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#juice shot
indigonite · 3 months
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‘tis the season to celebrate
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strangersatellites · 1 year
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It had all started in Photography 101. 
All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.
Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself. 
He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind. 
He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures. 
Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.
The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same. 
So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at. 
The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition. 
(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)
By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge. 
Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk. 
About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.
What are we waiting for? 
She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.
“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”
The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.
“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”
Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying. 
He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.
He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.
He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.
“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”
Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.
The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility. 
“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”
She smacks at his arm and carries on.
“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”
Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up. 
Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.
But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.
He’s going to take his mugshot.
*****
“I want to take your mugshot.”
They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.
Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”
Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.
“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”
Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. 
“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”
Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”
But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.
He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”
Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”
Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera. 
*****
Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.
So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins. 
One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism. 
Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end. 
Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. 
He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish. 
It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.
He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall. 
Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.
“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”
“Hey! It was one time!”
“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”
Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.
He looks good. 
Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.
He lines up his shot. Click.
Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.
Click.
He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings. 
Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.
Click.
Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.
He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”
He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.
Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”
Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”
He rolls his eyes. 
He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.
“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”
Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring. 
“Do you trust me?”
Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.
A pretty one. His brain supplies.
But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.
“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.
Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie. 
“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”
Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.
“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”
He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.
Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”
Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”
He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.
Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.
Click.
Click. 
Click.
The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.
His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.
He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.
It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.
*****
Steve got an A. 
He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend. 
The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.
Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.
But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.
Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.
It quickly became a game between the two.
He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)
When he was twenty for public indecency.
At twenty-two for arson.
Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.
But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.
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simping-acefully · 2 months
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"Better Luck Next Time"
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Laios Touden/Reader Not poofread, I blacked out and this was on my phone notes. English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes No warnings 600 ish words?
You took out the small notebook out of your apron pocket and braced yourself to go to the table where your regulars had just taken a seat. You couldn't help but stare in spite of yourself. You were capable of appreciating a handsome face, and Laios was rather dashing. In fact, if he would slow down on his rambling, you'd almost want to ask him out. Almost.
There was a certain charm to him, he carried himself with grace and had gained a certain reputation over time- After all, the Touden siblings were an odd pair. You had served them before, they seemed nice enough. Decent tippers, polite. Almost too educated to be mere gold peelers. You had been tempted to ask, but everyone had their own reasons to enter the dungeon.
Now, in the perceived privacy of their table, Laios Touden was happily chatting his sister's ear off, talking about monsters and ghosts. Falin had a dopey grin on her face, matching her brother's energy effortlessly and adding observations of her own in regards to the nature of ghosts, unnerving the nearby patrons.
With an amused huff, you walked towards the oblivious troublemakers and interrupted them by clearing your throat and flashing them your best customer service smile. "Welcome to the Laughing Wolf, what can I get you?"
The knight seemed to jump within his armor seemingly taken completely off-guard by your presence- His posture shifted from relaxed to stiff, back straight as ramrod. The cleric, on the other hand, gave you a placid smile. "Ah, it's the Baraselia lady!"
You blinked owlishly at the bizarre nickname. "Pardon?"
Falin simply tilted her head and pointed at her own head, around the place where your updo was. Your hand reflexively reaches out to the side of your head, grazing the hairpin that held your bun together, and the flower charm that hung from it. "Is that what this is?"
The woman simply turned to look at her brother, your gaze shifted to follow hers. Poor Laios seemed to be shaking in his seat, face beet-red. "They are a… A plant in the dungeon. They trap things and use them as fertilizer and are strong enough to crush bone…"
"Huh?- Is that a good thing?" You took off the pin, hair cascading free as you brought the item in front of you and scrutinized the delicate ceramic flower charm. You hadn't given it much thought when you bought it, in all honesty. It just was a cute white flower with purple accents.
"Yes!" The knight startled you out of your trance with his zealous response. "It's beautiful and strong, and it's… It does- That is…"
You never thought you'd see the oldest Touden so flustered, much less when it came to talking the inhabitants of the dungeon. He was, after all, known to be enamoured by monsters and rather oblivious- To the point he would infodump any bystander that showed an iota of interest on monsters.
Your brow furrowed in concern. "Are you feeling okay? You look…off. Are you sick?" The thought made your chest tighten. These siblings were already wearing clothes in such a rough state, they didn't seem like they could afford proper medical care. "Hang on! I'll whip you up something."
And with that, you stormed away, slamming your little notebook shut and shoving it inside your apron's pocket.
Once you were out of sight, Laios' body slumped, not unlike a puppet getting its strings cut, face first into the table "Hnngg".
His frustrated (and rather pathetic) whine elicited a small chuckle from Falin, who gave her brother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
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jnoll · 1 year
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redid an old yasha sketch
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elioslover · 5 months
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Little Angel, Only Freak? - Grapejuice.
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🎃 Halloween Flashbacks 🎃
This can be read as a stand-alone piece! 👻 I've really been wanting to include some flashback moments from Harry and Klutz's past, so I thought Halloween would be the perfect place to start!
Premise: Harry has been pining over Y/n - his best friends slightly older sister - for as long as he can remember.
GRAPEJUICE MASTERPOST / Other Writing
NB! Y/n's (Klutz) brother's name is Jack. In Grapejuice it's mentioned that Harry may have wrote some songs about Klutz. These events were inspired specifically by two of his masterpieces lmao, so lemme know if you notice any references hehe. - Em. xo
Warnings: Drinking/smoking (this oneshot contains quite a bit due to the fact that they are attending a lot of Halloween parties). Age-gap (2yrs). Self-insert she/her.
Word count: 5.4k
🍷 2011 🍷
Sitting with your legs criss-crossed, on the kitchen counter which is perhaps the highest off of the ground you are most comfortable with. Your firm belief in keeping your feet on the soil, neither under deep waters nor up in the air. 
That aside, you are eating a toastie, courtesy of your own cooking- rather surprised that not only did you manage to get ready on time, but actually finished with plenty to spare. 
Indulging in your meal, the sound of Travis Scott accompanying your chewing, Harry's sudden appearance in the kitchen is startling, but nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, there have been plenty of worse and compromising interactions in the past. 
“Aren’t you too old to be trick-or-treating?” You mumble through your food-filled mouth, eyeing him from top to bottom, shamefully admiring his choice of costume. Perhaps you were a sucker for a sexy pirate- though a large part of you believes the 'sexy' part was unintentional. 
Harry only smiles and meanders further into the kitchen, invading the fridge for god knows what before giving up, strolling over to you, invading your space in an instant and with audacity you have never witnessed prior, he snatches the half-devoured triangle of a toastie and takes a hearty bite before speaking through muffled chews, 
“Age is but a construct.”
“I guess I agree.” You shrug, thoughts travelling to the dangerously explicit fantasies you experienced at the mere existence of Tom Hard, your brain concocting a dreamland in which a 15-year age gap would be graciously welcomed. 
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Harry archives the moment. An entirely separate dreamland surrounds him and yourself. But, you still seem so far away, Harry is aching to extend the conversation, “Where are you off to, a Tarantino-themed party?”
“That my dear, is none of your business.”
“Well for what it’s worth,” he informs both sweetly and sultry, “you make a beautiful *Viper.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Styles.” You open the gates and let your guard down, needing him to know you notice him- see him, and if vulnerability is the way to make that clear, god willing, something inside you wishes to share it. 
Harry is stunned- your words are one thing, your tone is another. He wants, no, he needs to hear your softness, again and again. Then there is an invasive double honk and it can only belong to the red Mazda parked in the driveway, stark headlights shining through the kitchen curtains. 
You hop off the counter without a care in the world, straighten out your costume, and check your makeup in the reflection of the microwave before strolling straight past Harry and into the entrance hall, grabbing your matching purse. You raise your voice to address both your brother and the sexy pouting pirate stunned to silence,
“That’s my ride." Certain they've both heard, you open the front door and as an afterthought, call over your shoulder, "Save me a Mars bar!”
👻
The boys are in line for the entrance to a club that Jack stated would be "popping", but there is a clear age limit and Harry's anxiety is already reaching its limit. He turns to Darth Vader- ignoring how ridiculous his friend is- and Harry cautiously ponders aloud, 
“Are you sure we’re even gonna get in?”
“Trust me.” Jack sternly enforces. 
“What is this hold you have over me?” Harry concedes. 
By what could either be deemed a miracle or exceptional finesse, it's not long before the boys have their left wrists stamped with a small ink jack-o-lantern, and are entering the club. 
“See! Am I ever wrong?” Jack projects against the booming bass, but Harry certainly hears him, more focused on the dissipating nerves being replaced with confidence. 
“Drinks!” Jack doesn't allow a retort, making his way to the bar with the assurance that Harry is following close behind. Harry was, and after a few other patrons are tended to, the boys order their choices and cheer a duet of tequilas in celebration of their success. 
The tequila is still travelling down Harry's throat when a voice, so sweet and so familiar, almost causes him to choke, his eyes opening, neck dropping to look at the person who had exclaimed "Oi!". Unsurprisingly, you are standing there, arms on your hips, a look of disappointment painted across your face,
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“To be fair, I didn’t expect you to be here either.” Jack shrugs.
“I thought you were trick-or-treating, Jack." You chide.
“Oh, please, we’re seventeen. You knew that was a cover.” His eye-rolls with a jovial smirk. 
“Still. I thought at least a house party.” 
“Which is exactly where you said you would be.”
“Shut up.” Your last line of defence. 
“C’mon, Y/n. Go have fun, it’ll be like we’re not even here.”
With a dissatisfied sigh, you grab your drink from the bar counter and gather within the group of girls all dressed with glamorous uniqueness, disappearing into the mass of dancers, praying that Jack’s statement would prove correct. 
But, as expected, this promise was broken within the first hour after the desperate need for a Marlboro was lulling in your lungs, and for some useless and godforsaken reason, smoking is banned from the bar and dancefloor- bar vaping- however, due to the lack of an outside area, the designated smoking zone was the hallway. 
After a trip to the bathroom- which had vanity counters, ladies waiting near the cashmere wash towels to unnecessarily aid in drying your hands; each bathroom is garnished with gold framing and every stall comes with a little glass table attached to the wall; perfect for cutting lines of coke- you decided it was time to settle down for a good smoke, spotting an empty, luxurious maroon and velvet two-seater sofa. 
Your focus is on the ridiculous custom silver bear lighter you bought second-hand, your head bowed, smoke balanced between your lips, so it comes as a great surprise when you glance up and Harry is standing before you. By the time your cigarette sets alight, he is settled next to you on the lounger, 
“Fancy seeing you here.” He teases lazily.
“You lost Jack?” You shift your body to better see him, simultaneously handing him your smoke. 
“Always do.” He softly chuckles, knuckles brushing your fingertips in exchange, and he takes a good drag, hoping it will miraculously cure the anxiety that seemed to return the moment he found himself alone. 
“That guy’s a menace.” 
"This is the strangest hallway I've ever seen." He comments, glancing around the room of scattered stoners and straight smokers. Then he remembers the house he visited less than three hours ago, "And that's saying something." 
"Our hallway is not that bad." You lamely defend- this conversation has been ongoing since youth. 
"Can't believe we're sitting on a chez lounge." Harry marvels, hand stroking at the smooth material. 
"This place truly is something." You agree, proceeding to ponder the answer to a premonition she needs confirmation for, “What are you doing over here?”
“Just needed a breather.” He admits. “You?”
“Guess I’m doing the same.” You consider. 
“What’s the matter, klutz?” He reads your mood like a medium- some sort of magician.
“Boys are shitty.” You allow him the tip of the ice burg- it has been bugging you, perhaps not as much as the other things bothering and plaguing you.
“We are.” He agrees lightly, knowing it would be detrimental to pry. 
“You aren’t. most of the time, anyway.” 
“I thought I was the most annoying person you know.”
“You are. Maybe ever.” You dramatise your distaste, “But you are by no means shitty.”
For a reason Harry had always known, yet never questioned, he found your presence as relaxing as falling asleep cradled by a fluffy cloud. He briefly wonders if you feel the same, but knows better than to embrace hope. Nevertheless, he says what he can guarantee will suit your interesting demeanour, 
“I’m sorry about… whatever you’re going through.” 
“Thanks, Harry.” You smile earnestly as the pair of you proceed to pass the cigarette back and forth, comfortable in the presence of taking a cool-down. 
But, with your vulnerability out in the open, it becomes mandatory to verify the reason he is currently sitting beside you, 
“Why aren’t you down there?”
Harry knew it was coming, thought about what to say, and came up with a few reasonable excuses but as soon as the question leaves your quirked and lush lips, the truth comes pouring out and he cannot do anything but witness his honesty,
“I feel out of my element.”
“That’s all in your head.” You try to reassure him, knowing it isn’t that simple, yet hoping he might allow you the chance to prove it, even for just a moment. 
“Oh, is that right?” He smirks. 
You are standing before he can blink twice, singing your cigarette in the ashtray and reaching your arm out for him to join you, 
“C’mon, I’ll show you.”
He doesn’t protest- he doesn’t even hesitate as he wraps his hand in your own, raising from the chair and allowing you to drag him wherever you please. 
This results in descending stairs, weaving through a crowd before finally reaching the destination; the bar. He shouldn’t be surprised, but the pleasure and subconscious pride he wore as you tugged him about, moving closer, sometimes a few steps apart, but never letting go of his hand- even if only one finger was hooked to his own.
The bartender arrives with such haste that Harry is almost certain it has something to do with your beauty- it does- but mere moments later he finds out that you are in fact a regular visitor- and a loved one, at that. 
Harry is so enamoured and floored with such an overload of new information about you that he hardly registers when you tilt over the counter and order four tequilas. 
And when the tequila arrives, there are five, offered as, ‘on the house’. Your reaction is mischievous and Harry feels exhilarated at the promise of your mission to make his night memorable.  
“Bottoms up.” You command, double-parking and encouraging Harry to wrap both of his shot glasses in each palm. He does as follows, giving you awkward cheers before copying your skill and tossing back the tequila one after the other. You then guide Harry to drop both glasses on the table and immediately grab the lonesome shot glass, still filled to the brim. 
You go in for half a sip, savouring the sharp spirits slipping down your throat but leaving half the glass full. Handing it over to Harry he finishes the drink and turns to you in anticipation for further instructions. Your shoulders can’t resist a consequential shudder, and then you clap your hands together and cheekily beam up at him,
“Now, we dance.”
“I can’t dance.” His pitch is one of panic and protest. 
“Neither can I.” You answer proudly, wrapping his hand in your own and leading him onto the dancefloor.
🍷 2016 🍷
Your boyfriend has caused yet another scene, taking it personally when some poor guy dressed as a zombie accidentally stepped on his foot.
Before he had the chance to toss more furniture, you plan an escape and make a beeline for the kitchen- somewhere likely to be devoid of party-goers. But when you round the corner, the sight of Harry, dressed in a white and red striped shirt, hair quaffed beneath a goofy matching beanie, and eyes framed by large, black round glasses. He's sitting on the counter, his light jean-clad legs dangling, shoes knocking against the bottom cabinets.
He seems too calm for such a festive evening, especially when he is as notorious as Jack when it comes to turning into a playful nuisance- affectionate, chatty, and likely to end up attempting to dance.
You walk straight over, only coming to a halt when your sternum presses into his knees, and beneath those gaudy glasses, you don't miss the way his deep green eyes swell and his lashes bash beautifully with bafflement.
"Ah, here's Waldo." You beam up at him.
"Y'got me." He lightly shrugged, a sneaky smile painting his cheeks.
"What do I win?"
Eyes widening with an accompanying Chesire cat smile, your tone tainted with taunting cheeriness. But, nonsensically you lean in closer, bare abdomen grazing his denim.
Whether intentional or not, Harry is set alight, his burning knees spreading along his stomach, trailing up his chest, simmering his heart and throat, coals burning at his cheeks and brain. He is so stoned on placebo, that his mouth is unable to project his profession,
"Anything you want."
You are experiencing first-degree burns, bathing yourself in diversion,
"Are these your real glasses?" You lean your face forward, lining up with his own, your hands gently clasping the black frames and examining the determined false lenses. "Guess not."
There are less than zero reasons for your bodies to remain so stuck, relaxed in the sanctuary of physical contact, but neither of you makes an attempt to move, unaddressed and absolutely mad. You deem it time to turn things around,
"Avoiding the party?"
"A little." He shrugs.
"Bad company?"
"The worst." He tilts his chin to the ceiling before returning his gaze to your own, "Though I can't imagine I'm much better."
"Anything is better than the mess going on outside." You meet his pondersome eyes with a competitive roll of your own.
Now Harry understands the crash he had heard through the kitchen window. Your expressions of annoyance and disappointment emit all of the information he needs to know,
"Dickie acting up again?"
"You know that's not his name."
"It should be."
Harry has never shied away from expressing his distaste for your boyfriend- simply because you were dating him. Harry was hardly around, and when he was, you were almost guaranteed to be absent due to plans with Ricky.
With a sudden bough of frustration, your hands press into Harry's upper thighs to properly balance yourself. he does everything- and more- to avoid physically reacting to your unusual closeness. You breathe out and it matches the mournful furrow of your brow,
"He's just... why does he have to be so aggressive?"
"Yeah, that table certainly didn't deserve that." Harry leans in, looking down at you with a worrisome but sensitive demeanour. And then he leaps and lightly wraps his hand around your hip.
His eyes are studying your soft face, his heart focused on your sweet features and the feeling of your skin separated by his clothes, but his head is still stuck on the confusion currently holding you captive. He can't help by prying,
"He's not... aggressive with you, right?"
"Not yet." The words trail off of your tongue. And then you toss everything aside, pressing your fingers into his thigh "I don't wanna talk about it right now."
Harry doesn't know how to react, sudden shocks of arousal emulating at the discomfort of your digging nails, the desperate desire to destroy the distance between your lips, loop his arm around your neck, softly cup your cheek and express how special you should be treated- with such certainty that you never forget,
"I like your costume. Might be your best so far."
It definitely is, you are rather impressed with how well your Other Mother costume turned out. Though, your already tragic bank account has taken a traumatic bashing,
"I spent way too much money on it."
"How much?" His grin is mischievous.
"Too much."
"Now I have to know." He pleads, but know you will never utter the shame you suffer. He won't let you off the hook so easy, though, "Just to rub it in, I'll have you know, I only spent three pounds."
You huff, leaning further into his touch, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on your flesh. He has to tilt to see you fully, and you aid him craning your neck to meet him in the middle, dismissing the deemed unnecessary distance,
"Well, you've done a terrible job at making it hard to find you."
"Maybe I wanted you to find me." He shrugs with suave.
"That was ambitious."
"It worked, yeah?" He is seeping with playful pride, though he cannot prevent his need to compliment you- perhaps the only way to get his attraction across was through words, true words at that, "You really do look beautiful."
"Not just sexy?"
"Sexy as fuck." He groans, fingers pressing into the plush fleshyness of your waist, "But not just sexy."
"Filthy." You scold seductively.
And then you seem to find yourself sinking further into his touch, trying with everything in you to get nearer- his neck so biteable, collarbone begging for loving bruises. Harry is on the same page, body pressing into your own, his palm trailing up and settling on your lower back.
You think he might kiss you. You think you are out of your mind... But, you think you're going to let him. The only thing to pause your seemingly-senseless thoughts is the defensive, stern, and frankly, threatening boom of your boyfriend,
"Hey, what the fuck are you doing with my girl?"
Like velcro being violently ripped apart, you have never moved with such haste in all of your current existence to date. Harry is now at least three feet away from you, and your boyfriend is berzerkly striding towards him. Harry calmly and rationally raises his palms in defence,
"Nothing, mate."
"Ricky-" You edge closer.
But, your boyfriend has already aimed his fist at Harry's face, and instead of reacting with returned aggression, he interjects,
"Mate, chill out." Harry reasons with a casual shrug, "She's like a sister to me."
An invasive feeling of disappointment pangs at your heart at the sound of sister, and to this day you will not analyse why. It was something you were guaranteed to repeat in the future.
"Am I supposed to believe that?" Ricky scoffs but his arm drops to his side nevertheless.
Harry hops off of the counter with ease, stepping past your boyfriend with effortless confidence. He glances over at you for a mere instance- not long enough for you to comprehend the event that just unfolded.
He reaches over to the nearest countertop and grabs his solo-cup and before turning his back completely, he addresses Ricky with finality,
"Believe what you want, Batman."
🍷 2018 🍷
Harry knocks for a third time before Jack finally answers the door- and when he does, dressed Pennywise- a red balloon tied to his wrist- Harry instantly regrets his entire life, attempting to prepare for a chaotic Halloween party. Whenever Jack finds himself in an extravagant, far-too-detailed costume, two things are certain; there will be a magically, monstrous punch bowl, and Jack will be dancing on any piece of furniture that catches his eye.
“So, this was your last-minute decision?” Harry works hard to keep the disturbed feelings from projecting across his features.
“It was this or Heisenburg, okay?” Jack sighs, audatiously comparing his- what can only be described as a slutty Pennywise to simply purchasing a hazmat.
“How much time did you spend on this?” Harry finds his amusement increasing.
“Too long.” Jack admits with distaste. But all in all, This is the best of his costumes to date, and Harry certainly agrees.
“I’m sure the ladies will love it.” He commends, and Jack nods avidly, his face mimicking that of confidence.
Harry ponders halfheartedly as they enter the home Harry knows so well- the home he spent at least a quarter of his 28 years. It's only as he reaches the living room, packed with both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Many of them seem older than he, and Harry can only assume these are friends of Jack’s college, and your work colleagues.
A pang of panic threatens to become a full-blown wave of disappointment and regret. Missing out on the life he could have had.
Before he can be swept away by his newfound unfamiliarity, Jack has led them to the makeshift bar- a dining table decorated with spooky decorations, all surrounding the notorious monster of the eve- the Halloween punch. Harry doesn’t protest- by this point he deems it necessary.
Lightly tapping their cups together in cheers. Jack takes a hearty sip before his brows suddenly raise in realization,
“Huh. That’s funny.” Jack finally takes a moment to acknowledge his best friend, emulating the Devil himself.
“Hm?” Harry asks halfheartedly, eyes scanning the room for something and he doesn’t even know what.
“I just noticed your costume.”
Harry’s gaze snaps back to Jack, giving him a puzzled look, masking a sudden bough of insecurity simmering beneath the surface,
“I look funny?”
“No, Y/n told me she was gonna be an Angel. Coincidence, huh?” Jack shrugs.
“Is she here?” Harry tries to hide the sudden panic.
“Not yet. You know she’s gonna lose her mind over it.” Jack grins, always bemused by the so-called banter between his sister and best friend. 
Harry’s panic is substituted by an odd sense of relief- he now knows what- or who- he had been searching for. With a bough of mischievous confidence, he mimics his best friend's grin and informs,
“Just what I wanted to hear.”
👻
Upon the news of his holy crush’s imminent arrival, Harry finishes his first punch cup and then heads towards the ‘bar’ to pour another.
Pleasantly, someone is already attending to the punch- an old teammate from his high school football team has the same intentions, finishing up on filling his cup before recognizing Harry and enthusiastically initiating a catch-up. One that proves helpful, replacing his thoughts of you with good conversation and in turn, allows him to react.
It’s unclear how long this chat persisted as the boys moved from the make-shift bar to a spot on the porch- already scattered with smokers and an extremely tense game of beer-pong.
Eventually, the punch has caught up with him and Harry has to excuse himself in favour of the bathroom. This should be an easy enough task, but this monstrous punch has proved poisonous as it lags his movements and encourages him to take a long, good look at himself in the cobweb-framed mirror.
Impressed with his costume, and impressed with how calm and cheery he felt. Things don’t seem so bad- the intrusive thoughts were offering silence for the sake of letting him have a good time.
His best friend’s home has always had the oddest of hallways. A complicated combination of narrow to wide, with unnecessary corners and nooks. These proved sacred during the times of childhood, the perfect place to out-smart the person trying to yell, ‘Tag, you’re it!’ Now, this hallway is treacherous and Harry longs to find himself back in the living room, especially with the amount of party-goers crowding the corridor.
Looking back, Harry wonders if he would have even seen you wedged between a pair of what seems to be Cersei and Jaime Lannister. It would be hard not to, with the way the shimmering satin dress and the sparkling halo create a ring of glory around you.
But you certainly see him, meandering down the hallway dressed in a costume to match your own. Your first feeling should be annoyance, but unfortunately, your thoughts are redirected to just how good he looks.
The duo you were humouring are a thing of the past as you mutter an “excuse me”- gaze and mind already set on intercepting Satan himself.
He’s leaning against the wall- being extra careful to not knock over any picture frames. His head is bowed, contemplating his next move and it suddenly and forcefully occurs to him that his original plan to find you was diverted by a pointless side-quest.
As if the thin veil of Halloween was thoughtful enough to grant him instant gratification, a set of white heels, laced to the upper calf is walking his way. He lets his eyes trail the length of soft thighs up to the seams of lacy trim, savouring each fleshy, smooth thigh before finally addressing the owner's face.
When his eyes are met with your own, glittering with each blink, Harry’s widen in surprise, jaw threatening to slack as you stop before him. Giving him a good glance before mimicking his stance and balancing yourself against the wall. 
“Well, well, well.” Your tone is both amused and annoyed.
A sudden rush of ease and euphoria washes over him at the coolness of your mood- though, that was subject to change rather quickly in the presence of Harry.
On a whim you attribute to both a poisonous punch and the devil standing before you, Harry is taken off guard by the sudden contact of your palm on his chest, even more, surprised as you push and guide him into the nearest alcove.
But that was as far as your thoughts had progressed, what was the plan now? This is a result of impulsivity, and when you concede and don’t go on to say anything further, Harry takes the opportunity to back you into the corner, arms balancing loosely on the wall near your face.
“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” His smile is cheesy.
“I’m sure you’re enjoying this.” Your eyes roll, arms crossing your chest in distaste.
Harry tilts down ever so slightly, aligning his lips with the shell of your ear,
“Loving it.”
“And I’m supposed to believe this is just a coincidence?”
“Believe what you want, Angel.”
He returns to his previous position, aching to get a better look at your face, hoping that the blush pink scattered across your cheeks is a product of not makeup, but himself. You cannot admit that it’s a combination of both- not even to yourself- instead opting for a classic eye-roll and continuing to do what you do best,
“I see you chose to go costume-less this year.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“You’re the Devil.” You try, “Truly.”
By now, your hands have dropped to your sides, securing distance but still unexplainably allowing Harry the chance to wander closer if he wishes. He does, but only enough for your chests to brush, his head bowed to gaze your way, one of his hands reaching out to fiddle with the accessory adorning your head,
“Why, because I make you want to ditch that pretty little halo?”
“You’re insane.” You chide, palm raising to his abdomen in protest.
“And you want me.” He articulates with certainty.
“Correction, you’re psychotic.”
But you like the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your hold, the musky and fruity aroma invading your senses. The curve where his shoulder and neck meet is aligned with your chin, and for a split second, you ponder the impulse to get closer, latch your lips to his skin and sink your teeth in.
Harry likes having you so near, he can smell the Chanel and cocoa butter seeping from your skin, the crown of your head smells of something fruity and fresh. And when your hand absentmindedly trails further along his stomach, settling on his shoulder, Harry almost stops breathing when his impulses get the best of him, wrapping his free arm around your waist, and when you don’t protest and your free arm goes to rest along his shoulder, he thinks he might have a chance,
“Are you sure, pretty Angel? Your body seems to think otherwise.”
“Shut up, Harry.”
“You’re more than welcome.” he smirks, loving the way your eyes simmer with conflict, “…To shut me up, that is.”
You decide that fame has done a lot to him, not just the typical singing, stadiums and superstardom, so why the hell is he talking like a… man? Like he knows how to seduce a woman, and why the fuck does that make your stomach churn with curiosity.
But, you remind yourself that age equals experience and that makes you the superior. Besides, from the way he’s currently behaving, you have an inkling that his ego has likely inflated.
This could be fun. Two could play at this game, and no matter the amount of fraternizing Harry may have committed, you were competitively and egotistically prepared to knock him down a peg.
Raising to the tip of your toes, hand tightening on his shoulder, nails softly scratching at his back, your other hand reaching to wrap around his neck, your thumb stroking the crook of his chin. Batting your eyelashes with a lick of the lips, you ensure he hears each and every word,
“Is that what you want, sweet boy?” You coo, and Harry stiffens in an instant, blinking rapidly as you push on, “Want me to take care of you?”
“You can do whatever you want.” He blurts out before the ‘ou’, fist flexing against the wall, his body aching to be tangled up with your own.
It's cute, and unnecessarily arousing, and as much as you know you shouldn’t, there’s an ache in your chest that chants for you to crumb him along for just a little longer,
“Pity. After all, this is just a costume.”
“Prove it.”
His eyes are eager, nose bumping along your forehead, and your hand comes to its finale as it holds his cheek in place, gently pulling his face nearer to your own. You pout, but the sly smirk prints itself at the corners of your lips nevertheless,
“A Devil certainly isn't deserving.” 
“Prove it anyways.”
Harry thinks he’s about two sentences away from begging for something he didn’t know he needed so desperately. As much as it pains you to put a pin in this, the confusion of juxtaposition of attraction is threatening to make you light-headed.
“No.”
So, to Harry’s utter dismay, you release him from your hold and tactfully slip out between the space you once occupied. With one more sympathetic pat on his shoulder, you smile at him and make your way back down the hallway, feathered wings taunting him in your wake.
🍷 2019 🍷
Harry was lucky enough to have been in town for Halloween- he can't count how many holidays he missed over the last half-decade. He’s dressed as her favourite thing; a teddy bear- fuzzy ears and makeup to match. Your brother, Jack was hosting his famously chaotic annual Halloween celebration, and Harry was far too giddy at the guarantee of seeing you again. He can't count the missed holidays, but he can certainly count how many years it’s been since you last spoke- mar the quick birthday wishes, and periodic congratulations and praise.
But, after an hour or so, he is starting to doubt his certainty, gaze shamelessly studying the room, hoping he had merely missed your arrival. Two solo cups of warm beer later, Harry is itching to locate you- this is your tradition after all, and he was so sure that this time would end differently, that she would finally see him for the man he was becoming.
He definitely wouldn’t be asking Jack why you weren’t here- partially because he seems preoccupied with a makeshift gravity bong. Instead, Harry seeks out one of your oldest friends, Nova, who is dressed as a Harley Quinn, but before he can even reach the group in which she mingles, his boot trips on a rug and unable to help it, the contents of his cup comes spilling out, splashing and coating Nova’s front with the sticky substance. After apologising profusely- even if just to come off polite- Harry musters up the humility to ponder your lack of presence.
Disheartened and disappointed when she responds with, “She’s in Italy”, Harry is once again confused by Jack’s lack of mentioning the news. Though none of his business, the dichotomy of standing his ground and avoiding the question versus caving in and simply asking Jack has him in quite the frenzy.  
The rest of the evening is a bore- Harry switches to ginger ale, and though he attempts to mingle, maintaining interest proves to be impossible, and for the first time, Harry makes the decision to head home early.
But, now, with a make-up-free face and his favourite jammies, he is tucked beneath the fluffiest sheets and your mere existence is pulling the sheets tighter, trapping him in a series of thoughts of yours truly, thinking about you.
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magpiepills · 4 months
Text
Kill Shot part 1: Fool’s Gold
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Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ only, MDNI
Pairing: Ezra x f reader
Word count: 3.7k
Summary: Alone on the green, you’re ambushed by a stranger. Defenseless, you have no choice but to put your trust in him.
Warnings: Smut, porn with plot, bit of angst? Oral (f receiving) fingering, weapons, minor violence, dubious consent, masturbation, pet names, no use of y/n, I’ve tried to make sure the reader is not racially coded, and that physical descriptions are limited to the type of genitals the reader has. Warnings will be updated for each part in this series.
A word from the author: well it’s here! My baby! The story I’ve wanted to write for months and worried over and dreamed of and wouldn’t be quiet about is done. I know tomorrow I’ll think of things I should have put in that I didn’t, that I’ll go back and find typos, that people may not like it, but this has made me happy. This is my birthday present to myself and this fic has been a very useful distraction from some pretty heavy things. I’ve got a soft spot for this fic. I have a soft spot for Ezra. I love him. I love Prospect. I loved getting to spend time there as I wrote. Many thanks to all my magic sluts for the love and encouragement and for reading this shit. I love you. I love everyone who asked to be tagged and who made me feel warm and fuzzy with your enthusiasm.
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Maybe you should have taken your grandmother's advice. “Nothing out there for a girl on her own. Just trouble. Won’t be worth it.” She had said, shaking her head. You could hear the weariness in her voice even as she sat wringing her hands on another planet. You knew she was right. Nothing could stop you though, not when your mind was made up. You’re a stubborn woman in a long line of stubborn women, and both of you knew that no amount of good sense would keep you from sinking all of your savings into a second hand environmental suit, a new laser scalpel, and a deposit on a parcel class drop pod that looked like it may not make it past Central in the first place. You scavenged for the rest of the equipment, building a small cache of slurry packs, a few refreshers, enough chem to extract several cases worth of the rare gems you sought, and borrowed a thrower. It was folly at best, elaborate suicide at worst and most likely. But what was the saying? “No guts, no glory?” Maybe it was best not to think of your guts right now. Maybe “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” was more apt. It didn’t really matter now, anyway. Nothing mattered after his first words pierced the peaceful bubble of your harvest.
“Don’t move.”
You froze, knelt on the soft, damp earth. Your knees grew cold and wet, elbow deep in the shallow cavern where the aurelac spread below the surface. The raspy voice crackled through your ear piece, stilling your heart, slowing your blood.
You didn’t need to see the weapon to know what was pressed against the back of your neck. The weight of the metal held you in place. You closed your eyes, and resigned yourself to your fate, readying yourself to meet Kevva much more readily than you thought possible. You’d like to have fought back, but you couldn’t reach your own side arm, it lay uselessly next to your scalpel and the bottle of fazer that, tipped into the cavern below, would surely kill you both. “Don’t even think about going for that thrower, either.” The voice was so casual, threatening your life like he was reading the weather report. You did as he said, accepting defeat, hoping your life and your harvest was all he wanted. There are worse ways to die than choking on the dust. “Gooooood,” he purred, “Now lay on your belly. Don’t try anything.”
Again you obeyed, but before you were settled on the ground, his boot connected with your hip, sending you rolling to your back with a yelp. Before you could get your bearings, his boot was on your chest, enough weight behind it to hold you down, compressing your sternum uncomfortably. From this angle, you could appreciate how beautiful the green moon was, soft pinkish-blueish clouds diffusing across the sky where Bakhroma was setting. Dust floated up and for a while you could forget that it was poisonous. You stared up at the sky and the canopy of green until the sunlight on his rail gun caught your eye. You stared down the engraved barrel, waiting for him to shoot you, or worse. Whatever he was going to do, you wished he’d just do it.
You grabbed feebly at him, hoping that if you put up more of a fight he would do something or say something, but he didn’t. What was he waiting for? It was infuriating and terrifying to wait while a stranger decided what to do with your life. You wanted to yell, to tell him off, to beg, but when you finally looked at him, all the words escaped. His visor was scratched and pitted, his suit was ill fitting and dirty, but his eyes were big and sad and desperate. His lips were parted, as if he were as speechless as you were.
His aim faltered almost imperceptibly, and he furrowed his brow. “Looks like I’ve got a rabbit in my garden.” Your anger boiled back up and you dug your nails into his calf as best you could through his insulating layers. Your efforts were in vain and he chuckled. “Not a rabbit. A pussycat.” You wanted to scream. Finally he shifted his weight and moved his foot so that he was standing above you, straddling your hips, his grip in the thrower more relaxed. “What’s in the case, pussycat? Show me.” He tilted his head toward your aurelac case, only half filled with your spoils. “Go on. Let’s see what you’ve got. Easy.” He stepped back, giving you room to get up. You took your first full breath since his shadow first fell on you, then unlocked the case and shoved it toward him.
Eyes sparkling, he silently tabulated the value of your pull. You hoped he would just take the case and run, that would be the best case scenario. You could still get home, prove your grandmother right, lick your wounds, and find an honest job back on the Pug. Forget this disaster ever happened. Try to find another way to pay off the debt of the wrecked and destroyed pod.
“You harvest all this yourself?” He asked, and you weren’t able to determine what answer might be safest. Do you tell him you’re alone? Pretend you’ve got a whole crew waiting for you on the other side of the ridge? Before you could decide which tack to take, he continued. “Haven’t seen anyone in this sector in some time now. No landers, either. You’re alone, I reckon. You got a camp?” Resigned to whatever fate awaited you, you shook your head. You didn’t have a camp. You had a tent that you put up every night and took down every morning, counting on your impermanence to offer some safety. Fat lot of good that did. You chest was suddenly tight and tears welled in your eyes faster than you could blink them back. “It’s not safe out here for a girl on her own.” The irony of his warning did nothing to stem your crying. He looked away, out of disgust or pity or embarrassment for you, you didn’t know. You wished you could wipe your face.
After a humiliating moment, he spoke again. “Alright.” He gestured around at your meager equipment with the barrel of his thrower, “Get your kit. You’ll come with me.”
“No.” You said, not sounding half as sure of yourself as you’d hoped you would.
He raised his eyebrows at you and lifted the thrower again, careful not to point it right at you this time. “I wasn’t askin’, pussycat. You’re alone, you can harvest, and now you’re coming with me. This is the best case scenario for you. Move.”
The image of your scattered bones, covered in moss and ferns, little yellow flowers sprouting between your ribs flashed in your mind as you packed your things. All the things but the aurelac, which the man with the gun held onto.
He gestured toward an opening in the woods, “Ladies, first.” Chivalry is alive. You trudged in silence, following a path so lightly treaded you could barely see it.
The air was thicker, heavier with motes of poison dust than it seemed to be when you were alone. It gave you a sense of hopelessness and dread. A heaviness in your chest that you hadn’t known even when you found yourself lost in the dense forest. Your captor never fell out of step, always right behind you with his rail gun trained at your side, your case of aurelac banging against his leg as he picked carefully through the woods. He talked as he walked, introducing himself simply as “Ezra” and lamenting the dust, cursing his equipment, pointing out things in the landscape that were supposed to be of interest, but failed to pull you away from your singular focus of trying to remember your path. Your eyes darted around, looking for any anomaly in your surroundings, anything you could use to find your way back somehow. “Back when these hills were full of raiders…” his voice droned on, “There was a fella that went by Alam that used to…” on and on for what felt like hours while your skin itched under your wet clothes. “Here it is. Home, sweet home. Doesn’t look like much, but it is adequate for the savvy returner.”
Ezra stood before a tattered and faded tent, obscured by vegetation and dust that had collected along the seams. You would have walked right past it if he hadn’t guided you here. He unzipped and quickly ushered you inside with a hand on your back. Zipped back in, he turned on a space filter, it popped and whirred for a moment before Ezra began tossing aside his helmet and undoing the snaps and fasteners of his suit. He must have seen the panic on your face as he undressed. “You can take the cot on the right.” His voice was careful, and he turned away from you as he shrugged out of his suit, leaving him in a long sleeved white shirt and gray thermal pants that fit snugly to his legs. “There’s a refresher in the back if you want to clean up, and whatever you want for supper as long as it’s Pastors Henry.” Ezra smiled warmly and you nodded, acknowledging his hospitality without a word.
You sat on the creaking cot and removed your helmet, then rummaged through your pack for clean underclothes before closing the refresher curtain around yourself to finish undressing. You felt more naked than ever before, more vulnerable with only the curtain between you and your unwanted companion, but it did feel good to wash off the sweat and grime from your body and hair. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been able to bathe without needing to hold your helmet and filter tube while you swabbed at yourself with a damp cloth.
When you emerged, fresh and dressed, you found Ezra sitting on his own cot with your aurelac case on his knee, admiring your haul with a small loupe.
He looked up and allowed himself only the quickest glance over your body before settling on your eyes. “This is excellent work. Near master level harvesting. Look. Nary an imperfection. Did you really do all this yourself?”
Without his helmet on, standing this close to him, you could hear him wheezing as he breathed. You could see the delicate curve of his nose and the silvery scar on his cheek, the shock of white in his uncombed hair above his temple that made him look right at home on the untamable moon.
“I did. Taught myself, wasn’t always so good.”
He passed you a pouch of slurry, bumping his own against yours before taking a hearty swig.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
“Same as you, I imagine. Trying to make my fortune before the BG line shuts down for good. Thought it was worth the risk. Thought I could make enough to spend the rest of my life on Lao. Thought wrong.” Your voice dropped and you studied your hands in your lap at the last sentence, embarrassed at the accusation against the man who was feeding you dinner and giving you a bed to sleep on, even if you didn’t have a choice in the matter.
“It’s dangerous out there.” He said, not for the first time. “There are still raiders, kips, only desperate men left now that the rush is past. And that’s only the men, Pussycat. Do you understand? I think we could help each other. I’ve got the equipment, the chem, and the weaponry. I just need your steady hand. I can keep you safe, girl. You’d be top hand. We could be rich.” You met his gaze, but didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. “I know you don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either, but I want you to consider my offer. An equal partnership for a limited engagement.”
It sounded too good to be true. If Ezra was willing to help you harvest, take care of the details so you could make the extractions and offer some protection, it might not be so bad to take one more risk.
The soothing cadence of his voice let you imagine the possibilities he was presenting. It lulled you, gave you time to study the thick vein on the side of his neck, the wide expanse of his shoulders, the strength of his thighs, and the thickness of his paddle-like hands. You didn't doubt he could protect you, but for a fraction of a second, you thought of other ways he might help a girl who was all alone. As quick as the thought came, you chided yourself. This man had just held you at gunpoint, he may yet kill you in your sleep. This was no time to think of meeting any needs but survival. Even if it had been a stand or two since you knew the comfort and pleasure of that particular human touch.
“Let me sleep on it. We can’t do anything tonight anyway.”
He nodded and hummed. Your lingering gaze hadn’t gotten past him. He knew the look well. He ran his hands slowly from his thighs to his knees, a casual thing, but he hoped to tap into whatever you’d seen when you’d let your eyes rove over him.
“A judicious measure. We will let it simmer and come back to it in daylight. I’m going to hit the refresher myself, I can’t be good company filthy as I am.”
•••••
In the narrow refresher stall, Ezra stripped off his clothes, eager to wash away the sticky layer of sweat that clung to him, anxious to run his hands over his body under the tepid stream of recycled water. He thought of you, how close he was to dispatching you, a lone prospector, until you were on your back and he was close enough to see a much bigger picture. His ship, his gems, a way off this forsaken moon. It seemed too easy, too perfect. And now? The unmistakable gleam in your eye added an extra layer to the whole scheme, an auspicious twist in his designs.
Following the trail of water running down his chest and belly, his hand found his cock half hard. He tipped his head back with a heavy sigh, and stroked himself. He thought of the fear in your eyes, thought of how easily you obeyed him, how your thin tank top did nothing to hide your pebbled nipples. He imagined you on your knees, or under him, the sounds you’d make for him when he filled you with his cock. Close to release, he squeezed the base of his cock hard, staving off his orgasm, letting the moment slip away. For so long he believed he might never see another woman. The green is all but abandoned, but even when the rush was at its peak women were scarce. The green moon is harsh and unforgiving, the poisonous atmosphere seemed suited only to the foolish, the reckless, and the criminal. Here you are through, not just on the moon, but in his tent, on his cot, and ripe for the taking.
•••••
While Ezra freshened up, you sat on the little cot, repacking your harvesting kit, making sure nothing was broken when you hastily packed. He hasn’t been unkind. Not really. You knew that prime territories on the green moon used to be fought over, and that people died when they harvested in someone else’s dig. You’d assumed that since the green was mostly abandoned now that would be a thing of the past, but maybe you’d been wrong. Could you really blame him for defending his claim? Maybe you’d have done the same thing if you were him. Your shoulders relaxed a bit. This could work, you thought. You hadn’t planned on having a partner, but if you were both lonesome out here and you could team up for mutual benefit, why not? And it didn’t hurt that he was handsome. You’d keep your guard up, of course, but what harm could come from an alliance?
If your mind wasn’t made up to accept his offer, it would have been when he stood at the end of the tent, bathed in the orange light of the singular lantern illuminating the small space. Wearing only a pair of snug black undershorts, he was a vision. In his suit he looked scrappy, but like this he looked more virile. Broad at his shoulders and narrow at his hips, he cut a fine figure. You didn’t mean to stare, but it was as if he had his own magnetic field drawing you in. Sheepishly he sat on his own cot. “I’ve only got the one set of clothes. Never bunked with a woman in the crew like this before, I hope you don’t mind.”
You shook your head and he leaned back on both hands, smiling. “I’ve got to wash my clothes,” he explained, “you might as well throw yours in too.”
You only had one spare set of clothes, the thin tank top and leggings you wore and the warmer set that you had under your suit. It could all use a wash. Before you could list the pros and cons of your actions, before you could consider the outcome if this didn’t go like you thought it might, you stood up. You fetched the first set of clothes, then hesitated only a second before taking off what you had on. “Might as well start with everything fresh.” You smiled at your new partner.
Ezra exhaled roughly, not hiding the way his eyes wandered over your naked body. You bundled all your clothes together, crossed the short distance to the other side of the tent. He watched you in silence, chest rising and falling, breath catching on every inhale, cock responding instantaneously. “Might as well.” He agreed. One pointed downward flick of your eyes had him stripping off his final layer of modesty as well.
The snap might have been audible. You couldn’t tell. It could have been his patience, or it could have been the saturation sensor on the air filter. Once his lips were on yours it didn’t really matter. His kiss was suffocating and urgent. He held you tight, right arm banded around your waist, trapping his hard cock between your bodies, wetting your stomach with the sticky fluid he wept. His left hand cradled the back of your head, holding you just how he wanted you, you were dizzy with his kiss.
You melted into his embrace, his scent, his sounds, his radiating heat. You let him guide you onto his cot, onto the blanket that smelled like him. “Ezra” you whined, needing him to give you something to meet an intangible need that was thrumming in your core.
“Mm.” He mouthed against your neck and ear, across your collarbone, scratching your skin, leaving a tender path where his lips had been. “What are the odds, little pussycat? What are the odds that I found you here? Maybe the last two people on this moon. All of time and space, and I’m here with you, pretty girl.”
His words made your face feel warm and your heart pound harder. They hung heavy in the air around you as he shifted down the little bed, propping himself on his elbows to cup your breasts, gently squeezing them in his warm palms. He licked and sucked at your nipples, marveling at how they hardened, shiny with his spit, he blew across them, sending a chill up your spine that made you arch up into him.
“A girl like you shouldn’t be here.” His words were whispered against your stomach as he sank down further, “need to be looked after.” He kissed and licked the tender skin below your belly button. “Need me to take care of you, don’t you?” His voice was so soft and hypnotic. Your eyes met and he didn’t drop your gaze as he kissed your mound, your thighs, making your breath hitch when his tongue dipped into your slit. Ezra groaned at the taste of you, at how wet you were, how pliant to his will.
“Ezra” was the only language you spoke, slurring it as you threaded your hand through his hair, stroking the little patch of white with your thumb while his own was slipping up and down through your folds, spreading your slick over every velvet ripple. You rolled your nipple between your fingers and felt as if you were being taken up a mountain, up and up and up he pushed you, each lick, each kiss a step closer to the peak, every breath and coo, every word of praise and pity brought you higher. His fingers found your entrance and pushed inside, making you cry out into the dim light of the stuffy tent.
Ezra watched with his cheek on your thigh as you rocked your hips against his hand, searching for release. He could do this thing all night, making you a boneless little mess, making you cry just for him, he liked the power. He wasn’t a cruel man, though, and he showed you how merciful he was when he returned the flat of his tongue to your clit then sucked the swollen bud between his lips and he curled his fingers inside you, sending you over the edge of unmatched pleasure.
Cum dripped over Ezra’s knuckles as he watched you ride out your orgasm, and he considered bringing his hand to your mouth to see if you’d lick it clean, but he thought better of it, wiping it on his blanket instead. Another time, he thought. How he would love to see your pretty face painted up with his seed.
•••••
“Do you think this was meant to happen, Ezra?” You asked him, nipping at his chin as he held you, tucked against his chest on your cot. “Were we destined to find each other out here?”
You felt his warm breath against your hair as he thought. “I think the stars aligned in our favor, and fortune is all but assured.”
Sleep came easily in Ezra’s strong arms, safe and secure, knowing tomorrow would be a new start.
Part 2
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criminalgays · 4 months
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new six of crows head cannon there’s never actually alcohol in any flask that kaz drinks out of he fills them with apple juice to pretend and seem cool to all his subordinates but really he hates the taste of whiskey with a passion
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drysaladandketchup · 4 months
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crumbs crumbs crumbs crumbs crumbs
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gilliebee · 5 days
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Lord Stanley's Summer (Episode 3)
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homenecromancer · 16 days
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“why would Paul drink the Water of Life, he knows it’s a lethal poison” he’s like… eighteen, maybe nineteen, at the oldest. the surprising thing is that he didn’t try it sooner
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kimbapisnotsushi · 8 months
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i relate hard to nozaki bc i too get tunnel vision and use every single life experience to fuel the never-ending hellscape that is creating an original work
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strangersatellites · 1 year
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somebody somewhere shared my fic I've got this burning desire to set you on fire recently and the kudos on it jumped so fast!! so I wrote part two as a treat!! thanks to whoever that was lmao
this can be read as a standalone or as a companion ficlet to the original fic linked above!
Steve’s students sit with rapt attention under the dimmed lights and Eddie’s theatrical storytelling. While Eddie sits in Steve’s desk chair, his arms gesticulate wildly with a flair like no other. Steve props against the arm of his chair and drags his hand softly up and down Eddie’s back while he lets himself fall into the memory. 
Last October
Corroded Coffin’s show at The Venue at Fourth and West is the biggest they’ve played yet.
Seven thousand people and Steve and Robin, as always, take their rightful place on the front and center barricade. 
Eddie’s on stage, adrenaline pumping and energy high as they play through their last song before the encore. 
From his vantage point he’s got a perfect view of Steve singing his heart out and dancing with Robin, wearing a smile so bright it puts the spotlights to shame. 
If Eddie’s heart wasn’t already pounding at the sight it would be as he holds out the last chord of the final song on their set. 
As the noise in the room swells with the crowd’s cheers and applause, the lights dim and Eddie sees the other three guys slip off stage.
Steeling himself with a deep breath, Eddie meets the stagehand to his left and switches his Warlock for an acoustic. 
Where he stood centerstage previously, there now sits a stool and a mic stand. He makes himself comfortable, sat far back with one foot anchored to the ground and the other braced on the stool’s cross-rod. 
A single spotlight beams down directly on him as he leans over to speak into his mic.
“Alright, alright. I’ve got one last song for you today and it’s pretty special. Now I’m saying this once and I don’t want to hear shit about it again, got it? I do not care if you do not like this song because it's not for any of you motherfuckers!” 
Laughter ripples through the crowd and a few people in the audience yell back. 
Eddie scans his eyes across the crowd and they land on his boy once more. He can only imagine his smile mirrors the one he sees on Steve’s face.
“Hey baby,” he starts and lets out a breathy laugh when Steve rolls his eyes and hides his face in his hands. “Don’t hide sunshine, I’ve got a song for you.” He snaps and waves at the security guards and waves them Steve’s way. “Come on up Stevie, you know the drill.”
Know the drill he does. While Steve hops the barricade and is led to the stage, Eddie addresses the crowd once more.
“Like I said, this song is not for any of you so I do not want to hear shit from any of you, okay?” He sets to loosening the strap on his guitar when Steve makes it to center stage with him.
Just out of earshot of the mic Steve props his hands on his hips and grins. Asks, “Okay, what’re we doing this time?”
Eddie smirks and holds his guitar out to his right and pats the front of the stool for Steve to sit.
Steve snorts as he makes his way over. “If you think my ass is going to fit there you’ve got another thing coming.”
Eddie barks out a laugh and shifts further onto his stool as Steve sits, his back pressed tight to Eddie’s chest. He smacks a kiss to Steve’s cheek and waggles his eyebrows.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”
He swings his guitar back over his own shoulder and across Steve’s chest, hooks his chin over his shoulder and adjusts his grip.
Steve giggles down at the action and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“How many times did you make Gareth practice this with you?” He laughs.
“Too fucking many!” Gareth yells from his place in the wings.
Eddie shushes them both and kicks his mic stand a little closer as he starts to strum. He leans in close to Steve’s ear and whispers “Love you Stevie,” before he starts humming into the mic.
Realistically he knows he has approximately seven seconds before Steve catches on. He savors the brief moments where Steve just smiles and sways along.
At second six the recognition flutters across his features and he snaps his head towards Eddie.
“Is this fucking Taylor Swift?”
Eddie laughs and says “Eddie’s Version.”.
Steve laughs and rubs a hand down his face. Eddie hears a muffled “Oh my god” just before he begins to sing. 
Hey Stephen, I know looks can be deceiving
But I know I saw a light in you
And as we walked we would talk
And I didn't say half the things I wanted to
Robin, god love her, Eddie sees has taken her role in this whole shenanigan very seriously. Having rounded up every photographer and videographer right up in front of center stage. Her own smile is barely contained where she covers her mouth with her hands.
Of all the guys tossing rocks at your window
I'll be the one waiting there even when it's cold
Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believing
I don't always have to be alone
Just before he makes it to the chorus Steve’s laughter has calmed down and he’s left with a pleased smile as he sways to the music braced against Eddie’s chest. 
Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel
Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so
Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you
Can't help it if there's no one else
Mmm, I can't help myself
He swings his guitar up and over Steve’s head and tugs him back onto the stool as he steps off. Steve looks at him with a confused smile but he doesn't go too far. He props a foot up on the cross-rod and leans in close when he starts again.
Hey Stephen, I've been holding back this feeling
So I've got some things to say to you 
I've seen it all, so I thought
But I never seen nobody shine the way you do
He spins around with a flourish and props on Steve’s other side and flutters his eyelashes to make Steve laugh again.
The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name
It's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change
Hey Stephen, why are people always leaving?
I think you and I should stay the same
Before the second chorus he breaks out of his Steve induced trance and looks back to the crowd and laughs when he’s met with a sea of flashlight beams swaying back and forth. When he looks back at his boy he finds him giggling with a look of awe on his face.
'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel
Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so
Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you
Can't help it if there's no one else
Mmm, I can't help myself
He leans in close and says “Alright we’re gonna switch it up here Stevie, you ready?”
Steve smiles as bright as the sun. “For anything.”
Eddie takes his guitar off and hands it off to someone, he doesn’t know who to be honest. Doesn’t really care. 
Gareth and Jeff take up playing the song while Eddie takes the mic off its stand.
They're dimming the stage lights
You're perfect for me
Why aren't you here tonight?
I'm waiting alone now
So come on and come out
And pull me near
And shine, shine, shine
The boys keep playing as Eddie’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest. He looks at Steve one more time, sees him smiling and happy. 
He reaches a hand into his back pocket and feels the box he’d snuck in when he switched guitars.
Takes a deep breath and drops down to one knee.
If he could hear over the blood in his ears he’d hear the crowd go crazy and the incessant sound of camera shutters.
But as it is he swears he can hear Steve’s sharp intake of breath when he realizes what’s happening.
Hey Stephen, I could give you fifty reasons
Why I should be the one you choose
All those other girls, well, they're beautiful
But would they sing this song for you?
Steve’s got his hand covering his mouth and tears in his eyes and he’s nodding. He’s nodding even though Eddie hasn’t asked yet and he loves Steve so much.
I can't help it if you look like an angel
Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so
Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you
Can't help it if there's no one else
Mmm, I can't help myself
He doesn’t even get to finish the rest of the lyrics because Steve is up and off the stool and has both hands pressed to his cheeks dragging him into a fierce kiss before he can even think. 
Eddie’s smiling and laughing so much that it's all teeth. But he’s so happy it's all teeth, it's all love, it's all Steve.
His arms are around Steve’s waist and the mic is somewhere, he doesn’t know or care.
“Stevie, baby. Baby I haven’t asked,” he laughs onto Steve’s lips.
Steve wraps his arms around his neck and buries his face in his shoulder.
“Yes. A hundred times yes. Don’t care. Yes!”
Eddie pulls Steve to face him with two hands on either side of his face, one still holding the box.
“Stevie, will you marry me?”
Steve's laugh resembles a sob but he’s smiling and nodding again and Eddie’s never been happier. 
“Yes.”
~~~~~
“You proposed with a Taylor Swift song?!” The curly-headed kid in the front row screeches.
Eddie uses his context clues to assume this is Dustin. 
Steve pipes up from his spot beside him. “He used to sing me that song when we were dating and it always made me laugh. I especially liked it when he would sing it in a Metallica shirt.”
Several of the other kids snort.
The door swings open in a flourish and Robin comes barreling in.
“Dude, are you holding your kids hostage? What’s goin– Oh hey Eds!” She waves.
“Hey Birdie.”
Steve looks at his watch and swears under his breath. “Alright guys, who’s going to Miss Buckley’s class next? Get out of here. I’ll sort the rest of you out.”
Eddie waves him off. “Don’t worry about it Stevie. I told Ms. Loretta in the office to let Nance and Jon know they’d be late to next period.”
Steve scoffs in shock. “Loretta likes you too much. I don’t know how you got in her good graces. Why would you do that though?”
“Well I thought your kiddos,” he gives the students a pointed glance,” would have figured me out by now and I wanted to bug them about their super cool, hot teacher.”
Steve claps his hands together in exasperation. “Okay, that’s enough. Everybody out!”
Students zip up their bags and filter out of the room and Robin knocks them on the back of the head as they walk out the door.
Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulders. “You too! Go talk to Ms. Loretta, I have assignments to grade!”
Eddie laughs and ambles towards the door. He stops in the door frame and looks back at Steve who has his hands on his hips behind his desk. He wolf whistles and smiles back at him.
“See you at home big boy,” he winks. 
“Out!”
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watersdeep · 4 months
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It Happened One Summer...
A summer of yearning comes to a head one fateful night night in the hot springs.
Mark x Reader (gender neutral) | one shot | 3,307 words | E
alt title: i just wanted to write some smut
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moony-ghoul · 5 months
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i did my second hrt shot by myself today it did not go super well and i had to have a bit of a lie down but i did it and i was so brave
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gucciwins · 2 years
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Public Father 
harry promised her family would always come first but what happens we he loses sight of what's important?
Word count: 12523
A/N: hi friends! i feel like it's been forever since i posted but at last here's something new. it's dad harry and i feel that's always a treat except well there is lots of angst mixed in. happy reading!
Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, small mention of infidelity
please send me a message with your thoughts of the story
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Harry has been happily married for six years. He married the love of his life at the age of 24 and now, at 30, still loves her deeply. If anything, his love for her has only grown because she gifted him two perfect children. 
Wesley is five and in love with the piano. He got the love from both him and Y/N. While Harry was introduced to the piano later in life, Y/N had begun playing at age three and never stopped. It seems Wes liked it just as much. 
Josephine, three years and growing. She refuses to pick up any instrument but is constantly running around with a paintbrush or crayon, ready to write on any blank space (that her mother allows her to).
Life is good. He has a loving wife, two kids, and a dog named Scott because Ant-Man is the children's favorite superhero, and his wife has a lot of love for Paul Rudd. He does as well. 
Harry had released a new album and is just coming back from a six-month tour in America, happy to go meet his family at his son's piano recital. He was still private, keeping work and family separate, even more so with his children, never posting their faces online, and any glimpse people did get was just off the back of their heads. He will never jeopardize their privacy, especially because he knows how much it means to Y/N to give them a choice to be in the spotlight or not. 
His flight arrived later than planned, but he wasn't worried. His wife was already there, telling him they had to arrive early. 
She had to deal with dressing a three-year-old who lived in her paint-dried overalls and getting her son to let her put a bowtie on him for the performance, something he didn't enjoy but knew he needed for the musicians he saw wore them. He wanted to follow in their footsteps and be like them, so Wes let her. 
Harry didn't know all his wife struggled with as basically a single parent as she couldn't easily join him on tour for months on end. She didn't want to pull her kids out of the routine they had created. He agreed and told her he'd call and be on a flight home if she ever needed him. Y/N knew how important touring was, but when she called him that both kids were running high fevers, that she was scared and needed him. 
He didn't answer. 
That was the first crack, with many soon to follow. 
She cried and cried and instead called her best friend, Isha, who rushed over and helped her take them to A&E. The doctor gave them medicine, and it reduced the fever. He said she did the right thing bringing them in, especially since they both had a fever that wasn't lowering. She cried on her way home as her children were finally able to drift to sleep. 
Harry didn't call back until the following day, saying he was sorry he missed her call, never once mentioning her voice message. She brushed it off and told him she missed him. Y/N let him speak with Wes and Jo, who were bouncing around better than the night before.
She knows he's not the only one to blame, but it's not all on her either. Y/N puts everything into her children. She loves them and always wants them to remember that. She is a full-time employee as a data analyst and is thankful she can bring her work home because she hates leaving Jo with a sitter when she knows the young girl can be shy even if she knows the person. Jo prefers being with her or Harry. Y/N would never push her too far when all Josie wanted was comfort. 
Harry rushed into the auditorium of the private primary school. He took hours to convince Y/N for their son to attend. She gave in when he told her they would help him with his piano lessons and that they did. He'd excelled and learned to read the music with practice. It also helped that Y/N would sit with him as he played. 
"Hello, love," Harry approaches his wife, giving Y/N a kiss on her cheek and then her lips when she turns her head. 
"Hi, you made it," she breathes out, shoulders relaxing. 
"Of course, the flight got delayed." 
"Where's my munchkin?" Harry asks, peaking at the empty seat where his little girl must be.
"Went to get a snack with Isha. I saved our seats." She offers for him to slide in.
"Got us good ones." They were sitting in the second row, the inner aisles seats for accessible exits if needed to tend to a crying toddler. 
"Yes, it pays to come early, I guess." 
Harry settles down, brings his wife close to his chest, and breathes her in. He's happy to be home. As much as he loves being on stage, there is nothing better than being with his family, with the love of his life.
"Think Isha can take the kids? I want to show you how much I missed you." Harry playfully nibbles your neck.
Y/N would love that, but her children always come to mind, "promised the kids a dinner at home with their Daddy who they missed." 
"Can't argue with that."
"Not opposed to a shower once they go to bed." Y/N throws in, knowing how important reconnecting is for them.
"That's my girl."
Y/N hears small steps down the aisle and turns her head to see her daughter running down. She giggles not too loud to not draw attention to herself until she comes to a stop at the aisle where they are sitting.
"Hi, Mummy." The smile on Jo's face is bright, calling for all the attention to be on her.
"Hello, my gorgeous girl. Got a snack." Y/N points to the closed cookie bag in her hand.
Isha arrives, cool as a breeze, her marron jumpsuit hugging her tightly in all the right places showing off her curves. "She had it already. I think it's kicking in." 
"Yes, this is for you, Mummy." Jo hands off the small treat to Y/N.
"Why aren't you the sweetest? Thank you for thinking of me." Y/n leans in, placing a loud kiss on her cheek. Jo's cheeks turned red at the extra affection but never pushed Y/N away.
Isha sits next to Y/N, handing her two waters, where she places them in the cup holders as Jo walks a little farther in to not block the walkway.
"Look who's here, angel?" Y/N brushes Jo's wild curls behind her ears. She peeks over and finds Harry staring at her with a wide grin.
"Hi, my love, missed you." Harry softens his tone, opening his arms, ready for her to rush towards him, but to his surprise, she doesn't. 
Jo nods but doesn't move towards him. Instead, she reaches up to be seated in Y/N's lap. Y/N doesn't question her but turns her to face Harry. She rubs a gentle hand down her back, noting how she's grabbing the end of Y/N's dress.
Harry doesn't falter. "Missed you. Thought of you every day. Got some presents for you waiting at home." No reaction. "Do you want to give Daddy a kiss?" 
She reaches her arms up towards his face, and Harry thinks she wants him to carry her, but Y/N stops him. "She wants to hold your face, lean down." Harry does as she said. His daughter's tiny hands land on his cheeks, and she gazes into his eyes before a smile takes over her face. They must be wearing matching smiles because, in the next second, she leans forward to place a kiss on his nose. "Daddy." 
"That's right, bubba. I'm your, Daddy." 
Josie loses interest after that, going for the cookies Y/N opened for herself and Jo because she knows the young girl wouldn't be able to help herself. Harry turns his focus to the stage where a teacher has begun announcements to shut off all noise on electronics and to make sure the flash remains off when taking photos. 
Harry was buzzing in his seat to see his son perform. He was proud of Wes and his confidence in embracing his talents, just as his wife did at his age. Pretty soon, he might even follow in Harry's footsteps. 
The first few performances went in the blink of an eye as Harry clapped for each one, always trying to see if he could see Wes peeking behind the curtains; he did not. Until finally, it was time. Wes Styles was announced and out walked his son, who had grown taller in the six months he had been away. Facetime is different from seeing his son and his family in person. Harry frowned because that means he didn't get to mark his month's growth against his bedroom door with him as they'd done previously. He brushed over that small fact because he knew Y/N would take care of it, just like she did everything else. 
His son glanced at them with a timid smile before looking down at the keys. The stare lingered on his fingers for a second before he took a deep breath and began to play a beautiful melody. 
After the short-minute song, Harry, Y/N, and Isha all stood cheering loudly and proudly for Wes. His son waved and did a bow, then rushed backstage as he awaited for the final two students before he could reunite with his family. Harry could not stop squeezing her thigh, proud of their son. 
One final time all students come on stage for a final bow and then are dismissed. Y/N set Jo down, allowing her to toddle over to her older brother with the large bouquet of flowers in her hands. Isha made sure to record their hug as Y/N was quick to get overwhelmed with tears. Wes noticed Harry right behind Y/N, and as excited as he was to see his father, his number one person would always be his Y/N. Wes was a total Mummy's boy. Y/N held her son tightly, pressing kisses on his cheeks as Wes basked in the affection. 
"Proud of you, angel." 
Wes smiles, his dimples on full display. "Thanks for your help, Mumma." 
"Always, darling." She presses one last kiss to his face before standing up, allowing Harry to have his turn. 
"Hiya bud, you were incredible." Harry gets down to Wes' height, arms wide open, and Wes doesn't wait another second before launching himself in his father's arms. It had been months. Harry missed his kids. He missed being home. He was glad to be back. 
"Are you proud?"
Harry brushes back Wes' curls, similar to Harry's when he was that age. 
Y/N frowns, overhearing her son's question, while Harry doesn't even think twice about it. 
"Extremely." Harry hugs his son one last time before letting him go. 
All begin to walk out together, except for Jo, who wants her Mum to hold her. Harry offered to carry her, but Josephine insisted that it be Y/N only. Who was Harry to make his little girl unhappy?
"We'll meet you at home then. Made Wes' favorite dinner to celebrate." Y/N tells Harry as he helps Wes buckle up, and Y/N settles Jo into her seat, a pout on her face. 
"Actually, love, I got us a reservation for the kids' favorite pizza place." Harry grins, taking his eyes away from Wes and meeting Y/N's, who cannot help but shake her head because, of course, he did. 
"Pizza alright with you, Mr. Pianist?" Y/N looks at Wes, waiting patiently in his seat.
Wes nods eagerly, telling them to get in already. 
The drive is smooth with their children filling the car with their singing to the Frozen 2 soundtrack. They can never seem to get enough. It's one of their favorites. 
Dinner goes as smoothly as Y/N hoped. There is laughter and conversation constantly flowing. Wes talks Harry's ears off while also speaking with Isha. Jo sticks to her side most of the night, eating from Y/N's plate, not wanting to eat the pizza Harry picked for her. It seemed Jo didn't want to share Y/N with Harry for the night. He didn't mind, not when he knew he'd be getting Y/N all alone later. 
As Y/N sees her children beginning to yawn, she knows it is time to head home. One look towards Harry, and he's pressing a kiss to her cheek and going to pay the bill. 
"It's nice he's home," Isha comments. 
Y/N nods. "I've missed it." 
"Let's see how long he's here." 
She sighs because as much as she defends Harry, Isha is right. There is no telling how long he is home until the work begins. 
"I'll always have you," Y/N squeezes her hand. 
"Of course, you will, but I want you to have him as well." 
Y/N knows she's right, "I'll speak to him."
"All ready to head out?" Harry asks quietly, seeing that Jo is fighting off sleep. 
Y/N leads the way out, carrying Jo looking behind her to see Isha holding Wes's hand, sending a smile. Harry steps forward to get to the door when Y/N stops him seeing a few people loitering outside with cameras in hand. 
Paparazzi. 
How did they even find him? Jeff had assured Harry and Y/N endlessly that no one knew he had landed back in London. 
So much for privacy. Y/N asks Jo softly to cuddle close, placing the blanket she carries in her bag over her head. Isha scoops Wes up and drapes her coat over him. Y/N hates doing this. Her kids are accommodating to this because they've had to do it many times already.
"You can take the back exit," Harry tells her, frowning at the paparazzi.
"What?" She asked, confused. 
"Yeah, I'll handle them. Take Isha's car. She still has the seats, right?" 
"But Harry–"
Harry shakes his head, "we'll make it home at the same time." 
He quickly kisses Y/N's lips, and then she follows the waiter, who was kind enough to show them out while Harry braced the paparazzi on his own. 
As Harry catches sight of Isha's car driving away, he walks out with all the focus on him. The camera-ready smile is on as he walks towards his car with them all following along. 
"What were you celebrating, Mr. Styles?" 
With pride, he answers, looking at the man who asked, "my son had a piano recital tonight and was brilliant." 
"Must be really proud," someone else chimed in. 
"Hard worker just like me," Harry shared. 
Harry lets them ask a few more questions before bedding them goodbye with one final thought. "Last thing I want to say is talented, and I'm proud to call him my boy." 
He arrives half an hour later, never stopping to text her that he was not right behind her like he promised. Y/N sighs as she finishes picking up the last few scattered toys Jo managed to miss making into her toy chest when she heard the front door close. 
The kids are now both bathed and in bed. Josie was eager for a goodnight kiss from both her parents, but after a fresh shower and Y/N combing her hair, she settled down quickly. Wes was still waiting eagerly in his room, waiting for Harry to give him a kiss goodnight. Storytime used to be Harry and Wes time, but Y/N took over that, and now both enjoyed reading a book with fewer pictures and more words. 
Harry walks in quietly, not saying a word. 
"Took a while, H." 
"Yeah," he murmurs. "They wouldn't leave me alone." 
Y/N nods before gesturing up the stairs, "Wes is waiting for a goodnight." 
"Leave me the easy part, huh." Harry steps close to her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "Thanks, love." 
After seeing that downstairs was all tidy, she goes up, ready for her own shower to wash the day away. She passes Josie's room first and sees her deep in sleep, her ducky tight in her hold. Next, Wes' room and knows all is good with the small chatter inside. It's nice to have Harry home.
Y/N's undressing in their bathroom when the door creeps open, and Harry stops to stare. She doesn't mind. She's missed being in his presence. 
"Did Wes go down easy?" 
"Yes, he did. I asked if he wanted me to read, but he said you got that covered." Harry said a bit accusingly. 
Y/N brushes it off, "it gets him settled for bed quicker. You can read tomorrow." 
She reaches in to turn the water on, getting the temperature to her liking as much as she wants a bath. She's also dead on her feet. 
Harry remembers the conversation they had earlier, watching his wife get her shower ready. He steps up behind her as she's straightening out, his hands resting on her bare hips, "can I still join you?" 
"Of course, H." 
Harry presses a kiss to her bare shoulder before moving up her neck, "going to let me love on you too," 
Y/N sighs at the kisses he leaves her, leaving her more overwhelmed than the last. All she can do is nod. 
"Need an answer, honey." 
"Yes, baby, please." 
"Is my wife going to let me show her how much I missed her? How appreciative I am of her being a good mother to our children. God baby, so ready to give you everything you need."
"Yes, Harry. Yes." 
Her mind is hazy, and all she can think is that she loves him. 
"I love you, Harry." 
"And I love you, my heart. Now let me show you."
The following morning Y/N is up before everyone else. She knows Josie is an early bird and likes to have breakfast with her while Y/N has her tea. She kisses Harry's forehead and makes her way downstairs with her phone in hand that is flooded with more notifications than usual. 
She sighs; it's going to be one of those days.
Harry is found entering an Italian restaurant with a mystery woman but leaves alone, saying he was celebrating his son, but his son or his wife were nowhere in sight. 
It's a photo of the back of Isha and Harry holding the door open. Isha looks really good, and though Y/N knows the truth, she hates the speculation of him cheating on her. She hates that media outlets still entertain even when they know they're married and have two children. Y/N knows Harry would never, but it still makes her heartache. 
Y/N decides it's best to ignore it and instead enjoy the time together as a family. Wes and Jo have wanted to go to the park, and it seems lovely weather to do so as a family.
Everything would be alright.
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It's been a week since Harry arrived home, and Y/N is going crazy. 
Truthfully, she's just sad. 
She loves Harry. Of course, she does. He's the father of her children, husband, and best friend, but he hasn't been home. He's been gone every night following their park day. It's either a meeting, a dinner, or drinks with old friends. It's spending time with everyone but them. There have been more articles lately about Harry raving about their children and how amazing they are. He speaks of their talents and skills. How Josie loves to paint and mixes colors well to Wes' dedication to practicing piano. 
Y/N's least liked piece she's read is in his latest interview, where he spoke of them again when he was asked about his favorite part of being a stay-at-home dad. His response was laughable, "all the time with them to cook, oh and bath time."  
Y/N scoffs because it's a load of crap. He's not a stay-at-home dad. He's a public father, only for show but never there for the small things when she needs him. She loves Harry, but he's changed from the man she met, and he now much prefers the limelight to being at home. 
It's Friday night, and Harry once again didn't tuck his kids to bed. No bedtime stories or goodnight kisses.
"Why is Daddy always busy, Mummy?" Wes asks as she bookmarks the page they left on to pick up again tomorrow. 
She wishes she had an answer. So, she lies. "He's preparing for a long time off."
"Okay. I love you." 
"I love you more, my sweet Wesley."
Y/N kisses him three times and wishes him sweet dreams. 
Wes had shocked her tonight. She never lied to her children, but it seemed like she had to. How could she make Harry the bad guy?
When Y/N settles down for bed and notices Harry hasn't arrived home, she decides she's had enough of this shit Harry is pulling and can only let it go on for so long. In the past, Y/N would have stayed up waiting to make sure Harry got home safe, but her children are her top priority. 
Y/N stirs when she hears the front door slam shut. She groans, peeking an eye open to see the time, and it reads 5:14 am. It's clear Harry's drunk with all the tumbling and giggling he's doing up the stairs and into their room. Y/N stays still, not saying a word as he stumbles into bed. He wasn't loud enough to wake the kids, but she knew they would be up soon
By six, she's up, getting ready because between seven, it's time for the kids to wake up. She made them oatmeal with strawberries and blueberries on the side. Y/N walks into Josie's room, knowing she's awake but lays in bed waiting for Y/N because she loves a morning cuddle. 
"Morning, my darling angel." 
Josie kicks her legs up, laughing, "morning, Mummy." 
"How'd you sleep?" Y/N asks as she scoops Josie into her lap and cuddles her close to her chest. 
"Good," she mumbles.
"Ready to start the day, little dove?"
"Mhm." 
"Want to change first?" 
"Yes!" 
"What do you want to wear?" 
Josie wiggles out of your grasp and lets her feet carry her over to her drawer that holds her socks before moving on to her tops and bottoms. In a few minutes, she's back at Y/N's side, proudly displaying yellow socks, a yellow top, and black overalls. 
"Wow, I love it." Y/N kisses her cheek, causing Josie to smile, showing off her dimples.
"Help, please."
Y/N sits her on the bed and helps her take off her nightgown. She blows raspberries onto her tummy, causing Jo to let out loud giggles.
"No accidents last night?" Y/N asks because Josie likes the check-up. She shakes her head no. "Okay, before we buckle, let's go to the restroom and brush your teeth. Sound good?" 
"Good." She agrees leading the way. 
Y/N kneels down to Josie's height, ensuring she's brushing correctly, helping her when Jo allows her. Once she's all done, Jo clips her overalls, and Y/N stands behind her, beginning to brush her daughter's curls. 
"Does Josie want piggies, bunnies, or a braid today?" 
Jo thinks about it for a second before showing you two fingers. "Bunnies it is."
Y/N wets her hair, making sure to go gentle, not wanting to hurt Josie. She makes sure not to tie the hair ties too tight. She knows she hated it when her mother did it to her when she was younger. 
"All done," Y/N smiles at her through the mirror.
"Yay!" She claps and steps down from her stepping stool slowly, not wanting to fall over.
"Let's go check on your brother." 
She nods eagerly, slips on her bunny slippers, and heads next door to Wes' room. 
"Daddy?" She asks. 
Y/N frowns, "he's not feeling well. He's sleeping." 
"Okay." 
And that's that.
They walk in to see Wes laying his clothes on his bed. 
"Wes!" Jo shouts, running to hug her brother as if she hadn't seen him for months when it was only a few hours as they all slept. 
"Hi, Jo. Morning Mummy." He grins at them both. 
"Good morning, my love." Y/N gives his brushed hair a kiss. "Restroom all done."
"Yes. Teeth check," Wes says before she can ask and opens his mouth for her. 
She leans down, chuckling, "smells fruity."
Wes nods proudly. 
"Now," Y/N smiles, looking at her two children, the joy of her life. "It's time for kisses."
Y/N grabs them, bringing them close to her chest as she kisses them all over. Their laughter fills her heart. 
"Alright, alright, breakfast time."
She decides she doesn't want to be home while Harry sleeps off his drunkenness and decides to take them to the park. It's a good place for the children to run to their heart's content but still tire them out for nap time. As soon as they get home, the kids know the routine, take their shoes off by their door, and race to their rooms to get a chance of clothes to not spend more time in their sweaty clothes while she prepares lunch. 
The day is perfect. It's just them. For some time, it felt like when Harry was on tour and not home, they'd wait for his call, except he is here, and she's not sure how to feel. 
The kids are lying on the patio sharing a coloring book as Wes tries his best to teach Josie to stay within the lines, but she doesn't like being told what to do, only wanting to add more to the drawing. She hears the shower going and knows Harry is up. 
Y/N squares her shoulders, ready to tell Harry exactly how she feels because she's tired. She feels like she's raising two kids alone. It was nice the first years with Wes because Harry took the first two years off, not wanting to miss anything, and then he worked for a year where they all traveled with him. It was beautiful getting to show their baby the world. But then she found out she was pregnant, and Wes was starting school, and all she wanted was a routine for Josie like she had for Wes, but Harry was running on a high.
Harry was winning awards, streams were high, his songs were breaking records on the charts, and he wasn't ready for another pause. It wasn't until she was five months pregnant that he took a break to be there for her. Now Josie is three, and she doesn't know her father that well, always wondering who that man on the screen is. It leads to tears when Jo doesn't want to talk to him. Their kids need their father, and she wishes he could put out music and continue his career, but he loves being on stage, and she fears if she asks him to stay home, it won't be enough. That they won't be enough.
Harry walks down the stairs looking tired. 
"Hi, love." 
She stays quiet. 
"Had a late night, everyone sends their love." 
She frowns, not even sure who everyone is. 
"Should go out together soon. Get Isha to watch the kids."
"She's on a work trip," Y/N responds softly. 
"Well," he shrugs, "bet you know loads of people to help."
Her frown deepens because she notices he says she knows, not that he knows anyone.
"Harry." 
"Yeah?”
Harry sits down unconcerned, like he didn't arrive early this morning. 
"I can't do this," she tells him.
"Do what?" Harry asks, confused.
"Watch you go out every night and leave me as the housewife to watch the kids."
"Y/N–"
"No, Harry, I'm serious. You came home after a six-month-long tour and spent only around four hours put together with them this past week." Y/N isn't fighting for herself but for her children. 
"I'm catching up with friends," he defends.
She scoffs, "catching up is a few hours not coming home pissed drunk at five am stumbling up the stairs with no care if you might wake your kids." 
Harry frowns, "I deserve time off." 
"Of course, you do, but there's no time off from being a dad. Harry, I work full time. I make breakfast, lunch and dinner. I take them to their practices and pick them up from school. I'm doing it all, alone. Our three-year-old is growing fast, and she doesn't recognize her dad most of the time." 
"Ain't that disappointing," he laughs bitterly. "Y/N, that's on you. Not forcing her to talk to me." 
Y/N feels her heart crack, this is unbelievable. 
"Do you hear yourself? Force her." She shakes her head, ensuring her voice stays level to not alert the kids. "If she doesn't want to, I won't make her. It's your job as her father to be here for her." 
"I am here."
"Here for what?" She points to him, "here in the flesh, sure but not doing any work."
"I'm here, and I do my part," he argues.
"What have you done?" 
She waits for him to answer. A few seconds, a minute, and nothing but silence follows. 
"You're just a public father," she spats out.
"What?" 
"Praise all the good things your children do, all the raising you do. The stay-at-home father bit. Show up to recitals and parent conferences. It's all an act. To look good in the public eye. You're not the father who takes time to bathe his kids, to do teatime, or read them story after story. You're not the father they go to when they have a bad dream, not the father who sneaks them a treat when I'm cooking dinner. You're here, but you aren't. They need a private father who is there during bath time and tucks them to bed. Who would rather stay in and watch a movie than go out for dinner with friends and come home after six drinks at the bar? A father who listens to the same music over and over again. No, you prefer to be the public father who does no wrong and happily brags about his child's accomplishments.  The man who sends them to private school and pays for this expensive house you choose for us to live in. As if you take them to their lessons, who deal with fevers, who deal with tantrums and having to tell them why their dad has left them yet again." Y/N wipes the tears that escaped her, her voice trailing off. 
"I love you, but I don't love the man you've become. I want the father who woke up every hour to check up on our babies, the father who held my hand as I breastfed our babies for the first time. I want the father who promised to always put them first. To put us first. It's not even about me. It's about them and how they are beginning to feel like they are being raised by only one parent."
"I–I" Harry doesn't even have words because she's right. 
Of course, she is.
He's failed them.
He failed them as a parent, but he's also failed as a husband. 
Y/n told him she didn't want to become a housewife who just cared for her children and lost herself, but it's close to who she's becoming while still working. 
Why didn't he stop the tour?
Why didn't he think about asking how they all felt about him leaving for so long with not one visit? 
He missed lessons and jokes. He missed his son playing footy for the first time because he was always so anxious about it. His little girl had to take moments to remember his face. His wife–is hanging by a thread, and he's sure if it wasn't for their two kids, she wouldn't be here anymore, waiting for him.
"We are going to stay with my mum." She declares no room for argument.
"Love," Harry tries, but she shakes her head, stepping away from him.
"I love you, but it feels like you may not have the same love for us. I'm not saying it's us or touring, not at all. I know it means everything to you, but that changed five years ago. At least my priorities did. Yours should have to."
She goes towards the stairs to pack a weekend bag for the kids. "You need to figure out how to be a better father and not just a rockstar because you're both." 
Harry watches her go up the stairs, knowing he has to let her go. 
Y/N walks into Jo's room first, knowing hers would be the quickest to pack, knowing what she prefers. It's all set, and Y/N carries it into Wes' room, where he's lying on his bed with Josie as they look at picture books.
She grabs his Ant-man backpack and begins to get socks and underwear first. "What are you doing, Mummy?"
"Going on a little weekend trip," she answers softly. 
"With dad?" 
Y/N shakes her head, walking over to him. She smiles down at him, pressing a kiss to his head. "No, he's got some meetings, but he'll…" she pauses, "he'll be here when we get back."
Wes nods as if knowing there's a problem between his parents, "want to choose your clothes, lovie, or still have some faith in me." 
"You can do it,"  Wes mutters. It breaks Y/N’s heart.
Once she has packed Wes's bag, she ushers them downstairs to put on their coats and shoes. Harry is sitting on the couch staring at a black screen. 
Y/N sighs, "I'll let you know when we arrive." 
"Y/N?"
She looks at him. He's now standing in the doorway, smiling sadly at his kids as Wes helps Jo zip her boots. 
"You will come back, right?" His voice was small as if afraid of the answer.
"Of course, Harry. Still got a lot to figure out together, but you need to figure some things on your own." 
"You still love me," he whispers as if he said it any louder. She'd tell him something that'd break his heart.
"With all my heart. I promised forever with you, and I'm holding tight to that, but I need you to find your way back to us." Y/N kisses his cheek before stepping back and grabbing the car keys. 
Y/N watches as Harry kisses his children, giving them a big squeeze before letting them go. "Have a nice time, my angels."
They giggle and nod. They hold hands as Harry opens the door for them, waiting by the steps for Y/N to guide them down. 
Y/N smiles at him, it's small, and it breaks his heart. 
"I love you. I love you, and I promise I will try my best. I can't lose you." Harry promises her. 
"You won't. Just give us the weekend, and we can go from there." 
"I'd give you all in the time in the world if the end result was you all in my arms again." 
"Can I kiss you?" 
She nods timidly.
It's short and feels almost new. He doesn't try to deepen it but allows himself to feel her lips on his and how he ever let himself go so long without them. They break apart, hearing their children's laughter. 
"At least they're not grossed out." She points out. 
Y/N picks up Josie and holds Wes' hand down the steps. She settles Josie in her car seat first, then sits Wes in the booster. She gets into the car and does not look back at Harry as she drives off. She feels sad but also proud of herself because she and her children deserve better. 
Y/N knows the route to her mother's like the back of her hand. It isn't until she passes the usual exit does she realize that's not where she wants to be. They've got a bit of a drive ahead. She makes a Bluetooth call hoping for an answer, and thankfully she gets it. It's a short call but knowing she will be welcomed with open arms always fills her with joy.
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The drive didn't feel long, maybe because of the endless music they had playing. Thankfully they only have to make two stops before arriving. Y/N pulls into the driveway, relieved when she sees the porch light lit up. She turns the engine off and sees Wes fighting sleep as he unbuckles himself but waits for her to go to his side. Y/N goes to Josie's side first as she's in a deep sleep putting her on her shoulder and bags on the other. Opening Wes' dooring, he gets down with her help and then takes the bags from her. Her ever helpful boy.
She lets Wes knock on the door, and a few seconds later, it opens to show her a similar smile she just left behind. 
"Nana!" 
"Hi, my darling Wes," she cheers. 
Anne Twist is one of her favorite people in her life.
Y/N loves her mother, but she's never felt so welcomed and loved as much as she does with her mother-in-law.
"Hi Anne," Y/N greets softly.
"Well, come in, sweetie," Anne moves from the door to let you in. "Don't go acting like a stranger now." 
Y/N chuckles and walks in right behind Wes, who makes sure to take his shoes off before running in, setting his and Josie's bag right next to the couch. 
"Are there bags in the car?" 
"Just mine. I'll go for it once I set her down." Y/N gestures to Josie. 
"Don't be silly. I've got it. You go on and set her down in Harry's room. We both know they like sleeping there when they visit." 
"Thank you, Anne."
"Nothing to thank, dear." 
Y/N moves up the steps slowly before entering the familiar room. She lays Josie down, removing her overalls and tucking her in under the covers, making a border with the pillows, not wanting her to roll off the bed. Jo doesn't even flinch as she fixes the blanket around her. 
She pulls her phone out, knowing she owes Harry a text. 
H
We made it. Had a few stops to make in between xxx
Y/N
Okay. I love you xxx
It hurts to leave him on read, but she does. He knows she loves him but needs the space. As Y/N starts getting lost in thought, Wes and Anne make their presence known. 
"This strong man helped me with the bags," Anne tells her as she sets the bag down by the door.
"Very kind of you, Wes, thank you."
"Always help like you say, Mummy." 
Y/N smiles while taking the bags from Wes, "that's right, we help when we can." 
"Want some tea, Y/N?" Anne asks as she's unpacking Wes's pajamas. 
"If it's not a bother." 
"Y/N," Anne chastises in her motherly tone, one Y/N recognizes as one she does to her children.
She sighs, "I'm sorry. I'd love tea."
"Good." 
As she's about to walk out, "Do you want to talk about it?" 
Anne doesn't know what it is, but she clearly knows it has to do with her son. 
"When I get them to bed."
Anne understands. "Do you want some help?" 
She shakes her head, "no, just need to get him changed and in bed, and he'll be out for the night." 
Wes is fighting sleep. All his movements lagged no. Jo has not moved one bit, and Y/N knows once Wes settles, he'll be out for the entire night. 
Before Anne leaves the room, she pulls Y/N in for a hug. "I love you, don't forget it. Not because you gave me grandchildren or because you married my son but because I love the person I met all those years ago and the person you've become."
"Thank you, Anne. I love you too." 
Y/N helps Wes get ready for bed, sitting with him in the restroom as he brushes his teeth and puts away his dirty clothes with Jo's. She apologizes to him for not having a book to read tonight, but he's too tired to be concerned about a book. 
As she tucks him in under the covers next to Jo, he scoots close to her. It's a perfect picture moment. Seeing her babies cuddled close always fills her with so much love. 
"I'll take care of Jo," Wes promises. 
"I'll be sleeping right across if you need me." 
He nods, letting his eyes flutter closed, drifting off to sleep as she plays with his hair. He loves it just as much as Harry does. 
Y/N walks down and sees her tea done just how she likes it waiting for her. She takes a sip humming at the taste. No one makes it as good as Anne. "Thank you." 
"Course, sweetheart." 
They sit in silence for a moment. 
"Nice drive?" Anne asks. 
"Yes, it was. You know we enjoy the drive up to visit you." 
"Reckon, you can't do it enough with those kiddos."
"It's endless potty breaks," Y/N jokes. 
Small conversation flows as they drink their tea. Once they finish, Y/N rinses both mugs and sets them in the dishwasher, knowing Anne's preferred method. Y/N follows Anne to the living room sitting close to the edge as she drapes the warm blanket over herself. It's one she always uses when she comes down for a visit. 
"I love Harry. With all my heart," Y/N begins, "I married him, but–"
"Oh honey, what did he do?" 
Y/N sighs, "it's like he's not even there for us when he's home—well, for them. The kids miss him and always ask for him, but it's like he's still on the road when he's here." 
"He doesn't spend time with them." 
"Think the last time he spent hours with us was when he arrived for Wes' recital." Y/N keeps letting it all out now that she finally feels she has the chance to speak with someone who's listening. "I told him all this before leaving; he needed to figure out all his stuff and what kind of father he wanted to be and that we'd talk on Monday when we returned."
"That's good. Time apart." 
"It's not like we need more of it, I know," she defends, "but I needed it." 
 Anne reaches out and squeezes her hand tightly. 
"I love my Wes and Jo with all my heart, but I also miss my husband. I miss sneaking kisses, holding hands, and even staying up late on the couch talking for hours. I miss falling in love with Harry every day, and it's like he doesn't miss me, doesn't miss us. It's as if we're just a stop before his next big trip."
Y/N sees Anne's smile falter, "oh darling, I know he loves you." 
"I don't doubt that, but he's constantly putting his career before us. Six months away, Jo isn't comfortable being alone with him for longer than ten minutes." 
"I'm sorry it's been so hard."
Y/N feels she has said too much, "I'm sorry to pour this on you. He's your son." 
Anne tuts, shaking her head. "And you're my daughter. Maybe not by blood, but I love you like a daughter, and you've given me more bundle of joys to love." 
"Do–do you think he'll figure it out for us?" Y/N has never been so nervous for an answer. 
"I hope so. If I know my son, he can get lost, but a slap on the head always sets him back on track. I think you've done just that." 
Y/N feels a little relieved. "Get some rest. Sleep in if you can. I promise I got the kids." 
"I don't know if I can." 
Anne laughs, "you will." 
Y/N checks in on her babies one last time before heading to bed. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she's out like a light. 
She wakes up to distant laughter and knows it's time to get up. She checks her phone and sees it's ten am. She can't remember the last time she slept in that late. 
Seeing as her kids are occupied with their Nana, she takes advantage and takes a long shower, washing all of yesterday away. She prepares for the cold air she knows will hit her once she steps out to Anne's large garden to greet her children. 
Y/N lingers in the kitchen as she finishes her tea before stepping out. The creek in the door alerts them all to her presence. She waves at them as they come bounding towards her with giant grins. Y/N doesn't think twice, sinking to the floor, arms wide open to take Jo and Wes in her embrace. 
"Hi, my angels." 
"Mummy was a sleepy head."
Y/N can hear Anne giggling as she steps closer. "That I was. I needed to get my energy fueled if I want to keep up with you too." 
"Yay!" Josie cheers right by Y/N's ear. 
"What did you do this morning with Nana Anne?"
"A walk!" Josie yells. 
"There was lots of grass," Wes comments. 
"Yeah, I bet. Daddy knows how much Nana loves being out in the open." 
"I like it here," Wes exclaims, returning to the grass and spinning around in circles. 
"Me too," Josie says, copying her older brother's movements.
Y/N leans her head back, taking in the small bit of sunlight peeking through the clouds. I do as well, Y/N thinks to herself.
Anne beams at Y/N, glad that her grandchildren are happy here because she wants them to know they always have a place here, a safe space. Y/N has continuously shown that to them. 
"Darling?" Y/N turns her head away from her giggling children to look at Anne, "does he know you're here?" 
She grimaces and shakes her head no. "I was originally taking us to my mother's but realized three exits too late that wasn't where I was headed." 
Anne signals she understands. "I'm glad you're here." 
"Me too." 
Saturday comes and goes all too quickly. The kids were so spent they didn't put up a fight to be told it was bedtime. Anne had graciously found some children's books she had buried away so that Y/N could read to the kids before they went to bed. Y/N read to Jo and Wes as they cuddled close, hands tucked under their chin as they let their mother's soothing voice lull them to sleep. 
Y/N sits in the living room drinking her tea, discussing tomorrow's plans before heading up. As she finishes her tea, she goes to the kitchen to wash her mug when she hears the front door open. 
"Anne?" Y/N calls out softly. 
She walks out and sees Anne at the bottom of the steps, also curious as to who could be at the door. 
"Mum," she knows that voice well. It sends chills through her body and makes her cheeks warm up.
"Harry," Anne responds. 
"We need to talk, Mum," Harry says in a defeated voice. 
Y/N looks at Anne and gives her two options to head upstairs, and she'll tell Harry that they're here or let Anne do it. Harry must have noticed an extra car in the driveway, as cowardly as she wants to be. 
She nods, following behind Anne. 
"Mum," he pulls her in for a hug, sighing in relief. Y/N holds her breath when he lifts his head and sees her. "Y/N," he gasps. 
"Hi, H." 
"Thought you were at your mum's." He steps away from Anne and towards you. 
She shrugs, "needed a bit more love than that." 
Harry understands what she means because he's here as well. He knows best how well Anne makes someone feel welcomed and safe. 
"I'm going to bed." Y/N kisses Anne's cheek, whispering a good night. She passes by Harry squeezing his shoulder, "kids are in your room if you want to see them." 
Harry feels his chest hurt. Of course, he wants to see his children. He also wants to follow Y/N to bed and hold her close. He wants to tell her he promises that he's going to do better. He spoke with Jeff and told him there would be no tours for a while and that albums might follow, but his focus is on his family. Jeff understood, he was shocked at first, but everyone stood behind him.
But instead of saying anything, he lets her go up, watching her every step until she's down the hall. Anne sighs as she sees Harry stare at Y/N longingly, the same look he had when he first brought her over when they had been dating only a few months. 
"My boy," Anne's voice was full of sympathy.
"Mum," his voice cracks, "I messed up, and I–I might lose them."
"Course you won't. You showed up, didn't you? That's something." She assures him. 
"I love her and my angels. I can't lose them. I won't survive it." 
"Then fight Harry, prove to her you can't live without them." 
"I will."
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The following day Y/N is up early, to no surprise, ready to help get her kids' day started. As she starts to get up, she goes to grab her phone but stops when she sees a note sitting right on top. 
Morning early bird,
Fancy a walk? Mum promised to watch Wes and Jo.
Love, H 
Y/N can't ignore the flutter in her heart and gets dressed in her large red coat Harry gifted her five Christmases ago when he saw her eyeing it at the shops but didn't have the heart to tell him because it was way above the price range they settled on for each other. There's a chance of snow, and she wants to be prepared.  
She checks in on Jo and Wes, sprawled wide on the twin-sized bed, limps over each other but neither bothered. Walking down the steps, she sees Harry sitting on the couch with a book in hand.
"Morning," she voices. 
Harry is quick to set his book down and stands to look at her. "Hi, love." His eyes roam her from top to bottom, and she can feel the familiar heat on her cheeks, knowing what he'll say next, so she stops him.
"Got your note." 
"Are you up for it?" 
She nods, "I am." 
"Do you want to eat first?" Y/N agrees, already stepping that way when Harry joins. "Can make you some eggs?" 
"Tea and toast will be fine."
After a quiet breakfast, they both slip on their boots and head out, not before leaving a note for Anne that they'll be back soon. They begin the walk side by side with a small gap in between. Both are distracted, trying their best to get their thoughts in order. Y/N isn't sure how much they've walked when Harry speaks up. 
"Love," 
Y/N stays silent. 
"I'm sorry." She lets him go on. "I–I don't know how I let myself get blind, but I'm sorry." 
She lets that sink in. He's acknowledging that he's been lost in his own world. That's a start. 
"I won't be announcing a new tour," Harry tells her. "Maybe not for a while." 
"But you love being on stage."
"Y/N," 
She hears the change in his voice and halts her walking. 
"You're the love of my life, my heart. With our children is where I should be. I guess getting lost in shows was easier than knowing you all couldn't be there with me." The confession is enough to put Y/N at ease, but it doesn't solve everything. 
"We need to find common ground, Harry." 
"I know." Harry pauses, looking out at the river they walked along for the first time many years ago, then turns back to Y/N, locking eyes with her. "That's why I'm taking a break." 
"And when you decide to go off again?" 
"We'll talk." 
"Like we did before," she throws back because she's heard this promise and has difficulty believing it. 
"I know it's all mostly my fault, but you didn't say much." 
Y/N knows he's right, but he's not the one who stayed behind. "What could I do? I had to put them first. I always do. I always will." 
"I'm not–"
"You were across the world, and they needed a strong mother, and if I brought it up and it didn't go my way, I would have broken." The tears are begging to come out, but she holds them in.
"Didn't I tell you if you needed me, I was a plane ride away." 
That's what breaks the dam.
Y/N grows silent, letting her sobs fill the air. Harry is too nervous to touch her in case she doesn't want his touch.
"I did that," she whispers. 
"What?"
She shrugs, "I don't know where you were, but both kids had fevers, and it was so hard. I called you. I had no answer. I tried again and again, and nothing. I left a voicemail, and nothing. I reached out to Jeff, and no one would answer me. Maybe you were sleeping or in between travels or whatever, but something broke in me that day because I had to rely on a friend to take my children and me to the hospital and had their support but not my husband's."
That's when Y/N sees Harry's tears fall, and they're endless. She knows he must be imagining two crying babies and a panicked mother needing someone by her side assuring her they'd get through it. Yet, she had no one. 
"I didn't know," he sobs. "Why didn't you bring it up?"
"Because you rang the following morning cheery like you never saw the voicemail, I figured you'd bring it up if you heard the voicemails and saw the missed calls."
"I'm the worst." 
Y/N shrugs, not denying it, instead turning back towards the house. 
"Don't want to keep walking?" 
"No," she replies honestly. 
"I have faith in us," he tells her, brushing his pinky with hers. 
"I do too."
Harry lets out a deep sigh. It's a step forward. 
"But this isn't about just me, Harry." 
And he knows that. He knows he has much to make up to his angels, Wes and Josie. 
"I know our kids. You know I love them." 
"I do…but they don't. At least not always. They don't understand why their dad is always gone or doesn't pick them up at the school gates or daycare on the odd day she goes." 
It's the little things he's missed out on that they miss as well. "Will you help me?" Before she can answer, he continues. "I know I don't deserve your help, but you're my forever." 
"Okay, H." 
That's the end of the conversation. It seems as if they've reached the house. Harry opens the door helping Y/N out of her coat and lining up her boots with his. Y/N walks into the kitchen first, seeing Anne making breakfast. The kids immediately notice her letting out a loud "Good morning" as they munch on their berries. 
Wes smiles as she presses a kiss on his cheek, but it dims when he takes a look at her face and then at Harry, who is right behind her. That's odd, Y/N thinks. She turns to ask Harry, but it seems that Harry doesn't even notice. He's wishing them a good morning leaving endless kisses on both cheeks. Harry helps Josie eat her berries, giggling as he pretends to miss her mouth. 
"Mummy," Josie calls for her attention. 
"Yes, my love." Y/N steps close, bushing her curls back away from her eyes. 
"Itch," she mumbles.
Y/N fails to hold back a laugh, "who darling?" 
She pouts, looking at her brother for help. 
"Michal, Mummy." He answers like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 
Y/N lets out a small laugh because, of course, she's asking for Michal. Every time they made a trip up here, Gemma and Michal also made a stop. It seems Jo wanted to see one of her favorite people. 
"He's not here. Why don't we give him a call, huh?" 
The siblings cheer, coming to sit on her lap, and she holds the phone up to her ear, waiting for the person to answer. 
Harry steps away from the hurt, not knowing who his family is referring. He feels a hand settle on his back, rubbing it in circles, soothing him just a little. "Michal, your sister's partner, relax." 
"I thought–" He doesn't know what he thought. 
Anne frowns, "if you thought that, then there is lots to figure out." She gestures to Y/N, laughing with her children as they speak to Michael on the phone. "You're that woman's world." 
"I didn't think she was." 
"Didn't you?" 
"I-I don't know how I messed it all up." 
"Lack of communication possible," Anne offers because she knows it's something she always dealt with when he left home all those years ago. 
"Anne, Gem, and Michal are coming for lunch to spend time with the kids."
Anne claps her hands together out of joy, "wonderful, all my favorite people coming together." 
"You don't mind if Harry and I step out for the afternoon when they arrive, do you?" Y/N asks, knowing Harry and her still have a bit to talk through.
"Not at all." 
Harry gazes at her curiously. What is she up to? "Love,"
"Need some privacy to chat." She tells him.
She's right, but now he wonders what she has planned.
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After breakfast, Harry goes up with Wes to help him change and wash up while Y/N helps Josie as she was asking for two braids in her now long hair. As Wes leads the way to Harry’s old room, he’s quiet, and it’s concerning. 
“You alright, bub?” Harry asks as he shuts the door to give them privacy. 
Wes shakes his head, not able to meet Harry’s gaze. 
“Want to talk about it?” 
Wes takes off his top and slips on a white undershirt and then the sweater Harry knows Y/N laid out for him, knowing he’ll want to go outside and keep him warm. 
“You make mummy sad,” he mumbles, but Harry hears him clearly.
Harry flinches at his five-year-old son’s words. It’s sad because his son has been able to notice something he hasn’t. 
“What?” Harry sinks down to his knees right in front of Wes. 
“You make her cry. I hear her sometimes.” He shrugs, and Harry knows he’s failed them. 
“When?” 
“Few times.” 
He’s not specific. It’s more than once, and Harry realizes it’s all his fault his family doesn’t trust him to stay. 
“I love your Mummy,” Harry tells Wes, needing his son to believe him. 
Wes frowns, looking down at Harry, “Mummy says we don’t make those we love cry.” 
Harry tries his best to blink away his tears, “your mummy is right.” He exhales slowly. “I guess it’s because I’m never home. Does that make you sad?” 
Wes nods quickly, “but I have to be strong like Mummy for Jo.”
Harry feels that, like a stab straight to the heart, he doesn’t deserve his perfect family. Not one bit, but he’s going to give it everything he has to make it up to them.
“Oh, my sweet boy, I’m so sorry. I love your Mummy and you and Josie. You’re my life, and I promise to never make her cry again.” Wes nods as if taking in all his words. “I’m not leaving for a long time, and if I do, you will all come with me.” 
Wes pouts, “I like school.” 
Harry laughs. “Course you do. Mummy says you’re doing brilliant. We’ll go in the summer, do a proper holiday together.” 
“Together, good.”
Wes runs out of the room, leaving Harry to cry alone in his old bedroom. He has to fix it. He has so much to make up for.
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Harry spends the morning playing blocks with Wes and Josie as Y/N colors in one of Josie's dinosaur books, where she'll occasionally leave Harry to give Y/N a new color or change the page for her. It's a lovely time of aimless talking and spending time with his favorite people. At one point, his mum steals Wes to help her bake cookies that they'll be able to eat after lunch. Soon after, Josie falls asleep on Y/N's lap as she watches Zootopia, a film that Harry remembers seeing multiple times with Wes. Curse child movies for making him more emotional now as a father. 
The day moves at a faster pace when he's having fun, it seems, because the next thing he knows, Gemma and Michal are walking through the door, and she's shouting for her nephew and niece to come greet her. Josie, having woken up around ten minutes ago, stumbles her way to the door and into Michal's open arms. He's quick to prop her on his hip as Josie tells him all about the dream she had. Gemma has all of Wes' attention as he goes on and on about all the backyard's open space as if their home doesn't have twice the distance. Wes says it's because they have cats. 
Y/N and Harry share a look at the same time, something that hadn't happened in a long time. They're both thinking the same thing and know that it might be a nice gift to get them a cat for the holidays. It'll be an excellent addition to the family, giving Scott a new friend to play with. They all eat lunch together, and it's loud, and everyone is talking over each other, mainly Wes and Jo, but Harry swears he's never been happier. The smile on Y/N's face is one he wants her to have every day going forward.
Jo sits in Michal's lap, claiming him as her person for the day, not that he minds. He's a natural with her. After seeing that both her children will be fine, Y/N begins to gather her stuff gesturing for Harry to say his goodbyes and meet her by the door. Y/N gives Josie a big hug and endless kisses before settling her back next to Michal as they do a puzzle together. She lingers a moment too long with Wes whispering before he wraps his arms around her neck in a tight hug that she returns. Y/N smiles at him as she goes to put on his coat. Harry kisses Jo telling her he loves her before heading to Wes. 
"Love you, Wes." 
"Take care of Mummy, Daddy." 
"Always, bub." 
He smiles, letting Harry place a kiss on his cheek.
Going outside, he sees Y/N in the car, adjusting the heat as she waits for him. Once she sees him buckle in his seatbelt, she pulls out, and off they go. He has no clue where she might be taking him, even if he does know the town well. They sit in comfortable silence, with no music playing or small talk. It's like old times when they were able to just enjoy sitting together. 
The drive couldn't have been longer than fifteen minutes when she pulls over and sees a frozen pond. Harry chuckles. He was not at all prepared for this. 
"I have ice skates if you're up for it?"
"Is the ice good?" He wouldn't dare let her skate with the slight chance the ice may crack.
"Mr. Crane promises it'll hold. He says he has been coming out to check it every morning."
With that assurance, he agrees. 
Once the skates are on, his skates feel a bit snug, as if his shoes shrunk, but it means better stability. Lessening the slight fear of tumbling over with nothing to hold him up. Both stay right by each other's side, going slow. They take a few laps testing the ice before gaining more confidence to go faster and a bit further.
"Let's play a game," Y/N suggests. 
"A game?" He repeats. 
"Mhm." 
"Okay, sure." 
Y/N grins at him, and he feels his heart speed up at the sight. It's a marvelous one. 
"Tell me a time you were happy, and I'll counter it with a time when I was sad. Then we'll swap." 
Harry isn't sure, "are you sure it's a good game?" 
Y/N shrugs, "I'm filled with both. Six months was a long time apart."
Harry relents, as always, what Y/N wants, she gets. 
She waits for him to start.
"The recital. It was amazing to see how much Wes has improved." 
"I cried last night. I wasn't expecting you to arrive." 
Harry takes a deep breath, "the drive here was quiet even with your favorite playlist on." 
"Mornings where Jo and Wes climb into bed with me," she answers easily. 
"I don't think our kids like me," Harry says softly. 
Y/N stumbles but rightens herself, not having expected him to say that. He shakes his head, telling her to go on. "Painting with Jo is always fun. She thinks I'm the best artist to ever exist in her eyes." 
Harry nods along as if agreeing. "Seeing how happy my mum makes our kids." 
The game goes on for a while, back and forth. Y/N tells him about all the best moments he's missed, like when Josie learned to jump rope when Wes scored his first goal and how she loves hosting game nights. She also told him that it's hard to find time for herself to not feel overwhelmed, that when their kids cry, she feels like a terrible parent and wishes he was home more. While Harry expressed happy moments on tour when Mitch and him wrote a new song, countered with uncomfortable nights sleeping in the studio. Harry talks about how tour made him realize all those moments weren't his happiest. 
It's Harry's turn once more. He pauses to think and then says something that has been playing on loop in his mind. "Our son thinking, I make you sad." 
Y/N stops skating; he keeps going for a moment, thinking she'll continue in a second instead. She crumbles to the ground crying into her hands. 
"Hey, love, lovie, you're okay," he sinks down next to her, rubbing down her arms. 
"He's so small," she manages to say between sobs. 
"It's all my fault." Harry reminds her. 
"No, I–I'm supposed to be his mum. I'm supposed to be strong for him, and I haven't been." Y/N has never felt pain like this like she's letting down her children. 
That she's failed them. 
"No, you're not supposed to hide like that. Parenting is a partnership, and you've done it alone for too long," Harry tells her, moving her hands away from her face to have her look at him. "It's my fault. Do you understand?" 
She doesn't move an inch, but looking into her eyes, he knows she understands. 
"I love you, Y/N. I do, and I will for the rest of my life, that I can promise you." 
"But–"
"Zero buts." 
"What about your career?"
"We'll decide together. I'm a free man until March when we decide to resign or change up my contract." 
"Then you leave," she states.
"Not anymore." Y/N looks away, not believing a word he says, and that's on him for making her doubt him. Now it's his turn to prove to her he's on her team, that he's on her side. 
"Every decision I make, you'll be there," he promises. 
"You can't not work then…then you'll resent us. You'll resent me," she whispers. 
"I could never," his voice was firm and full of assurance. "Best thing to ever happen to me." Y/N looks into his eyes, trying to find any hint of a lie to make her second guess her choice. She sees the tear streaks down his cheeks and knows he's being genuine. "Jeff knows you're first." 
"Then what's your plan?"
"Tour during summer when our kids aren't in school. Easier for you to join me if you'd be up for it, of course." 
"Summer?" 
"Three to four months, nothing longer than that," he explains. "School year, I'm yours. Full-time stay-at-home-dad."
"Would that make you happy?" 
"You make me happy," he leans his forehead against hers, letting their breaths mix together, "I've prevented myself from that." 
Y/N takes in all he's said. There are a lot of promises he just laid out, but each one sounds realistic and double. She believes in him and their love. 
"Okay." 
"Okay?" 
"I trust you, H." 
"I'm hoping to earn more of that trust back little by little, my heart. I'm okay with graveling if I have to." 
Y/N rolls her eyes because he's unbelievable. Yet, she loves him with everything she has. 
"Come on, you goober. Let's go see our kids." 
As Harry accepts the hand, she stretched out for him, he grabs it but instead of pulling himself up, he pulls her towards him, sending them to lay flat on the ice and her on his chest, his arms secure around her waist. Her laughs bubble around them, and he can't help but join in. 
"I love you, my heart. I promise it will all be different," he vows to her. 
"I love you, Harry. I believe you." She presses herself closer against him. "But anything other than what you promised, and things will not be this easy." 
"Not going to let that happen." 
"Good." 
Y/N isn't sure who closed the gap if it was her or Harry, but all she knows is that kissing Harry is like coming home. It's a warm feeling that spreads all over. It's a safety blanket. 
It's falling in love all over again. She can't wait to fall in love with him for a lifetime.
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The drive back to Anne's Y/N let Harry take the wheel even if it was a short drive as opposed to when they left; it was quiet, and the hum of the radio. Now it was flowing conversation and light teasing happening. 
Harry opens the door with a loud "we're back" Y/N and Harry share a look when they can hear the loud patter of footsteps getting closer and closer until they're a few feet in front of them. Jo and Wes see them, and Y/N and Harry kneel to get their kids' height. Both children focus their energy on running straight to Y/N, and if it were anyone else, it would have sent them tumbling back, but Y/N stands as strong as a pillar. 
"Hi, my babies. Were you good?" Y/N asks as she places a kiss on both their cheeks. 
"Yes" and "Always" were the two answers given. They release Y/N to hug Harry, one he basks in and squeezes a bit too tight as Wes and Jo squirm to be released. 
Wes returns to Y/N, placing his small palm on her cheek, "you happy, Mummy?" 
Y/N feels tears well up but does her best to fight them off. Wes has always been in tune with Y/N's emotions and hopes she never has to put them in a position like this again. 
"The happiest," she assures Wes." 
"Good." Wes gives them both a big smile before running off. 
"Up, Daddy?" Josie voices, surprising Harry.
"Of course, angel." He lifts her in his arms with ease standing up with her, hoping Jo never asks to be let down. 
Jo frowns while in his arms, "cold jack." 
Harry looks down at his coat, seeing as he didn't have time to remove it, "my apologies, princess." 
He passes her off for Y/N to hold for a moment when Jo brings her hands up to squish Y/N's cheeks, landing a kiss on her lips. Y/N giggles loving how affectionate Josie has always been.
"Hey, my lips," Harry jokes with his daughter. 
Y/N rolls her eyes, Harry having no idea how possessive his daughter is. Josie plants another chaste kiss on Y/N's lips and then sticks her tongue out at Harry, truly showing her age. 
"Now Josie, she's mine." 
"No," she answers stubbornly.
"Jo."
"My mummy!" She reminds him as if he could forget.
"She's my wife." 
Josie shakes her head, and those words mean nothing to her instead, she buries her face in Y/N's neck, "mine" is all she repeats.
"Ours," Harry compromises. 
She slowly lifts her head, turning to stare at Harry. It's a word she doesn't recognize—something she's never had to associate with her mother. 
"We can share, Mummy, yeah. Like when you share your food with Wes and Nana." Harry explains. 
Josie thinks about it for a few seconds before accepting, "yes." 
Y/N stands there feeling her heart might burst from all the love she's receiving. "We share, Daddy." 
 "Want to go with Daddy again?" He asks with stretched-out hands.
Y/N passed her over, seeing as Jo nodded eagerly at the thought of being back in her father's embrace. Josie snuggles close to his chest, and Y/N knows there is little time before Jo falls asleep. 
"Sleep, please." 
"Yes, bub, I'll take you to sleep." 
"Read?" She asks timidly.
Wes bounces, overhearing his favorite word, "read to us?" 
The smile on Harry's face is unmatched. He's been missing out on so much, but not anymore. "Whatever you want," he promises. 
They begin to walk up the steps together, Harry doing his best to follow both conversations that are happening at once. Y/N stares at them going up together when her three loves turn around and smile at her.
"Coming, my heart?" 
"Coming, Mummy?" Jo stretches out her small hand for Y/N to take. 
The smile on Y/N's face widens, and she begins to feel her heart mending back together. "Nowhere else I would rather be." 
Y/N takes Josie's hand, placing a small kiss on the back before settling it back down. A hand on Wes' shoulder and Harry's back as they all walk up the steps as a family. 
Not perfect, but trying.
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thank you so much for reading 💜💜💜💜 i love you endlessly
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morethansalad · 2 months
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Homemade Fireball Shots (Vegan & Non-Alcoholic)
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