself ache for you again the longer he stared.

You spotted your sweater, pushing yourself up from the low platform bed to grab the crumbled fabric from the floor, stretching it over your skin. Beside it was your pants though you picked up your lacy bottoms and stepped into them before leaving his room to find the bathroom.

Billy leaned back against the arm he folded under his head, not feeling like getting up to find his phone wherever he last left it. He didn’t need to distract himself anyway since you walked back in, slightly shivering as your bare feet walked along the cold floors.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling back the blanket.

As you began to get back in bed your movements were halted by “nuh uh” as Billy shook his head. “No clothes in bed, it’s the rules.” He smirked, sitting up towards the edge of the bed.

A giggle escaped your lips as you moved towards Billy’s side of the bed, standing in front of him. His hands went under your sweater, holding you firmly by your waist.

“Those are the rules, huh?” You repeated, grinning coyly as you let your hands glide up his arms, caressing his smooth skin until your fingers met a raised ridge along his left shoulder.

Your brows furrowed with concern as you stared at another scar on his chest, having missed both in the dimmed lighting last night. They were clearly old but by the way Billy’s jaw tensed you suspected they weren’t fully healed.

His dark gaze wandered as he focused on something behind you, his trance dissolving from the sound of your sweet voice saying his name.

“There was… this guy, Arthur. He volunteered at the Ray of Hope group home I was in. We all thought he was so cool, playin’ stickball and hoops with us. I was ten or eleven at the time.” Billy clenched his jaw, clearing his throat of the lump that formed there.

His hands dropped into his lap and he began wringing them. “When a grown man tells you that you’re pretty you know nothing good is coming. Let’s just say I wasn’t interested in the kind of games that he had in mind. I went after him with the stickball bat, caught him a few times before he broke my arm… ripped my rotator cuff in three places.”

You had been listening quietly as Billy spoke, not realizing you were holding your breath until his hand cupped your cheek and you let it out shakily. His story wasn’t new– no, unfortunately you had heard about this situation too many times but despite being familiar with this in your line of work Billy’s story really affected you.

No matter who the person or what their story is, you care deeply about all the cases you have from Metro-General but Billy was different. You really liked him and hearing him talk about the terrible memories from his past reminded you about Pietro and what could have happened if someone had been there to help. Growing up in the system is hard enough as it is, but if the caretakers aren’t doing their job to protect these children…

Sighing, your lips flattened into a line of frustration. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Billy.”

“Hey… don’t, okay?” His hands wrapped around your waist as he looked up to meet your sympathetic eyes. “Everyone’s got a story, this one’s mine.”

His lips stretched across his face into something that wasn’t quite a smile but not a frown either. You knew it wasn’t easy to share, something he clearly can’t forget though you appreciated his openness, feeling closer because of it.

Leaning down you cupped Billy’s cheeks, feeling his scruff scratch at your palms as you placed a gentle kiss to his lips. You felt him smile against you as he kissed back, his hands grabbing the hem of your sweater and breaking the kiss for him to pull it over your head.

Billy kissed your exposed skin, softly, slowly as he laid you down on the bed. His touch was like heaven, setting fire to your soul, and together you climbed higher and higher until you reached the apex of pleasure a few more times over.

You got home late in the afternoon knowing you had a novel’s worth of texts to return from your friends, mainly the girls wanting to know all the details. Bucky’s was the only text that you replied to right away. He hoped you would get home safe, and behind your shared wall he let out a sigh of relief, reading your message that you did, even if it meant you were only getting home now.

Bucky shuffled reluctantly to his door, wondering why there’s a knock. Looking through the peephole, he can’t help but let a smile stretch over his face.

“Hey neighbor!” you said, with a beaming smile.

He hadn’t seen you in a few days, throwing himself deep into his work, thankful for the distraction. “Hey Y/N.” Bucky takes note of what you’re wearing, a comfy hoodie and oversized polar bear pajama pants. You always had the cutest pajamas.

“You busy? I was gonna watch a movie and order a bunch of food since my period came and all I want to do is eat. Sorry was that TMI?” you asked, seeing his expression change in a multitude of ways.

He let out a slightly uncomfortable laugh. “Where’s Billy?”

“Working.”

Bucky wasn’t happy with that answer, making him feel like you were settling for plans with him since Billy was busy. He was about to decline, making up a lie about anything just so he didn’t have to feel bad about himself before you continued.

“But I’d rather hang with you anyway. Not that Billy would care about my period like that but, I don’t know, we’re not at that point yet, you know? Like I feel like I can always be myself around you.”

His blank expression turned into a smile as Bucky nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah I get that. I feel the same about you.”

Bucky felt a weird sensation in his stomach as he stood there smiling at you, breaking out of his trance as you spoke again.

“Okay so hurry up and come over. I don’t know what I want to eat. I kinda want tacos, but also pizza. And if you have cookies bring them over because I already ate the ones I had.”

It felt right, sitting beside you on the couch, stuffing your faces and laughing as you watched a movie. Bucky took it upon himself to grab the bottle of Advil from your bathroom, bringing over a full glass of water for you to take for your cramps.

“Thanks. You know, I know you hate relationships and stuff but you’d make a really good boyfriend.”

Bucky was frozen, the only sound he could hear was that of his heart drumming rapidly in his ear. “Y-you think so?” he croaked out, swallowing down the thick knot in his throat with a gulp of his drink.

You nodded, leaning forward to set the glass down on your table. “Why, you don’t?”

“No, that’s… That’s not it.” He turned away from you, silent and contemplative.

It wasn’t always like this. Bucky was a young boy that grew out of the idea that girls had cooties long before his friends did. It started with Olivia. They met in sixth grade, two nervous kids in a brand new school that happened to sit next to each other in homeroom.

Her eyes were like honey and Bucky was stuck, letting himself get lost in her beauty. He memorized the freckles speckled across the nose and cheeks of her sandy brown skin like a galaxy of stars, each one more dazzling than the last. Her hair was polished bronze packed in tight corkscrews that Bucky loved brushing aside so he could kiss her; every morning before they got to class, during lunch where he neglected his food in favor of her lips, and after school when they parted.

Bucky loved her as much as a young man could love a young woman, his first love, the girl he thought he would have everything with. He was a fool to think he could have it all, blinded by his utter devotion to Olivia before he realized his relationship was more one-sided than he realized.

They spent seven years together and not once did Olivia tell him she wasn’t planning their future the same way Bucky was. Olivia meant everything to him and when she was accepted to college on the West Coast Bucky immediately started looking into transferring to a school out there. It didn’t matter that their music program wasn’t as accredited, he was willing to do anything to make what he and Olivia had last.

What Bucky didn’t know was that Olivia didn’t feel the same. Not anymore. She fell out of love with him and was hoping to use graduation as a clean break. She broke his heart and Bucky was devastated.

He didn’t understand how she could stop loving him just like that. How it was so easy for her to let go of all their history; wondering what the turning point was in their relationship and why she didn’t tell him. His trust was broken. She strung him along for months, years maybe? It wasn’t just the fact that they broke up, she had moved on. Olivia was with someone new and every day Bucky asked himself why he wasn’t worthy of love.

He shut down, losing himself in composition, letting the melody of strife carry him through the sea of heartache. It was decided then, by a boy who was barely a man, to take what he needs and never be vulnerable again. It was easy.

It was easy.

Over the past few months everything has changed. There was a moment Bucky was ready to abandon his beliefs. He had grown up, matured; he knows his boundaries and knows there is so much more of himself to give to someone.

Bucky thought that someone could be you. It was a silly idea. You were just friends. But he was friends with Olivia first too. He felt the same ease as you did with him, enjoying spending time with you even if you did nothing. He thought there might have been a chance, somehow for him to break free of the mold he set upon his life and ask you out but someone beat him to it.

You and Billy had been seeing more and more of each other. He remembers that feeling from so long ago, desperate to spend every waking moment with the person that sent your heart a-flutter. Bucky understood when you cancelled plans with him, for the times Billy was able to make a last minute date after work arrangements changed. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He couldn’t object even though he wanted to. You were happy and Bucky felt worse the more he thought about even thinking of taking that away from you.

He changed the subject, letting the movie resume but the thoughts never left his mind.

For the first time in a very long time Bucky is lonely. While the world is out overspending on chocolates and roses, fancy dinners and champagne Bucky lays in bed, trying to distract himself with a movie. He’s usually alone on Valentine’s Day, by choice. It’s too complicated to sleep with one of his regulars, not wanting to get their hopes up by any means on the day that celebrates love.

Bucky exhaled a heavy breath, upset with himself for being unable to keep his mind off everything. His heart is a dilapidated shack lost in a desolate wasteland. Abandoned after so many years, it’s dust covered, with a haze of cobwebs clouding over the part of himself that used to thrum with life.

And suddenly the walls become unsteady. His heart begins to crumble at the sound coming from the other side of the wall. It’s you, with unmistakable cries of pleasure, in a duet of passion with Billy.

Bucky shudders, feeling uncomfortable for being able to hear something that should be so intimate. It’s payback perhaps, a taste of his own medicine for all the times he’s disturbed you in the same way.

His mind runs wild against his will, imagining you in bed as the soundtrack of your lovemaking permeates the thin walls. It’s bittersweet poison to his ears.

Bucky throws the blankets off him, nearly tripping over the boots he haphazardly toed off earlier as he rushes towards his desk. He grabs his headphones to block out the sounds, a painful reminder of what could never be.

He grabs his phone, scrolling through his contact list. So many names and yet he feels nothing for them. He stops at your name, his chest hitching with agony. He wants what you have. To love fully, and give himself completely to someone. To renovate all the broken pieces inside of himself.

His fingers tap away and Bucky refuses to stop himself of their doing. He’s scared but excited, knowing the threat of getting hurt again is very real but he’s had enough of telling himself that the way he’s been living is what he’s really wanted.

With his own melodies playing in his ear Bucky is ignorant of the way you cry out Billy’s name. He is blissfully ignorant, opening the Tinder app he’s just downloaded, creating a profile because he’s finally ready to give dating a real shot.

PART 14

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #billy russo x reader

[peachyqueenly]

The Night of Witches

Rated: T

White Lily Cookie goes to The Night of Witches seeking answers... but this time, she is not alone. Will this affect how Fortuna writes the story?

Link to it on AO3 (if you prefer to read it there): https://archiveofourown.org/works/31830856

//Quick note before we start!!

Firstly, I'd like to thank my friends Lou and Cas (if either of you are reading this, mwah mwah thank you for your help besties!!) for helping me proofread!!! Yall are the best and your suggestions definitely helped bring this work to life <3.

Secondly, feel free not to click this link until you either a. reach the part where they appear or b. finish the entire story, but here is a link to the design for an OC (or alt design, if you will) that appears here. I find having a visual reference helps me, so: https://twitter.com/PeachyQueenly/status/1399134036359106567?s=20.

Finally, just in case, a fair warning that there is an injury (someone loses a finger) and a death in here. I don't think I wrote it too graphically, but pay heed to the T rating.

~

Such a solemn place...

White Lily had told him it was just an evening trip. Nothing specific, just that she had some business to attend to outside the soaring peaks and sweet valleys of the Vanilla Kingdom. She told him not to worry himself to the point of crumbling... and at first, he felt bad for not believing her mournful eyes.

But now? He was glad to have trusted his judgement rather than her words... for once.

The smell of burnt dough and... batter? Like the lingering smell of the occasional Cake Hound attack. That was the first thing that registered in Pure Vanilla’s senses as he got lost in his friend’s frantic mumblings. Then, he noticed how dark and dreary this place was compared to the sunshine that blessed their home. Even in the deep shrubbery that was White Lily’s personal residence, the faint traces of sunlight could be seen in the sprawling vegetation was in no doubt comforting to one such as her.

Here, however? Nothing but darkness and a foreboding sense that something was... off. As if this was a place no mere Cookie was meant to be.

“The Night of Witches...”

The Night of Witches? He recalled hearing about that back in the two’s school days. Though, no Cookie was able to learn much beyond its name. Something about it being too dangerous for them. Or those who devoted themselves to its research leaving one day— like Lily did after her crime, only to never return. Sentencing their knowledge to secrecy forevermore.

That would all change tonight.

Pure Vanilla had situated himself not far from the display of desserts Lily herself hid behind. That’s when he saw... them.

Even more towering than those grand displays were three figures; cloaked in dark robes and large hats not so different from what the practicing wizards he helped train wore. Yet, their hats lacked the crispy charm their waffle cone attire had. Those jagged edges bringing with it an air of uneasiness—unlike the soft breezes that passed through his kingdom’s canyons.

“...AND WOULD YOU LOOK AT THESE! THEY LOOK AMAZING!”

… huh?

“PHEW! I BAKED A TON OF COOKIES!”

Cookies? Were these the celestials that blessed them with life—

“HERE, TRY ONE! YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT!”

The crack that reverberated through the air could only be matched by one from all those years ago— that glass-shattering sound which marked his last day as a student of the Blueberry Yogurt Academy. Pure Vanilla never imagined there would be a sound more frightening and life changing than that.

… and yet, that crunch of a Cookie—one of their own—being bitten into. It was enough to turn even one as pure and sweet as he into a trembling mess. One hand covering his mouth as to contain the emotions that threatened to spill out as tears and screams.

White Lily, meanwhile, had never been able to maintain her composure well. Even back when she committed her original sin, the immediate regret and despair she felt was evident in her cries. And her inability to escape the doomed school without the help of her dearest friend. So, it came as no surprise that this revelation sent her into a spiral of mutterings, shaking, and... resolve? No, that last one was surprising. Her insistence that Cookies she hardly knew must escape was a sign of just how much stronger their endeavors with the other three had made her.

All her courage was met with were eerie smiles and silence, however. Perhaps these Cookies had already met their fate... doomed to become the next generation of tragedies.

How cruel... how defeating, Vanilla thought. No one deserved this.

“I...”

“--AAAAAH!”

Pure Vanilla’s eyes shot open as he watched the one dearest to him back away in despair, only to then fall backwards. Off the table edge she was so precariously situated upon. From his view, he had little idea what awaited her... but he was not about to let her find out.

He was not about to let her be subjected to more suffering than she already had.

The beholder always on his person could only glare and roll its eye as Vanilla threw it aside and dashed forward. Jumping into action—literally. He pushed himself forward with the swiftness of the wind, and his hand soon met with her own bandaged one.

He pulled Lily back over the table... throwing himself into the maul of the beast in her stead.

Pure Vanilla could only smile as gravity took hold of him. Smile as he always did... even as the rising heat threatened to crumble him before his body even touched that sickly-looking dough below. Regret could come later. For now, relief came out as a few stray tears and a soft whisper, "Thank you, gods—”

…

White Lily only sat there, wide eyed and shaking as she tried to process what on Earthbread just happened. The soft plop of Vanilla’s poor body made her feel the five four stages of grief in just ten seconds. Denial: there was no way this was happening. Anger: why did this have to happen; why did they have to continue to suffer? Bargaining: please, let the hands of time turn back and reverse this. Depression: this was all her fault.

Acceptance was the logical next step, but it was far too early for such a thing.

Her mouth opened and closed as wordless breaths came from trembling lips. Until, finally, she tried uttering one thing, “Vanilla—”

“WHOSE COOKIE IS THAT?”

Lily quickly covered her mouth, both to stifle her frightened voice and hold back the bile she felt bubbling up. Quickly, she took cover behind a stray plate covered in desserts. Such a sight didn’t do much for the sick feeling in her gut, but at least it offered her cover from the stares of those witches and ever-smiling Cookies.

“LOOK, IT FELL INTO THE ULTIMATE DOUGH!”

Fell? Into the Ultimate Dough? She had little to no idea what this Ultimate Dough was, or what it meant for Pure Vanilla. However, that was perhaps more terrifying than at least knowing her friend’s fate.

“”T’IS ALRIGHT! LET’S JUST BAKE IT AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!”

… Huh?

“YEAH, LET’S BAKE IT!”

No... please—

“LET’S SEE WHAT FORTUNA HAS IN STORE!”

Thick streams of syrup ran down White Lily’s face. She wanted to scream for this all to cease so badly, and she probably would have if she could. This couldn’t be happening. This endless night... their endless suffering had to end eventually, right? From their mad dash into the night following the destruction she caused, to this night they were taught was beyond sacred...

Her endless mistakes couldn’t continue to doom them both, right!?

She could only sit and watch as those cruel hands of theirs began to knead the dough. How each tool so effortlessly and callously did its job: the flattening done by the rolling pin... the cutting of the dough with a tool she remembered gliding her hand across all those years ago. How cold and hollow such metal had been...

Was Pure Vanilla feeling all of this? All the, no doubt, painful experiences such cruel gods wrought?

White Lily became consumed by thoughts such as these. It was all so gut-wrenching to watch, and yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away. It was all so disturbingly mesmerizing.

Soon, many bodies laid across baking sheets normally used as parchment by Cookies. Could one of them be the friend she’d go to hell and back to save? She almost hoped none of them were. As the unfortunate fate of these Cookies was not lost on her.

How could it be? Such a loud crunch left a stain no amount of scrubbing and scratching could rub off.

All those poor, unfortunate souls were then moved over to the oven almost every Cookie escaped from. Perhaps what were once thought as gods had finally grew tired of their endless torture and torment... for now, at least. Soon, they’d move from simply trying their handiwork to...

No, Lily couldn’t bear to remember what The Night of Witches meant for the Cookies who fell victim to it. To witness to it all again.

She needed to get out of here. Fast.

Trembling, White Lily began forcing her old, tired limbs to move. Her staff acting as a cane to support the weight of both her body, which felt on the verge of crumbling, and her new sins. Someone needed to get out of here. Someone needed to tell this story.

Pure Vanilla’s sacrifice couldn’t be for nothing.

… That was when a wave of doom washed over her. This feeling... this... scent. She knew it well. The smell of molasses and pomegranates: Black Magic unique to the priestesshood they visited as young wizards. How... could the witches have gotten a hold of such magic?

And, more importantly, why did magic familiar to her fill Lily with such fear?

She was given no time to theorize. Rather than the sound of breaking glass or crunching of their fragile bodies, the clanking sound of metal vibrated throughout the room. Catching the attention of anyone conscious to it: including the witches and White Lily. The oven doors... they were slammed wide open through no fault of the ones using them. Whatever the answer was to her previous inquires, it was coming. Soon. She could feel it.

A whisper fell from her lips, “What—”

“Ha... HA.... AH HA HA HA HA HA!”

If her magenta irises could widen any more, they did so as that howl echoed around her. A familiar yet twisted laugh. One that was far too sickeningly sweet to mean good fortune.

It can’t be—

“Haaa... who could have known?” relief and a newfound truth came from the reborn Cookie’s lips. A truth as clear as the finest sugar crystals. “Who could have known it was so simple!! All the world’s problems... they all have one simple answer!!”

Another clang of metal reverberated as it slammed the fork-turned-staff against the oven. The loud noise awakening the thing on its aforementioned staff—revealing a burning cyan iris. Such an intense stare could serve as a declaration of its own, but the staff’s commander still offered its own words to those there to bear witness, “Witches... Cookies... truly, none of them have the right, nor should be given the privilege, to define our fate.”

This can’t be real.

“Reborn in a new body... and with a new name. Yes, you lot may call me Black Molasses Cookie—the one true god of this world.”

Pure Vanilla?, White Lily thought: dumbfounded and speechless.

The Witches, meanwhile, gave Black Molasses not a second of respite. Or rather, one Witch didn’t. That one fool amongst them lunged forward in an attempt to grab what was meant to be a tasty treat to them. No doubt to crush and then... eat him. He was just a Cookie, after all. What harm could he truly cause?

“Ha... foolish—”

Two eyes opened and glared at those who should terrify all Cookies: one a familiar cyan to the trembling wallflower, and the other a red that burned a hole straight through her very soul. “As I just said...” he declared “Only I get to define our fates!!”

Seeming to know what its master wanted, a soft glow emanated from the staff before a beam was fired straight towards the Witch. That which wiped one of her elongated fingers clean off. Not a drop spilled from the cauterized wound, but the smell of burning... something made Lily feel even sicker than she already did.

Meanwhile, Black Molasses laughed as his first victim wailed in agony, “HA HA!! That’s what—” his incoming tirade was interrupted when those wails and screams of the Witches turned into a mad dash, “Awww, leaving so soon? Don’t forget—you left your cakes in the oven!!”

Everything happened so fast. Cake beasts arose at the slam of his staff— awakened by its call. Their feral growls and gnawing were not directed at Cookiekind this time, however. Instead, they chased after the fleeing Witches. Bearing their fangs until they found something to sink their fangs into.

White Lily could only stare in horror at what it was.

Pained and agonized screams left the Witch who, just moments ago, had the misfortunate of losing a finger. If only all she lost tonight was that finger. Now, the beasts’ crunching fangs tore at what was left of her withering body and corrupted soul. Until not a single wail was left. And all that filled the air was a metallic scent and the howling of beasts all too pleased with their work.

“Remember this night well, everyone!!! As, tonight, I have shown the world why I am to be the one who divines and rules above all!!”

The Cakes howled louder at such a declaration.

No. No, this couldn’t be... this wasn’t her dearest friend—

“Waah...”

Finally, a much more pleasant sound registered in White Lily’s senses. A child’s voice. How had she not noticed someone so young was but a few steps away from her. Were they cowering there the entire time? Alone? Regardless, she wouldn’t let them be alone for any longer. “Young one, Do you... we need to...” A surprised gasp came as, upon closer inspection, she noticed, “Your arm—!!”

“My, my~ and what do we have here?”

There was no time for her to push the issue. Quickly, White Lily assumed a defensive position in front of the young Cookie. Or... as defensive of a pose she could assume.

Her gaze betrayed her. For the agony and fear behind her eyes served to show just how despaired she truly was. Just how much she looked at Black Molasses and knew one thing: this was all her fault. Whatever happened next could’ve been prevented if it weren’t for her twisted, curious mind. White Lily had no right to convince him otherwise, and yet she persisted, “Vanilla, I—”

“Ah, you still see that old fool in me, do you now?” not a single ounce of respect was given to what Black Molasses considered a mere fragment of his past, “Tell me, dearest Lillia.” he jeered, “You saw the same thing we all saw. You, me, and even that child... yet you look on at my divine judgement in fear. Why?”

“I...”

He sighed. “Perhaps you consider my methods too cruel? Too beneath Cookies meant to help others?” with every word used to poke at her resolve, he took a step closer to both Lily and the child she kept guard over—blue flames rising and dancing from the back of his gown, “And what of you, young one? What do you think of this night Cookies are told is blessed and holy?”

“Leave them out of--”

“Black... Molasses Cookie...?”

“There, there. I hear you, child.” with a flick of his staff, White Lily was hoisted into the air and thrown to the side like a toy who had long outlived its value. A helpless yelp punctuated the thud that followed. Black Molasses didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, his focus shifted towards the kid, “You who lost your arm— no doubt to those infernal Witches— understands the need for the world to be rebuilt, yes?”

The child nodded, “Hm... I guess... yes.”

“Then follow me.” A gentle smile accompanied his invitation. “I can not only provide that which you need, but I can also show you a better world. One built in my image... I need but your name and devotion.”

“... Red... Velvet Cookie.” the young one responded. The simple act of sharing his name serving as an allegiance to this new Cookie’s vision.

“I see, Red Velvet...” Black Molasses mused as his hand met with the velvet-soft locks of Red Velvet’s hair. Then, his attention turned back towards Lily, “And as for you~”

The previous impact had left White Lily rather shaken and dazed, on the border of consciousness and unconsciousness. Really, it was surprising she wasn’t out like a light by now. What with the exhaustion that came with tonight’s events and the thud she had experienced earlier.

“Still awake, are we?” a crooked smile, and then Black Molasses held her chin in his hand. Directing what little of an attention span she had left towards him. Only him, “Consider my mercy, in spite of your waywardness, a blessing.” he leaned in close, crooning into her ear “I have great plans regarding you. For now, have sweet dreams... then, warn the world of my name.”

Black Molasses then let Lily’s head drop back down before turning his back to her. Leading Red Velvet away from his disciple with some remaining doubts and back towards the oven. They had a great deal of baking to do, after all. Plenty of baking... especially of one particular soul who deserved the ultimate payback.

“... not that any such warning will stop me, of course.”

And with that, White Lily slipped into unconsciousness. That sickeningly sweet laughter lingering in the air as she hoped this was all just one bad dream...

~

//Hello!! Peach (Katie) here!!!! I'd like to thank you for reading my work-- it means a lot to me that anyone would be willing to check out my writing. Trying to figure out both White Lily's internal conflicts, and how Black Molasses would differ from Dark Enchantress, was a lot of fun. I definitely want to revisit this AU both in writing and drawing over time!!

If you would be interested in anything else I do (as I'm primarily an illustrator), check me out on Twitter @peachyqueenly, A03 @Peach_KT, and instagram @peach_kt. Thank you so much again, and I look forward to bringing everyone my next creation.

Quick credit to Cookie Run Kingdom for some of the lines-- as some were remained unchanged or slightly edited to fit the scene.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #white lily cookie #pure vanilla cookie #cookie run oc #black molasses cookie #red velvet cookie

[editorofeverything]

Day 6? of going through my drafts I never finished or posted because ✧Low Self-Esteem✧

Except I started going through my fanfic folder... and getting really into the plotlines I had going on there... and I may have started completing them all of a sudden?? I won’t question it because I’m afraid the will to write will suddenly go away so here is my now complete first part of my Daminette fic I wrote like a year ago?

So, without further ado, here is four times the Ladybug magic teleported Marinette to where she would be safest, and the one time she was already there—Part One.

~

When Tim Drake started his nightly shift in the Batcave with a pot of coffee in hand and a research project in the works, he didn’t expect a magical portal to spit out a ladybug themed superhero at the Batmobile with a cut off scream.

He froze as the swirling red portal disappeared and the hero that made a dent in the Batmobile stopped moving. He reached over and pushed the SOS button that would alert the others that something was wrong before grabbing his coffee mug as a weapon and heading over towards the girl.

She was small, was his first discovery. Probably shorter and younger than Damian, and yet she was wearing a bright red suit over her curled body and a mask over her closed eyes. She was hurt, and Tim didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t slept in over a week and the brain cells that were left were combusting at the sight of a child crumbled on the floor after playing the hero game.

He sucked in a breath and froze at the puddle of blood starting to pool under her head. The crashing of glass broke him out of his stupor and he barely noticed his favorite mug broken on the floor beside him before he threw himself at the girl’s side and eased her onto her back so he could look her over. All he could do was breathe a sigh of relief when he could feel her pulse beating weakly. He tried her mask first, and, after discovering that it wouldn’t budge from her skin, he realized that whatever magic she possessed would prevent him from checking her for injuries.

He brushed her hair out of her face and saw the bruises and scrapes all over before he checked her head. Her lips parted in a small cry when he touched a tender spot and he cursed at his red coated fingers when he pulled away.

“What the hell is it now, Drake? Do you even know what time it is?” Jason walked over with Alfred on his tail and rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder, startling him. “What’s up-? Who the fuck is that?”

“She teleported here. She’s… Jay, she’s hurt really bad and she’s some type of magic so I don’t even know how hurt she is and-” A beep interrupted his rant and they both looked for the source on her.

“Alfred, get the first aid kit and get the others in here.”

“Of course, Master Jason.”

~

“All I’m saying, Father, is that maybe if we put him through a rehab system, these ridiculous late night emergencies would decrease.”

“They’re not all hallucinations, Damian. We haven’t had an incident since last month.”

“Until now,” Damian huffed as he and his father ran into Alfred who was carrying a first aid kit, some blankets, and some towels.

“Was Tim injured, Alfred?”

“No, Master Bruce. There seems to be an intruder in the Batcave. I believe Master Tim and Master Jason are currently trying to assess her for injuries, but it seems she is of the magical variety and her suit is giving them some trouble.”

Damian was already sprinting to the cave while Bruce grabbed some of the items from Alfred and walked with him to the group of his kids kneeling around a small figure on the ground.

Damian saw the dent in the Batmobile before he saw the girl and actually stopped in surprise. “She did that?”

Bruce followed behind him and made a surprised noise as well before moving towards Tim and Jason’s side. “What happened?”

“A portal opened up and she was thrown into the Batmobile. She’s been unconscious the whole time. Her head is bleeding and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a concussion. I can tell she’s hurt more, but we can’t take off her suit to check.”

Jason placed a towel under her head and she moaned at the movement, her eyes fluttering.

“She has these earrings that have been beeping for the past three minutes. I think they might be where she gets her powers from. They seem to be timing out.”

A final beeping noise echoed throughout the cave before a bright pink shine encased her body, revealing a small girl. She had blackish-blue hair tied in falling pigtails, pale skin that was speckled with bruises and lacerations. Her clothes looked impeccable, though the blood from her wounds was starting to soak into her red sundress.

“What the actual fuck is that?” Jason spotted a round, red figure moving on the girls collarbone.

The bat family took in the little red bug as it sat up and shook its head before seeming to notice the girl she was on.

“Marinette!” the thing spoke and Tim clutched Damian’s arm with an urgency that startled him.

“Please tell me you heard that thing talk.” Damian patted Tim’s hand lightly.

“You are not alone in hearing the kwami talk, Master Tim.” Alfred straightened up at the sight of the mystical being fretting over her charge’s unresponsive body.

“Kwami?” Bruce muttered under his breath, looking to Alfred for answers.

“Tikki, Goddess of Creation,” Alfred pressed his fist into his hand and bowed towards her, “how may we assist you?”

Tikki turned her wide eyes to Alfred and floated up to him. “Please help her! She’s more hurt than I can heal, and the fight is still waging on! Without Ladybug, the entire team will fail!”

Bruce straightened up at that and turned to his sons. “Jason, Tim, keep pressure on her head wound and wrap up any minor lacerations. She’s lost too much blood. Damian, come with me so we can get some more supplies for Miss Marinette.”

“Father, a word, please?” Bruce paused as soon as they exited the cave and were heading for the kitchen with a list of things Alfred told them to grab like water, cookies, and something light for Marinette when she would wake up. Damian had gotten better with being open and calm with his family for a while, but it still took time to unlearn years of life being taught one way for so long.

“What is it, Damian?”

“I… I know everyone’s concerned about the girl—I am too—but has anyone thought of what will happen if she wakes up? Will she recognize the Batcave? Will we reveal our identities to her, especially since she’s been forcefully revealed to us? What if she doesn’t wake up? How will we explain how a foreign girl ended up in Gotham?”

“These are all good questions, Damian, and I’m glad you’re able to share your concerns with me. In this matter, though… I believe we’ll just take Alfred’s que for right now. If at any point you feel uncomfortable with your identity being discovered when Miss Marinette wakes up, then you can leave and we’ll fill you in later.”

Damien’s silence carried into the kitchen as Bruce started handing things to him to take back.

“I’ll go back,” Damien finally said as Bruce pulled the cookie jar off the cabinet, planning on taking the whole thing. Who knew how much those kwamis could eat? Bruce certaintly didn’t, and the fact they were magic too didn’t help him any. “I think… Alfred usually knows best, and I trust his judgement… As well as the rest of the family’s. I want to make sure the girl is okay firsthand, and we can go from there.”

Bruce felt a wave of affection and pride towards his son, and wished Damian would look him in the eyes, but he would settle with placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then, let’s go give them a hand, son.”

~

Bruce and Damian joined the group quickly enough to arrive just as Tikki and Alfred were starting their own conversation while Jason and Tim assisted the girl. Damian stood with his father, both with their guard up in case someone could possibly track Marinette and Tikki down. Magic, they agreed before they entered the room, is a fickle thing, and they didn’t want to take any chances of their family, or their sudden patient, to be caught off guard.

“You were a previous Miraculous holder, weren’t you? I can sense your bright soul. Who was your chosen?” Tikki asked, hovering just over Marinette’s collarbone. Alfred didn’t know if it was because she was protective of the girl or injured herself, but he felt it too rude to ask directly of the tiny god.

“Duusu, the Peafowl Miraculous of Emotion. We were separated after a year of us working together, and I never knew what happened to him or Nooroo, who was taken as well.” Alfred could tell Master Bruce and the boysr were listening intently on their conversation, but wouldn’t interrupt. Detectives they might be, but Alfred raised Master Bruce, and they, in turn, raised the boys to have manners. He could sense their questions piling up, but was confident they would save them for after they delt with Marinette’s most pressing wounds.

“Unfortunately, they ended up in the wrong hands. It’s why Ladybug and Chat Noir were called together in the first place. Marinette has made excellent work in finding and defeating Hawkmoth, but there has been too many obstacles in her way lately. She’s been through a lot…” Tikki turned on to face Marinette and Alfred was overcome at the overwhelming sense of sadness emanating from Tikki.

“We will do all we can for her,” he choked out, and shook his head at Jason and Tim, who paused at the catch in Alfred’s voice. “For such a young child to be a holder though…” Tikki sat on Alfred’s shoulder as Tim and Jason started wrapping Marinette’s head gently and patched up some larger cuts she had on her side. Her ribs were likely broken if the mottled bruised running down her side were anything to go by, and her ankle seemed to be sprained, if not broken as well.

“The previous Guardian made a rushed decision on who to choose for the Miraculous. It just so happens that Marinette is the one soul in this lifetime that resonates with mine. Despite her age, she has become one of the best Ladybugs I’ve had the honor of assisting, and she is now the Guardian of the Miraculous Box as well.”

“Guardian? She’s a Guardian as well? How could that be?”

“The previous Guardian’s identity was compromised by Hawkmoth, the villain with the butterfly miraculous. He’s been terrorizing Paris for almost three years now. Marinette had to step in as Guardian or the Miraculous Box would be lost.”

“Tikki…” The girl winced away from Jason and Tim’s hands and she whimpered.

“Tikki…” Bruce began in a steely tone, “how old is Miss Marinette?”

“She’s turning eighteen in a few months. I know she’s young, and I hate to put so much on her shoulders, but she’s the only one who can be Ladybug, and competent enough to be Guardian. She’s intelligent, strong emotionally and physically, and her heart is pure. She is the embodiment of what Ladybug is supposed to be.” After that speech, Damian took a breath and knelt down between Todd and Drake to assist. They still didn’t know everything, which could be dangerous for them, but Damian felt that if he were to take a chance on anyone, it would be this girl that was worthy of so much power and responsibility.

As soon as Damian brushed his fingers against her wrist to check for a break, however, the girl suddenly seized up and Damian jolted his hand away. Tikki gave him a strange look before floating over to her chosen.

“Tikki!” Marinette shot up, instantly collapsing with her head pressed into her knees with a groan. Tikki nudged Marinette cheek with her head reassuringly.

“It’s ok, Marinette. We’re safe for now. Please lie down or you’ll hurt yourself more.”

“Safe…? But where are we? School?”

“I believe that a Ladybug power was activated when Mayura cornered you. It teleported you to where you would be safest in the world.”

“Safest?” Marinette looked around and seemed to panic at the group of men surrounding her. “Oh my god, who are these people?! Did they see me transform? Tikki, you’re supposed to stay hidden!”

“Excuse me, Miss Marinette, but you can rest assured that you and Tikki are safe here.” Alfred rested a gentle hand on her arm, and she immediately relaxed. “I know first-hand the challenges of being a Miraculous holder, and we will do everything in our power to assist you if need be.”

For a moment, Marinette seemed paralyzed. She was looking at Alfred unfocusedly, as if she was seeing right through him. Suddenly, she met his eyes and started speaking a language only the three could understand.

“You have the soul of emotion and light. Touched by one who has been stolen and corrupted. You have my trust and thanks for your assistance, young Peafowl.” Marinette stated in an ancient, unfamiliar language before blinking out of her haze and nearly falling to one side if Damian hadn’t grabbed her and kept her propped up.

“Sorry,” she blinked slowly and focused on Alfred again, “I’m still getting used to that.”

“Your trust in me is an honor, my lady Guardian, but I doubt I can be considered very young anymore,” Alfred said with some humor in his voice. Marinette smiled warmly at him and, with the help of Damian, Jason, and Tim, eased back onto a few blankets and some towels to cushion her beating head.

“Damian, pass some water over,” Tim asked, still checking over Marinette’s head. Damian did so, being uncharacteristically silent during the entire conversation.

“My head is fine,” Marinette said in a thick accent. “I believe I hit it after I have been teleported, not during the battle.”

“You speak English very well, Miss,” Bruce praised, leading to Jason cooing at her blush.

“Ah, well, it’s important to be able to communicate with tourist during akuma attacks. I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice, though. And it’s definitely not as good as your French.” Marinette gave a shy, kind smile to Alfred.

“What did I hit my head on, anyways? I’ve been thrown before, but I’ve never hit anything so hard that I’ve passed out and detransformed.”

The resounding silence echoed throughout the room and Marinette took a breath before sitting up properly and keeping her gaze steady at the ground.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Don’t even tell me your names.”

“Miss?”

“I’m a superhero fighting an evil villain with magic jewelry, I know the awkward ‘I have a secret I can’t tell you’ silence. I haven’t exactly been on this side of the conversation much though. I understand. Just let me catch my breath and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“’Catch your breath?’ You have a concussion! And broken ribs! You can’t fight like this!” Jason was getting too worked up, but this was a child.

“Yes, I can. Just give me a minute. I’ve fought in worse conditions, and I’ll be better once I can reverse the damage.”

“Reverse the damage?” Damian said, and was almost disappointed when Marinette didn’t look at him directly. She wasn’t looking at any of them, except for Alfred, in the face. Deniability, most likely, but definitely not what he was initially expecting when he decided to stay with his family despite the chances of being recognized.

“Tikki?” Marinette said, and rested her head against the Batmobile while she started poking at her wounds.

“I give Marinette many powers. One of which is the power of the Miraculous Ladybug. It reverts ay damage done by a kwami instantaneously. In fact, the dent in your motorized vehicle should be back to normal as well once the battle is won.”

“Tikki, I need to know how the fight is going. Be stealthy and take a look, and grab Khalki. I’ll need him to teleport back to Paris. I don’t want to risk using whatever power got me here in the first place.”

“I’ll be right back!” Tikki turned towards Alfred and patted him gently on the cheek. “I leave my chosen in your hands, Alfred. Look after her, please.”

“Of course, Tikki.”

“Thank you, young Peafowl.” Alfred returned her smile instantly before Tikki disappeared through the floor.

~

“So, let’s play ‘Do I Have a Concussion 20 Questions!’” Jason announced after he and Tim propped her up between them, leaning against the dent in the Batmobile.

Damian sat in front of them while Bruce and Alfred had moved over to the Batcomputer to try and do some research into the Miraculous themselves.

Marinette giggled and focused herself from closing her eyes by chipping at her black nail polish.

“So question number one: what is your name?” Tim was holding the broken handle of his coffee mug in his fist and was talking into it like it was a microphone.

“Marinette, but you already knew that,” Marinette said in a teasing tone.

“True, but this is if you know your name, not for us, little lady,” Jason bumped her shoulder with his gently and she giggled again.

They went through a few questions that were vague enough not to uncover her identity completely, but still show that she had her wits about her. Where are you from? Paris, of course. Do you go to public, private, or home school? Public! I hate homeschooling. Do you live with your parents? Yeah… oh I left my phone with my stuff at school. They’re probably worried sick. Do you have a job?

“Oh!” Marinette suddenly exclaimed, jolting where she sat. “Maman and Papa are going to be so disappointed if I can’t get home in time to watch the bakery! They’re going on a date tonight, and we have three orders to fill… I wonder if I can get Chloe to push their reservation…”

Jason shared an apologetic look with Tim when they realized how much she just let out. Damian was alarmed. She didn’t even seem to notice how much she just gave away about herself during her rambling.

“Why are you telling us all of this?” Damian finally asked after a moment of silence. He didn’t understand this girl. She was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers, and willing to avoid looking at them or around to keep them comfortable with their secrets, and the she goes and basically tells them where she lives.

“I know it might not makes sense, but as Ladybug and Guardian, I can sense things most people can’t, and I’ve learned to trust myself above all. My powers brought me here because I’m safe, and I can sense that you all have pure souls. You two even have souls saturated in Destruction energy… The Black Cat’s energy. It balances my own soul out well… How did you come across a Lazurus pit?”

Jason and Damian jolt and look at each other. Bruce was at Damian’s side in the next moment. “How do you know about the Lazurus pits?” He asked in a cautious tone, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice. She was still picking at her nail polish and Damian had a moment of irritation at the flaky mess until he realized she was probably doing it to keep her focus off of them.

“I am Guardian, and Tikki’s chosen. I know everything there is to know about the Miraculous, though I only recall the information when I needs to be used. When the Ladybug and Cat’s miraculous are combined, the holder may make a wish. One of those wishes was to be immortal. The Lazurus pits were created out of that wish, but the price was heavy. To manipulate a soul into bearing life after one should die… it leaves a mark—mentally, physically, emotionally… Most of the Lazurus pits were destroyed to restore balance, but some still remain in this world to keep the balance of what was already taken as its price. If they were all to be destroyed, something else in the world would have to be as well to keep balance.”

The resounding silence in the room felt suffocating, but Marinette just smiled reassuringly and brushed her dress down. Damian suddenly noticed that he felt… calmer in her presence than he usually would with someone he met barely twenty minutes ago.

Marinette’s voice brought him out of his thoughts once more. “Tikki is coming back.”

The kwami suddenly appeared a moment later with another one right behind her. Marinette smile and held out her hand.

“Hello, Khalki.”

“My Lady,” Khalki purred, floating around her hand.

“The fight is still going, Marinette. Chat Noir and Queen Bee are playing decoy and distraction. I informed them that you had been transported away for your safety and that we would be present for the fight soon. Hawkmoth and Mayura can’t end the fight and get what they want without Ladybug present, and Chat Noir and Queen Bee are smart enough not to let them leave or capture them while you’re gone. Both sides are playing it safe and waiting for your return.” During Tikki’s rundown, Marinette slowly but surely began to stand on her own, leaning against the Batmobile.

“Well, let’s give them an entrance they won’t forget. Are they all still at the Tower?”

“Yes. Chat Noir has followed your direction to keep them centered there well.”

“Good. Tikki, spots on. Khalki, Tikki, merge.” The family all stood and watched in amazement and shock as Marinette glowed that same pink hue before the red and black spotted heroine stood before them.

“Your injuries are still there.” Damian broke the silence to his family’s surprise. “You should be careful and finish your battle quickly to minimize your injuries until you can heal.”

Marinette seemed surprised, focusing on his shirt, the closest she’s gotten to looking his in the eyes the entire time she had been there. He almost… wanted her to. He wanted to look directly into her bright blue eyes and let her see him as he saw her… He shook himself out of that embarrassing train of thought just as Ladybug said something that caused a portal to appear.

“Thank you for your help…” Marinette nodded to them and looked one last time at Alfred. “I hope we meet again, young Peafowl.”

“As do I, my lady Guardian,” he bowed.

Ladybug turned and was suddenly gone. The only evidence of her being there was the broken remains of Tim’s broken mug and the huge dent in the Batmobile.

“Well, I’m going to sleep,” Tim announced to the room. “Someone else can take night shift tonight and someone can also tell me this wasn’t all some fever dream in the morning.”

Half an hour later, Damian, who had volunteered to stay up and finish the nightly watch in order to gather more information of the Miraculous and Marinette, noticed Tim’s mug appear sitting perfectly on the floor half full of the sludge he must’ve been drinking before it had broken and the dent in the Batmobile disappear in a wave of ladybugs.

Damian smirked at the knowledge that she and her team had won their battle, and that, if these items were fixed, then so were Marinette’s injuries. He ignored the part of him that felt… proud at the knowledge of her win, and happy knowing she was healed.

Damian grabbed the mug off the floor and took it with him to drop off in the kitchen while he searched for a snack. All his searching through all the bakeries in Paris was starting to make him hungry, especially the one he left on the Batcomputer. He would have to see if the Dupain-Cheng Bakery catered internationally, or if the woman posing with her husband in the owner’s bio passed down her black-blue hair to any daughters his age.

~

UPDATE: Here’s the link to the next part and the AO3 link for anyone who wants to continue!

Next - AO3 Link

#clearing out my drafts #part one #four times marinette got teleported to where she would be safest and the one time she was already there #daminette #maridami #Damian Wayne #marinette dupain cheng #marinette x damian #BatFam #accidental reveal #but its all good #marinette deserves better #marinette is the best ladybug #miraculous ladybug #tales of ladybug and cat noir #batman #dcau #ladybug au #ml ladybug #ladybug and chat noir #marinette is guardian #guardian of the miracuous #soulmates? #who knows? #oh wait i do...

[adimelymanner]

Sweetest, Biggest Fan

This will literally waste your time so...you’ve been warned.

Just based off of this picrew (mine is last) because it gave me crazy Bakugou fan vibes. I’m not going to wait because it will end up like the other things and never see the light of day so apologies if there’s editing mishaps. I know it’s Feb but new year new me!

Words: 1.2K

Warnings: This plays with the Yandere theme so keep that in mind. No smut, no “kinks” of mine, just a random post that I already warned you about ,but see you are refusing to listen and need to learn for yourself...

Honestly it’s just me being a menace writing about a menace...Also this didn’t paste how I wanted so... enjoy 😉

Begin Scene 👏🏾

Anyone else would have simply turned off the television. Or maybe pause and squeal with joy that the real life Dynamight was going to be in the same neighborhood at such close vicinity. Hell they might even call up their friends to start planning a meet up at the location. But fuck that - you weren't just anyone. What would be nothing to anyone else sent anger pulsing through your veins, but who could blame you? You were his biggest fan. When you saw the interview with that wretched bakeshop owner a few blocks away on the news stating that Bakugou Katsuki “Lord Undercut” Explosion Murder (and greatest hero in your mind) would be gracing them with his presence you were almost happy. Almost. But that damn woman with her damn rosy cheeked smile seemed soooo thrilled that her rank little shop had been damaged by him during a villain pursuit. So thrilled because the incident caused the agency to force Bakugou to make an appearance once they reopened to get business back up and running. You remember her lips stretching ear to ear sharing that she would make him the best dessert he had ever tasted. 

You scoffed. She was so annoyingly enthusiastic, but he didn't even like sweets! Pathetic. Of course you weren’t surprised, not everyone knew him like you did. The poor girl was just stupid is all but it still pissed you off. You weren’t jealous you just knew he didn't want to subject himself to wasting his time because you knew him. She wasn't even his type! How could she be? She wasn't you. You wanted to wipe that little smile off of her face and knew just the way to do it. It was an efficient way to kill two birds with one stone honestly. Save him from wasting time and save her from the embarrassment. Heh maybe she would be calling you a hero afterwards, but there wouldn’t be a chance for her to get the words out. Unfortunately she wouldn’t have a chance to see him take his first bite.

You even got a little cute beforehand juuuust in case you happened to run into him. You were always prepared to see him. A turtle neck here, a pair of ass blessing leggings there and voila! Oh..and your spiked brass knuckles - a cute accessory and essential for handling your business at the bakery. 

It was late - surely no one would hear you. The neighborhood wasn’t that great, so the chances that someone would notice the sound of glass breaking when you took your metal bat to it was little to none. You didn’t mean to make such a rude entrance, it’s that bitch’s fault for locking the door! Honestly you didn’t have time to feel bad. You stepped into the shop, music still playing probably because she was either too excited to remember or she was still oddly in the shop. You didn’t care. You hopped over the counter, not even caring about the cupcake display you knocked over, it was probably stale anyway. If she was really a fan she would have made a fresh display for him, but no she didn’t and that’s why you couldn’t allow him to waste time on scrubs like her. Honestly the things you do for that man.

You made your way to the kitchen where you couldn't decide if it was heaven or hell. All of those (albeit delicious) delicacies on any other day would have called your name, but today you only thought about how people would be lining up in a matter of hours to have the chance to see him - YOUR idol dammit. The thought made you grab the nearest tart and  throw it against the wall. Ooh - that was therapeutic. You ripped the plastic off of the tray of cupcakes grasping one in each hand as you closed them within your fist feeling the cream filled dessert squish between your fingers. “Red velvet” you questioned as you sniffed the air - not bad. You slammed down palms first onto the table flattening two more as a jelly bursted out onto the table meeting their doom. Taking hold of a few cookies you crushed them together and twisted, making them crumble in your hand. The cakes at the other end? They tasted the ground as you swiped your arm shoving each one off the surface. The last thing it saw was the bottom of your boot as your shoe came down, filling the grooves of your sole with fudge icing and cake. After a quick game of hopscotch you took a break from stomping all over her precious time and continued your search.

There was a door in the back that was slightly cracked. That has to be it! You printed the floor with your icing covered footsteps, closer and closer until you reached the room and slowly pushed the door open further. 

Jackpot. 

You just knew the precious little thing wouldn’t leave the bakery. Back in the corner, sweating alllll that time before you figured out the hiding spot. Little shit probably knew what was coming. You were staring directly into the very thing that would cause your precious Dynamight so much trouble tomorrow.You were quick in getting close landing a nice swift kick from the side; you couldn’t wait to knock that bitch off the pedestal the media had delicately given up. You didn’t want to stop kicking but you wanted to get more personal. You looked down and took it all in, broken, leaking red on the floor admiring your work before you got on your knees and put those brass knuckles to use. It was almost too easy the way the spikes punctured through causing the dark rouge color to splatter all over your face. It was cold once it hit your face and dripped down your cheek. “Take that” as you landed another spiked smash. 

You were breathing heavily reviewing your work. Shattered and painting the walls it looked so pretty, so...tasty. You knew you had to leave soon but couldn’t help yourself as you took two fingers and swiped them across the red liquid bringing it to your tongue letting your taste buds relish in the moment. “Mmmmm”, tangy yet sweet, a delicious mixture of flavors coming from the cherry filling even after being battered into almost nothing. You almost felt bad for what you did - it wasn’t too sweet, he actually might’ve liked it. Still, you got up and made your way back to the front of the store reviewing your work as you strutted towards the window. People would surely be showing up early to see him, so you had to run home to make sure you were ready. He’s going to be so relieved! Maybe he’ll take you on a private trip to show his gratitude. You had saved him. You felt the crunch of the glass and looked back one more time. What would she think? Poor girl just had her bakery repaired... “Oh well”, you thought, “sorry it didn’t work out it’s just...I’m his biggest fan ya know? No hard feelings.” A toothy grin consumed your face as you hopped outside and waltzed your way home licking the cherry goodness off your lips wishing it was caramel instead.

#bnha fanfiction #bakugou x reader #yandere reader insert #kinda #bakugou katsuki #He's not there he is just mentioned #no actual food was harmed making this #I'm just a troll your honor

[qvid-pro-qvo]

Coul you do Emily Prentiss x reader with the prompts : I noticed / and : Call me if you need anything

Please? And thank you, I really love what you write❤️

thank you, friend! <3 emily prentiss x gender neutral reader.

word count: 1827

rating: e for everyone, because halloween isn’t just for those who wanna get spooked (this is pure fluff, but descriptions of anxiety). 

You would think, with the things you see and hear on a daily basis, you’d be okay with horror flicks. That they wouldn’t get to the root of you, spook you to your core. But the fact is that you’re a wimp, and when push comes to shove you’d rather watch something happy any day of the week.

But, of course, that’s not the occasion. It’s Halloween. It’s meant to be scary, meant to be spooky, and so arriving at Garcia’s means prepping yourself for close to the worst night of your life.

You’re the first to arrive, incredibly early almost on purpose (after asking, of course). A movie won’t start with just one of the invited guests over, and you’re kind of hoping you can make a breakaway before the opening sequence. But Garcia’s pulling something baked out of the oven, and the smell is divine.

“I made popcorn, and we ordered pizza, and I’ve got some M&Ms to pour in to the popcorn so that they melt and become a huge chocolatey mess,” Penelope croons at you as you come in, and she’s so excited you can’t help but be, too. The worry about being scared fades away. You end up helping her pipe on some white frosting, and soon your creations rise up from the proverbial dead. Sugar cookie mummies. It’s incredible. It’s hilarious. It ends up with icing on your nose and smiles on your faces, and when Derek and Reid arrive it’s almost like the party already happened.

“You have frosting in your hair,” Derek laughs, reaching up to brush it out, and you can’t help but grin.

“Maybe I’m becoming a mummy, too.”

But unfortunately, all that joy fades away when you realize that the movie is going to start sooner rather than later. After all, JJ arrives with Emily, and the two of them signal the end of the welcoming party.

Emily Prentiss. The bravest of them all, and the team member you’ve had a raging crush on for… about as long as you’ve known her. She looks stunning, tonight, but with your hands wringing and her eyes on you as they do, you can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about.

Your mood starts to dour, just a little, and as it does you notice Emily shooting you looks across Garcia’s kitchen, brow furrowed. It happens a few times – she grins at something someone else has said, turns to you with that brilliant smile, and it falters. Just a little. It makes your heart race. She has to be judging you, she has to be – she can smell fear a mile away, and you’re radiating it, and not the good kind that comes with a good jump scare, but the kind that lingers.

Fuck horror movies. That’s the lesson, you suppose.

You don’t want to admit your fears. Not here. Not in front of the bravest group of people you’ve ever met. Not in front of Em. So, you keep quiet, almost silent, until the migration towards the couch happens.

“I need to, uh, use the bathroom,” you quickly stammer out. A moment alone might help with the way your throat closes up. It’s with that you vanish around the corner to where Garcia’s toilet is, and the door closes softly. You can hear their giggles and laughter even through the shut door, Penelope’s voice echoing around you, and stare at yourself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” you say. It’s firmer than you thought you could manage. As you look into your own eyes, you can see what they see, surely. Someone just on this side of scared.

“Fuck,” is the last word, and with a couple of deep breaths in and out you open the bathroom door.

Only to run into Emily Prentiss herself.

“Sorry!” you blurt. “Uh. Didn’t realize I was hogging it. Didn’t think anyone noticed I slipped away.”

Emily just smiles, and it’s so warm. In the lights that Garcia has hung around her bedroom, her hair looks a myriad of colors, all fading to that deep black. She’s fantastic, and incredible, and you know it’s your nerves that’s got you like this. Usually you can maintain decorum. But she doesn’t seem to mind.

She’s smiling after all.

“I noticed,” she says, at first with that same smile, but her voice is soft enough that no one on the other side of the wall overhears. Your mouth goes dry at that, and you chuckle, but she’s not laughing. She’s just looking, her brow furrowing a bit as she glances towards where the others are and then back at you. “Are you all right? I just… came to check up on you. You seem…”

“Yeah,” you quickly say. “Just, uh. I…”

And that’s when it all comes crumbling down. Your eyes flick towards where the rest of the team is laughing, sitting, chatting, and you’re simply here, trying not to think about how to make a break for it as soon as possible.

“Oh.”

At first you think you imagine it, the softness of Emily’s voice. But when your eyes flick back over to her, your lower lip bitten to shreds, she’s simply offering a smile, and her hand reaches up to squeeze your shoulder. “Not a horror buff?”

It’s so kind. It’s so gentle. You almost want to melt into it, but your dignity, or what little you have left, keeps you in check. You just nod, and she twists her lips a little, glancing back towards where the laughter is coming again. Derek, this time.

“No, it’s… it’s not my favorite,” you admit, but quickly stammer out an explanation. “I’m okay! Really, j-just, uh. Making it. I’ll be fine, once the movie starts.”

That’s not true. Not true at all, in fact, you can hear the film score start up and already you’re trembling. But you try to put on a brave face, and because it’s Emily Prentiss, your friend, your teammate, she sees right through it.

“Do you want to stay? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”  

That makes you pause. Your spiral into embarrassment halts, and now it’s your turn to furrow your brow.

“What?”

She just gives you another smile, this one almost secretive. She leans forward, too, and your hands start shaking again. For a different reason. “Well, between you and me, horror’s not my scene, either. And so, I was thinking, if you wanted to be each other’s alibi…”

A million things swim through your brain. That can’t be true, first of all. She’s Emily Prentiss. How can horror not be right up her alley? The adrenaline, that kind of thing. So if that’s the case, then she’s bluffing. Lying even. But why? Plus, didn’t she go see that thing with Reid and Garcia the other night? Why would she pretend not to like horror when it’s so obvious that she –

She just keeps looking at you. Smiles, and…

Oh.

Because she’s your friend. Because she cares for you. She gives you a way out. She smiles and laughs and looks to you all night because she’s concerned.

She’s doing it for you. And your little crush, your little thing you push aside during cases and debriefs and moments alone, it comes at you full force.

Your heart warms, and your hands stop shaking, and you look at Emily Prentiss like the lifeline she is. Your breath comes out all at once, too, a sigh of relief, and when you nod, she nods, too.

“Perfect. Just follow my lead, yeah?”

You find yourself following, a little in a daze. It’s like a whirlwind, what just happened, your thoughts and her actions, and when you turn the corner the others are already fixated on the film.

“Sorry, guys,” Emily says with a soft groan. Her hand lifts up to cover her stomach, and she rubs it, almost like it’s an instinctive reaction. “I think something I ate didn’t agree with me.”

JJ and Derek’s eyes immediately shoot up, but Garcia and Reid are enraptured with what’s taking place.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks.

“Do you need a ride? I can take you home,” JJ follows up. She’s basically halfway to standing when you step in, surprising yourself by the steadiness in your voice.

“No, I’ve got her. You guys stay and watch the movie.”

“Are you sure?” Emily asks, turning to look at you, and you just smile at her, concerned and trying not to look so gleeful about being concerned.

“Yeah, Em. I’ve got you.” Your hand reaches to rub at her back, and together the two of you make your way towards the door, with various solutions to Emily’s ailment being shouted at you guys from those who’re seated.

“Call me if you need anything from my car!” JJ shouts out, and that’s the last thing you hear. Soon the door is closed and the noise from behind you fades with a click.

Immediately Emily lifts herself up. You feel… exhilarated, more adrenaline than a scare could ever give you, and Emily lets out a soft chuckle.

“I should be an actor, right?” she asks, nudging you with her elbow, and you don’t even realize how close you’re still standing to her until her touch presses into your stomach. You don’t move away, though, and your hand is still on her back.

She doesn’t pull away either.

“Oscar-worthy performance,” you tease back, and she just throws her head back with her laughter, shaking her head and tucking some hair behind her ear. “Thanks for getting me out of there,” you add, and when she looks at you again, her brown eyes are soft, warm.

“Of course. Halloween isn’t just about horror flicks and getting scared. No one should have a bad Halloween night if they don’t want to.” For a moment you think you’re imagining it, the warmth, but then her arm reaches to link with yours as you make your way to the staircase.

“What is Halloween night about?” you ask her, on your way.

“I mean, horror is a part of it,” she admits. Her voice doesn’t get dreamy, but the sound of it reminds you of the way that spices and pumpkin smell. “But. Fall weather. The way that the leaves look on the trees. Getting cozy with… with someone you care about, and… I don’t know. Eating candy enough for two.”

She looks at you when she says getting cozy, and you almost trip over your feet.

Be brave, you tell yourself, and when you clear your through your voice is the brightest it’s been all night.

“Well. Maybe together we could… get cozy? And eat enough candy for four.”

The moon is high above the two of you as you leave the building, your laughter echoing on Garcia’s street. You don’t know where she’s planning to go after tonight, but for that moment, you hope it’s anywhere with you.

#prompt fill #emily prentiss x reader #gender neutral reader #emily prentiss #criminal minds #fluff #anxiety #my fic

[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 29

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29

——————————————————————————————

Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

————————————————————————————

Putting on her surgical mask, Dr. Urakchaevy took a deep breath as she glanced at the surgical tube, before shifting her focus towards Tup. With his head covered in plastic foil and his eyes shut, the doctor slid him inside the machine and looked at the panels. “We’re now beginning level 1 brain scan,” she announced to Fives, who was the only one in the room. “This will only take a short while.”

As Fives gave a nod of approval, the machine scanned his brain for 30 minutes. The ARC Trooper tapped his foot on the floor as the doctor focused on his brain condition. From what she had gathered so far, his brain scan was blue, showing that he was slipping towards his deathbed.

This is not good , her teeth chattered. Somehow, I couldn’t find any lumps in his brain, and yet, Tup is unconscious. How is this possible?

“Is everything alright, Doc?” Fives wondered, noticing her hands trembling on the panels.

Dr. Urakchaevy nodded, pressing her lips. “I’ll have to raise the brain scan to level 2. There’s nothing I could find on the surface of his brain.”

“Alright, Doc, you can raise it up to level two,” he gave a thumbs up. “I hope he’s alright.”

Let’s hope he does, she let out a sigh, as she performed another brain scan on Tup, hoping to dig deeper. Another half an hour has passed, and Dr. Urakchaevy felt her sweat dripping from her forehead, despite the air-conditioning in the room.

Considering Tup was the first clone she had treated, she wasn’t knowledgeable in their biology. The only thing she knows about clone troopers was the fact that they fought for the Republic, even though it had been crumbled by the Empire. She doesn’t see the point of the conflict, but Dr. Urakchaevy has to perform her duty to save her patients.

As the machine beeped, the doctor checked on her panel with a gleam painted on her lips, only for her shoulders to slump towards the results. Is this machine broken or what? Do I need to re-scan just to make sure I find something inside Tup?

“Did you find anything, Doc?” his voice turned agitated. “Please tell me you found something, Doc.”

Dr. Urakchaevy remained silent as she stared at the surgical pod, wondering if she could raise the level of the machine. She knows the risk, and she’s not sure whether she would like the result. The worst-case scenario she could think of was the side effects of the radiation, which was nausea, fever, and vomiting. But it was the only way if she wanted a fast result.

“It’s still the same result as the first scan, unfortunately,” she reported, turning towards him. “I’m afraid I have no choice but to perform a Level 5 atomic scan.”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Fives, raising his eyebrows. “Is it dangerous?”

“It’s full of radiation and Tup might experience side effects, but it’s the only way I could find a lump inside his brain, though the chances are rather small. Are you okay with that, Fives?”

Fives tilted his head upwards as he pondered for a moment. I can’t just refuse his surgery and let him die. I’ll never forgive myself if I made the wrong decision.

“If the Level 5 atomic scan means saving my brother, then you need to do it,” he told her. “I came here to save Tup, and I’m gonna bring him back to base, safe and sound, so do what you have to, Doc. Go with the Level 5 atomic scan if you must.”

Dr. Urakchaevy gave him a small smile. “You’re a caring brother, Fives. Now go wait outside with your sister, Yara. I’m sure Thonda is done patching her up by now.”

“Will Tup be okay, Doc?” his voice quivered. “I don’t want to lose him, really.”

“He’ll be alright,” assured Dr. Urakchaevy, holding his hand. “I promise you. He’ll walk out of this room and act as if nothing had happened to him. He’ll drink with you and Yara and go back to his usual self.”

“In case he doesn’t make it, can I say my last words to him?”

“Fives, Tup will be fine,” she said, opening the door for him. “Besides, this will only take a few minutes, so don’t worry. I have faith in your younger brother.”

Without saying a word, Fives stepped out of the surgical room and held his breath when he found Yara sitting all by herself, munching a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. Cracking a smile, he tiptoed towards her and slapped his arms on her shoulders, making her choke on her food.

“Bitch, I told you not to sneak up to me like that,” she cussed with her mouth full, kicking his shin. “I could have died of a heart attack, you know.”

“Well, it was funny,” he burst into laughter, as he sat beside her and wrapped his arms around her shoulder. “You could have seen the look on your face. It was so ugly.”

“Shut up, Fives. At least I’m more good-looking than you.”

“Says who? Everyone knows I’m the most handsome man among the Grand Army of the Republic.”

Yara sticks her tongue out in disgust. “Yuck, you’re ugly as fuck.”

“No, you’re ugly.”

“No, you’re ugly.”

“Fuck you, Fives,” Yara shoved his shoulders, her other hand gripping on the plate of cookies. “I hate you so much.”

“Well, fuck you too, Yara,” Fives imitated her voice, as he snatched away her cookies from her grasp. “Also, you ate too much of these. Save some for me, will you?”

She crossed her arms, her lips pouting. “Give me back my cookies, dickhead. They’re mine.”

He shook his head, stuffing one in his mouth. “Hey, sharing is caring, okay? Besides, it’s been a while since I had authentic food, anyway.”

“Tell me about it. I miss drinking margaritas from 79’s. It was the best drink I could ever have, you know. I wonder what’s their secret?”

“Maybe they made it with love,” Fives jokes, leaning on his seat. “Also, the music was glorious at the club. I always enjoyed the songs that the DJ played on the dance floor, especially the song Groovy. That was my all-time favourite song.”

“But somehow, someone always bested you on the dance floor,” Yara snarked. “And that someone is sitting right next to you. Guess who it is?”

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Yara. I beat you one time and you were sulking the next day.”

“Yeah, exactly. You only beat me one time, Fives. The rest of the time we spent at 79’s, I always held a record on the dance floor, aside from Lisa, of course.”

“God, I miss those days. Everything was simple back then. Now, it feels like we’re stressing our future like a bunch of old men waiting for death.”

“I know, Fives. I miss the days when the only reason I cried was because I failed the simulation. Now, I cry because everyone we know was killed in front of us, and we don’t even know whether we’re next in line.”

“And I miss the day where the only reason we’re happy was because we passed the simulation. Now, I can only be happy because I lived to fight another day, though I wished I could join the rest of our fallen siblings instead.”

Yara hummed to herself. “I know, Fives. Honestly, when this war is over, I just want to walk away from all of this. I want to settle down somewhere and find someone to love, like Commander Fox. He and Riyo are so happy together and I want to be like them.”

“So, you’re looking for someone like those male leads from your favourite rom-com?” smiled Fives. “And how many kids are you planning to have?”

“First of all, I want a guy who is kind and sweet and secondly, I want at least four kids, doesn’t matter what gender they are.”

“Four kids? Well, that’s a lot, to be honest.” “I want to shower all my love on my kids and accept them for who they are, no matter what,” Yara expressed her hopes and dreams. “And I also want them to have a better life than I did. Since I fought in a war, I want my kids to live a peaceful life, without worrying about a single thing.”

“Sounds like a pleasant life,” Fives said, placing an empty plate beside him. “Honestly, I would like to have that kind of life, too. If only I could find someone like that.”

Before Yara could say something, Dr. Urakchaevy walked out of the surgical room with tears of shame in her eyes. Fives stood up from his seat, waiting for her to speak. “So, did the surgery went well?”

She bobbed her head with hesitation, her fingers fidgeting. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“We would like to hear the good news,” Fives replied with his brows furrowed.

“Okay then, the good news is that the surgery went well, and we found a tumour inside his brain,” she informed him, showing the evidence she extracted. “I’m not sure what kind of tumour it is, but I can do my research on it.”

“That’s great to hear, Doc,” Yara beamed. “But then, what’s the bad news?”

“Tup didn’t make it,” Dr. Urakchaevy broke the news to them. “I’m so sorry, guys. I did everything I could to save him, but somehow, his heart rate stopped.”

Fives’ face contorted as he dropped to his knees, frozen. Yara could not utter a single word from her mouth as tears flowed on her cheeks, hugging her knees.

How are we going to face Rex after this?

#star wars #star wars ocs #star wars original characters #star wars fics #star wars fanfics #star wars fanfictions #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #arc trooper fives #arc trooper yara #clone troopers #clone trooper ocs #clone ocs #commander fox #riyo chuchi #commander tori #lenora doherty #clone trooper tup #palps is dead #star wars au #star wars alternate universe #count dooku #galactic empire

[thepropertylovers]

One of Those Days

Dear friend,

Yesterday was one of those hard, frustrating foster parent days you hear about all the time and pray doesn’t happen to you. As much good as the foster system does, it’s an incredibly challenging thing to navigate, especially when you truly care about the kiddos (the heartbreaking truth is there are waaaay too many bad foster parents out there who are in it for the wrong reasons).

We had been looking forward to a very specific court date for months, and it was supposed to be tomorrow, but got postponed indefinitely because of a new Supreme Court order banning all in-person court cases from happening unless they’re an emergency or meet certain guidelines, an unfortunately our case doesn’t meet them.

PJ was on the phone all morning trying to sort it out. One of the most frustrating parts is just how many people you have to go through to get something, anything, accomplished. So very many people are involved who make important decisions, people with a lot more power than you feel that you have, which oftentimes can leave you feeling helpless and on your own.

But on the bright side, I am grateful to have a husband who doesn’t ever give up no matter what and who fights for what is right. I am grateful that we have these kids who have changed our lives, for the better, in every way imaginable. And I am grateful to have a sister who orders Crumbl Cookies to be delivered to our house in an attempt to cheer us up. And you know what? It actually brightened my day to see that bright pink box and that sweet little note on our doorstep. Thank you, Sydney. I love you.

I really don’t like to post negative things on here, but I feel it’s important to note that, if you’re thinking of becoming a foster parent (which has been the most rewarding experience of our lives and I encourage you to consider becoming one!!), please be prepared for hard days, a rollercoaster of emotions, and intense feelings of frustration.

Though, when I pause to think about it, I think that’s just called being a parent?

[ranger-thirty-nine]

Gingerbread Mess

In which Jenny and Gilan try to build a gingerbread house.

Find it on Wattpad and Ao3! 

“Stop!” Jenny gasped. “If you keep eating, we’re not going to have enough!” 

Gilan grinned sheepishly. He popped another sweet into his mouth, raising his hands when Jenny glared. “Okay! Okay!” he laughed. “This is my last one.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Jenny pressed her lips together. She glanced at the ladle that sat on the counter, looking between it and Gilan. “It better be,” she said, crossing her arms and turning to look out the window. 

A light flurry of snow danced down from the sky, twirling like ballerinas as they drifted onto the white grass. It was the perfect weather for Yuletide. Cold enough to want to stay inside and cozy up next to the fire, but not too cold that you couldn’t have a snowball fight. 

Jenny smiled to herself. Each year, the holiday season managed to creep up on her. She never seemed to be ready, and it often led to last minute shopping and preparations. It was no different that year as just a few days ago, Jenny had gone out on a shopping spree to gather enough ingredients to keep her restaurant up and running. 

But as she stared out at the white dancers, it finally occurred to her that it was Yuletide. It was the happiest time of the year with magical fun and lively parties. It was the time of year when friends and family came together to catch up. Not to mention the good food. 

Jenny’s eyes fluttered shut when the aroma of gingerbread wafted into her nose. She breathed it in, grinning when the wave of nostalgic memories crashed upon her. The smell of gingerbread was rich with spice and sweetness. Enough to make her mouth water. 

It was the smell of Yule. It was like a sweet kiss, an embrace that made you feel right at home. At the same time, it was unique enough to incite good fun. It made her want to run as if she was a child, energized her as if she was a cat with catnip. 

The crinkling sound of a wrapper pushed Jenny out of her reverie. She spun on her heels. Her eyes went straight for the bowl of candy, silently counting, and then towards Gilan. She placed her hands on her hips when she noticed that his hands were behind his back. 

“Gilan!” she scolded. “I told you to stop!” 

Gilan attempted a chuckle. He stepped towards Jenny, pulling her close to his chest. “Look,” he said, turning her around to face the window again. “It’s snowing! We could build a snowman later.” 

“Don’t you try to distract me!” Jenny said. She giggled as she untangled herself from Gilan. Grabbing the ladle, she turned to give him a good whack on the hand. “I’m not that easily swayed.” 

Gilan grinned. He let go of Jenny, stepping back. He gestured at the oven. “I think the gingerbread is ready.” 

Huffing out a breath, Jenny grabbed her mittens. “I think so too,” she said, grinning as she pulled the oven open. 

“So we can build the house now?” 

Jenny laughed as she set the tray down on the table. She shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “It has to cool first.” 

“What?” Gilan placed a hand on his heart dramatically. “More waiting?” 

“More waiting.” 

Groaning, Gilan feigned a wound. He stumbled forward, resting his chin on Jenny’s shoulder. “How do you do this?” he said. “Doesn’t it get boring to wait for food to cook?” 

Jenny snorted. “There’s a bit more to it than that.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” Gilan stood. “Eating?” 

“Among other things.” 

It didn’t take long for the gingerbread to cool, and they were soon ready to decorate. Jenny grinned when she held up the walls, gesturing to the frosting with her head. 

“Come on, Gil. I’ll hold up the walls, and you can stick them together.” 

They quickly got to work, glueing together the walls with frosting before decorating with the candies that Jenny had bought. Decorating had always been Jenny’s favorite part of cooking and baking. She loved making her dishes look pretty. Her customers all seemed to love it too, and it never failed to amuse her when they would have a hard time choosing between dishes. 

Unfortunately, decorating was Gilan’s favorite part of making the gingerbread house too. It meant that he got to express his creativity, and although Jenny loved him for it, everything got a bit chaotic 

“Stay here,” Jenny said. “I’m going to go grab some more candy from the pantry.” 

“Okay.” 

Wiping her hands on her apron, Jenny bounced towards her pantry. She quickly found the bag of candies she had bought just in case Gilan ate all of them, and when she returned back to the kitchen, her heart stopped. She gasped. 

“Gilan!” she said. “What are you doing?” 

“Making a campfire,” he said without looking up. His smile widened when the small fire he had made stayed flickering. “See? Look how cool that is!” 

“You’re going to burn the gingerbread!” Jenny said. She rushed forward, dropping the candy on the table. She waved her hands, blowing at the fire to extinguish it. 

Gilan rubbed at the back of his neck, intensely staring at the gingerbread house. The fire slowly died down, and Gilan winced when he realized that Jenny had been too late. He gulped and met her eyes. 

“Sorry?” he said. He yelped when Jenny gave him another good whack with her ladle, stepping back. He tried to laugh, nervously looking between the gingerbread and Jenny. The golden brown of the cookie was burnt near the edges, blackened into crisps. It crumbled, and the roof threatened to slide down onto the plate. 

“Now, it’s just a burnt down house,” Jenny muttered. She crossed her arms, staring down at it in disappointment. 

Gilan placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “No, no. It’s a…” He bit down on his lip, tilting his head to the side. He hummed to himself, his brain working double time. “It’s the cozy cabin of a poor family,” he finally settled with. “The couple that lives there has a young child, who loves Yuletide. They are in the process of decorating.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah.” Gilan nodded. He cleared his throat. “The family is decorating with what little they have. Their home may be broken at some places with holes and leaks, but they manage to make due. They are thankful for what they have.” 

Jenny looked down at the gingerbread house. She envisioned the family that Gilan was making up in her, painting an image in her head. A small smile appeared on her lips. “And how is this family doing?” she asked. “How are they coping with the damages their home has suffered?” 

“It doesn’t bother them,” Gilan said. He smiled. “They will gladly face anything the world throws at them because they know they have each other. Their love is enough for them to be happy. 

“It doesn’t matter whether or not they are rich or poor. It doesn’t matter that they have nothing when others have everything. They have the greatest gift of all—each other—and they need nothing more.” 

“They’re the epitome of Yule, aren’t they?” 

Gilan laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, they are.” 

Jenny sprinkled some sprinkles over the roof of the house. “Love really does bring the best out of people,” she mused to herself. “This family ought to live a better life than most.” 

Nodding, Gilan agreed. He picked up the plate, moving the house aside. “True as that may be, you don’t have to be poor to have a good life.” 

“Are you saying that you want to make another house?” 

“No more fires though.” 

Jenny chuckled. “Yes,” she said. “No more fires.” 

#jenny dalby #gilan davidson #ranger's apprentice

[justferritalez]

Don't dim your light babygirl

Don't dim your light babygirl - Chloe Bailey

It's funny how the universe communicates. We are so conditioned to not pay attention. The messages are not always loud, but no less powerful. When we open ourselves to them the world begins to look like a very different place.

I have dimmed my light for more years than I would like to admit. I thought deep down I didn't deserve to be happy. I tried to fight my way through, but when I felt happiness near I would always turn away. I thought if I smiled and laughed one day it would reach the part of my heart that refused to receive love. I saw how much others hurt, I felt it in my own body. How could I allow myself to feel joy when so many people I loved are in pain?

I see so many children in my immediate and extended family in pain. I see their parents in pain. I see that horrible red thread of trauma weaving its way through each generation. Just like the elephant in the room, everyone pretends it's not there. Each generation learns to lash out in a different way, too afraid that on the other side is more pain instead of healing. We learn to dull the pain like a Tylenol with money, cars, clothes, and pretty pictures on Instagram or Facebook. Trying to convince ourselves and the world that we aren't miserable. Some of us are even so afraid that acknowledging our own thoughts is akin to torture.

At the beginning of lockdown in 2020, I thought I would thrive since I'm an introvert. By 2021 I learned that my assumptions of what it meant to thrive was arbitrary. I thought I would finally learn to play the guitar, piano, and finish a considerable amount of books waiting to be read on my bookshelves. Instead I was forced to dive deep into my relationship with religion, with societal expectations, and most importantly my own relationship with myself. The latter of which was most important.

I've always felt a call to something growing up. What it was I didn't know. I always tried to put it into words. I tried to put it into a career or something more tangible for my own human mind to digest. As I grew older, in my own mind I failed to accomplish what I had desired. I became gripped by fear with each year that passed. 30 was the year I told myself I would stop dreaming. I would buckle down. I would work towards the American Dream people always talk about. I'd get a good job, get married, buy a house, and have kids.

Before my 28th birthday came I was so excited for the upcoming year despite 30 looming near. I had a list of places I planned to go and things to do for my special day. Before I knew 28 had arrived. When I got all dressed up I couldn't shake this ominous feeling. Except for the sheer black top I wore I was dressed in all black, as if I was attending a funeral. Something wasn't right and I couldn't figure out what it was then. I may have made it to one or two places before I decided to return home. I was so sad, I couldn't stop myself from crying. I could barely look back at the pictures.

Before 30 came I did manage to accomplish the first two goals of the American Dream. I honored my self-imposed advice and hung up my silly dreams at 30. It was hard but I did what I thought was best to redirect my energy. To this day I always remember a conversation my cousin had with my mom years ago. One that broke my heart. I never forgot how it made me feel. She told my mom she was too old to dream. She was too old to accomplish the things she wanted to. She's 30 years my senior but I still believe if she wanted she could do anything she put her mind to. Yet here I was remembering that feeling and falling into the same mindset.

Since my teens I had always wanted to visit Japan. Especially after my dad passed away when I was 16. Ironically j-pop(and shortly after k-pop) was something that offered me a lifeline during my grief. I had plans to study abroad, but my grief and fear of losing my mother held me back. When 30 came after I had given up on my dreams, this dream unexpectedly came forward. My husband and I planned to celebrate our honeymoon/1st anniversary in Japan. It was amazing! I felt so free and so at home at the same time. We talked about moving there years before, but that's all it ever was. Now that we were there, we knew it really was a possibility. Unfortunately at the end of our trip tragedy struck. Just like it struck us after we got married. And once again just like the day I turned 30 another dream had to be swept away.

I tried my best to convince myself this is just the way the cookie crumbles. Maybe this isn't the life I wanted exactly. So many people would be happy to have this life. I would convince myself to keep my head down and appreciate it. In hindsight I think back and acknowledge you can appreciate something, and still acknowledge that it isn't right for you. What good is a $200 shirt if it doesn't fit?

There were two prominent questions that kept coming up during lockdown. Who are you? What do you want? So simple but terrifying for me to answer. In trying to answer them I realize I never truly asked myself this. No wait I did, but I didn't listen. I didn't listen to the one person who was driving this ship. I listened to the opinions of others. Surely those who have spent more time on earth than me knew what they were talking about. Then I realized they didn't. They were doing the same thing that I had done. They too ignored what they wanted, instead aspiring for the lives their family, friends, and acquaintances told them would make them happy.

For years I always felt these weird emotions in my body. Emotions that were not my own. I could be perfectly fine and walk into a room and feel overwhelmed. I Couldn't figure out why. The room was just filled with people. Why did I care what they thought of me? We all have our own lives to live, right? I begin to realize while acknowledging my own inauthenticity to myself, how so many other people were struggling with the same issue. They couldn't understand why they had the house, the car, the job, the children, and the spouse yet they were still so unhappy.

The truth is happiness cannot be found externally. It can only be found within you. The more you put all your balls in one basket thinking it will make you happy, the more you will be disappointed. If you can't stand the one person who will be with you every moment of your life you will never be happy.

I've always wanted to have kids. I was probably more excited to get married because I couldn't wait to be a mom. For some strange reason after I got married I became afraid to get pregnant. I originally thought it was because my Grammy was sick. After she passed I still couldn't shake that fear. I thought maybe I was just being overly cautious. People with less have had children and thrived in many cases. I was constantly being told that "You can never prepare for children." Still I couldn't shake the fear.

I had two amazing parents growing up. We weren't rich, but they provided for me the best they could. They did a great job, and I'll admit that I was spoiled. I took a look at the traumas I've experienced throughout my life. I looked at the things that triggered me the most. It was myself, it was a younger version of myself. My inner child as some call it.  Although I had great parents, outside of them I still was inflicted with trauma even they couldn't prevent. The person that hurt me, and the people who I've seen mistreat children, have a tendency to neglect themselves and their trauma and tend to be obsessed with how things look instead of how they are.  I did not want to be that type of person. Realizing that, I became passionate about trying to heal my own trauma, in hope to prevent my own children from inheriting this mindset.

Here is where my story truly begins. It began when I began to acknowledge myself. When I recognized myself, I put my happiness in moving to California, in my husband,  in the image of my life. I put my happiness in everything but myself. I still have work to do, but I believe that I am worth it. Every moment I choose myself, I grow and heal my wounded self.

I've begun to release past hurt and trauma that I've experienced. I'm learning that just because people who loved me hurt me in the past, doesn't mean everyone will hurt me. I'm learning to forgive myself for being angry for so long. I'm acknowledging I had every right to be angry, but staying angry was no benefit to me. I'm learning I deserve to say no if I don't want to do something, and I'm not obligated to make anyone happy except myself. People's feelings may be hurt, but I didn't ask them to count on me to make them happy. I'm happy to help others, but I will no longer pour every bit of what is in my cup into another's.

During lockdown my wardrobe got much darker. I wore black almost every day. Although black is an amazing and powerful color, it symbolically felt as if I was mourning myself. I was mourning the part of me that didn't know her worth. I let myself be her for a time, and now I release her. I will gladly put her to rest. I've decided that I won't dim my light for anyone anymore. I won't even dim my light for myself. I will get to a place where I am confidently and unapologetically me. I will shine like the rays of the sun on a hot summer day without a cloud in sight. Just like the world needs the sun, the world needs us all to shine just as bright.

#whoever needs it #be encouraged

[tsarisfanfiction]

WIP #48

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

For @rachfielden-xo who asked for “Number 3 - Thunderbirds Are Go x”.  As number 3 isn’t TAG, I grabbed the third TAG fic instead!

Okay, so this is a reject that I started writing for irrelief, but it just got too ooc for my liking, so I scrapped it and rewrote it from the beginning, which became Grape Juice or Wine.  So yes, this one is pretty ooc and little terrible, but it’s in the folder so here it comes...  A sneak peak at the stuff I usually never let see the light of day!

Alan was fairly sure there were rules against this.  As an unfortunate soul with four older brothers, and one adopted older sister, he was well-versed in the many, many ways older siblings could torment a younger. Various methods of hazing, abandoning him to play with kids while they did the cool stuff, and calling ‘older brother privilege’ whenever there was anything fun and exciting with a limited amount of spaces.

(Of course, there were also many good things about five older siblings, but Alan was sulking and choosing to ignore those for the moment.)

This, however, had to take the cake.  There was nothing more humiliating as a younger brother than being forced to stay and watch your older sibling do something utterly cringe-worthy, and this time it wasn’t one of them.  It was all four brothers.  Kayo had escaped using her general sneaky Kayo-ness, which left one, desolate, teenage boy lurking at the edge of a high function party that was technically adults only.  It was being hosted by Penelope, and in what he had thought was an admission that he was not the immature teenager his brothers claimed, but rather a responsible, grown up member of society she had waived the age limit in his case.

At the time, that had been amazing.  Now, he was wishing he’d followed Kayo’s lead and escaped while he had the chance.

Gordon, an adult by British standards, was mooning over the British aristocrat.  By itself, that was nothing unusual, but the shy, stilted awkwardness Alan had grown used to seeing whenever Penelope was in the vicinity (no matter how Gordon denied being anything other than “utterly cool and suave”) was gone.  An adult function had adult drinks, and someone had let Gordon near them. Red-faced and slurring, any elegance Gordon might have exhibited at the start of the event, some three hours previously in a sharp suit with gaudy yellow tie and pale pink rose in his pocket that just happened to match the dress Penelope had selected for the evening, had fled with no return in sight.

Alan looked away and pretended he didn’t know him as he tripped over his own feet for the nth time, managing to tear his expensive trousers at the knee and splash whatever cocktail he’d had in his hand over the bottom of Penelope’s dress.  It didn’t stop him from hearing Parker’s outraged cry, and Penelope’s calm and measured assertion that perhaps he’d had quite enough to drink and should have a glass of water and sit down.  It certainly didn’t stop him hearing Gordon’s negative response – apparently being drunk just made Gordon louder.

The corner of the room held the opposite problem.  John, ever responsible, and ever despairing of social situations, had secreted himself away behind the lavish curtains of the ballroom they were stuck in. Unfortunately, British aristocrats had an uncanny sense for nerves – wasn’t that supposed to be a horse thing – and what had supposed to be a hideaway for the evening with a good book had ended up a prison cell for his brother.  Gaggles of women, none so obviously inebriated as Gordon but with a rosy flush to their cheeks Alan didn’t think was makeup alone, had cornered the astronaut and were plying him with drink after drink while forcing conversation upon him.

Normally, Alan would stick with his brother.  He’d struck out earlier, full of excitement at being classified as an ‘adult’, determined to mingle.  By the time he’d realised that no-one except Penelope had any intention of treating him as such, several elderly ladies going so far as to aww him and pinch his cheeks when he tried to make conversation, his safe haven in the form of John had been compromised.  Shattered glass littered the floor by his feet, white suit splattered with crimson wine stains, but any and all attempts John made to clear it up were fouled by the women determined to catch his attention.

While not as worthy of disownment as Gordon, Alan was still trying to pretend he didn’t know the ginger for the time being.

Virgil was also making a spectacle of himself, and not in the usual way his musical brother did at parties.  A grand piano in the corner was occupied by another pianist, and Virgil’s early offers to play had been dismissed by the Brit.  Alan thought the man was an idiot, especially as Virgil could play better than him, but good, kind Virgil with a heart of gold had taken the cold shoulder with easy grace, and gone to find other pastures.

Sadly, those other pastures included wine, and while Virgil could hold his liquor reasonably well (unlike Gordon, who was now trying to screech some sort of… something at Penelope which was far less enchanting than he believed), he was still drunk and currently attempting to fit as many cookies in his mouth as possible, whilst holding a conversation with an equally drunk young man Alan didn’t know and spraying both their suits with crumbles and spittle.  The disapproving looks they were getting from the very same women that had been calling him adorable and pinching his cheeks minutes earlier prompted Alan to disown him, too.

This was his first grand, adult, party, and he’d wanted to make a good impression.  That could not be done if it was known that the drunkard in the middle of the room, harassing the hostess, was his immediate older brother, or that the one with no table manners at all was the next one up, or even that the recluse in the corner with wine stains and a habit of dropping glasses was related to him.  Nor could it be done as long as his eldest brother alternated between flirting with anything on two legs – female, male, or performing dog – with increasing cheesiness as his own glass emptied and refilled over and over again, and clucking all over him like a concerned mother hen.

“Alan, are you enjoying yourself?  Alan, don’t touch the alcohol.  Alan, that had better be fruit juice you’re drinking.  Alan, you’ve got a crumb on your cheek.  Alan your tie is wonky.  Alan. Alan.  Alan.”

He wasn’t lurking by the wall, pretending to be ornamentation instead of a guest, just to avoid old women and their pinches.  All of his brothers were being an embarrassment, but none more so than Scott – who pipped Gordon purely by virtue of not leaving him alone long enough to be socially disownable.  He was fairly certain that was at least half the reason the women were cooing over him.

Somewhere near Gordon, who had found his feet again and was clinging to Penelope’s arm like the squid he was as he talked a mile a minute at the top of his lungs about utter nonsense, and Virgil, who seemed to be on his second platter of cookies, and not quite blocking his view of John now on his knees amongst fancy ballgown skirts, Scott was flirting with the oldest woman in the room, and Alan seriously considered fleeing the event entirely.

“I’m way too sober for this,” he bemoaned.  He’d never been drunk in his life, didn’t know if alcohol really numbed things like embarrassment or if his brothers were just capable of being that humiliating without it and just chose not to most of the time, but tales dragged out from past parties implied that it would help.  The punch bowl was looking mighty tempting.

He settled for grabbing another, dutifully non-alcoholic, drink from a waiter as he wandered past and throwing it back in one go.

“That ‘ad better not ‘ave been h’alcohol, Master h’Alan, sir,” Parker’s disapproving voice drawled, and Alan groaned, turning to face the chauffeur/butler/whatever Penelope needed-er.

“It was orange juice.”

Parker held out a hand expectantly and, rolling his eyes, Alan handed the glass over for inspection. The man sniffed the glass suspiciously for several moments before straightening again.

“h’Orange juice it was,” he agreed, slipping the empty glass onto a passing waiter’s tray with a sleight of hand Alan wished he could emulate.  “Sorry, Master h’Alan, sir.  Master Scott h’asked me to keep h’an eye on you.”

“As well as the eye he’s keeping on me?” Alan grumbled, knowing without looking that his eldest brother had switched to hover mode again and was making a beeline for him.

“h’Well, you h’are h’under eighteen,” Parker reminded him.  “’er Ladyship wasn’t supposed to h’invite you in the first place.”

“Alan!” Scott greeted, again, slinging an arm around his shoulders.  His suit was still immaculate – the only one of Alan’s brothers to not somehow spill something on himself so far despite the glass of wine clutched in his hand.  “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding,” Alan protested.  “I was talking with Parker.”

“Your brother is behaving ‘imself remarkably, Master Scott, sir,” Parker obligingly interjected. “Per’aps you should be focusing on the h’other one.”  He sent a dark look towards the centre of the room.

“Gordon’s not doing any harm,” Scott dismissed with a wave of the wineglass.  The liquid barely sloshed and Alan was reminded that Scott did, supposedly, know what he was doing at high function events.

“h’I beg to disagree, sir,” Parker muttered.  “h’If you gentlemen will h’excuse me.”  Alan didn’t want to excuse the only reasonable conversationalist in the room, but Parker didn’t wait for a complaint before making purposeful strides towards where Gordon had started attempting to serenade Penelope in a terrible, out of tune rendition of Drunken Sailor.  Normally, Gordon could sing.  Drunk, he was apparently tone deaf.

The song choice seemed appropriate, and he said as much to Scott, who grinned before scowling at his tie, straightening it again even though no-one had touched it since the last time Scott had been over to “smarten him up”.  Alan suspected he was just as drunk as Virgil as he batted him away ineffectually and diverted his attention towards where Penelope had finally disentangled herself from Gordon with some assistance from Parker and was heading their way.

As soon as Scott turned, he scarpered, and dutifully hid in the toilets with a good game – adulting be damned – until Parker came to drag him out several hours later to an almost empty ballroom and a pile of drunk and exhausted (or just exhausted, in the case of John) brothers in the middle.

“h’I’m afraid getting them ‘ome h’is your job, Master h’Alan,” the butler said.  He at least sounded apologetic, even if he was glaring daggers at Gordon.  “’er Ladyship ‘as h’another h’appointment in the morning h’and needs to return ‘ome h’immediately.”

The Lady in question was talking quietly to the last few non-Tracy guests as they left the ballroom. Alan groaned.  Tracy One was parked on the helipad at the top of the building, and he was starting to realise why Scott had allowed Penelope to invite him.

Next time, one of them could be the designated pilot.  He was never attending any ‘adult party’ again.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #wip excerpt #alan tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #aloysius parker #lady penelope creighton-ward #thunderfluff