#honeytryst

[oghoneytryst]

wild card.

request: best friend!harry and y/n are drunk one night and stuff gets spilled where they’re both in love with each other

or

where an innocent game of UNO with tequila and a twist makes harry and y/n’s night go wrong

a/n: hi. this is my baby. i love her a lot. pls treat her well.

this is also quite long, so I guess save this for later and read during that sweet spot in your life where you have all the time in the world. thank u enjoy.

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Insensible to how the night will progress, y/n admits that the aftereffects quickly following a tequila shot’s persuasive innocence rather impresses her. 

“That,” she blurts out, “looks downright disgusting.”

Y/n breathes in the retched smell, leaning on the cheap granite with her weight pressing down on her forearms. Her eyes wander over the islands of accidental spills scattering across her kitchen counter – alcoholic puddles have gone to waste. Harry, positioned over his mess of a workspace, stands confidently tall on the opposite side.

“Oh, shut up!” he retaliates, throwing half of a lime at her ebullient figure.

The citrus bounces against y/n’s skin, right beneath her collarbone. She emits a gasp of shock from the cool sensation, but still manages to trap the small fruit to chuck it back at her best friend.

“Asshole!” she laughs. Never should she have teased Harry over his ability to recreate the infamous drinks he has downed in foreign countries. Peering down at the failed concoction before her, y/n bites down on her tongue and prevents any smartass remarks from sliding right off.

Well, alright, one more can’t hurt.

“I don’t think you’re making this right,” she says, ignoring whatever metaphorical daggers might possibly impale her best friend’s fragile ego.

Harry, in turn, sticks out his tongue. “You don’t even know what I’m making,” he remarks, picking up the blender to examine the poison inside.

“Sure, I do. It’s some drink you had in . . . Belgium.”

“Brazil,” he corrects, “but close. Your geography skills are truly remarkable, d’ya know that?”

 “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. I-Have-A-Net-Worth-of-70-Million, but we don’t all have the privilege of expanding our education through continent-hopping on our private jets.”

Harry lowers the blender. His brow furrows, staring quizzically at his friend, then asks, “70 million? Really? Is it really that low?”

The two share an instant look of amusement; sparkling eyes and wide-open mouths. The kitchen walls echo with their wasted laughter. A drawn-out “Wowww” vibrates from y/n as she soaks in the Cheshire man’s conceited joke. Harry has to assure her over and over that “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

A couple minutes pass by. “You’re making a right mess of my kitchen,” y/n points out. “Are you planning on cleaning all of this up?”

“Of course,” he promises, then mirrors her position: leaning on the cheap granite, weight pressing down on his forearms. With a wide countertop anchoring right between them, Harry inches closer, cautious with his effect. “You don’t peg me as some sort of animal, do you?”

His beautiful features are even more inviting up close. Despite the friendship that blossoms through every year, y/n finds that Harry evolves with intimidation. Perhaps it is that charming charisma of his that grows with his every new love affair; either way, the stench of his alcoholic breath and the dirty stubble of his chiseled face – it has her drooling at every reunion.

“Of course not,” she breathes out, instantly catching onto her mistake when Harry’s face scrunches from the smell. “Ah . . . shit, sorry.” She laughs. Yet another invisible cloud of stench attacks her best friend, and all that she can do is cower behind the shelter of her hand in embarrassment.

Harry chuckles. “It’s alright. My breath is just as retched.”

Her hand pulls away from her toxic mouth with his assistance. His thumb finds leisure and softly caresses her knuckles. Y/n is almost dumbfounding in her lost stare, but her brain throbs from the bewildering thoughts nesting inside.

For one, she admires the way her hand disappears in his own; the inked cross sways back and forth to a calming rhythm on his soft skin.

Furthermore, there is a glimmer always present in his green eyes; kindness and serenity and comfort interconnects to craft the universe within.

Finally, his trademark that mesmerizes this lifetime and the next to come. She falls in love with his silent smirk, drowns in his prominent dimples that she imagines has captivated the world.

It is this and a plethora of other wonders that has her lost amongst a sea of hopefuls. There are a countless number of hearts that beat for him: a simple, extraordinary man. Unlike them, she will never be brave enough to tell him so.

It can’t be more of a clichéd nightmare to live in: reserving her most passionate desires and suffering in the presence of her unattainable best friend. A tragic fate, she admits, that graces her in the most torturous way.

“Um...” y/n blinks, settling back into the reality of the night. “So, are you going to finish whatever it is you’re making, or what?”

Harry chuckles, releases her hand and straightens up. “It’s already done. Besides, I thought you said it looked downright disgusting.” He puts his long legs to use and takes a single step toward the kitchen sink. From a rack adjacent to it, he pulls two wet glasses left to dry and returns to set them down on the counter.

“Oh, well I did, but that just makes it all the more interesting! Plus, you’ve wasted about half of my liquor cabinet, so I’m hoping that this will at least make for a memorable experience.”

“Well, in that case,” Harry, proud and tall, pours even portions of his concoction into their respective glasses, “bottoms up!”

Y/n smiles and accepts the glass from her cheerful friend who radiates with self-fulfillment. She normally doesn’t take risks with strange potions, knowing that the contents can very well end up surging back up her stomach and on her living room floor. Be that as it may, she knows that harry is prideful. She will do anything to see that charming smile of his, even if the painful realization hits her: a smile is all that she can wheedle out of him, despite wanting so much more.

With a delicate shake of her head, she raises the glass in sync with her eyebrows as to say cheers! The drink burns in her throat, but she downs it in a rush, hoping that it will loosen her up for the long night to come.

“No, you fucking didn’t!” Harry exclaims, 67 minutes having happily ticked away. Joyous tears pool in his eyes, fits of giggles bouncing off the living room walls.

“I swear, I’m not kidding,” y/n chimes in, downing another swig of her beer.

Needless to say, Harry’s magic potion did not sit well with her. As deliciously relieving as it had been, y/n had been wary of its powerful effects. Like creator, like creation, she had recited in her hidden thoughts prior to Harry suggesting the two relocate to the couch in the living room.

Since then, there have been silly story exchanges, and one of y/n’s has brought Harry to the brink of amusing insanity.

Y/n leans an elbow against the back of the couch and elaborates. “In my defense, I had a lot to drink that night. We had planned to go out and celebrate, but most of us ended up getting plastered at the pre-drink, so we just stayed at Sophia’s place. I think she was a little pissed at us, though. She really wanted to shag someone that night.”

“Not like you would’ve let that happen anyway,” Harry accuses, grinning at his friend’s shock and confusion. He licks the taste of retched beer from his lips and explains. “C’mon, we both know you’re incredibly clingy when you’re wasted. One second apart from Sophia and you would’ve cried more than when you’d thrown your phone out the window.”

“Hey!”

“I mean, seriously, y/n? Airplane mode? How do you manage to come up with that logic?”

Y/n simpers and sinks deeper into the cushions. “I was drunk!”

“All I’m saying is,” Harry laughs, blanketing a single hand over his squinty jaded eyes, “I’ve had my fair share of drunken mishaps, and never once did I think to throw my phone out the window with the intent of having it turn into an airplane.”

“Hmm. Then I suppose you’re not as imaginative as moi,” y/n teases, raising her shoulder to meet with her chin.

“I’m sure that’s the word you’re looking for.”

“It is. And also!” Y/n pauses, forcing her mouth to keep closed as a hiccup ripples through her body. “I’m not clingy! I may be affectionate sometimes, but as far as I’m concerned, I am currently riding on Shit-Face Avenue and have not clung to you once. Have I?” She shakes her head. “No, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t.” Harry shrugs, leaning against the back of the couch. “You could though, if you wanted to.”

Y/n stiffens. She blinks away the images that rise to the surface of her lingering eyes. As intoxicated as she currently is, the suggestive remark does not go unnoticed. In fact, if she doesn’t know any better, she can be right to assume that her best friend is implying a dangerous journey into uncharted territories.

Yet, having been friends with him for so long, she has caught onto his antics, especially those deriving from alcohol consumption. He claims her to be the clingy one, but there is no denying the overly affectionate, touchy man that overpowers him in such powerless situations. She has experienced it before, although it has never gone farther than his arms around her, and a sloppy peck on her face.

She’s never allowed it to go further.

“Anyway,” she trails off, breaking through the creeping silence that she isn’t aware had sneaked its way in. “I didn’t realize my mistake until the next morning, when my phone was already shattered and the damage had been done. So, it goes without saying that I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t get super wasted and expect your equally intoxicated friends to stop you from throwing your phone out the window.”

Harry laughs. “Y’know, if you didn’t want your drunk alter ego to post anything embarrassing on your social media, you could’ve just deleted the apps altogether,” he suggests. “Join me on my cleanse.”

“Oh, please.” y/n scoffs. “You’re acting all high and mighty as if you’ve deleted Twitter off of your phone.”

“Alright.” Harry raises his hands in surrender. “Sometimes I’m curious as to what’s going on in the world. Sue me.”

“For all of your 70 million? Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Oi!” Harry giggles. He takes out the pillow supporting his back and chucks it at his best friend. “Alright now.”

“Seriously though.” Y/n shoves the pillow back into his grinning face. “That would’ve been good money to have when trying to get my phone fixed. Damned thing was so expensive in repairs that I couldn’t even afford it.”

“Then how’d you get it fixed?”

“I didn’t. It cost less to just replace it. Or rather, pretend that it had been stolen so that my phone company could replace it for a lower price.”

For such a casual conversation, Harry’s sudden intrigue grows with this new information. He sits upright, tucks the decorative plush pillow behind his back, but never leans against it. Instead, he faces y/n with a single beer bottle in his hand and an expression that depicts the rusting gears turning in his brain.

“Wait, so...” Harry pauses. He points at the slim device laying face-down on the coffee table. “That’s an entirely different phone?”

“Yeah?”

“But it’s the same number.”

“Right.”

“But then...” Another insightful pause. Harry licks his lips and continues, “Your messages and stuff. From your other phone. Did they transfer or are they—”

“Gone,” y/n finishes for him, perplexed at his perplexity. He is behaving rather strangely, almost as if he has hesitance – as though he will say too much. She’s not too sure what exactly it is about her phone that stirs so many questions out of him.

“Pictures, messages, even my contacts. My phone company deactivated the other phone, but everything on it is inaccessible anyway. They said that it’s possible to just take out the SIM card and put it in a new phone, but since I already went along with my stolen-phone plan, that solution is out of the picture. So, I’m just taking the blow, but it all works out. I had gotten rid of contacts that I don’t talk to anymore, and I got my old contacts from other people – I got yours from Sophia – and I felt very refreshed overall. There’s a lot of losses though. Lots of memes that I have to scour the internet to find again.”

“But . . . but like, you’re still receiving messages and stuff, right? After switching phones?”

“Well, yeah, I hope so. That’s the whole point. Why?”

 Harry shakes his head dismissively. “Jus’ wondering.”

It is a very casual way for him to disregard the curiosity brewing in the air. It has potential for success, if not for y/n’s investment in his every thought, especially with those that concern her.

“Harry,” she warns. In a split second, she imagines herself handling the glass bottle by its neck, sticking the other end in his face as a threat. She fortunately resists to do so when picturing the toxic-liquid spilling out and infesting her couch cushions.

Y/n squints her eyes. “Why are you so interested in the pivotal and precise details of my phone?” She leans closer to him, fighting the grin that tickles her lips. She tilts her head and executes a strange yet inquisitive expression. “What are you hiding?”

Harry can’t withstand the giggles from bubbling out his throat. He brings his hand up to y/n’s nose, and pinches it between his index finger and thumb.

“Squish.” He chuckles, which causes y/n to let out a symphony of snickers, and soon he finds his own face heating up with vivacious amusement.

“No, but really,” says y/n after composing herself. “What’s up?”

Harry prims his smiley lips and blinks up at the pasty ceiling. “The sky.”

“Harry!” y/n laughs. It swells her heart to hear him so happy and entertained; his glee multiplies alongside his hyena laughter. Yet, she’s impatiently itching under her skin, desperate to know whatever secret it is that he is hiding.

It takes a few ticklish kicks of her sock-clad feet rumbling against the side of his legs for him to raise his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright!” he gives in, and traps her impatient ankles with his large hands. Her limp legs settle over his thighs, one of his arms drapes over her shins. “I was jus’ wondering cos’ I might have gotten drunk one night and I might have called some people on my contacts list.”

Y/n raises her eyebrows. “Did you call me?”

Her best friend thinks on it for a short moment. He chews at the inside of his cheek, tips his head from side-to-side, internally at war with himself. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember. Did you get a call from me?”

“I don’t know. It depends. When did you get drunk?”

“Erm . . . that night it had been August. Nick’s birthday party. What ‘bout you?”

Y/n allows a few seconds to pass for the information to absorb. She then sinks further into the cushions and slaps a hand over her eyes in realization. “August. Sophia’s actual birthday.”

“Oh. How unfortunate,” Harry monotonously replies, but the infliction of his tone near the end of his sentence gives him away. There is a laughter that he is trying to suppress.

“No, you’ve got to be joking!” y/n groans, unveiling her face. “You’re telling me that you drunk called people and I missed it?”

“No. I mean, I might not have even called you that night. As far as I’m concerned, Mitch might have been the only one who received a voicemail.”

“There were voicemails?”

“Not really. Mitchell’s the only one who didn’t pick up.”

“This sucks.” Y/n pouts, chugging down the small amount of beer left in her bottle, and discards the glass vessel on the coffee table.

“Aw, lovie, it wasn’t anything. Just a drunken mistake. It’s just me slurrin’ on some words that don’t make sense.”

Y/n smiles. She rubs at her left eye as her right hand sluggishly points in his general direction. “Not your lovie,” she mumbles, and reaches out her arms to him. He doesn’t react to her response, but complies with her affection and scoots closer. Her legs bunch up to her chest, his left arm encircling halfway across her waist. She wraps her flimsy arms around his broad shoulders, and loudly whispers into his ear, “And any entertainment is funny entertainment,” then snuggles her head into his left shoulder.

Harry laughs at the sudden shift in ambience. He’s not sure if her statement has made sense, but he’s not sober enough to puzzle over it. “Remember when you said you weren’t clingy?” he whispers, presses his cheek on the top of her head, with little fuzzes of her hair sticking to his skin.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, scratching at his belly. His stomach instinctively shrivels up from the tickling sensation, but following his short fit of giggles, he settles back into the moment. Limbs entangle, hearts softly beat next to each other, and a million unspoken words paint the entire room.

She wants to stay here forever. She knows very well that once the moment is over, he will be off to another place, somewhere lightyears away. It’s like a nervous tick of his: never being able to stay still. Touring nonstop for five years most likely encourages this behavior, and he’s lucky enough to have the money to escape whenever he wants.

And though it is a blessing – to have so much control over his life – she can’t help but feel sad for him. She doesn’t know if he ever thinks years ahead into his future, but in case he doesn’t, she does it for him. She imagines him falling in love with his one; the person that he will share his private stories with and create a new life with. Whoever it is that earns his devotion is who y/n empathizes for, because certainty is not always in Harry’s vocabulary.

Commitment and settling down is not something of ease for him when considering all that he has been through. The heartache. The pressure of a million watching eyes. The loneliness. He’s not the same boy he used to be – he even said so himself. Though he is who he is for the better, y/n still mourns for that lost part of him. She wonders if he will ever settle down, or if he will continue to move at a pace that is impossible for anyone to keep up with.

Any moment longer and y/n will begin to tear up from her own overthinking. She’s grateful for the scare that Harry gives her when he spots a small red packaging on the coffee table.

“Ah, sick!” he exclaims. He snakes his arm from around her waist, discards his beer bottle on the coffee table, and reaches for the card game. “You had Uno this entire time and didn’t think to tell me?”

Y/n loosens her own grip as he takes the cards out of their packaging. Her arms slip from shoulders and rest on her lap. “I didn’t peg you as an Uno enthusiast.”

“Of course. Bet I’d kick your arse,” he says, winking at her deviously.

“Oh, I bet you could.”

Harry whines while shuffling the cards in his hands. “C’mon, y/n! Just a couple games.” 

“It just seems incredibly underwhelming right now.” She shrugs.

Harry doesn’t response right away. Instead, he sifts through the deck, and mischievously smiles. Suddenly, y/n is worried. 

“Let’s make it more interesting then,” he suggests.

“...Interesting how?” 

“We play as normal,” he explains slowly; his thumb slides the cards into his opposite hand one-by-one. “Except when one of us puts down a wild card,” Harry slaps the distinctive black card face-up on the table, “the other person has to answer a question.”

“A question?”

“Yeah, and not some bullshit question like what’d you have for breakfast? No, it’s got to be a question asked with the intention of spilling a secret.”

Y/n’s eyes pry open a little more at this. She sits up straighter, tucks her legs under her weight, and shifts uncomfortably. As close as she is with Harry, there are still many things that he does not know about her. It all ranges from simple adolescent mistakes, quarter-life crisis thoughts, and of course, the big lottery secret. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for that.”

“Then we’ll spice it up some more,” Harry offers with persistence and determination. “Every time you have to pick up from the deck, you have to drink. It’ll loosen you up. Sound good?”

No. It doesn’t sound good to her. It sounds like an extremely messy route to a destination undiscovered, one that y/n fears will have the potential to damage their friendship. It isn’t so much for the mere possibility that she will slip up and admit her admirable feelings for him. Rather, it is for the truly riveting secrets that he threatens to get her to confess. Everything and anything that he feels curious enough to ask about will be available to him with just the slap of a single playing card.

As incriminatingly frightening as this is, y/n can’t help but wonder about his own little devious secrets. There is no dismissal of the mysterious aura that crowns over his cryptic mind. Harry is the single most unreadable person that she has ever met. As much as she knows him, she doesn’t. He keeps as much of his life as private as can be, and for good reason. He’s a clever man, one that can be described as a great, undefined question mark.

It is all so tempting. How is she to possibly say no to a peak into his baffling mind?

Once she mumbles out a quick “Sure” in confirmation to his twist, the two set out an agreement of rules: only pick up once from the deck to save a few brain cells, dropping a plus two on top of another plus two creates a plus four and so forth, a reverse is basically like a skip, and please, no fucking train.

“And whoever gets Uno, the other person finishes their drink,” y/n announces. She grows giddier over the game by the second.

Harry smugly grins at her. He shuffles the deck to make sure the colors rightfully scramble from the last game that y/n and her guests have played. “For someone who wasn’t too sure about the game,” he deals out two hands of seven cards respectively, “you sure are getting a little cheeky.”

Y/n innocently shrugs. She scoops up her cards and faces away from Harry to keep him from cheating. She deflates at the sight of her hand – a few green, a couple blue, some action cards here and there – nothing entirely exciting. In other words, no wild card. She masks her disappointment with her most impressive poke face, and challenges Harry by raising her chin up confidently. “What can I say? I might get a little competitive when I’ve had a few drinks in me.”

By the time that Harry gathers up his own cards, he reaches and flips over the card at the top of the deck. A yellow 0. “Is that right?” he wonders aloud. He has already caught a glimpse of his hand and has the seven cards neatly compiled into a small deck in his hands.

“Most certainly.”

“Well then, Ms. Competitive, would you fancy starting us off?” 

Y/n narrows her eyes. “Does that mean that you don’t have anything to play?” she asks, placing down a yellow 2. 

“It means that I’m trying to be a gentleman and let you start the game.” Harry puts down his own card – a red 2. He smiles cheekily. “But I guess you’ll never know now, huh lovie?”

Y/n searches her hand and grumbles. “Damn it,” she whispers under her breath. She grabs ahold of her choice of drink while hugging her cards protectively to her chest. She takes a good and lasting sip. It burns terribly, almost hard to swallow, which makes her wonder if perhaps this game isn’t going to be as enjoyable as she once believed. She can, however, feel a stiffness in her shoulders relieve itself. She trudges on, one arm stretches out to grab from the deck. When she peers at her new addition, she involuntarily lets out a cheer. “Aha!” her hand slams down a vindictive red +2. 

Harry locks his jaw, his tongue swipes amongst the inside of his bottom lip. He nods understandingly, a crooked smile stretching unevenly on his face. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh?” he asks rhetorically, all set to pick his poison from the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” y/n replies, watching him suffer as he downs his drink, a few seconds longer than hers in celebration of the double pick-up. “I’m only playing the game.” 

“Yeah, right. ‘f course.” Harry sets his glass down and picks up two cards. Y/n is about to make another smart remark, but she misses the twinkle in his green eyes prior to him smacking down his choice of card.

The first wild card of the night.

Y/n freezes. Her jaw slowly unhinges; she blinks at the black card practically sparkling in the dim lighting. She must be color blind. It must be another red card, or maybe it is a misplaced blue, but the oval shape divided into quadrants is a little harder to ignore.

“What the fuck?” she exclaims, glares at Harry, who sits with his shoulders raised to his ears, a shit-eating smirk plasters his not-so-innocent face. “No way,” y/n shakes her head, “you cheated.”

Harry’s shoulders drop. His mouth squishes a U-shape. “Wh – how would I cheat? I’m only playing the game.”

Y/n rolls her eyes when he throws her own words back at her. “Yeah, well, your strategy is shit.”

It’s true to her, at least. As the owner of the card game, she has played a handful of times. She has figured out her own strategy to success. To her, playing the wild card is the last move a player should do to ensure victory. However, in this moment, this ideal might not entirely work out in her favor. There is nothing more that can confirm that than when she finds herself in defeat, awaiting Harry’s torture.

Harry takes a moment to ponder, strokes his chin in an evil manner before coming to a halt. From the low chuckle that escapes him, y/n knows that it cannot be good for her.

“Y/n,” Harry declares, savoring the syllables on his tongue. “Which one of my exes did you like the least?”

It takes a second for the question to seep through to her brain. Her thoughts already cloud, so she’s uncertain if the inquiry is entirely terrible. “Are you serious?” she retaliates, corking up a single eyebrow at him. “Out of all the questions that you’re dying to ask me, that’s your most pressing one?”

Harry chuckles with mock amusement. “We’re starting off easy, baby. I hope you know that this isn’t the last confession I’m getting out of you tonight.”

Y/n shakes away the flutter in her heart from his endearing pet name. It is quite easy to pretend that he says it with significance – that it is real. “If it’s so easy, then don’t you think you could have asked me this whenever? Not through a conniving card game?” 

Harry scoffs. “Sure, like you would’ve told me the truth. You’re always on about Harry, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Bullshit. It’s just the two of us singles now, spill the tea, sista!”

More giggles erupt from y/n. It’s hard to concentrate and Harry’s subtle slang doesn’t make it easier to focus. Before she knows it, the name, “Kendall” is running off her tongue.

“Kendall?” Harry repeats, sinking the information into his brain. “Why?”

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Oh, c’mon, y/n! You have to elaborate on it! You didn’t think much about it. Why her, eh?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “She’s just the first one who came to me.”

“This game isn’t fun if you lie, y/n.”

“But I’m not—” Y/n pauses. She catches the knowing and burning look on his face. Her act isn’t fooling him, so she sighs, and proceeds to create a quick web of reasons as to why this ex disinterests her from the rest.

In her brain, it is simple, but when she tries to string it into comprehensible sentences, she finds it a little more complex. 

Maybe it is because Kendall makes her feel inferior with her high-class model status. Of course, that doesn’t entirely separate her from his other model exes. It has to be because of something in association with that: her undeniable beauty and impossibly unmatchable body type. The way her waist pinches effortlessly, her long legs that can stretch for miles. Y/n has seen the orange boots of hers that fit right over her entire leg, the same ones that she imagines herself uncomfortably drowning in.

Maybe it is the on-and-off relationship that she’s had with Harry. It is an unexpected romance that begins in 2013 and randomly pops up every other year. She remembers his trip to St. Barts, as well as the pictures from the yacht that had been leaked. They cling onto each other, groping, touching, kissing – an intimacy that strains her. He’s introduced her to his mother, perhaps as his girlfriend, when he’s only ever introduced y/n as a friend. Despite their relationship not working out, the two still get along. Their friendship remains.

And maybe, just maybe, it is because she can’t seem to find any sensible reason to dislike her at all. There must be a reason Harry remains her close friend. It may be that one has to know Kendall to understand Kendall, and though y/n hasn’t dug into the depths of her mind, she has met her once or twice. And once or twice, she had been kind, she had been cool, and she had been distastefully perfect. 

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because you two seem kind of different.” Y/n shrugs. She nests the sharp branches of her thoughts back into the shadows of her mind. “Just a weird pair, is all. Satisfied?”

“Sure.” Harry nods. He has the faintest ghost of a smile. “Blue,” he says, continuing on with the game as though the tension in the air is unnoticeable. 

A couple more rounds pass them by. Though y/n manages to win both games, she declares it a loss seeing as though she hasn’t been able to cop the holy grail wild card. Harry, on the other hand, has tested their friendship with a lucky +4.

It is clear that Harry is using this game for his own personal and informative gain. He pries for answers that always linger in his head, ones that he assures y/n are normal for best friends to share, but never once has she given him the satisfaction. 

That is, until now.

“What’s your biggest kink?”

It throws y/n off for a second, especially when the tequila shot is slicing down her sensitive throat. It is an invasive question that not many expect from him, but it’s obvious that alcohol clouds his better judgement. “Excuse me?” she remarks, blinking profusely. “So much for being a gentleman.” 

He can’t seem to keep a straight face. His cocky energy radiates at her fluster, so what can she do but get it over with and answer his question?

She begins rather shyly, knowing right away which specific sexual pleasure it is that drives her over the edge. She then learns to embrace her driven taste that, to her dismay, has not yet occurred. In her head, she can’t control the images from sneaking up on her, pushing her straight off the cliff. She can’t tell if the incredulous smirk that Harry has on is due to his shock and satisfaction from her confession, or because he can also imagine himself in such a fantasy with his own partner of choice. 

Despite how in-depth and personal y/n goes on about the fiery flare that burns in her stomach, she will never tell him that it is him and his body that she imagines discovering hers, and that it has never been easier to fantasize than with her personal choice physically in front of her.

Even now, as they start a new game, the obvious shift of tension does not dissipate. A hotness still lingers in the air, but the two friends pretend to be fools for the sake of their friendship. Whether the cracks are crumbling or the cement is stiffening, neither are too sure of.

Y/n picks up her cards, prepares herself for disappointment despite her latest victory. What calls attention to her dull eyes ignites a sudden spark that has been missing. The wild card stuffs between her red 7 and red skip, and it parallels the most beautiful sight that she can ever recall envisioning in her short and simple life. 

She can’t let the opportunity slip away. It no longer matters to her whether she is the one who calls the infamous Uno phrase at the end of this round to claim another reign. Harry cannot slither his charismatic magic to the deck any longer, as she assumes he’s been doing considering his unfathomable luck with wild cards. 

She is the one with the power of the first turn. She is the one who isn’t thinking clearly, slaps down the familiar black card in all of its glory, and cheers to herself with a silent seizure of celebration. 

And Harry is the one who stares in shock, baffled by the turn of events.

“Hmph.” His lips purse to the side in an awkward manner. He wonders how he can swivel his way around this predicament. “Right, and I’m the one with the shit strategy?” 

His comment on her impulsive play does not rain on her gloating parade. Instead, she bounces her leg up and down, scouring for a question that will leave him with nothing but his vulnerability. Harry has accepted his fate; he leans back on the couch in anticipation. He eyes the vodka bottle on the table and wonders if it will do him any favors.

Y/n takes some time to scheme. With her prior hand of colorful cards, she had a million questions storming in her brain at lightning speed. Now, she draws a complete blank, with the towering beanstalks and sunflowers mowing down to an empty, dying field.

In such a desperate time of need, a single question rises. She hesitates and wonders if she really wants to know the answer. She wonders if her goal is to inflict pain upon herself – is it a pleasure that she cannot control? It is the only solution in the midst of seconds ticking away, Harry’s impatience growing.

Harry. He sits and basks in the glory of her uncertainty. Chances are that he anticipates a seductive retaliation to his over-the-line inquiries. This possibility might be more fun since that is what he is trying to get out of this game: fun; enjoyment; entertainment. A good story to reminisce, but nothing more.

“Are you in love with someone?”

If there has ever been a person capable of flustering Harry up to the point of complete bewilderment, y/n effortlessly earns that title. No promotional interview has ever stumped him as much as this single moment does now. Though he usually stutters and responds to questions vaguely without even really answering them at all, he knows the solution to all of the media’s curiosity. He is careful to not reveal too much, as some things are meant solely for his knowledge. He holds no obligations to share his secrets, and he holds no true obligations to spare y/n an answer. It is easy for him to simply walk out of the game as a sore loser; a coward of a man whose word holds empty.

The reality of it is that he does have an answer. He’s sure that he does, but there is a hesitance that lingers when he considers if he is truly being honest with himself. For once, he does not know himself as well as he thinks he does.

“Don’t answer rhetorically,” y/n adds, pressing on amid the silence she causes. “Don’t say your mother. Or Mitch or Stevie Nicks or something like that. Just . . . do you love someone?” 

Harry’s smile diminishes. In its place: a hauntingly emotionless appearance. He is far gone in his own thoughts, and y/n worries that she has broken him. “What’s the question then?” he asks, allowing y/n to breathe and choke all at once. “Do I love someone, or I am I in love with someone?”

His allusion to the contrast quite honestly fazes her. She doesn’t bother to notice the divided significance that the two phrases have. Pining the two under the perfect spotlight unveils a stark perspective that makes her question her own emotions. Does she love? Or does she fall in love, down a smothering abyss that reaches no definite end? Is she sunbathing on the moon, or is she hurtling through the infinite depths of space?

It is a simple request for clarification, but she wonders if Harry tortures himself enough with notions of love to make such a separation between two very similar things. 

“Um,” y/n pauses – this is a second chance. She can retract her statement and avoid the heartbreak that may follow one of his answers. “In love,” she answers instead. “Are you in love with someone?” 

She expects him to think on it. She expects the pressure to deflate from his lungs in a shaky breath. She does not expect him to be so certain over something so confusing and undefinable.

“Yeah,” he answers, tops his sentence off with a nonchalant, cherry-sparkling shrug. 

“Who is it?” she presses on, already accepting the discomforting ache.

“I’m not telling,” he says. There is no offense to his tone, but she knows that there is a secret he is protecting. She does not know why he is protecting it from her.

“Well, you have to give some kind of an elaboration,” she persists, and subtly clears her throat. It burns with the sensation of emotions closing it up. “Is it . . . are they like,” y/n exasperatingly exhales. She slumps her shoulders in defeat. “This person . . . are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“But not entirely?”

“It’d be pretty embarrassing to be entirely in love with someone who I’m not even sure is in love with me back.” 

Y/n grimaces. How can they not? 

“Okay, so, you’re in love with this person, but do you think . . . y’think you would ever stop everything for them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like . . . slow down. You’re young, H, and you’re just starting to reach the peak of the mountain. And once you’re at the peak, there goes the stars. Who knows what else after that? You can’t see it yet because maybe you don’t want to, maybe you like not knowing what’s next. But that person that you love, or are in love with, or whatever it is, do you love them enough that you’ll settle for just the clouds? And not the high ones, I’m talking about the really low ones that few people get to touch and maybe even die trying to—”

“Y/n,” Harry whispers. He leans closer to her trembling, broken down frame. “Why are you crying?” 

His firm hands grip onto her shoulders. He tries to comfort her, concern sketches into every precise detail on his face. He has momentarily forgotten about the game; his cards are discarded, facing up on the coffee table for any prying eyes to see. He’s not sure where everything went wrong, but the puzzle is the least of his worries if he cannot get this single piece to fit.

Y/n sniffles, absolutely humiliated by her own pity party. Once so optimistic, she blames the alcohol that drowns her in unexplainable sorrow. “You can’t ask me that,” she replies and wipes away at her eyes. “I’m the one with the wild card.”

“Y/n—”

“Just answer the question so we can finish this stupid game, Harry.”

Harry frowns. This poor construction of a façade that y/n hides behind is so heartbreaking. She forces a brave face, but he knows now more than ever that she wants to fall apart. Maybe if he weren’t here, she actually would – but in his presence, she keeps her chin up, lips pursing, and awaits an answer to spite the wetness on her cheeks.

“It’s hard to answer,” he says quietly, never once breaking the contact with her glass eyes. “I don’t think I can know until it happens. You know that looking too into the future is hard for me.” Y/n nods and absorbs every single word. “I don’t think you’re supposed to know when you’re in love. But this is my life, y/n. I can’t slow down. I can’t run away. It’s different for me.”

“So, you wouldn’t try?” she asks, which coaxes a shrug out of him. “Not even for the person that you’re in love with?”

There’s no response from him, but that alone is enough of an answer.

“Okay,” y/n croaks out, settling back into her gaming stance. “Green.”

To their sharing dismay, the game continues. Harry drops a green 4, y/n combines a green skip with a red skip and a red 0. While her sniffles resemble torpedoes to his ears, he feels powerless to do anything about it. He feels worthless, and sort of dirty, sitting on her couch, pretending as though she isn’t having the absolute worst time of her life, all because of him.

It’s uncomforting. It’s wrong. She has this pain and it is strong, so strong that it impacts him severely. He senses a burn in his nose. He tries to focus on the numbers and figures on his cards, but his vision blurs. He dabs at his jaded eyes, clears his throat, shakes his head, but all of his thoughts revolve around her distress.

“Uno,” she calls in a rush, impatient for the game to end. She imagines the following events to transpire: she excuses herself and goes to bed; Harry lets himself out, locks the door with the key hidden not-so-cleverly under her doormat; he climbs onto a plane and leaves for somewhere far, far away, in another part of the world where the beauty of torturous pain cannot follow him; they remain friends, but there is something different between them, something unspoken, something that just cannot be fixed. They are friends, but they are not the same friends as before.

She can’t possibly imagine the +4 that he smacks down over her discarded yellow 6 after downing the rest of his drink. It’s impossible – how does he win so much in life and in a silly game?

“Fucking plus four,” y/n whispers under her breath. She sets her cards down with her bottom lip quivering as she reaches for another choice of poison. What stops her hand right over the glass bottle is Harry’s own devouring hers. He puts her actions to rest as the world, for one miniscule moment, stops entirely. 

“What do you,” Harry pauses, searches for her eyes. He’s begging for some compliance; his universe collides with hers. “Do you have feelings for me?”

Y/n closes her eyes. She shuts them tight, pulls her hand away from his protection, and wishes that he wouldn’t touch her again. “You can’t ask me that.” Her lip curls as she refuses to answer.

“Wh – what do you mean I can’t? It’s my turn—”

“No,” she argues. She blinks her eyes open and roughly brushes the tears away with the back of her hand. “You can’t ask me that, please, don’t ask me that.”

Harry wants to retaliate. He almost demands an answer from her, but one sight at her in ruins, and he has no choice but to back off. “Fine,” he says, “but I still get to ask a question.”

Y/n sits up straighter. The frown on her face transforms into a cold, hard stare. “Fine.”

“Would you kiss me right now if you had the chance?”

Y/n seems to have a lack of concern for his question, but her interior screams in agony. Oh, how the night has progressed, but one ounce of courage intertwines her vision with his, and her answer is very clear. 

“No,” she answers honestly. It isn’t the response that he expects. 

Still, he keeps his ground. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be another drunken mistake that you regret in the morning.”

Before he has the chance to react, y/n is already reaching for her drink, and sips it straight from the bottle. 

“You wouldn’t be,” he musters out after she licks the remnants of alcohol from her lips. “I’d still remember it in the morning, and I wouldn’t regret it. And I wouldn’t regret anything that happened after that, too.” 

She doesn’t know what he wants from her. She’s damaged beyond repair, and quite frankly, she’ll never look at her beloved Uno the same way again. This isn’t how she once pictured her night to turn out, and now she wants nothing but for it to end. 

Y/n swallows. She picks up her cards, then counts four from the deck to add to her hand. “What color?” she asks, and leans down on her nervous knees that bounce up and down. 

“Y/n, can you stop this for a second? Can we just talk? Please?”

Y/n doesn’t want to talk. In fact, the plea makes her brain pound again the confinements of her skull. “You know,” she rubs her eyes, and throws her card across the table, “I quit. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

She stands up from the couch and faces away from Harry so that his eyes can burn into her back. She increases the distance between them, preparing herself to fall apart once she makes it to her bedroom.

“Wait,” Harry says, standing up with her discarded pile. “But you picked up a wild card.”

“Harry, I’m done playing.” She waves her hand, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“Alright, then just ask me!”

“What—”

Y/n emits a gasp when her whole body forcefully turns around, pressing gently against the wall. She feels his hot and toxic breath hugging her skin, two hands firm on her shoulders.

“What the hell?” she asks, struggling to push him away.

“You don’t need a stupid card game to ask me what the voicemail said, so just ask me.”

Y/n stops her movements. Her puffy eyes stare up at desperation in its purest form. “Voicemail? But you . . . you remember calling me?” she asks, thinking back to their earlier conversation about his drunk antic. “You left me a voicemail?”

“Ask me what the voicemail said, y/n. And I’ll tell you.”

She’s at a loss for words. Her mind feels as though it cannot comprehend a single thing that swims through her eyes and ears. His face, so marvelously structured, the most beautiful face she’s seen. He’s so pretty and he’s so vulnerable to her, but she’s not sure if she wants him to be.

“What did the voicemail say, Harry?”

Her best friend huffs. This is the point of no return. “From what I can remember, it erm, it went something like, hey y/n...” 

“Hope you’re having a good time, wherever you are, not too sure, doesn’t really matter. I’m on a . . . I don’t know, a roof, sort of? A balcony, sorry, I’m safe, don’t worry. Um, I’m pretty drunk right now. Nick doesn’t know when to stop with the tequila shots. Anyways, yeah, I’m plastered. And on a balcony. And I’m looking at the stars, and the moon, wow, it’s like so bright. And I’m looking and I’m thinking where is y/n? Why isn’t she looking at the moon? Then I say to myself, oh, right, she’s not here. And I dunno, that sucks. It sucks when I realize that and it sucks that you didn’t pick up your phone.

I don’t know. This is just . . . ergh. I don’t know even know what ‘m saying anymore. I can’t think right now, all of this is coming off as word vomit, but I can’t think, but I’m still thinking. And I’m wondering why do I feel so sad that she’s not here? Then I tell myself, you stupid bloke, it’s cos’ you love her. And then I remember. Right, that’s right, I love her. I love you. In love with you, I mean, cos’ I’ve always loved you, even when you’re being annoying and even when you don’t pick up your phone.

...Ah, shit. I just . . . I just realized what I’ve done. Shit. That’s not good. If you can just . . . ignore that last part, please, I’d really owe you one. But um . . . I know I’m drunk, but the tequila is dissolving the gate in my brain and it’s letting all of this stuff out. So, the stuff’s been there, it’s just . . . yeah, it’s not cos’ I’m drunk. I’ve always wanted to kiss you and stuff. But, if you uh, if you listen to this, maybe we can talk about it. If you want. But if you don’t, then just, I don’t know. Ignore me, I guess. Pretend it never happened? Sounds good. Alright. Shit. Goodnight, lovie.”

Harry paraphrases his drunk rant as much as he can. He leaves out the pauses of hiccups and laughter, the um’s and erm’s, the spontaneous profanity. He recites to her the most important parts, she ones that she needs to hear. Or rather, the ones he needs her to hear. By the time that his revelation comes up, y/n already has hot tears streaming down her sensitive cheeks.

“So . . . it was you,” he says, bold enough to reach up and wipe away the tear that drips under her eye. His hand hovers over the side of her face, cupping her there soft and tender. “That was your question. I remembered everything I had done in the morning. I didn’t regret it, cos’ at least then I knew whether or not I was embarrassing enough to be in love with someone that didn’t see me the same way.” 

Harry bites his lip. For the longest time, he had reason to believe that she had rejected him. She had ignored something that she hadn’t even known she had been ignoring. Time is now incomprehensible. It feels to him like a Mardi Gras parade of flinging daggers, striking him from every different direction.

“I’m tired,” y/n says. In the most delicate way, she reaches into the space between them and pushes his arm away. The bubble that encloses their innocence for each other now shatters, shards of memories and confessions prickling the very air they breathe, suffocating their lungs until there is nothing more to suffer over.

He stands frozen. He watches her trudge away, inching farther and farther, and he knows that it will be over. Because of him, there is a possibility that even something as simple as friends is off the table.

“Stop walking away from me,” he demands. She hears the strain in his voice, the perfect crack that, if pushed any further, can temporarily damage his vocal cords. He’s tired. He needs rest; she doesn’t know what she needs, but of course, she puts him first. She puts his health over her own, his wellness over anyone else’s. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to. He has reached the end of the sentence – the very period that no comma, no semicolon, no pause or break or continuation can ever overpower. 

“Goodnight, Harry,” she says, not bothering to wipe away the sorrow fallen on her cheeks. She can’t hear him – almost as if he doesn’t exist and never has. It is so easy to pretend, so that’s what she does. It makes the rest of her journey to her bedroom that much simpler; it also makes it that much harder to ignore the sound of her front door opening and closing, fumbling and locking, until a sonder silence snuggles next to her for the hours to come.

part two

[smokeinherperfume]

#10-15 ✨

10. favorite length of hair?

UHHHHHHHHHH. Can i do top three instead? Prince Hair, End of HSLOT tour hair, and MITAM Hair.

11. if you had one hour alone with harry, what would you do?

I’d just chat with him tbh. I’d love to just pick his brain about anything and everything that comes to mind really!

12. if you could ask harry one question, and he had to answer it truthfully, what would you ask?

off the top of my head, what’s the one album (not your own) that inspires you the most or you feel like really captures who you are as an artist?

13. an artist you’d love to see harry collab with?

THERE ARE SO MANY FAM. you know my cold emo heart would just DIE to see him work with Pete Wentz or Gerard Way. 

But in a more realistic relm, it’d be dope to see him do something with Hozier!

14. describe harry in three words.

kind. enigmatic. otherworldly. 

15. harry styles or dogs? choose.

harry. styles. 

thanks bubby! x 

[harry-stylesarchives]

hey I was wondering if you could help me find a fic please, I can’t seem to find it anywhere and I don’t think it was finished when I stopped reading! It was a fic where the the main girl is pregnant and met Harry in a cafe.. and I think it’s called Sunflower. Do you know the one? Thank you so much in advance! 💖

yes, that is by @honeytryst!

[harryfeatgaga]

For the anon: honeytryst is now puretowers

!!!!!

[haaarry]

For the anon who was looking for the fic about the reader & harry meeting in a diner it is called sunflower by honeytryst.

^

[oghoneytryst]

savior;

continuation from the sunflower. series / part 3

where a fan becomes a friend

a/n: thank u for being so patient with this. my inspiration and writing just ... hasn’t been it lately, but I'm really pushing through and i am so happy to have finished this part. honestly, we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but I will try my absolute best to drive this wild ride down.

pls let me know how you feel about this part! pls be nice b/c I'm currently in sad bitch hours :-)

also sorry that tumblr is a weirdo and made the format for text super strange, idk what to do about it but i hope it doesn’t affect anything!

------------

~ Nov. 14 ~

Every digit embodies a shapely mark of intimidation; all ten, with their loops and their curves that shower in iridescence through her late morning eyes. Midnight ink saturates the sticky note’s pale yellow, tiny creases in the square body and little curls at the edges. She knows the value of this ordinary paper, and in her hands, it dances in the flame of eternal possibilities.

The pregnant woman sits on an office chair with desperation in her chest. Beneath the buttons and ruffles of her bright marigold blouse, her heart beats against her clammy skin. Heavy thighs stick to the squish of the chair, a mermaid’s tail in a muted pencil skirt. The material expands and shapes over her little bump; her growing joy; her inconvenient little bundle that she adores so much.

As a result of her punishable overthinking, she tears away the inside of her cheek, gnawing teeth at war by mindless command. In a pile of her worries, the minimal harm is at the very bottom. At the top are these ten digits that transfix her curious eyes. It isn’t as if she hasn’t considered dialing the number before. Insignificant pregnancy whines, however, cannot compare with the favor she would be asking of him now.

Without trouble, she recalls the days that had followed Harry’s visit. She recalls her tears on the couch, angry at nothing, angry at everything; the frustrating changes of her body, the awful work days. In all of her recollections, she complains to her roommate, who she admires greatly for putting up with all of her dramatics.

On the 6th, she had obsessively craved some Dippin’ Dots. It had been on the 6th that Aaron found himself arguing with a pregnant woman, a feat he had never wanted. It hadn’t mattered that such a pregnant woman had been his infuriatingly needy roommate, someone he actually does care for. He really had no trouble telling her no after her incredibly annoying behavior that afternoon.

She, of course, is never able to control her pregnant mannerisms. Yet, Aaron has always been suspicious of what she had been like prior to the bun in her oven. He has only ever known her as a woman-carrying-child in need, so perhaps during this process a lot of her personality hyphens instead of alters.

Nonetheless, her demand had been frankly impossible on the 6th. The nearest Dippin’ Dots is more than a half hour drive away from their home, and nighttime had been approaching soon. There hadn’t been a chance that Aaron would bear through Los Angeles traffic for, quote, “fucking balls of ice cream.”

So, with the fire of the sun drizzling to a bedazzling California sky, she had wept over nothing and everything at once. The timeline of her pregnancy had not made her emotions plausible. Instead, it had been the collective world turning against her on a tiring, unwelcomed day.

In the flash of a second, she had heard the ding in her fuzzy brain. The sticky note with the fruitful digits ... maybe he has some connections! Maybe he can bring us some! Do you think? If he’s not busy? What if he has a special freezer meant for his own supply of Dippin’ Dots?

It had been harmless on her part; an oh-so-bright idea crafted from a momentary desire for soft frozen food. She had been so close to make the call, if not for her dearest roommate and his not-so-delicate intervention. Aaron, the man who she believes admires Harry more than she does. With a high percentage of certitude, she knows he’d be first in line to invite the Cheshire man back to their unimpressive home. 

In truth, that had been the reason for his disapproval of ringing him up that night. He believed it to be lunacy, sharp scissors at the ready in order to cut the special ties she had somehow knotted up with Harry. The man’s exact words – in that richly Northwestern accent – had been: “if you ever need something, please, don’t hesitate to call this number.” Something, in Aaron’s eyes, had not been anything. While he does not have a single doubt that the rock star would fly to her rescue in any situation, he advised against calling him for certain things.

Not everyone is so fortunate to have Harry in their lives. Aaron, with all of his respect for the man, knew that this had been a game to play carefully. If his pregnant roommate really enjoyed Harry’s company, she would have to play every card right, especially with a man as reserved as he is.

His points had been compelling, but she had not seen it as seriously. Her intuition had not stopped her from rethinking her decision once and twice and thrice. In the end, she had put her trust in Aaron’s madman words and had not called Harry. In the days that had followed, his charismatic voice lured in the back of her head whenever she scanned the sticky note, second-guessing herself about whether her temptation to call him had been worthy enough of his time.

It had been more difficult to resist calling when she had been alone one unfortunate night. The bustle of the neighborhood brought her to a reality that she did not particularly enjoy. Forced by the comfort of her pregnancy pillow, there had been a magnetic pull of the stars that whispered to her eyes through an overbearing distance.

She only wanted a friend that night. Someone to talk with, to hear their voice so that it could bring her back to the bit of sanity she had left. Previous nights, Aaron had been a solace for her, soft-spoken words lulling her to sleep after suffocating in the clouds for too long. Except that night, he ended up at his workplace until the late hour, and she recognized her loneliness as dangerously frightening.

For hours she cried, wanting a hug, wanting something to make her feel real and existent and safe. On that night, in her most calamitous moments, she later came to notice the vivacity of her swollen stomach. It had been – always is – comforting to feel something there, even without having to actually feel movement. It had been therapeutic to whisper her fears and truths. It had been on that night, she would never be alone again.

She hasn’t thought to call the number since. While it has only been a mere 10 days, there feels to be an infinite timeline of moments in-between. She knows it to be more accurate for him and his busy, ever-changing schedule.

They’d had a conversation last time, when he brought her that treasured gift. He sat on the dusty floorboards, her rested on a heavenly cloud with a smile to match. It had been simple, a little awkward at times, though never once had it felt forced. She feared them reverting back to strangers, to sense the shift in energy that would put a strain on her heart.

She scans the note again. xxx-xxx-xxxx. A dime of kisses, where no other option lies.

With her phone face-up on the receptionist’s desk, she rolls her eyes. Messages of apologies and excuses flood in, though her scant aggression dissolves into an antsy frown. She cannot be mad at Cindy/Sydney for cancelling on her, especially when she does not even know her actual name. The frustration of her anger devolves into frustration of herself, for this damn appointment that she had not set up a backup plan for.

“Excuse me?”

Breaking up with an intense, one-sided conversation, she raises her head to a sheepish man in his late 30’s, early 40’s. He stands at a short height on the other side of the receptionist’s desk, square glasses disguising his truest features.

She grins at him, a cheery delight overpowering her honest glum. “Hi, how are you?” her voice chirps, a shift in her behavior that she considers a skill-set. “What can I do for you today?”

“Uh, I’ve already spoken with you. I have an appointment with Sanders at 10 and you told me to fill out a form. I’m still waiting for it.”

The woman’s smile falters at the man’s irresolute explanation. He ends each sentence as though it is a question, not wanting to step on a wrong foot. She takes in his appearance, and there is familiarity in his rusty red, untucked polo. 

“Right.” Her eyes close in repent of her common forgetfulness. “That’s right. I’m sorry.” She scurries to get the papers together on a clipboard, pushing the rolling chair in every different direction. “I’ve just been a little slow today.” The man laughs off the mistake, assuring her that there are no worries.

“Really, no trouble at all.” 

He thanks her for the form once it is secure in his hands and walks to the waiting area. This accidentally precedes her rushing to hand him the sticky note, to which she quickly realizes her mistake before he has a chance to read the numbers. He sits down in a modern arm chair next to its twin, where a young preteen girl shifts around nervously. Out of plain assumption, she recognizes the pair as a father-daughter duo. The man smiles at the girl, crossing his legs, trying to console her nerves as best as he can with humor.

The pregnant receptionist smiles.

The ventilated air of the office smoothens in her lungs.

For her child, she would do anything – everything. As hesitant thoughts surge through in hungry waves, she dials the number in her phone anyway. In the back of her head, she contemplates whether it is actually his number or if it belongs to an assistant of his. It doesn’t sound completely off from what a celebrity would do. He doesn’t know who she is. It’s better to play it safe than to make a foolish mistake that he later regrets. 

The trio of short, snippy buzzes vibrate through the line. It is an electric feeling, comforting almost to hear its warm murmur during her wait.

“—Hello?”

Her languid eyes illuminate in the mirror of neon signs; her body freezes over with a blizzard of nerves. His voice is somehow deeper than she remembers from 10 days ago, an ironic sultriness in his polite tone.

“Hello?” he asks again with a tad more infliction in the single word.

“...H-Hello,” she responds, tongue running dry and the last sensible part of her brain sabotaging her. Why didn’t I prepare for this? It is feasible that deep in her subconscious, she had expected an assistant to answer. She practically wanted an assistant to answer. 

He repeats himself, “Hello,” a little more chirp in the melody of a mockingbird.

“Hi. Harry?”

“Who’s calling?”

The question stumbles her for a second. Is it good or bad that he cannot recognize her voice? Admittedly a consequence on her part for taking so long to reach out. She answers anyway, her name spoken with so much dubiety, but really, what is she afraid of? 

“You know, the uh, the one from—”

“Oh—”

“From Mel’s and, the one with ... pregnant, y’know—”

“Yeah!” he exclaims, echoing her name through a mildly static output. “Of course. How are you? Doing alright? Baby’s fine?” 

She pulls away from the phone to breathe, suddenly elated over his reaction. His charisma is virtually magical. She touches her cheek to the screen again to answer:

“I’m doing great, thank you. Baby’s fine, I hope.”

A delay of worry replaces his lack of an immediate response. “You hope? Why, what’s – is there something wrong?”

“No!” she bursts out, the father and daughter staring back at her in surprise. She nervously chuckles and smiles at them, deflating in her chair as she continues. “No, sorry, that came out wrong. I meant to say ... well, I’m sure the baby’s fine. Nothing feels wrong, but I do have an appointment for an ultrasound today.”

A faint crackle from the line resonates in her ear. She clearly pictures Harry’s sigh of relief.

“Really? That’s great. I hope it all goes well.”

“Thanks! Thank you, I do too—” she snickers, “Obviously, but I have uh ... there’s a bit of a predicament.”

“Predicament? Fancy word.”

“Right, well, it’s not so much of a fancy situation that I’m in. See, I was supposed to be picked up later today by Cindy Sydney so that she could take me from work to the appointment, but she just called and cancelled because she has to pick up her aunt from the airport. She got the dates mixed up somehow, which makes no sense because pregnancy has made me very forgetful, and even I didn’t get the dates wrong. I think that might have to do with the planner, it does keep me organized, but even then—”

“Darling,” Harry stops her, unaware of how she chokes on her own tongue at the endearment. Darling. Darling again! From darling to love, she is in a storm of beating hearts. “You’re gonna ‘ave to slow down. What – you don’t have a way to get to your appointment, is it?”

“Yes. Right. I don’t have enough for an Uber or a Lyft right now without affecting my budget for next month. She offered to pay for it, that or for cancellation fees, but I don’t really trust those kinds of transportations right now, and I already got approval from my manager, so switching the date would just be super inconvenient.”

“Right. I understand.”

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that no one else that I know of is available, and I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy. I wouldn’t be calling if—”

“No, no, that’s alright. I’m glad that you’re calling.”

The pregnant woman simpers, a needle pricking at her heart. “R-Really?”

“Of course. I would be more than glad to help. If you could just send me the location of your workplace and where you’re getting your ultrasound ... what time is your appointment?”

“At 2. I want to get there maybe fifteen minutes earlier. You’ll never know how much the traffic will back up at that time. Is it okay if uh ... are, are you picking me up or...?”

“Yeah, why?”

“N-No, nothing, I just ... didn’t know if you were busy. Didn’t want to assume.”

“Yeah, my schedule’s fine. Not really doing anything that I can’t do later, so everything’s fine.”

“Oh, okay. Good. Great. So, uh, is it okay if you arrive here at, say, one-oh-five-ish?” 

“Oddly specific.” Harry chuckles. “But sure. I can make that happen.” 

“Great! Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You’re quite welcome ... thank you for calling.”

While her appreciation for him has always been so strong, this heavy thump in her pink and red organ is nearly unbearable. Ever since he fell intertwining into her life, she tries her hardest to ignore whatever feelings may occur. Now it seems more ideal to control it than to suppress it.

“You’re welcome,” she speaks softly, 16 again with a crush on a boy. “Thank you for picking up.”

Unbeknownst to her, he smiles on the other end. “S’ my pleasure. Now, get back to work, you over-achiever!” His accent purposely thickens on his second sentence, eliciting a natural, honest laugh. “Don’t forget to send me the addresses. I’ll make sure everything works out.”

Their phone call ends with innocent expressions of repetitive gratitude and gentle goodbyes. The pregnant woman does not waste a second to send him the addresses via text message, not allowing herself to fall victim to her lapse of memory. She checks over the numbers, the street names, the zip codes – all more than once, to make sure that all is well and not in metaphorical flames.

new message: Got it. See you later. H

H. She bites on her silky lip, a refreshing taste from her natural balm. She is familiar with the signoff, though she doesn’t know if it is something he does regularly or if it is only a one-time confirmation that this is, in fact, his number. Does he expect her to save his ten digits in her contact’s list, somewhere underneath a family member and above an old friend? She is giddy, undoubtedly so. An unspoken dream of hers as a plain teenager unraveling into reality! It causes the brightest smile this orthodontist office has ever seen.

So much esteem fills her up at eleven in the morning, and to her expectation, the hours go by very slowly. Alternating clients, each with different lives, somehow bound to this one place and time. Sorting forms and making calls and opening emails; a distraction in one way or another, but neither can steal her attention entirely.

Due to a much-needed bathroom break, she almost misses the message. Relieving her bladder had not been the first or even second of the day, but it is important that she stays hydrated, and this is especially true during her pregnancy. She really cannot afford a preventable trip to the emergency room right now.

When she reaches the receptionist’s desk, the message hides behind the black screen of her phone for an entire minute. She is lucky that her outdated iPhone can still be trusted by reminding her of a message succeeding two minutes from when she receives it.

new message: I’m outside. Toyota Camry in black. 

Despite her anticipation for his arrival, the message throws her off any and all guards. Primarily it is because he arrives six minutes before their agreed time, whereas her friends are usually a few minutes late. Secondarily... 

“Toyota?” she whispers to herself, eyebrows arching together. She isn’t too up to speed with car models, but she is more than certain that Harry has driven some different sort of vehicles in his time. The only moment she can ever recall him in a Toyota had been that commercial he had done years ago.

Regardless, she raises steadily from her chair on wheels, pushing it back as she collects her belongings. It is without trouble that she notices the slight shake of her hand, the sweat collecting on different sections of her skin. She ignores it. “Ang!” she calls, groaning at the absolute mess of her work bag. It is more professional than her casual bucket bag, wide with its faux leather, but it is just as much of an interior travesty.

She picks up her phone to send a one-handed message:

Conch.

Coming* 

Be out soon.

“Ang!”

There is a franticness to her as she steps around the receptionist’s desk. She sports an added height in her footwear, something that she tries to savor before her feet start to swell. She thinks it will be unbearable to wear heels then, but she’s not for certain.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Ang announces, stepping into the light of the front area in her navy scrubs. “Sorry, nena, I had an alarm set for one in case you forgot. Guess it didn’t go off.” 

The pregnant woman watches her coworker situate herself on the rolling chair. “No, no, you’re fine, it’s not one yet. Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve been able to forget. I’m just so excited, you have no idea.”

“No, I don’t.” Ang smiles. “You’re about to see your child! That’s a huge deal.”

“I know! I know, I can’t wait.”

“I can. Especially until Stefan buys me a ring. Otherwise, I’m going to keep working on my career.”

The woman smiles at her friend, thanking her once more for taking over her station while she is gone. She repeats the same gratitude, expressing how much this truly means to her, because it all comes from her honest heart. She really is in awe of how willing people are to help her when she is in need.

“Also, turn that alarm off before it starts ringing. It makes me anxious every time I hear it.”

“You and I both.” Ang snickers. “You’re off to your appointment then?” 

“Yes, my uh, my ride’s here so ... better early than late when it comes to these things, y’know?”

“Mm-hmm. Who’s taking you?”

The pregnant woman hesitates. “A friend. Has the day off from work, thankfully.” 

Ang begins to sift through a small pile of paperwork, sparing her coworker a measly glance. She’s not unfamiliar with the receptionist’s work, so she takes this as an opportunity to rest her active legs. She can also recognize the strange tone of the pregnant woman, a shaky smile that carries suspicion.

She doesn’t think too much on it. “Great. Be safe. Let me know how it goes.”

For that, the pregnant woman is grateful. “Thank you.” She smiles, a frail wave in Ang’s direction as she blindly scurries away. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She almost runs belly first into the glass door, but stutters her movements before any panic arises from Ang. Still, she sighs with relief when she hears the chime above her pregnant coworker’s head. “...Be careful.”

“Got it! Bye!”

The woman’s face twists in agony as she exits the office. A tenacious heat buries her in an embrace. Parallel to the sidewalk she stands upon is a dark vehicle, a protective tint rises from the brim of the tires and extends beyond the sleek windows. She gravitates in its direction at the sound of the passanger door unlocking, considering it symbolic, the single click of the door a new breath of feasibilities. 

She stalks a couple feet to her right where the car reeks with caution. It isn’t until the passanger windows rolls down that she can sense her blood settle and burst all at once. “Hi.” Harry leans forward at his side, revealing his face amongst the darkness of his surroundings.

“Hey, hi,” she greets him back through the open window. “Good to see you. Nice car.” 

“Thanks.” He smiles, scarce eyes pulling to her every movement. In the most mundane activities – fingertips at the door handle, crouching to the seat, buckling the seatbelt – she highlights his curiosity. “Good to see you as well. Also, s’ actually not my car.”

With her lips as barriers around a reusable straw, she pretends to be surprised. “It’s not?” she smacks her tongue, relishing in the purity of her water.

Harry shifts the gear in drive, setting the GPS up and maneuvering out of the lot with high-alert. “No. I’ve borrowed it.”

“Why—”

“Starting route to—” The animatronic voice interrupts their conversation.

She tries again, “Why would you do that?” with slight disappointment in their reunion. It lacks excitement, but somehow picks up where it’s been left off. No longer a drastic stretch in time are those 10 days.

Harry shrugs casually, turning onto the main road where other vehicles swim along. “Draws less attention.” He pauses, to which she then decides to look over. With the exception of him driving, she gets the impression that he avoids her eyes more so to keep her from catching the sadness in his. There is only a sprinkle, a shimmer that is never truly absent. “Thought you’d might be a little anxious about your appointment,” he continues, “Didn’t want you to have to worry about something else.”

“Oh.” She warms up, her organs all collectively combusting. “Thanks. Thank you for thinking of that.” Her words express gratitude with ease, but the glimmer in her eyes twinge with empathy. She doesn’t ponder over her privacy, or how simple it is for her to go out and do as she pleases. Since his 16th year, he had not been so lucky.

“Of course,” he replies, professionally monotone, as though he can shut off even the faintest flicker of emotion. “S’ my pleasure. How are you feeling? Nervous?”

“Uh, yeah, a little. I’m really jittery and I’ve been drinking water nonstop. On top of that, my bladder is the size of a bean. I’m really good at holding it in though, so I’m not afraid of ruining your seats or anything. Or ... not your seats, but your seats for now. Not like ... not that you were even thinking about that...”

Harry chuckles throughout the entirety of her run-on spoken thoughts. It is never at her – no, never. It is because of her, because despite any situation, she is this fountain of goodness drowning in gold. “Very nervous then?” he teases.

“Yeah ... sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. Nothing to be ashamed about. It’s an important day for you. I’d expect—”

“Turn left on—”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he finishes, lowering the volume of his pesky GPS. “Must be surreal, if anything.” The robotic voice is still present, but becomes more of a background noise that allows them both to speak freely. 

“Oh yeah, completely. It’s like ... it’s like I can’t feel them yet, like movement wise, but ... I don’t know. I guess ... obviously I know they’re in there, but even without movement I can feel them. I know they’re present, heartbeat and everything. Does this – is any of this making sense?”

“Yeah,” he quips amusingly, “it is. Even if it didn’t, doesn’t matter. It makes sense to you and that’s more than enough validation.” 

“Mmm. Right, but it’s still nice to have someone understand.”

Harry sneaks a glance in his peripheral, inhaling and exhaling as to settle into the moment. “I know—”

“In 500 feet, keep right—” 

“What was, uh—” he digs into another topic, the robotic voice somehow a savior that refreshes the conversation. “What you said on the phone about ... Sin City, I think it was?”

“What?”

“You said something about being picked up near Sin City? From your work to your appointment? I thought there might’ve been a store or somethin’ near your job, but I don’t think I saw anything like that.”

“Sin ... oh!” The woman laughs, slapping her knee consciously. “Cindy Sydney. She’s my ... well, yeah, I guess she’s my friend.”

“Cindy Sydney?” he repeats, slowly enunciating every syllable so as to make sure he’s got it right. “Huh. Eh ... that airport story makes more sense. Didn’t know who you were talking about.”

“Yeah, my bad. I know I tend to ramble, probably explains why no one calls me anymore. They can’t even understand what I’m saying.”

“I understood!” he proclaims, expression of his pride lacing around his lazy smile. “Yeah, got it now. Cindy Sydney. That’s really her name? Like ... Phillip Phillips?” 

“No.” The woman laughs, almost choking on her water. “N-No, it’s ... I don’t know her name, to be honest. One of them might be it.”

“Wh—how do you not know?”

“Okay, so basically, I met her maybe a month and a half ago? Somewhere around two months, I guess. And it wasn’t like this everyday sort of meeting at, say, a retail store or something. Can you believe that one night I wake up to use the bathroom I half-pay for, and this woman who I’ve never seen before comes out, no pants, maybe underwear, and what I now assume to be Aaron’s shirt?”

“Aaron?” Harry questions nonchalantly, as though the thought of him is of half-importance. “What, like a—”

“Yeah, so, he usually never brings anyone home. If anything, he’ll go over to someone else’s and come back really early in the morning. So, picture me, pregnant, really loopy because I have to pee, half-awake mind you, running into a complete stranger in my own home.”

Harry adds dramatically, “In the middle of the night!”

“Exactly! So, while I’m tiredly freaking out, trying to not literally piss myself, she’s apologizing and introducing herself. I don’t know if I heard Cindy or Sydney, hence why she’s both, but it could be neither. Anyway, we ended up talking in the hallway and I told her about my situation and why I was living with Aaron. She was actually really nice and offered to drive me whenever I needed a ride.”

“Hmm. Interesting how that played out.” He shoots her a look, to which she can only shrug. “Why haven’t you asked Aaron what her name is?”

“I did! I think he’s annoyed that I befriended his one night stand because he told me her name was Sierra. Then again, he probably doesn’t know himself.”

“Jesus. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Oh, it’s too late for that. I’ll just be extremely awkward. I really do feel bad about it though. She is a nice person, except for, y’know, cancelling on a pregnant woman. I mean, it’s not a huge deal or anything, but ... c’mon. Would you ever do something like that?”

“Dunno,” he playfully smirks, “Maybe if she forgot my name...”

“I didn’t forget it! I never knew it!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking. But I have noticed that you like to play the, uh, the pregnant card a lot.”

“Oh yeah!” she fixes her position on the seat, pulling the seatbelt to her preferred adjustment. “Not a doubt about it. Coming from a place where no one really took me seriously. I mean, yeah, maybe I was a little dramatic when I was younger, but that shouldn’t invalidate my feelings. Now it’s like ... you have to take me seriously. Not only am I going to raise a child on my own, I’m literally growing said child inside of me. Isn’t that just ... just fucking amazing?”

Harry stops at the red stoplight, which he is glad for, because now he can look over and mesmerize at her. He can see before him a woman who smiles at the window, water bottle between her thighs, hands on her belly. It’s grown a bit, he thinks, and it is truly, wonderfully, unimaginably powerful.

“Yeah,” he silently agrees, “fuckin’ amazing.”

The woman smiles, but her wandering eyes suddenly widen with worry. She holds her hands out, an aura around her belly as she props an inch forward. “Did I...” she thinks aloud, “I didn’t ask you how you were doing today. How are you, Harry?”

She looks at him with features full of soft inquiry. The now green light ever so symbolic, he wonders how magical such a mundane thing must be in the dark of the night. “M’ alright,” he answers, pressing on the gas, somewhat wishing that the drive never ends. “Thank you for asking.”

~

Her angled feet dangle from her seat on the examination table. Harry sits in front of her on a separate chair, leaning back in a position juiced with supremacy. His index finger taps against his lips in sync with the tick of the black and white wall clock. 

“So, you work as an orthodontist?”

She looks to Harry with her body stiff in discomfort. “No,” she answers, noticeably quieter in such a mellow area. “Just at the office. I’m a receptionist. Didn’t go to like ... an orthodontist school or anything. Even if I did, I’d probably still be there. Probably takes a lot of years.”

“Right,” he agrees. “A receptionist, then? Do you like it?”

“Sure. It’s not my dream job, but it pays the bills. Plus, I get along with everyone in the office. They’re like ... my distant second family.”

“Alright...” he gradually begins to smile. “What’s your dream job then?”

The woman shrugs, so quickly that it is considerably sad. “I don’t know. I went to community college undecided.”

“What did you graduate in?”

“Well, I got my A.A., but beyond that I haven’t ... finished. I transferred to the nearest University but after a semester or two I just ... I just didn’t finish.” She looks to her lap where her fingers play with the material of her blouse. Harry discreetly frowns at her dejected expression, an ambience of regret seeping out of her system. “It’s hard enough for people to get a job with a Bachelor’s degree. Competition is high, especially in Los Angeles. I’m lucky as it is with just my A.A.”

“Yeah. I understand. M’ sorry for bringing it up. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Her features immediately shine with worry. “No, it’s completely fine. I’m the same way. Always curious.” She forces a laugh, but the intention is sincere enough. “If anything, thank you for asking, or even ... caring at all. Not a lot of people show an interest in me, especially not after this one.”

She points an accusatory finger to her belly, which he takes as another opportunity to marvel. It is so fascinating to him, as he believes it would be to anybody. This power she holds, the strength she gives off. This strange and endearing woman who he had met by questionable circumstances of fate – she opens his eyes to something he’s not quite sure of yet.

“Anyway, being a receptionist is fine for me,” she continues. “I’m basically Pam Beasley except knocked up and without a Jim Halpert. I mean, she was pregnant twice, but by then she was already married.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Oh ... um, The Office reference.”

“Ah. Alright. Still haven’t seen it.”

“Finished the series again. At least Pam wasn’t a receptionist forever.” She allows her eyes to wander around the room. “...Thanks for coming in with me,” she offers, meekly smiling amidst a thick, awkward air. “I’m sorry if it’s super weird, they’re probably going to assume you’re the dad, so just so you know—”

“Oh—” 

“Just so you can be prepared—”

“Right, no, it’s fine. It’s good. That’s fine.”

“...Really?”

“Of course. I mean ... like, I’m not the father, duh, but it’s harmless. I’m honored to be here with you either way.” 

She looks down to her belly, where her freshly painted nails – she’d recoated for the special occasion – search tenderly. “I didn’t ... picture it like this. Not everyone wants to have a baby, or get married, or things like that. But those who do ... you just can’t help but picture it, y’know? You dream about your wedding, what the venue will look like, what you’ll dance to or wear. Or when you have a kid, you imagine that first look. Your first look at your baby to know they’re actually in there, and you can almost see your whole future right before your eyes.”

By now, Harry is in a trance of both comprehension and disbelief. For him, it is difficult to find people in which he can relate his thoughts to; someone he can honestly understand. With the spontaneous flow of his life, he isn’t able to picture the future as he once did at 16. Yet, as her defenseless words spew out, he contemplates the quick flash in his eyes.

She smiles, and though it does not reach her eyes, it is authentic in the purest sense. “I ... wish the circumstances were different. No one ever really wants to picture it like this.”

He doesn’t find offense in her honestly, no matter how poorly she constructs it. If anything, with his entire body and soul, he aches to turn back time. “I understand,” he says, because while she most certainly does not need or depend on the father, she had pictured it differently. He knows that she had pictured herself to be in love instead of broken and built up again. She doesn’t need him, but she wants him, at least a little bit. It is for that that he can never entirely hate him.

“...Except you,” she confesses shyly. “And I’m not just saying that for obvious reasons. If you weren’t here, I’d be alone. I probably wouldn’t even be here. That’s why I’m always thanking you, because it really does mean more than you can imagine. Being alone is fine, I can sort of manage, but ... it’s nicer to have someone with you, y’know?”

“...Yeah.” Harry blushes, failing to cover it up with a cough and a sniffle. “I’m ... I know. I understand.”

The sound of the door unlatching rattles their bodies. “Hi!” the doctor storms in, breaking their moment. The two of them smile, the pregnant woman nods as her name from the lips of the lady in the form of a question. “This must be papa?”

The pregnant woman silently snickers at her oh-so-psychic abilities. She offers Harry a witty raise of the brow, but due to the blindness of her pride, she fails to recognize the cheeky glint in his eyes. As she opens her mouth to deny the doctor’s innocent assumption, Harry chimes in and steals her words. Except, they’re not her words at all.

“Yes,” he announces, his accent supplying to the playful sarcasm of his tone. “Yes, that is me. As Maury would say ... I am the father.” 

To say she is shocked ... well, it is not all that off-character. Harry is a humorous man, one that loves to entertain. The statement makes her do a double-take, jaw opening with a single throaty chuckle. He responds with an animated grin and cartoon wink – how can she not play along?

“Right.” She nods. “This is my baby daddy ... Halpert.”

Harry snickers, but covers it with a cough. “Halpert. Yes. Says so on my birth certificate.”

The doctor smiles at them both, amused by their charade. She has probably seen many acts in this office, so she lets their humor be. Besides that, she begins by asking a few simple questions, reconfirming everything before directing the woman to lie on her back.

“Sorry I didn’t dress practically,” she discloses, “I just came from work. Didn’t really have time to change, or even think about bringing clothes to change into.”

“It’s no problem. We’ll just open this up...” The doctor starts with the lowest button on her blouse, continuing to undo the following three. “And lower this down a little,” she continues, carefully dragging the upper part of her pencil skirt down until her belly is nicely exposed.

The pregnant woman tries to ignore the discomfort that she feels. Firstly, lying on her back is a nightmare without her pillow. Secondly, with her blouse pried open, a mere centimeter of her bra peaks out. Harry sitting next to her is the third basis of her discomfort, intense concentration on his part with the upmost awareness. The fourth, the icing on the cake, is like literal icing. While the doctor had told her to prepare for the cool gel, it doesn’t make it any less frosty on her skin.

Despite it all, her minds swivels around a haze. The doctor’s equipment runs along her stomach, eager to discover. Her hands clench without her noticing. She feels as if her lungs run out of oxygen – she forgets to breathe! Nothing is important to her other than what the doctor has to say about what can be seen on that unreadable screen, the one where she strains her neck to catch even a glimpse of meaningless motion.

She looks to the doctor, taking in every feature that may indicate something, anything. She momentarily forgets about Harry, who leans forward in his seat, risking everything by placing a hand over her knuckles. She doesn’t notice. All she can focus on is the doctor’s smile.

“Found them,” she announces, continuing her movement with more confidence than before. 

“You...” the pregnant woman’s chest deflates. Her breath hitches, needing more than two words to convince her that everything is okay. “...You found?”

“Yes. There’s the head,” the doctor points to the screen, brown muck never more beautiful. “the body...” The woman listens, matching up the body part with the picture on the screen. A wave of newfound contentment vanishes every worry away – almost, because really, she can’t help herself. “Everything looks great, mama.”

“Mom...” she stumbles out, swallowing thickly as her fingers fall loose. She shakes her head, overcome with every emotion she’s ever known on top of those that are entirely new to her.

Harry smiles at her, noticing the light drips swaying down her cheeks. “That’s your baby,” he says, disregarding the possibility of destroying his cover as Halpert. He himself begins to empathize with this woman, this calm of a storm that he’s only known for a few short weeks. “Congratulations.”

“C—” She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the screen, the ache in her neck multiplying, but she just doesn’t care. “My baby...” she speaks softly, the room almost entirely silent, but still it feels like there are a million things going on at once. And yes, she is smiling. She is over the moon, over this entire universe and the next. It is dangerous territories to be so elevated, and she knows this to be true when she begins to feel the low.

~

A bitter California sun never truly settles. When she walks out of the imaging center, heels scraping against the dry and jagged sidewalk, she winces and sighs. Her blouse now intact, her skirt lifted again, but the residue of the gel makes it stick to her skin more than any perspiration. In her hands, she holds onto the envelope with the printed pictures of her son or daughter – she doesn’t know yet. With the baby’s position, it had been a little hard to tell. She’s relieved for it though. There had only been so much that she could absorb in such a short, life-changing moment. 

Harry follows after her, already with his shaded sunglasses scooted close to his face. He mimics her position as she leans against the side of the Toyota, staring down at an enclosed envelope. Very steadily, she lifts the flap open and slides the picture out, running a thumb over the body of her child. 

“Sorry you couldn’t find out the gender today,” he speaks up, observing the way she cradles the print. It is natural, the way she possesses that tender quality of a mother. “Must have ... must be—”

“It’s fine,” she says, not wanting to hear the end of his sentence. “It’s not like I’ll never know.” 

“Right.”

“Right.”

“Good. Still a beautiful moment, eh?”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”

She looks up at him, but the connection is blocked by his sunglasses. She smiles either way. “You’re welcome. That sounds weird to be saying.”

He looks down, ankles crossed, hands in his pocket. “I know I can’t, um ... ever know what you’re feeling, but ... how are you feeling?”

“...Good?”

“What I mean is ... I’ve never been to an ultrasound. I’ve been friends with lots of pregnant women, and I know that doesn’t mean I have a clue about ... I just, for the moments like these, I imagine the woman to be happy. Happier than happy, and I just ... I don’t know. How are you feeling?”

A period of elongated seconds pass as the pregnant woman considers his talk. Birds chirp, an ambulance sounds in the near distance, and the faintest wind kisses her face with the leaves of the rustling trees. “I’m ... happy,” she answers truthfully, closing her eyes as the burn in her chest rises up her throat and to her nose.

“And...” Harry presses on, noticing how her answer hangs off the edge of a cliff.

She swallows, face molding like a ceramic statue on which the rain pours. “...And scared.” Her voice quivers. She doesn’t want to open her eyes. She’s far too cowardly to envision the colors. 

Harry stands still, watching as she unravels the rawest parts of her. He doesn’t want to ask why – it should be obvious to everyone. She is a single mother-to-be. Her life is moving quicker than she could have ever imagined. Of course, she is scared. It would be strange of her not to be. Therefore, he doesn’t ask, but instead calls to her. In a faint second, she breathes in, coming alive to the world again. Her shaky hands wipe frantically at her blinking eyes, a sorry attempt to erase the remnants of her weakness.

“God...” she scoffs. “I can’t – why am I crying? This is so dumb.”

Harry shakes his head, his entire body now turning to her. “No, it’s not. So, you’re scared. Everyone is. I am. Why wouldn’t you want to be scared?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing!” she bellows, entirely turning to him. As her words sink in and flow on, he slides off his glasses, letting them hang from the fine stitch of his t-shirt collar. “Or – or what I’m going to do. I’m ... I was a child yesterday. That’s what it felt like. I was ... searching for independence and purpose and now I’m...” A breath trickles out. “I don’t want to ruin this child, Harry. But I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.”

“No,” Harry argues. “No, you won’t. I know you won’t. You’re going to do everything you possibly can for your child. That alone makes you an incredible mum.” By now, his hands are on her shoulders, thumbs absentmindedly smoothening her nerves. “And incredible mums don’t know the answer to everything, that’s what makes them so incredible. They don’t know anything!”

She sniffles at the sidewalk. “Yours does,” she mumbles, indicating how well-rounded she sees this kind man. The manner in which he had been raised ... he is a foundation for reckless excellence.

“To be fair, I’m her second child,” he reasons, even tittering a little. “When she had my sister, she didn’t know what she was doing ... but she learned. Even after all these years, she’s still learning. You can’t expect yourself to be perfect ... at least, perfect without any flaws. You’re scared, that’s ... it’s important. You can’t skip that stage, alright?”

She reluctantly nods, but she has to admit to herself that his charisma is magical. To be a mother at her age – perhaps it is not uncommon. Yet, it is a vague new-coming of an experience. This growth that she possesses, her body ever-changing in the autumn to spring, the little person that will resemble parts of her and no one else. If that is not a future more uncertain...

“You’re going to be excellent. An excellent mum. And you’re not alone. You have Aaron. Maybe Cindy Sydney Sierra, if her aunt’s not visiting ... and you always have a friend in me.”

...but how sad it would be to plan every waking moment and every dying night. How safe it would feel to stumble upon no surprise. In the end, a future without uncertainty is no future at all. She doesn’t know what she will do when her baby fusses and whines and drives their mother to insanity. Previously oblivious of the happiness it will bring, the overwhelming flutter in her chest is a euphoric feeling like no other. To love another person unconditionally, entirely – to be loved in return – that is the greatest and only certainty she will never need.

[smokeinherperfume]

Tumblr favourites?

buckle up it’s a long list!!!

@harryforvogue @writingsfromlee @haesthete @harrysdodgyankles @almondharry @tiostyles @stylishmuser @emotionally-imbruised @always-jackedup @peterfriggingpan @real-work-of-art @tidal-wav3s @waitingfortwilight @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy @majorharry @stylesmuse @all-things-fic @bdeharry @biteharrysthigh @cinnamonharrie @drowninherperfume @fancyharry @for-fucks-sake-h @faithmp3 @gucciwoodnymph @haroldloverboy @hestylesno @isitstraightvodka @honeytryst @shesaidbirights @inkslingerharry @isitjamiemoriarty @inahazzze @jawllines @lovemepleaase @lovedharrie @meetyourmouths @mysweetestcreature @harrygivenchy @harryscutenips @mysweetcreaturestories @narrystyles @ofharrie @o-sweetharry @pendantstyles @redstringlovers @sydsweeneys @starseeeed @technicolourharry @talesofstyles

💞💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞💕

[harry-stylesarchives]

Hey lovie! Do you have any angst imagine you like? Cause i love angst imagine and the fact that they sometimes makes me cry just made it even better lol, thank you! (P.s i need lots of them lol. P.s.s i love your acc! You're amazing!)

hi love! thank you! fair warning, a majority of these have happy endings bcuz i love happy endings and i'm too much of a baby for angst lol but some don't! :) sorry for the wait!@honeytryst -

Miss You

@waitingfortwilight -

Cheating Wednesday's

Out Of Love

We've Been Better

@hestylesno -

His Business Part 1

Part 2

Choose One

,

Clingy Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

,

Secrecy Part 1

Part 2

,

Spoken Words Part 1

Part 2

,

Siblings Unite Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

,

Concealed Feelings Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

,

An Anniversary Present

,

Fluid Emotions

Part 2

Their Love

@littledreamybeth -

Secret Child

@hes-writer -

Here's a masterlist bcuz (mostly) everything's sad lol

@chillmichelle -

Next Week

The Weekend

Open and Hoping

Marriage and Failure

Marry Me Part 1

Part 2

@harrys-oh-anna -

Music On His Mind Part 1

Part 2

So Tired Part 1

Part 2

@talesofstyles -

Half A Heart Part 1

Part 2

@writingsfromlee -

Baby Girl

Part 2

You'll Always Be With Me

You Can't Have Both Of Us Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Always

@alexandragramz -

Family Feud

No Strings Attached

Overheard

Trust Issues

Met Gala

After The Break-Up

Fielder's Choice Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Unhappy Birthday Part 1

Part 2

Hate/Love

@meet-me-in-the-kitchen -

Bad Mothers Raise Sad Children

Part 2

@itslikeipayforit -

So Sorry Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Clingy

I Need You To Need Me

Part 2

My Girl

Our Home

If I Treated Her Right

@meetevieinthehallway -

Even If It Was Momentary

And I Can't Give That To You

@thinkingoutlouddblog -

Delicatey

@pinkliquorstyles -

Drunk Mistakes and Motels

I'll Call You

Letters To You

Hallways

@angelicstylesxx -

The Signs Part 1

Part 2

@harrieatthemet -

Other Mama Part 1

Part 2

@cumshotharry -

Realisation

@sexpsychedelicsharry -

in which the loss of their baby tears them apart

@haaarry -

Y/N and Harry Fight At a Halloween Party

Harry Becomes Embarassed of The Pet Names

Moves Out After a Fight

Harry "Cheats" On Y/N

@harryimaginedstories -

Overstepping A Line

@kissme-hs -

Black Butterflies Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Don't Wanna Know

One More Chance

Not Okay Part 1

Part 2

It Ain't Me

Please Shut Up

@tokyoharry -

Abandoned At An Award Show

Forever Is A Long Time

Is This It?

From The Dining Table

Nobody's Leaving Anybody

Never In A Million Years

7 Missed Calls Part 1

Part 2

Gold Digger

Get Out Part 1

Part 2

Why'd You Marry Me Then?!

Goodbye

February 29th

Broken Promises Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

All Alone Part 1

Part 2

You're Not Her Part 1

Part 2

@writeawayharry -

Waiting On You

Part 2

Part 3

Drunk

See You Again

Six Months

Controlled

Drunk Again

Belong

Alone

Dreams

Break

That Weekend

@gucciwoodnympth -

Worth A Thousand Words Part 1

Part 2

@wishful-thinking1201 -

Stranded Part 1

Part 2

Clingy Part 1

Part 2

Without You Part 1

Part 2

@ever-since-kiwi

The Train Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The One Where He Cheats Part 1

Part 2

@harryforvogue

Heartbreak Hotel Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Safety Net

Still The One

@harrylilies -

Gotta Get Better Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Just A Warning Part 1

Part 2

I Trusted You Part 1

Part 2

Let You Go Part 1

Part 2

@hes-words -

Trust Issues Part 1

Part 2

Anchor

Too Close

@emotionally-imbruised -

Under The Bridge Part 1

Part 2

@twohearts-hs -

Her Drug

A Devious Act Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Epilogue

Unfair Love Part 1

Part 2

@iwriteforharry -

A Broken Promise

@heart-attack-harry -

This Is Me You're Talking To

@inkslingerharry -

Without You

@tinayoufatlarrdd -

She Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

@peterfrigginpan -

Nothing Good Ever Happens After 2 AM

[colaharry]

I was tagged by @harrysroguecurl to post a selfie so here it is ! thank you for tagging me my love!

I tag anyone and everyone who wants to post a selfie. I’ll throw some @‘s out there though ;) @jawllines @harryandari @smokeinherperfume @honeytryst @harrykiwiharry @redstringlovers @glossclarice @ffionns @pretty-hazza @hfieetwood and every other lovely person out there. The list goes on.

much love xx

[harryfeatgaga]

there was this block called honeytryst and i loved their fic sunflower but their blog is empty :( anyone know if she changed url or if she left??

idk that blog im sorry :(

[sunflowervol69]

the best and sweetest @inkslingerharry tagged me 💞💞💞  

rules: using only song titles from one band/artist, cleverly answer the questions and tag ten people

Artist: Frank Ocean babyyyy (where’s the album, frank)

What’s your gender?: Pink Matter

How do you feel?: Lost

Favorite mode of transportation?: White Ferrari (adgalkdghalkdjf)

If you could go anywhere?: Pyramids

Your best friend?: Good Guy

Favorite time of day?: Nights

If your life was a television show?: Sweet Life 

Relationship status?: Thinking Bout You

Your fear?: Godspeed

i think i’m like...the last person to do this lmfao but if y’all haven’t done this yet (and you want to) go for it!!! @sydneysuit @roseringharrie @alwaysjacked-up @nightflowerhes @landslideee @harryslaurels @hard-on-harry @foreverhlessed @onlyanhell 

[oghoneytryst]

winter flakes.

UPDATED

request: harry is upset when he takes his love to meet his family, but they end up not liking her

or

where the holiday season brings upon a terrible first impression

a/n: yo pls read this is I M P O R T A N T lol ok so I'm trash. I wanted to write so many xmas one shots since I had time but now I just ... don’t. I wanted to finish this one before Christmas Eve bUT that didn’t happen so here’s an essential *part one*. I won’t make another post for part two, I'll just update it on here since I wanted it to be a one-shot and nothing more. 

I just wanted to post this in case I actually don’t finish the rest tmrrw (today) but hopefully I get myself in check.

The second part has been added to this post, thus making this one-shot finished. Happy reading!

--------

She hides in plain sight, where fragments of white winter flakes sink from the clouds.

The sky is in full gloom, a gray nature that flawlessly exhibits her most inner emotions. A frown etches her face as powdery snow decorates the roofless patio, the couch cushions as stiff as ice. Behind her numb face is the infinite chatter of her teeth; her fists in the pockets of her creamy coat begin to lose feeling.

Somehow, it is warmer out here than it is inside.

She yawns silently, blinks away the icicles of fallen tears from her sad and wandering eyes. She knows she will fall ill soon, but perhaps it is in everyone’s best interest. She – sick in bed as the holidays go on without her. An absence in the family pictures is favorable over having to eventually cut her out with precision and an open-mind.

A reasonable part of her wishes she had declined Harry’s invitation to visit his family this holiday season. She would have had to spend Christmas and New Year’s alone, but she imagines it is better to be in her lonesome than in the company of people who dislike her.

It no longer matters. By some chance, it is better this way. At least now she can prepare for the meek outcome of her relationship’s future – or rather, a lack thereof. 

Through the harsh yet whispering winds, she fails to hear the patio door slide open. With her back to her visitor, she stares out at the hibernating greenery, entirely entranced by the Earth’s chaotic intricacy.

“Baby,” Harry’s voice calls out. “What’re ya doing out here?”

She manages to shrug despite the startle that Harry gives her. “Needed some air.” Tiny inhalations temporarily sniffle the coldness away. She tugs her arms together in an empty self-embrace, hoping that it will still the shivers of her body.

Harry appears behind her, peeling the blanket he had stolen from inside so that it may envelope her entire frame with its great quilted pattern. She senses this added warmth and looks up to her right, gracious of Harry and his proud smile that peers down at her. 

“Better?” he asks, long legs moving him around from behind the patio couch.

It is better, very much so. Yet, when he flumps down on the cushion next to her, she responds with a frown. “Now you’re going to be cold,” she reprimands. He wears nothing more than a puffy sweater, trousers, gingerbread socks, and slippers.

Harry leans forward, slim fingers switching the controls of the sleek fire pit table in front of them. “Why didn’t you turn this on then?” he asks, chuckling when she tries to pull him into the warmth of the blanket for two.

He allows her to wrap him up, two lovers cocooned with legs in a knot and hearts beating as one. His left arm slides around her, lazily squeezing her into his chest. She encloses his waist in a hug, slips a hand underneath his sweater and over his hip. She rubs tenderly with frozen fingers that make his skin tingle, not a single complaint hanging off of his tongue.

“Didn’t want to mess with it,” she answers, snuggling the tip of her nose deeper into his sweater. “Knowing me, I’d figure out a way to break it.”

“So, you’d rather freeze to death?”

“Better than having your mother angry at me.”

“She’d never.” His chin meets with his chest, lump limps against her head. It isn’t so much a kiss, rather a little something that lets her know he’s there. “You should be inside, having a little girls’ talk or wha’ever. Mum’s made some hot chocolate, said she’ll start on the cookies soon.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine out here.”

It is important to note that only a handful of months into their relationship and already does Harry adore her so much. A handful of months in and he has already studied and learned the shifting features of her strongest emotions.

Ecstatic is when her eyes crinkle. They practically disappear behind her happy cheeks, front teeth blossoming with power.

Angry is when she appears neutral. If not for the haunting flare of her nostrils, he would end up playing a dangerous game between his oblivion and her temper. 

Hungry – yes, to her it is an emotion. Apart from her rumbling tummy, she has this certain pout that his lips find irresistible.

Whether her demeanors are bold and obvious or faint and unnoticeable, he is aware of them all. Whether he can see her face or not, he knows. It is in the way she speaks, the way she holds onto him as though he is only possible thing that can calm her mind.

He asks then, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” because she is sad, in the simplest of terms. He doesn’t quite know why – figuring it out on his own requires a little more patience and expertise. For the moment being, he only focuses on her sullen blue mood.

“What do you mean?”

Harry expects her dumbfounded response, along with the slight stiffening of her body. “You trust me, yeah?” he tries instead, eyes to the crackling wisp of the fire.

She raises her head to him, an instant, “Yeah,” as her answer. She doesn’t doubt the confidence she has in him.

Harry pouts with a now delicate grip on her chin. “Then be truthful with me, please?” He loves this position they’re in, where two bodies connect in such an innocent way, an invisible link between their loving eyes. “I don’t want you alone in whatever’s bothering you. You and me, that’s us, alright? No exceptions.”

Her lover seals this promise with a spongy kiss. She admires the way he breathes her in and out, specifically because she likes that certain smell of his. Their mouths melt as one; his tastes of that delicious chocolate liquid that lingers on his lips.

When he pulls away – and god, she doesn’t ever want him to – his green eyes glaze with the upmost sincerity that has her sighing in his arms. From this he knows that he has won, but her prefers to consider it as earning her vulnerability.

He is patient with her, but even then, she is wary. No exceptions, he had said. None, unless it concerns the people most important in his life.

“I kind of ... I didn’t want to start anything,” she begins, evidently avoiding those piercing eyes of his. “Still don’t. Even mentioning it might ... I don’t know, ruin something? And that’s not what I want, because you’re so content right now and I want you to stay that way. I don’t want to be a trouble.”

“Are you trying to say that you’re some kind of burden?” Harry quizzes, suspicious of her spiel’s direction. “Cos’, honest, whatever concerns you is my problem too. If you’re not happy with something, neither am I.”

“That’s the reason, baby!” She sits up straighter, and he tries his hardest not to melt around his girlfriend. For her to call him such an endearment is something he truly loves. It is thick like honey, dripping down the chambers of his heart. “I don’t want you to be upset. If I don’t tell you, at least for the time being, then it won’t affect you. At a time like this, I think that’s pretty important.”

“No!” he argues, eyebrows knitted like the sweater he wears. “No, that’s ... what’s important is that you’re honest with me. ‘Bout anything, at any time. Still don’t even know why you’re upset. You just gotta tell me, I’ll help you. If I didn’t care about you all the time, then I’d hope you’d break up with me for being a dickhead.”

“It won’t be on my part,” she says under her breath, never intending for him to hear. To her dismay, the winter winds are not nearly loud enough to mask her voice.

“S’cuse me?” Harry raises, no longer slouch against the couch. “What do you mean by that? Are you saying that I’m just going to date and dump ya?”

“No.” She shakes her head, repetitively, as if to further deny his assumption. “You know I don’t think of you that way.”

“Alright, then what is it?”

“It’s ... it’s complicated. More than you think, or maybe not ... can we just talk about it later?��

Harry states her name in such a way that is frightening, serious, even emotionless. This is a first in their relationship – the first time he’s ever been so strict with her. 

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to call my mum and sister out here to drag it out of you.”

His darling’s face expresses shock up to her eyebrows and down to her chin. She shakes her head again, this time more frantic and desperate. “No,” she pleas, gripping onto his cold hands. “Please don’t. Harry, I swear I will never forgive you.”

A spontaneous spill of words conceives her threat. Her bottom lip quivers, her rapid tongue suddenly dry as she waits for Harry to settle back against the couch.

Harry, however, is frozen. He doesn’t know if he is hurt; if he is, he doesn’t know what for. It is just something about this warning of hers that makes him feel weird.

“Forgive me?” he questions, his voice now smaller than hers. “Forgive me for what? Have I done something? Am I the reason you’re upset?”

The look on his face is heartbreaking. She frowns at him again, gently smoothening her fingers over his hands to explain to him, silently, that no, he is not the reason. While in their future – if there even is one – they will have many arguments where he is the one at fault, or she is the one to blame, he currently does nothing to make her feel this way.

For this reason alone, she knows she has to tell him. He is here for her in this blistering cold. He had promised he would be. In such an unfamiliar place as his mother’s home, he is her common, her serenity. This is something that she has to trust in.

“It’s not you,” she confesses, nervous as her eyes begin to dart from side to side. “It’s because ... your family. They hate me.”

Silence. Her heart beat ironically aches in her chest. She tries to find a reaction in his body language; a head tilt in her peripheral, a twitch in his fingers. Instead, there is nothing, which only makes her want to scream.

“Hate you?” Harry blinks, cautious about whether or not she kids with him.

“Hate, dislike ... does it really matter?”

“...No. You’re right, no, it doesn’t matter.” Harry is unyielding, which makes his girlfriend raise her head with surprise. He leans forward, green eyes burning into hers. “Cos’ they don’t feel either way about you. Why would you even say something so ridiculous?”

She cranes her neck up a little, eyebrows soaring in defense. “Have you even been paying attention the entire time since we’ve gotten here?”

“Of course, I have. Haven’t seen anything less than a smile directed toward you.”

“It’s not that hard to fake a smile out of kindness.”

“This is my family we’re talking about. The people who raised me.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Alright, so trust me then. They’d never hate the person I’m dating, ‘specially not after just a few hours of knowing them.”

“Seems like there’s a first for everything.”

“Or you’re just being extremely paranoid.”

At this, it is her turn to feel hurt. The word stings a little, especially since she knows she’s right. It is an intuitive gut-feeling; a negative energy surrounds her all afternoon. Harry somehow foreshadows his fate. She is upset, but now it is all because of him.

In an impulsive tantrum, she throws his hands down to his lap. Her body turns away, arms crossing over her chest like a grumpy child. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” she grumbles, ignoring the burn she begins to feel in her nose.

Harry knows his family. He knows these accusations of hers are nearly impossible. Though, he also knows that his love had been nervous to come here – and this gesture of hers! It is so harsh and abrupt; it is very unlike her. Harry hates that he only notices her distress over his unintentional name-calling after the damage had already been done. He had promised to be tender, but now his guilt overpowers every fiber in his foolish being.

“Hey ... none o’ that,” he mumbles, reaching out to sling an arm around her shoulder, a gentle hand on her knee. He is afraid that she will push him away, a dent in their relationship that is entirely his fault. To his relief, she actually allows him to pull her in, even turns toward him a little. “M’sorry,” he coos. “So sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that.” 

Harry presses his freezing dry lips to her temple, further murmuring his apologies. She is stubborn with where she is now, but rightfully so. Still, it is nice to have him so close.

“You can tell me anything,” he assures her. “You’re not being paranoid, I’m just ... being a dickhead.” Harry laughs, cursing the universe for this clever turn of events. “I’ll listen, alright? Please, talk to me.”

“You don’t believe me.” She rolls her eyes, hating how instantly she complies to his touch.

“Okay...” His face scrunches as he tries to work his way around this one. “But you’ve got to understand why I’m a little hesitant about it. Look, doesn’t matter. How ‘bout you explain to me why you think that way, hmm?”

His love begins to ease up a little in his arms. She reluctantly turns her head to him; an angry frown still taints her pretty face. In contrast, he smiles warmly, never once loosening his grip.

“...Gemma answered the door,” she explains, making Harry contently sigh.

“Uh huh,” he presses on. He prepares his ears to catch onto any faint detail that he can use to dissect her version of their visit.

“And she was really happy at first because, you know, you.”

“Right.”

“But she kind of like ... interrupted us? Because she opened the door without us even knocking. So, you were whispering in my ear about ... things and because of that, her sudden presence took me by surprise.”

Harry smirks. He had been whispering to her, alright. Whispering about things that his sister definitely doesn’t want to hear.

“So, when she came to hug me, I was still in that sort of shock, y’know? So, I was really stiff and I didn’t even hug her back. It was terrible! When she pulled away, she had this awkward look on her face.”

“I don’t think that means anything. She was probably just taken aback, same as you. Doesn’t mean that it was bad or that she hates you.” 

His girlfriend scoffs. This is how he knows she has much more to say.

“That was nothing compared to your mother. I didn’t even hug her, Harry! She came in for one, or maybe just a kiss on the cheek, and I was so nervous that I just ... turned away! Do you realize how bad that is? Everyone in the kitchen just looked at me like ... like I was some kind of spoiled brat.” 

“But you said it yourself,” Harry rebuttals. “You were nervous. I’m sure my mother understood that. She knows I wouldn’t date someone so self-absorbed.”

“Oh really? Is that why I keep seeing them whispering to each other? Even worse, when they instantly stop once they see that I’m in the room?”

“Alright!” Harry stands up from the patio couch. “I’m going to settle this, and when I’m right, I want a cuddle.”

Her eyes bulge out of her head when she sees her boyfriend rise. She leaps to his side, holding onto his hand as though she is clinging onto the last bit of life.

“What are you doing?” she cries. “Please, don’t say anything. Don’t you dare say anything, are you crazy?”

“How do you expect this to be resolved if I don’t bring it up to them?”

“I am begging you not to. Please ... don’t.”

Harry pauses, staring into her anxious eyes and then to the skin-tight grip she has on him.

He sighs. “Okay. I won’t mention anything, but I am going to figure this out. Whether that means bringing you into the conversation or not.”

“That’s ... fine,” she settles, though she is a little wary of how he will manage to fix any of this. “Can I just ... hold your hand for a little longer?” 

Her beloved smirks, taking his rightful place next to her on the couch. He lets her wrap his larger hands in hers, a tick that he now learns is what she does when she’s nervous. She’d done it when they had first arrived, and she does it now.

“You’re gonna have to let go some time,” he points out, though smitten with the peace she finds in him.

“I know, just ... a little longer, okay?” 

He nods, raising their clump for hands to press a kiss on her knuckles. “Tha’s fine with me.”

~~~

In the face of her reluctant separation of hand-holding, Harry is content when he persuades his girlfriend back into the warm confinements of his mother’s house. 

The two of them walk past the sliding patio door, shuffling away the snow in a living room exuding lively chatter. There are family friends in the mix, extrovertly stunning individuals who sit on cozy cushions with fishbowls of wine in their grips. They’re kind people, a hilarious lot, although she fears their previous talk in these walls.

For a short moment, the queasy uproar in her chest subdues. Anne and Gemma are missing from the bunch. The most vital of Harry’s blood and bones whom she cannot blame for any of this. In actuality, it is she who is the root of the problem. Her mannerisms, her presentation – she has failed herself. She has failed Harry. 

“Alright.” Harry folds the quilted blanket upon locking the sliding glass door. “I think they’re in the kitchen. Would you like to come with?”

She takes a studious gander at the living room. The other guests had only spared the couple a glance upon hearing them walk in. Besides that, they had returned to their chirpy conversations with ease. Their laughs bounce off the walls; the couples discreet chat goes unnoticed.

“N-No.” She shakes her head. Here, in a room full of persons, she is practically invisible. She is safe.

Harry nods, hanging the blanket over the back of the couch. “Okay.” He slips his hand right underneath the side of her jaw, puckering his lips on her forehead. “I’ll be right back then.”

She is frantic again when he says this, pulls him back by the arm as he begins to walk away. “Don’t say anything,” she warns him once more, this time with much more intensity. It is clearly moot to him how ashamed she will feel if he so much as even mentions her sad emotions. 

“I won’t!” he whisper-yells, mimicking her look of absurdity with nothing but loving intentions. “Why don’t you sit down, eh?” He flicks his head to the opposite end of the couch where an entire cushion is available to her. “Next to Michal. Y’think you’ll be okay with that?”

She grimaces, side-eyeing the man’s harmless appearance. “Gemma’s boyfriend ... he probably hates me by default.”

Harry snickers, unable to resist another kiss on her sweet face. “Adorable.”

He backs away from her reach in dance: bends his arms and sways his hips. The glare she sends contrasts his cheeky wink, and he is off to the kitchen.

It is true that he doesn’t want to lie to his darling. It is obvious how in distress she is over this, but he believes that it is nothing more than a mild illusion, a product of her nerves. Surely his mother and sister will find it endearing that she worries so much over their approval. He can fix all of this in a matter of minutes.

“...not know what he’s thinking.”

Harry’s stroll comes to a halt in the hallway, the light of the kitchen cutting diagonally across the floor. He hides in the shadows, up against a wall where his mother and sister cannot see him. Eavesdropping is a dirty thing, but something about his mother’s voice is strange.

Curiosity killed the cat.

“He’s blind to it,” Gemma adds in, a hint of secrecy in her tone. “But that’s him. He grows obsessed, then he gets ... I don’t know, bored?”

Harry narrows his eyes. Are they speaking of him?

“A simple and kind person,” Anne tuts. He can hear her place batter on the cookie sheet. “That’s all I want for him. Why is it so hard?”

“Why don’t you tell him then?” Gemma asks, then pauses. He can imagine her sipping on her wine, licking the elegant flavor off her lips. “Maybe he’ll be open to the idea of you setting him up. He trusts your word more than anyone else.”

“I do have a couple of people in mind that I’d like him to meet, but it’s as you said. He’s obsessed. He won’t listen now. We’ll just have to ... wait it out, see how long it goes for.”

Wait it out? He’s utterly lost, but at the same time, he fears what he already knows.

“Do you think...” Gemma begins, “Okay, this might be a tad harsh, but do you imagine she’s here because her own family didn’t want to spend the holidays with her?”

The question is a bullet to his heart. He blinks rapidly with a face that twists; disbelief washes over all of his senses. Had he heard it wrong? His lovely sister would never be so cruel. Is this all a misunderstanding solely on his part?

His mother. Oh, his dear mother. Her response is the icing on the cake.

“Poor girl. I can’t even begin to think what family must have raised her.” 

He won’t lie – it hurts. Their gossip hadn’t meant to belittle him or his decision making. In a strange type of way, he understands where they’re coming from. They love him. They want what’s best for him.

Nonetheless, understanding doesn’t make him any less upset. It doesn’t make him any less confused, overwhelmed, absolutely livid. This side of his family is a disappointing shock and it makes him a little sick.

Of anything else, he feels for his lovey. While this mess concerns him, it is not about him. In the end, she had been right, and he had been selfish. He had dismissed her, had disregarded her intuition and her discomfort, all because he had much more faith in his family than in her.

His mother and sister’s conversation becomes a jumble, not as if it matters much anyway. He had heard what he had heard, and they had moved onto a new, safer topic as unbothered as one would be flipping through the channels on the telly.

He takes a minute to calm himself, inhaling and exhaling before pushing himself off the wall. A few nervous clicks of his knuckles and he stumbles into the light with more to prove than before. His heavy footsteps garner their attention mid-conversation. 

They greet him with twin smiles, but he responds in a boiling, amusing stare. Leaning against the counter opposite to the island, he crosses his arms and nibbles inside his cheek.

“Everything alright?” Gemma asks, noticing his stare-down with the tile floors. He is in thought, a distracting amount of it, and it is concerning to his sister – his sister that knows him so well.

Harry opens his mouth, lips silently stuttering over infinite responses. How could he go about this in a way that is civil amid his lingering vexation?

“Mother o’ mine,” he comically says, full out ignoring his sister’s question.

The pair of ladies look at him with curiosity, but it is not in an eager or silly way. It is tense. Stiff. Suspicious. 

“Darling?” She smiles, setting the batter aside. Her chin tilts up, her soft features almost overpowering his will. How could he possibly be mad at the woman who’d given him everything? 

He wants to give her a chance. He wants to believe that he’d been right. Very casually does he mention the chat he’d had with his girlfriend, her name that twitches the gleam in their faces. Though it is only a slight falter, a millisecond of a reaction, he had seen it.

“It’s funny.” He laughs, raising his head in the gravity of his words. “She’d said something to me that I found quite ... mmm, ridiculous, I’d say. Unbelievable, even. I couldn’t quite believe it myself, but for her sake, I listened. That’s what a person in a relationship does, after all. So, she’d said to me that she was, ehm, she was feeling a bit down.” 

Anne frowns. “Oh no, darling. What about?”

“What about? Well, she’d said ... hmm, how did it go? In her words, as best as I can remember it anyway, she’d said, your family hates me. Yeah, tha’s what I heard.”

At this sated accusation, the faces of the two women grow paler. Gemma freezes, while Anne swallows in discomfort. Her eyes search for a way out of this maze, but her beautiful son does not allow it. 

“Doesn’t that sound ridiculous, mum?”

“It does,” Gemma answers. She easily catches onto how they have to team up against Harry’s spontaneous quips.

He smiles again. “Right. After all, she’d been devastated to find out that she couldn’t travel to spend the holidays with her family. The snow just wouldn’t allow it. Cancelled her flight and everything.” He steps up, leans forwards now with his palm gripping the edge of the island. “And you had been so kind as to welcome her into your home. So, really, how could you possibly hate her?”

His gaze is unbearable. His mother feels as if she had committed a crime.

“Of course,” Anne chuckles, “that’s – it is ridiculous. I don’t ... hate her.”

“And you, Gem,” he switches his interrogation. “Of all the ... questionable people I’ve been obsessed with, it doesn’t seem sensible that the one simple and kind person I’ve finally ended up with, turns out to be someone you hate, right?”

Gemma raises a brow as the intensity of his stare increases. Their eyes – her dark ones, his light ones – from the same genes collide in a battle. Together, in a team setting, they are competitive, supportive, and practically unstoppable. Apart, in a duel against each other, it is an all-out war.

She never gives in, no matter how grueling. She is as stubborn as he is, but this time, she knows. She knows that the longer she plays this game of his, the winner he will become.

“Oh, stop it!” She folds the towel and turns away from his mocking smirk. “I’m not doing this!”

“Gemma!”

“What? I’m not going to sit here and lie to him.”

“Oh really?” Harry asks, hands on his hips. “Just like you two have done all evening?”

“We haven’t lied!” she defends in a high-pitch.

“You said you didn’t hate her!”

“We don’t!” Gemma sips her wine, commenting very quietly that: “We just don’t like her.”

“Gemma!” Anne repeats. It astounds her that her daughter would be so blunt, but she can’t bring herself to disagree.

Harry shakes his head in shame. Not of his own, nor for bringing his love to this place, but for the distaste of his own blood. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “It is actually unbelievable. And after all of the boyfriends of yours I defended.”

“Oh, don’t be such a knob.” His sister glares. Her wine glass is lonely on the island counter. “Anyone in my past hadn’t nearly been as impolite as her.” 

“Impolite? Wh—” Harry turns his head from side-to-side. He wonders if anyone else can hear the absurdities. “When has she ever been impolite?”

“Darling,” Anne speaks up. She’d been quiet, nervous about where this sensitive topic would end up going. It had not finished well. “Why don’t we just leave this as it is?”

“No! No, I will not—”

“Harry, please, it’s just not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” He questions, a pattern of the sorts ensuing. Every ridiculous thing they say, he has to repeat. They have to hear it again, from his opposing tongue, and maybe then they will come to terms with how unreasonable they’re being.

“Can you honestly tell us that she’ll be here in a year’s time?” Gemma says, a bit sincerer than she’s been.

“I ... how am I supposed to know that?”

The two women give each other a look. It only boils his blood more.

“Don’t do that!”

“It’s a simple question, Harry.”

“It’s not so simple to answer given that you two don’t even like her! I mean, what – what could you possibly not like about her? What has she done?”

“She’s just ... rude,” his sister answers, his mother nodding in agreement. “Reserved, but in a bad way.”

“She’s nervous!” he retorts, hands twitched out in frustration. “And rightfully so, given how you two are behaving. You’d think, that with all I have to go through in the media, you’d know better than to judge someone off of one unjust impression.” 

“It’s has more to do than that,” Anne says, her tone so sweet that it makes his tummy ache. “It’s just a feeling.”

“A feeling? A hunch then?” He waits for her to nod, and then he nods, and suddenly no one is quite certain where this will go next. “Right. I’ve got one of those myself. I have a feeling, a very strong one at that, that I do want her to be here in a year’s time. But do I see her here, in another 365 days? No.” 

The women are silent, this unexpected sincerity captivates them. Still, there is something circulating the air. It is thick and unsettling, the loud chatter from the living room beginning to echo into their private area.

“She won’t be, because who in their right mind would willing endure this kind of treatment? Oh, the family doesn’t like her. Big shame. There’ll always be another one ready to take her in with open arms. She’ll realize that eventually, and she’ll go. None of this is worth it, as you’ve said, ‘specially not for me.”

The ticking of the wall clock has never sounded so ardent and bold. The more it ticks, the more of Harry’s vulnerability unravels from his monologue – his deepest fear. Tick, tick, tick. Seconds pass, but they are as torturous as lightyears. The trio grows weaker, the team of two at a loss for words. This steady beat in time makes no progress at all.

Harry sighs, a long one that devours them all. He steps around the island, throws an arm around his mother’s shoulders, the opposite hand on the crown of his sister’s head.

“I love you,” he says to Anne, then looks to Gemma. “Both of you. And I respect that this is your house. It’s your decision, I can’t change that. But I can’t stay here and pretend that it’s not a problem. It’s not fair to her.”

He finishes his sentence by giving them both a respective kiss on the head. They don’t respond, emotionless even, and he walks back into the hallway where the light does not blanket his creamy skin.

The guests are even chattier when he walks into the living room. He can easily spot his love on the couch, just as he had suggested. She scoots up against the end, the nearest person not even an arm’s length into her personal bubble of space. A majestic black dog is in front of her legs, head resting on her lap as she gives gentle rubs to his ears.

Harry smiles sadly. He had wanted to fix this for her. He had wanted to enjoy these days with her, to begin a tradition that everyone would be more than in favor of. He feels now as if he has done her wrong. Maybe there was more that he could have done, but she deserves better either way.

He walks over, opting to crouch down to her eye level next to the arm of the couch. She senses Harry, relieved to see his face of tranquility. She offers him a smile, but it shapes oddly at his less than neutral expression.

“M’sorry I didn’t believe you,” he says, with the softest eyes that had ever existed. He hopes that she can trust in his sincerity, that he truly is sorry for all that has happened. He doesn’t want her to hurt; he doesn’t want her to go through this mess when it clearly isn’t her fault. He adores her; hopefully that is enough for her.

She quizzes over his out-of-context statement, but when it does eventually hit her, it drowns her in deepest ocean. Her mouth gapes, wrinkles on her forehead, and the smallest, most innocent shake of her head.

“I told you not to say anything,” she remarks in the most precious voice. That is when his heart finally breaks. 

“I know, baby.” His own voice is a little croaky. He pouts, and it isn’t exaggerated or playful. It is a genuine representation of his dismay. “M’ so sorry. You can have all the cuddles you want.”

A makeshift laugh exhales through her nostrils, but she sucks a meager amount back in when her vision glasses up. She won’t cry – although it is a very strong possibility despite her rapid blinks – but her entire mind, body, and soul reacts to this quite negatively.

Over all, this sucks. This holiday sucks and while Harry’s cuddles are therapeutic, she wants to revert to the darkness of the universe where the stars had first gathered her.

“C’mon.” Harry pulls her head down, sponging his lips right over the crease on her brow. It softens and smoothens, but she is still uncertain on the edge. “Let’s go.”

“What?” she questions, allowing him to clasp their hands tight. He pulls her up from the couch, murmuring his condolences to the large dog who sighs and trots away. “Wait, what are you – go where?”

She splits herself in two opposing halves: one follows Harry, but the other resists with heels dug in the floor. He directs her to the Christmas tree, where his path ceases in determination.

“Home,” he answers, freeing his hand to sift through the boxes of gifts. “We’re taking the presents with us.”

“What?” she whisper-yells, same as he had done to her, only hers is much more severe. “Are you out of your mind? W-we can’t just leave! Our bags!”

“Still in the car ... didn’t take them out.”

He can sense her glare burning on the back of his head. “I told you to take them out.”

“It was snowing hard, I was cold ... but now look ... didn’t even need to go through all the hassle.”

She grimaces at the pile that begins to appear at his side. Decorative paper seals all of the presents, wrapped by the two of them weeks prior. She feels useless in this situation, but he resembles something of a champion, a hard-headed competitor sprinting to his goal.

“Harry...” she whines, sneaking glances back at the oblivious guests. She hopes that they remain blind to the commotion he causes. “Please think this through.” 

“I did,” he insists. “We’re not staying.”

“We can’t just leave.”

“You’re not comfortable here. We can spend the holidays by ourselves. Tha’s all we need anyway, right?” 

Her mouth opens to protest his name again, but another voice calls out to him instead.

It causes him to tense up, a first in his life. He rises from his bent position and turns to find his mother and sister now present, with a certain concern scribbling their faces. He notices the obvious distance between them and his girlfriend, and it only increases as she takes discreet steps back in oblivious fear. 

“Harry,” Anne tries again, smiling to his love the way a mother would smile to a stranger when her child misbehaves in public. “Please, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to leave.”

“We’re not staying,” he announces, a repeat in only a mere minute. 

“Harry...” his girlfriend mumbles, to which sets an alarm off inside of him. In a second, he has her by the arm, pulling her behind him in protection.

“Harry, let’s talk about this,” Gemma offers, her once confident tone now lacking clarity. “For everyone’s sake, please.” 

“M’sorry, but there’s been enough talking for now. I’ve heard everything I needed to. We’d like to spend the rest of the holidays in peace.” 

She tugs on his arm now. “Harry...”

“By the way, mother...” Harry points up, reaching for the smallest box on his pile. He hands it to his bewildered mother, who takes it hesitantly. “You can keep that. It’s from her. She spent weeks worrying about what to get you, said she had to get you a gift on her own rather than just writing her name on mine. Said it was really important to her.”

Anne frowns, fingers still as ice on the square box. “Sweetheart...”

“It’s a lovely pair of earrings,” he reveals with a shrug. “Wouldn’t let me pay for it either. Cost her a few paychecks.”

“Listen to us, we’re really sorry—”

“No, m’sorry, but I really don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s our tradition to spend the holidays together!”

“Harry...”

“I thought it was our tradition to be kind to people.”

“Harry...”

“Stop it, we haven’t done anything!”

“That is just laughable, Gem—”

“Baby...” she states, her voice still soft but more stern than previous.

The instant clench of his heart causes his lips to seal; his ears open up to the sound that he had been accidentally ignoring in the midst of his defense. He looks to his love, who has found enough courage to step beside him than hide in the privacy of his tall frame.

“Give me the keys to the car.”

Harry twists his face. “What?”

“Give me the keys,” she repeats, eyebrow shooting up for emphasis.

“What for?”

She looks to the floor, her hand still firm in his. She feels their eyes on her, but she can’t seem to figure out if it is in envy or curiosity.

“You obviously don’t want me to stay here,” she confesses, “So I’ll just go back home and you can spend this time with your family.”

The silence that follows her quiet explanation is almost like a near-death experience. She doesn’t know what will happen, but in a millisecond, it feels as if the end awaits her.

Harry chuckles. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“You are not spending the holidays by yourself!”

“You are not leaving,” she persists, and there he sees it: the flare of her nostrils. “This is your family, Harry.”

“And you’re my girlfriend,” he retaliates, the word ever-so loving on his tongue.

She smiles, but it is sorrow in every way. “Doesn’t nearly compare.”

“That’s not—”

“Look, we can talk about it ... we’ll talk about it next year,” she tries as a joke, but it sounds disgustingly distant. “Just give me the keys—”

“No, no,” interrupts her command, not from Harry, but from the woman who loves him more than she’s ever loved anything, alongside his sister. 

The couple turn to Anne, who shakes her head at the both of them.

“No one is leaving.” Anne looks at her, whose blood freezes in circulation. “Darling ... I’m sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean for us to so clearly start on the wrong foot. It’s just...” she pauses, then reaches up to touch the side of her son’s tense face. “He’s my baby. I ... admittedly, might strive too hard over what’s best for him.” 

“He’s very special to us,” Gemma adds, with a warm smile to her brother’s companion. “No matter how annoying he may be.”

“Hey...” Harry glares, but it’s with pure intentions alongside his growing grin.

“We’re not ones to assume so quickly,” Anne continues, “but I just couldn’t help myself this time. That was wrong of me, and I hope you can understand how sorry I am. If you’re still willing, I still need to go finish up the cookies. I’d love to get to know you better, putting all of this behind us, of course.”

She is speechless, to say the least. She hadn’t known how much she had wanted this approval until her offer opens up a gate of relief in her chest. “Y-Yes,” she agrees, a bit of a falter in her voice. She embarrassingly clears her throat. “Yes. That would ... be great. I um ... accept ... uh, your apology?”

She looks up to Harry, begging with her eyes to help her.

He smiles at her, kissing the top of her head with the upmost glee he’s ever had. “She’s shy.”

[smokeinherperfume]

Any friends to lovers fanfic recommendations? I've read all of yours though haha so I'd be really hapoy if you opened my eyes to some new writers here! The only writer I really follow you. Take care. X

Hm hm hmmm

This is always tricky for me because I feel like I’ve read SO MANY in that genre but I always get temporary amnesia when asked.

Good places to start though (and my recommendations are more general amazing writers suggestions because I’m legitimately having trouble remembering certain fics rn)

@majorharry @harryforvogue @jawllines @mysweetcreaturestories @for-fucks-sake-h @gucciwoodnymph (Love Always Harry will always be the most ICONIC of the friends to lovers fics imo). @haroldloverboy @harryonstage @isitjamiemoriarty @pendantstyles @kissynotes @kissykiszka @honeytryst @stylishmuser @tiostyles @writingsfromlee @waitingfortwilight @yes-daddy-i-willl @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy @always-jackedup @all-things-fic @emotionally-imbruised @bdeharry @drowninherperfume

That should get you started xoxo.

[harry-stylesarchives]

I’m trying to find a series where the reader is pregnant and she meets Harry at a Halloween party and he takes her home.

That’s Sunflower by @honeytryst

[lovemepleaase]

goals tag!

hi!!!! so setting goals and trying to really be introspective has been a big thing for me as of late, so talking about and celebrating what i’ve done and how i’d like to grow in the coming year really caught my interest!! thank you so much to @theasstour for the tag!!

❄️🌷in the winter/spring i…

did not have this blog yet sooooo moving on!!!

☀️🍂🎅in the summer/fall/december i…

posted my first piece-- part one of snap went up on july 16!! after much pushing from @tayevia <3. looking back, it’s certainly not my best, but it kickstarted everything for me and remains the second most popular piece on my blog!!

the very next day i posted my first one shot with relax!!! 

it was a couple weeks later i started filling out blurbs-- this was my first one, and i remember being SHOCKED when it broke 10 notes.

this was the very first “”smut”” i ever posted....i think i’ve come a long way.

it was somewhere around august that me and @meetyourmouths had a fateful discussion about wanting harry to impregnate us (obviously) that turned into hours and days and weeks and months of nonstop plotting which turned into ppp which after much deliberation turned into not so typical. this plot really is our baby and we are SO excited to share them with you!!!!!

on october first, i posted black and blue, which remains my most popular post to this day. 

on december fourth i posted my christmas piece from @alwaysjacked-up‘s 25 days of christmas!! it was my first time being involved in something like this, and i just had so much fun :)

on december 31, i posted warm-- this was big for me because i’d been in a slump for MONTHS. writing had been impossible for me, but i sat down and cranked that piece out in a couple hours, and i slowly feel the bug coming back...hopefully.

total word count for 2018 (or just what’s in my docs cause i’m way too lazy to add up the other 2/3 of writing in my notes): 44,724

🙏in 2019 i’d like to…

post not so typical!!! yayyyyy

finish snap, for god’s sake

let’s be ambitious-- make it to 10k followers!!

while we’re at it, break 10k notes on a piece.

write more-- both in word count and in quantity of output. i’d really love to work on my descriptions and details and be able to post really good writing like all the people i admire.

stop comparing myself so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i tag @meetyourmouths @honeytryst @harryonstage @majorharry @alwaysjacked-up @isitjamiemoriarty @smokeinherperfume and anyone else that wants to!!!

[sunflowerstache]

Tag your favs and tell them what they mean to you 😌

there’s wayyyy too many people who are my faves, so each one of these magnificent human beings, and more, have helped shape me into the person I am today. They have given me confidence in myself and my writing abilities, they’ve helped me start to love myself for who I am, they’re people I talk to super regularly, they’ve contributed to my depression starting to take a backseat to my happiness, they’ve made me feel loved and appreciated, and they have my entire heart. I cannot begin to explain how grateful I am for each and every one of them, and I truly owe them much more than I could ever give💛💛

@theasstour @mysweetestcreature @writingsfromlee @isntshelovelyharry @harrylillies @majorharry @emotionally-imbruised @waitingfortwilight @all-things-fic @devil-in-bw-the-sheets @talesofstyles @harryonstage @narrystyles @harrygivenchy @kindapinkskies @no-business @tiostyles @trulymadlysydney @inkslingerharry @idkthisisjustforfanfic @geenalovesthelittlethings @starseeeed @all-the-love-harold @harryscumcloth @evil-spn-girl @pendantstyles @angelharrie @abundantlyabundant @smokeinherperfume @harrywavycurly @harrieheaux @customhucci @redstringlovers @gucciwins @gucciwoodnymph @dadshirtking @complicatedbabyhoneyfreak @isitstraightvodka @honeytryst @harrysofluffy @harrysgucciclothes @huccimermaidshirts @kissy-hes @drunkirkharry @nightflowerhes @guccifloralsuits @isitjamiemoriarty @meetyourmouths @harryforvogue @secret-rendezvous1d

honestly theres so many more, and I'm so sorry if I left you out, but I love you with my whole ass body💛