You became his sugar baby to survive, but Harry’s possessiveness soon turns into something softer. The black card pays the bills, but it’s the unexpected love that threatens to ruin you both.
A/N: Hello everyone! Here is a new chapter! let me know if you liked it!
Rating: Explicit. 🔞 content. reader discretion is advised.
The comfort in the townhouse was completely shattered. The music playing softly from the speakers felt absurd against the sheer volume of her father’s fury radiating from the phone speaker.
"They're saying he's forty-five years old, Y/N! What the fuck is going on?!"
Y/N’s chest tightened so fast she couldn't breathe. The pizza turned to ash in her mouth. She stared at the phone in her hand like it was a live grenade. She had expected a lecture about not answering her texts, maybe a scolding about staying out late on a weeknight.
She hadn't expected the entire United Kingdom to know her business.
"Dad, I—" Y/N stammered, her voice shaking. "Dad, listen to me, it's not what they're saying. The papers lie, you know that—"
"They have a photograph of him kissing you!" her mother shrieked in the background, having apparently wrestled the phone back. "Y/N, I am having palpitations! Your Auntie Carol is acting like you've been sold to a cartel! A billionaire, Y/N? A Sugar Baby?!"
"I wasn't—we were just at a gallery!" Y/N tried desperately, tears of pure panic prickling the corners of her eyes.
"I am driving to London," her father announced, his voice dropping into a deadly serious register that made her stomach plummet. "I am getting in the car right now, I am driving down the M1, and I am dragging you out of wherever he has you locked up in. Give me the address, Y/N."
"Dad, no! Please, don't do that, I'm safe, I'm—"
Harry shifted.
The relaxed, boyish man eating pepperoni on the rug vanished in a fraction of a second. His spine straightened. His jaw locked so tightly a muscle feathered in his cheek. The CEO of Vanguard Holdings was awake.
He didn't snatch the phone. He knew better. Instead, he closed the distance between them, sliding closer on the silk rug until his chest was pressed against her shoulder.
He reached out and wrapped his large, warm hand around her wrist, grounding her shaking fingers.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, and spoke in a whisper so low, so calm, it cut straight through her panic.
"De-escalate," Harry murmured, his breath ghosting over her skin. "Do not let him drive tonight. He's angry, and it's raining. Tell him you are safe."
Y/N took a ragged breath, squeezing her eyes shut, drawing strength from the heavy weight of his hand on hers.
"Dad," she said, forcing her voice to steady. "Dad, stop. You are not driving to London this late in the rain. I am perfectly safe."
"Safe? You're with a man twice your age who buys women for sport, according to this article!"
Harry flinched. It was a microscopic movement, a slight tightening of his grip on her wrist, but Y/N felt it. The words hit him exactly where his deepest insecurities lived.
"The article is garbage, Dad," Y/N snapped, a protective anger suddenly overriding her fear. "He isn't like that. He hasn't bought me."
"Tell them to come tomorrow," Harry whispered in her ear, his tone shifting into pure logistics. "Tell them I will send a car for them at 8 AM. We will do this face to face."
Y/N swallowed hard. "Listen to me. Tomorrow morning, a car is going to come to the house. It's going to pick you and Mum up, and it's going to bring you to London. We will sit down, and I will explain everything."
"You think I'm getting in a car paid for by that—"
"Dad, please!" Y/N begged, her voice cracking. "Please. For me. Don't drive tonight. Come tomorrow morning. You can yell at me all you want then, but please just wait."
A heavy, static-filled silence hung on the line. She could hear her father breathing heavily, wrestling with his protective instincts.
"Fine," her father finally growled. "But you better have a damn good explanation, Y/N. Because right now, it looks like you've thrown your life away."
The line went dead.
Y/N lowered the phone slowly. Her hands were trembling so badly it slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the glass coffee table next to the pizza boxes.
She stared blindly ahead at the London skyline. The bubble had popped. The beautiful, insulated world they had fought so hard to build over the last few hours was entirely shattered.
Harry moved immediately. He pulled her flush against his chest, wrapping both arms around her, burying his face in her hair.
"Breathe," he commanded softly, holding her tight as a sob finally broke from her throat. "I've got you. You're okay."
"They hate you," she cried into his white dress shirt, her fingers clutching the fabric. "They think I'm a... they think..."
"I know what they think," Harry said, his voice terrifyingly calm, though his heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her cheek. "It doesn't matter. I will handle it."
He kissed the top of her head, lingering there for a long moment, before pulling back just enough to look at her. His green eyes were dark, calculating, and completely devoid of fear.
"Go to the bathroom. Wash your face. Put one of my t-shirts on," he instructed gently, though it was undeniably an order.
"What are you going to do?" Y/N asked, wiping her eyes.
Harry stood up from the floor. He picked up his phone from the table, his thumb already swiping across the screen to unlock it.
"I'm going to wake up my Head of Legal," Harry said, the ice creeping back into his voice. "And then I am going to figure out exactly how much it's going to cost to bury the person who wrote that article for the Daily Mail."
The climb up the floating oak staircase felt endless. Y/N gripped the banister, her legs shaking under the heavy weight of the green silk.
Behind her, down in the living room, Harry was already moving, his mind shifting gears. But up here, in the quiet of the second floor, the echoes of her father's furious voice still rattled in her skull.
A twenty-two-year-old plaything.
She walked into the master bathroom and braced her hands against the cool marble of the sink. She looked in the mirror. François's immaculate makeup. The glowy skin and the sharp brow stared back at her. But underneath the expensive facade, she just looked terrified.
She turned on the tap and splashed freezing water over her face, then makeup remover, scrubbing away the cosmetics, scrubbing away the "statement" she was supposed to be making.
How was she going to explain this to her parents? They were grounded, working-class people. To them, billionaires weren't boyfriends. They were predators. They didn't know the Harry who made terrible carbonara on a Tuesday. They didn't know the man who had bought her a vintage typewriter. They didn't know the Harry who had stood in front of a Lord tonight and threatened to bankrupt him just for disrespecting her.
All her parents saw was the transaction. The money. The twenty-three-year age gap. And looking at the tabloid headlines, Y/N couldn't entirely blame them.
She walked out of the bathroom and into the stark, shadowed bedroom. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp at the back of her neck. The silk slipped over her shoulders and pooling onto the floor in a bright, expensive puddle. She stepped out of it, leaving the gala behind.
She opened Harry's dresser and pulled out a soft, worn grey t-shirt. She pulled it over her head. It engulfed her, smelling intensely of cedarwood and him. It felt like a shield.
She climbed into the massive bed, pulling the crisp white duvet up to her chin, and curled onto her side, staring at the door.
Ten minutes later, the handle turned.
Harry walked in.
The disheveled, romantic man from the car ride was completely gone. The CEO had taken over. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, exposing the dark ink of his tattoos and the tense, corded muscles of his forearms. He looked dangerous. He looked ready for war.
But the moment his green eyes found her huddled under the covers, the sharp angles of his face softened.
He walked over to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight. He didn't say anything at first. He just reached out, his large, warm hand cupping the side of her face, his thumb gently wiping away a drop of water she had missed on her cheek.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking in the quiet room. "I didn't mean to drag your name into a tabloid."
"Don't," Harry said, his voice a low, firm rumble. "Do not apologize for this, Y/N. The only people who should be sorry right now are the ones who printed that garbage. And I promise you, by tomorrow morning, they will be."
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
"Your parents are coming tomorrow," he murmured, his breath ghosting over her skin. "And I am going to sit across from your father, and I am going to tell him exactly what you mean to me. I'm not going to hide behind my lawyers or my bank account. I'm going to prove to him that you are exactly where you belong."
Y/N let out a shaky breath, her hands coming up to grip his thick wrists. "He's stubborn, Harry. He's going to yell."
"Let him yell," Harry said, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. A dark, determined fire burned in his gaze. "I've handled worse men than your father before breakfast. I'm not going anywhere."
He leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her lips. It was a promise.
"Try to sleep," he instructed softly, brushing the hair back from her forehead. "I'll be downstairs. I have some calls to make."
He stood up, tucking the duvet securely around her shoulders. He walked to the door, his posture rigid once again.
"Harry?" she called out softly.
He paused, looking back over his shoulder.
"Give them hell."
A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Harry's face. "Count on it."
He stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him, plunging the room into darkness as he descended the stairs to burn the Daily Mail to the ground.
The click of the master bedroom door shutting was a physical switch.
Harry stood at the top of the floating oak stairs for a fraction of a second. He let the steady, reassuring warmth he had just offered Y/N evaporate, pulling the cold, armored shell over his shoulders.
He walked down the stairs, his bare feet silent against the wood. He bypassed the living room and headed straight for the back of the townhouse, pushing open the heavy double doors to his study.
It was a room designed for intimidation.
Even in the pitch black, it smelled of unyielding, aged leather, cedarwood, and the faint, peaty tang of single malt scotch. Harry didn’t turn on the overhead lights. He walked to the massive, custom-built desk that dominated the center of the room and flicked on a single brass desk lamp.
The amber glow cut through the shadows, illuminating the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with first editions and the sleek, brutalist lines of his multi-monitor trading setup. The rest of the cavernous room remained draped in darkness.
Harry stood behind the desk. He didn't sit. He poured himself three fingers of Macallan 25 from the crystal decanter, didn't bother with ice, and swallowed it in one slow, burning gulp.
He set the glass down with a sharp clack. He reached for his phone.
It was 2:14 AM.
He dialed a number he knew by heart. It rang twice.
"Styles," a sharp, awake voice answered.
"David," Harry said, his voice dropping into a lethal, clipped register that commanded billions of dollars. "Wake Marcus up. Get to the house. Now."
"Sir, it’s two in the morning," his Head of Legal noted, though there was no hesitation, only a rapid rustling of sheets. "Is there a breach with the Singapore deal?"
"There is a breach with the Daily Mail," Harry snapped, his eyes locked on the dark rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling window. "They have published unauthorized photographs and defamatory claims regarding my private life. I want a strategy, and I want it executed before the London Stock Exchange opens."
There was a brief pause on the line as David processed the directive.
"We are on our way," David said.
"Twenty minutes," Harry ordered. "Use the side entrance. Do not ring the bell. She is sleeping."
He hung up.
For the next twenty minutes, Harry stood in the dark. He looked like an apex predator pacing a very expensive, very dark cage.
At 2:32 AM, the heavy doors to the study opened.
David, a ruthless fifty-year-old corporate lawyer in a hastily thrown-on trench coat, stepped into the room. Right behind him was Marcus, Vanguard’s slick, perpetually stressed Head of Public Relations, clutching a sleek tablet.
They stepped into the study and stopped.
The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. Harry was standing behind the mahogany desk, swallowed by the shadows. The amber light caught the sharp angle of his jaw and the cold, dead green of his eyes. He radiated an absolute, terrifying authority. He didn't look like a man dealing with a PR hiccup; he looked like a man preparing to burn a city to the ground.
"Close the doors," Harry commanded softly.
David pulled the heavy oak doors shut, sealing them in.
"Sir," Marcus started, his voice a little breathless as he stepped forward into the ring of light. "I’ve pulled the digital circulation numbers. The article went live an hour ago. It’s already trending across three platforms. The headline is—"
"I know what the headline is," Harry interrupted, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
He reached out and snatched the tablet from Marcus’s hand. He laid it flat on the mahogany desk, the screen glowing aggressively in the dark room.
*VANGUARD CEO’S 22-YEAR-OLD PLAYTHING.*Billionaire Harry Styles spotted locking lips with mystery brunette outside Serpentine Gala.
Harry stared at the high-definition photograph of his own hands gripping Y/N's waist. He felt a violent surge of protectiveness claw at his chest, but he forced it down, locking it behind the ice.
"Here is what is going to happen," Harry said, looking up at his two highest-paid fixers. He didn't offer them a seat. He didn't offer them a drink.
"David. I want a cease-and-desist on the desk of their editor-in-chief by 6:00 AM. I want you to threaten them with a defamation lawsuit so massive it makes their legal department bleed. They are implying she is a prostitute. Find the libel."
"Harry, they didn't use the word prostitute," David cautioned gently, stepping into his role as counsel. "They used 'Sugar Baby' and 'Plaything.' It's tabloid vernacular. Proving financial damages for libel on a gossip piece—"
"I don't care if you have to invent a law, David," Harry hissed, leaning forward, planting his large hands flat on the desk. The sheer force of his presence made the older lawyer take a half-step back. "I pay you three million pounds a year to find the leverage. Find it. I want that article retracted, and I want a public apology issued to her."
David swallowed hard and nodded. "Understood. I'll wake the litigation team."
Harry turned his lethal gaze to Marcus.
"Marcus. I want the name of the photographer who sold this. I want to know who processed the payment at the paper. And then I want you to buy the exclusive rights to every other photograph taken on that driveway tonight and bury them in a vault."
"I'm already tracking the freelancer, sir," Marcus said quickly, tapping on his phone. "But we have a secondary issue. The board."
Harry’s eyes narrowed. "What about them?"
"Lord Henderson," Marcus said carefully. "Word is already circling that there was an... altercation... inside the gallery before the photos were taken. The board won't like the optics of you threatening a Lord over a girl they think is a temporary distraction. It implies instability. We need to issue a statement distancing Vanguard from this."
Harry went perfectly, terrifyingly still.
The silence in the dark study stretched so tight it felt like it might snap and take someone's head off.
"A temporary distraction," Harry repeated softly.
He slowly stood to his full height. He walked around the edge of the mahogany desk, stepping directly into Marcus's personal space. Marcus froze, suddenly very aware that the man in front of him wasn't just a CEO; he was a man who grew up with nothing and fought his way to the top.
"You will draft a statement, Marcus," Harry said, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoed in the cavernous room. "But it will not distance me. You will confirm the relationship. You will state that Y/N is my partner. And you will make it abundantly clear that anyone who disrespects her, disrespects me, and by extension, Vanguard Holdings."
Marcus blanched. "Sir, the shareholders—"
"If the shareholders have a problem with the woman I intend to spend my life with, they can sell their stock," Harry stated, the finality in his voice absolute.
He turned his back on them, walking over to the window, looking out at the dark city he owned a sizable piece of.
"She just graduated uni, Marcus. She lives in Hackney. Tomorrow, the press is going to figure out her name. They are going to swarm her flat. I want a private security detail dispatched to her address immediately. Two cars. Four men. No one gets near her roommates, no one knocks on her door."
Harry looked at his reflection in the glass, his jaw set in stone.
"Make the calls," Harry ordered his men. "I want a wall built around her before the sun comes up. Dismissed."
At 8:45 AM, the heavy brass knocker on the front door echoed through the silent townhouse.
Y/N was sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of black coffee she couldn’t stomach. She was wearing her own jeans and a simple sweater, having discarded the gala dress and Harry's t-shirt. Her stomach was tied in agonizing knots.
Harry was standing by the stove. He had been up all night. He was wearing dark trousers and a navy cashmere sweater. An outfit chosen deliberately to look respectful but not overly corporate. He looked tired, but the lethal energy from the night before was still vibrating beneath the surface.
"They're here," Y/N breathed, her hands shaking around the mug.
"I've got it," Harry said calmly.
He walked down the cavernous, black-and-white marble hallway and pulled the heavy door open.
Standing on the front step were Y/N’s parents. They looked exhausted, soaked from the London drizzle, and completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the Kensington neighborhood. But the moment Y/N’s father locked eyes with Harry, the intimidation vanished, replaced entirely by working-class, protective fury.
"Mr. Y/L/N," Harry said, his voice polite and steady. "Mrs. Y/L/N. Please, come in out of the rain."
Her father didn't step inside immediately. He looked at Harry. A man only a few years younger than himself, standing in a house that cost more than their entire hometown and his jaw locked.
"Where is she?" her father demanded.
"Dad!" Y/N called out, rushing down the hallway.
"Y/N!" Her mother pushed past Harry, wrapping her arms around her daughter in a crushing hug. "Oh, thank God. Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Do you have your things packed?"
"Mum, I'm fine," Y/N promised, hugging her back tightly. "I'm not packing anything because I am not going anywhere"
Her father stepped over the threshold, his wet boots squeaking on the immaculate marble. He ignored the grandeur of the house completely. He marched straight up to Harry.
"I don't care how much money you have," her father growled, his finger jabbing into Harry's chest. "You don't buy my daughter. You don't put her in the papers like some... some cheap piece of tail. We are taking her home."
Harry didn't flinch. He didn't look down at the finger jabbing his cashmere sweater. He held her father's furious gaze with absolute, unyielding calm.
"I understand your anger," Harry said, his voice low. "But you are not taking her anywhere until we sit down and talk. As I promised on the phone."
"I have nothing to say to a man who uses girls half his age for sport," her father spat.
"Dad, stop it!" Y/N stepped between them, her heart hammering. "You don't know him. You don't know anything about us. Please, just come into the living room."
It took ten minutes to get them to sit down. The massive, minimalist living room only seemed to make her parents more uncomfortable. They sat uncomfortably on the edge of the white sofa. Harry sat in the armchair opposite them, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn't offer them tea or coffee. He knew they wouldn't take it.
"The article is a lie," Harry started, addressing her father directly. "The tabloids thrive on taking a photograph out of context and attaching the most scandalous narrative possible. I have already initiated legal action against the Daily Mail. By noon, the article will be retracted, and a public apology will be issued."
"An apology doesn't fix her reputation," her mother said, her voice shaking. "They called her a Sugar Baby. They said you're paying for her."
Harry went perfectly still.
Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. Technically, the papers were right about the origin of their relationship. The £15,000 allowance. The tuition. If Harry admitted to the contract now, her parents would drag her out of the house by her hair.
"I am a wealthy man, Mrs. Y/L/N," Harry said smoothly, not breaking eye contact. "And when you are in my tax bracket, the press assumes every relationship is transactional. It is a cynical, ugly world. But it is not the truth of our relationship."
"Then what is the truth?" her father demanded. "You're forty-five. She's twenty-two. What do you possibly have in common with a university student?"
"A great deal, actually," Harry replied. The cold CEO mask completely melted away, leaving something fiercely sincere in its place. "She is brilliant. When I am dealing with numbers and corporate sharks all day, she is the one who grounds me. She challenges me. We debate modern literature over breakfast. She doesn't care about the bank, or the cars, or this house. She cares about me."
Her parents stared at him, momentarily stunned by the raw honesty in his voice.
"It started..." Harry paused, looking at Y/N for a split second, silently asking for her trust. "It started unconventionally. I admit that. I am a man who likes control. I tried to keep her at arm's length. I tried to treat her like a temporary fixture in my life because I was terrified of what she made me feel."
Y/N’s breath hitched. He had never admitted that out loud. Not even to her.
"But I failed," Harry continued, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his green eyes locked onto her father's. "I failed completely. Because your daughter is the best thing that has ever happened to me."
Her father swallowed hard, some of the fight draining out of his posture. "She's just a girl. She hasn't even started her life yet. You've already lived half of yours. If you get bored of her..."
"I will never get bored of her," Harry stated, the absolute finality in his tone echoing in the quiet room. "I’ve cancelled business trips just to sit in this room and watch her type on a typewriter. I fired a member of my own board this morning because they suggested I distance myself from her to protect my stock price."
Her mother gasped softly. "You did what?"
"I am not hiding her," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "I am not ashamed of her. And I am not going to let her go. I love her."
The words dropped like an oath in the quiet room.
Y/N stopped breathing. Her heart slammed against her ribs. I love her. He hadn't just implied it. He had said it. Out loud. To her father.
Harry finally looked away from her parents and looked at Y/N. The vulnerability in his eyes was staggering. He was handing her the weapon that could destroy him, entirely trusting her not to use it.
"I know I am not the man you pictured for your daughter," Harry said quietly, turning back to her father. "I know the age gap is a shock. But I can promise you this: I will protect her. I will support her. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure she never wants for anything. Not just financially, but emotionally. She is my other half."
Silence stretched over the living room.
Her father looked at Harry. He looked at the heavy, exhausted lines around the billionaire's eyes. He looked at the way Harry's hands were clenched tightly together, bracing for a rejection he clearly feared.
Then, her father looked at Y/N.
"Is this what you want, Y/N?" her father asked, his voice finally losing its hard edge. "Truly?"
Y/N looked at Harry. She thought about the contract that was currently gathering dust in a drawer. She thought about the terrifying, ruthless man who had just laid his soul bare in front of two strangers just to keep her.
"Yes, Dad," she said, her voice strong and clear. "He's the only thing I want."
Her father let out a long, heavy sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly very tired.
"Alright," her father muttered, leaning back into the sofa. "Alright. But if you ever make her cry, Styles... I don't care how many lawyers you have. I'll take a cricket bat to your knees."
A slow, genuine smile broke across Harry's face, his dimple popping.
"I would expect nothing less, sir."
The tension in the living room hadn't vanished entirely, but Arthur's cricket bat threat had punctured the heavy, suffocating pressure.
Harry, looking lighter than he had all morning, ushered them into the massive kitchen. He didn't summon a chef; instead, he rolled his sleeves up, pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge, and started cooking. Her parents sat at the marble island, watching in stunned silence as he expertly flipped an omelet while pouring them coffee.
Y/N sat between her parents, her hands wrapped around a mug, finally feeling the adrenaline crash.
"I know this is a lot," Y/N said softly, looking at her mother. "But I’m not throwing my life away, Mum. I promise. Actually... I got a job."
Her mother’s eyes widened with immediate, genuine pride. "Oh, Y/N! A real publishing job?"
"Yes," Y/N beamed. "Editorial assistant. I start next month."
The moment of celebration was cut short by a soft chime from the private elevator. Y/N's phone buzzed simultaneously with a text from JOSH.
Y/N? Some guys in suits were here. They said they're with Styles? They were packing your room.
Y/N froze, her heart skipping. "Harry?"
The elevator doors slid open. Two of Harry’s security detail stepped out, but they weren't alone. They were carrying, battered cardboard boxes from her Hackney flat. Behind them, a third man carried the black garbage bag of her clothes and, most importantly, her mint-green typewriter.
"What is this?" Arthur demanded, standing up as the men began to neatly stack the boxes in the hallway. "Is that her stuff?"
Harry set the coffee pot down and turned to face them, his expression calm but absolute.
"I took the liberty of sending a team to Hackney an hour ago," Harry said, his voice steady as he looked Arthur in the eye. "The paparazzi found the address. There was already a crowd forming on the front steps. I couldn't risk Y/N—or her roommate—being trapped there."
"You just... took her things?" her mother whispered, looking at the boxes.
"I had my team pack," Harry explained. He stepped closer to the island, his gaze shifting to Y/N. "I didn't want you going back there, Y/N. Not with the press waiting. It isn't safe for you to be that far away”.
The implication hung heavy in the room: she wasn't just visiting anymore. He had effectively moved her in without a single suitcase being packed by her own hands.
"You're very efficient, Styles," Arthur noted, his voice low. He looked at the boxes, then back at Harry. He saw the way Harry’s hand was resting on the counter, ready to reach for Y/N if she showed even a hint of discomfort.
"In my world, Arthur, speed is the only way to ensure safety," Harry replied.
Harry walked over to the stack of boxes. He reached down and picked up the mint-green typewriter, carrying it over and placing it carefully on the marble island in front of Y/N.
"Josh is fine. The team made sure he got out of the house safely" Harry told her, his thumb brushing the top of the machine. "He’s safe. And your things are here."
Y/N looked at the typewriter—the gift he had given her before graduating. She looked at her parents, who were seeing, for the first time, the sheer scale of Harry's protective reach. He hadn't asked for permission because, in his mind, her safety wasn't up for debate.
Arthur let out a long, heavy sigh. He looked at the expensive marble, the security team, and then at the rumpled, protective billionaire who had personally cooked him breakfast.
"You don't do anything halfway, do you?" Arthur asked.
"Never," Harry said firmly.
Arthur leaned back, the last of his aggressive posture fading. He looked at the way Harry's arm moved instinctively to shield Y/N as the security team finished the delivery.
"Alright," Arthur muttered. "You've got her. For now. But I expect to hear from her every single day."
Harry offered a sharp, respectful nod. "You have my word."
Arthur looked at the coffee Harry had poured him. "Right then. Pass the salt, Harry."
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summary: you go on ELLE Magazine’s ‘phoning it in’ segment to prank call some of your friends, but how does harry, your fiancée, react to you prank calling him?
pairing: current!harrystyles x fem!reader
a/n: i literally wrote this in like an hour so it might suck BUT i needed to bring this to life! i loooove phoning it in, so i was cheesing the entire time i wrote this omg. lmk yalls thoughts and if anyone has ideas lmk🫰🥹
word count: 1.8k
the lights are bright on Elle Magazine’s “Phoning it in” set.
there’s faint music playing from an overhead speaker that drowns out the sound of the hum from the lights and shoes squeaking against the shiny floor every once in a while.
you’re currently sat on the little white seat your friends have sat in as your hair and makeup team give you some last minute touch ups in between the phone calls.
as you sit there, you open instagram to watch videos of harry’s opening night in wembley stadium, biting the tip of your pastel colored nail when you see his outfit, before eventually closing out of the app and going back to being present in the moment with the rest of the crew.
when you set your phone down, you giggle at your friend’s reactions to your prank calling
the energy on set is great.
everyone’s been so sweet to you ever since you walked into the large studio, and you can tell everyone genuinely loves working here.
there’s girls talking and looking at what’s probably a schedule on an ipad, the camera operator making small adjustments, your assistant silently keeping an eye out to make sure everything runs smoothly, and other staff that just want to see the prank calls unravel.
you’ve fallen victim to being prank called by some of your friends before, so you were very excited to be doing the pranks and finally not getting the burnt end of the stick.
so far, you’ve called suki waterhouse, asking if you can go grocery shopping in her fridge since you left your wallet at home and need food for a party you’re hosting, charli xcx, asking for tips as you want to seriously start a DJ career,
though charli saw through your shit immediately.
“babe you’ve never been into djing like that, why are you being weird? are you doing that damn elle prank call thing?”
your manager, saying that you want to quit acting, rachel sennot, saying that you hit her costar josh hutcherson with your car while trying to make a U-Turn, and now you’re about to call harry.
you and harry got engaged 4 months ago, after having been together since 2022, you both decided the time was right, despite his tour lasting for the rest of the year. unfortunate for you, since you miss him.
but! you’re due to join him in the next few days, so you’re just finishing up some last minute interviews here in LA as promo for your most recent project. after this, your schedule is completely free to see harry on tour until december.
harry knows you’re here, because you mistakenly told him a few nights ago, so you really need to focus and put your acting skills to use.
that oscar nomination last award show season wasn’t for nothing
that’s why, you’re flipping through the small notebook filled with potential pranks trying to find the perfect prank to pull on him. if you say something too big, he’s not going to believe it, but you also want a reaction out of him.
ask him to join love island with you?
no
tell him you crashed your car and now you’re hanging off a cliff?
waaay to extreme
ask him if you can collab with him on a song?…
we all know harry doesn’t do collabs.
ever.
so, when you show it to your team, and when they all start giggling, imagining harry’s reaction and knowing damn well you can’t sing, you know that’s the one.
your eyes drift towards the time in the top left corner of your phone
2:19 pm LA time
so it’s 10:19 pm for harry in london, you think, quickly thinking of the time difference and circumstance
“wait but he just got off stage not too long ago. should i still call?”
your team is walking back to stand behind the camera while you glance around at the people on set asking for their opinion as you trace your tongue along your gums.
you really don’t want to wake him if he’s asleep, but you reeeally want to prank him.
“your call, but it should be fine” you hear your assistant say as she stands off to the side. she’s heard you talk about harry’s schedule so much that she basically has it memorized.
“mmmm, okay” you say to yourself as you think, blotting your lipstick, moving your hair forward, and adjusting your rings as you wait for your queue.
as you wait, you’re smiling and giggling in your seat under the warm lighting like a schoolgirl with a secret as you think of harry’s reaction.
someone behind the camera gives you a countdown and thumbs up after a few minutes, your queue to start, and you immediately put your “customer service” voice, as you call it, on.
“okay so next, i think i’m going to call my fiancée… if he answers ” you say smiling softly to yourself as you unlock your phone. (you take every chance you get to refer to him as your “fiancée”)
you sit there, letting it ring on speaker, expecting to hear, a “hi darling” or a “hi angel” but instead, all you hear is an automated “the mailbox is full and cannot except messages at this time.”
your jaw drops and everyone starts laughing
“guys cut that that’s so embarrassing.”
but you don’t mean it, hell, you’re laughing too
“oh my gosh i can already hear twitter with their ‘he didn’t answer because it’s PR’ bullshit”
it’s inevitable, so can anyone really blame you when your eyes roll and you shake your head with a small smile?
everyone’s giggling, and when you go to text him, your phone buzzes as your contact for harry pops up at the top of the screen, waiting for you to decline or accept his call back.
“he’s calling he’s calling”
the words spill out quickly, like they always do when you get nervous, and you can’t contain the large smile forming on your lips and the laugh coming from your mouth.
everyone immediately quiet’s down and you clear your throat before answering on speaker
“hi baby”
your voice is calm and cool, hiding the fact that you’re 5 seconds away from laughing and ruining the prank
“hi darling, i’m so sorry, i was in the shower. you alright?”
your heart actually melts like an ice cream on a hot day
while looking at the crew, you put a hand on your heart and mouth “aww”
“no baby i’m fine, how was the show? i saw videos, and oh my gosh. 1, you were fantastic, and 2, never stop wearing those sunglasses. you were giving very george michael vibes”
you hear him laugh softly
that laugh that makes you feel like you’re on your guys’ first date again, and it’s very obviously sleepy, but still pushing through to talk to you.
“thank you darling, lambert did good eh? but no, it was great. mum and gem were there, the crowd had fun, and the fireworks went well, thank goodness. i can’t wait to do it again tomorrow”
he exhales softly in relief that it went smoothly, and you can picture him in your head. lights off except for the lamp next to him, his phone laying on the pillow so he doesn’t have to hold it up, and him buried under the hotel duvet
you slump back in your seat, muting yourself before telling everyone
“fuck i love him”
after a second, you sit up and quickly unmute, fidgeting with your necklace
“awww baby that’s so fun, i’m so proud of you. i’m buzzing i can’t wait to go”
you’re smiling so hard that you’re pretty positive that harry can hear it in your voice too
“thank you darling. but what’s up? it’s almost half passed 2 isn’t it? how was elle?”
ever attentive, always asking about you
“elle went good, im home now.”
lie
“but im laying here thinking, and baby i had the best idea ever. like you’re not ready. are you ready? are you listening? oh my gosh wait no pun intended”
you quickly go on mute to laugh freely, and when you do you hear harry laugh at your joke and slightly hesitate,
“go on…what is it?”
he’s definitely more awake now
you unmute and smile
“okay, hear me out. what if we collab on a song together. like just write me a verse, or ill write it im not picky, and it’ll be song of the summer”
the line is quiet
so quiet, in fact, that you have to check that your wifi didn’t go out
“harry? you there?”
“no, no i’m here”
“sooo? what do you think? good idea, right?”
and you know why harry’s hesitating. without sugar coating anything…your voice isn’t the best. but you love to sing.
you sing in the car, in the shower, while making dinner, and even while walking around the house.
you’ve tried to get harry to teach you how to at least hold a note, bless him, but you’re a lost cause
“mmhmm! it’s a great idea darling” he finally sputters out after a minute
“baby….. are you lying?”
the teasing offense in your voice is thick
“no! what? of course not”
“then why is your voice so high? you act like i don’t know you”
you hear rustling, like he’s sitting up in bed
“can i ask what sparked this idea?”
the way he asks is almost as if he’s physically scratching his head as he says it
and you have to take a breath to not laugh
“i don’t know, i just thought it’d be fun. don’t you?”
“no it would..”
“but…?”
“darling are you sure?”
“harry, this would literally go triple platinum”
quickly, you go on mute as harry tries to find his words. trying really hard not to call you a bad singer
you hear him sigh softly, so you unmute before he finally responds
“i mean if you really want to i can call tom and ask to set something up. but darling, are you sure?”
when he asks if your sure for what feels like the 10th time,
you lose it.
you bust out laughing and so does the crew
“oh fuck off” you hear him mumble behind a laugh
“baby i love you! this was for elle’s prank call thing” still in a fit of giggles and satisfaction that it was successful
“oh thank goodness”
his words come out so quickly you barely catch them. which only adds fuel to your laugh
“baby!”
“darling, i love you so much, but…”
“no i know i can’t sing. but you were so cute! look at you, willing to make my dreams come true at the expense of your music catalog!”
“you’re worth more than any music catalog, my love”
you sigh happily, a flush creeping up on your cheeks
“baby i’m on camera” you whine in faux annoyance
“i love you”
“i love you most”
you smile softly, and before you say bye you remember that you were instructed to ask for permission for elle to use his voice
“oh baby, does elle have permission to use your voice/this phone call for their video?”
you ask, smiling as you bite the tip of your nail
“i mean i guess…”
he mumbles quietly, still laughing softly
“no i’m kidding, go for it”
you hold up a thumbs up and nod at the crew
“thanks superstar, i’ll let you go so you can sleep, no more pranks for today. call me when you wake up, yeah?”
“mmhmm, i will. g’night darling. love you, miss you”
and despite his sleepiness, you can still hear him blow a soft kiss
“sleep good, love and miss you too”
and with that, you hang up.
but not before blowing a kiss back
you put your phone away, do the outro they have scripted for you, and thank the crew on the set.
everyone is thanking you, still laughing here and there and ‘aweing’ over yours and harry’s relationship
when you’re finally walking to your car, bags in hand half an hour later, you check your phone for the first time since calling harry
you expect to see emails, random notifications, or texts from people reminding you to do something
but instead of any of that,
you see a new unread text from harry sent 3 minutes after you called him
| if you really want to make a song together, all jokes aside, we can. just let me know. get home safe, love you always, even despite your lack of vocal. xx
Summary: At Wembley night one, Harry tells the crowd he's too busy for poached eggs. Y/N remembers exactly why.
A/N: I told you I was going to write something extra this week. I was thinking about dropping chapter 5 of Press Play, but then Harry talked about eggs yesterday and I wrote this lol. Feedback is always appreciated. I hope you like this little extra piece :)) btw!! my exam went well!!
Word Count: 747
Warnings:
Suggested smut
The crowd screams around me and I watch him on stage at Wembley. Night one. His very light blue button up hangs open, and underneath there is a top with a bit of yellow showing at the neckline. The colors look good against his skin under the stage lights. He points at someone near the front row.
"What's your question?" He leans down toward the barrier, hand cupped over his ear.
"What's your favourite kind of egg?"
He laughs. That full laugh where his head tips back and his shoulders shake. He brings the microphone back to his mouth. "You know, sometimes there's just some of those gotcha questions, you know." He says, while thinking. "Um, fried egg." He nods once, certain. "And then, close second, scrambled egg."
Another voice yells from somewhere in the crowd. "Poached?"
"No." He says it flat and firm. Another fan calls out, asking why not. "How much time do you got?" He shakes his head, his curls falling across his forehead. "I'm not in the morning poaching eggs? I'm a busy man."
The audience erupts. Screaming and laughing all mixed together. I stand in the back of the circle pit and feel my face get warm. My stomach does something tight and complicated.
I think about that morning three weeks ago. His kitchen in London. Sunlight coming through the big windows and landing on the countertop. The smell of butter heating in the pan.
He stood at the stove with no shirt on. Just his grey sweatpants, sitting low on his hips. The waistband loose and the string hanging down. I sat on the counter next to him with my legs swinging over the edge. I was wearing his tshirt from the night before and nothing else. I kept stealing pieces of toast from the plate he had set out.
He cracked two eggs into the pan. They sizzled loud when they hit the hot butter. The whites spread out and went opaque, the edges starting to bubble and crisp up the way he always lets them.
"It's nice," I said. I picked up another piece of toast and bit into it. "That they're always so quickly done."
He flipped the spatula under one egg and turned it over in one quick motion. The yolk stayed intact inside, still soft. He glanced at me sideways. "Because I want to be busy with something else."
My hand paused with the toast halfway to my mouth. "Something else?"
He took the pan off the heat and slid both eggs onto a plate. He set the plate on the counter behind him. Then he turned and stepped between my knees. His hands went to my thighs, his palms warm from being near the stove. His fingers pressed into my skin.
"You." He kissed my neck, just below my ear. "Always you."
I put the toast down on the counter. My hands went to his bare shoulders and I pulled him closer. He kissed along my collarbone, his mouth warm and soft. His hands slid higher on my thighs.
"The eggs will get cold," I said. My voice was barely there.
"Let them." He kissed my jaw. His hands gripped my hips and pulled me to the edge of the counter. I wrapped my legs around him and felt him hard against me through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.
I tugged at his hair and he made a low sound in his throat. He lifted me off the counter and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He carried me down the hallway to the bedroom with my legs still locked around him.
We didn't eat the eggs for another hour. By then they were cold and the toast was stale and neither of us cared at all.
Now I watch him on stage at Wembley. He grins at the crowd and moves on to the next question, easy and bright. He doesn't know I'm standing right here in the pit. He doesn't know I'm thinking about that morning and his hands on my thighs and the way he said always.
But later tonight, when we are back at the hotel and he walks out of the bathroom with wet hair and asks what I want for breakfast tomorrow, I am going to say fried eggs. I am going to say it slow and watch his face change when he remembers too. And then maybe we won't get around to eating those eggs either.
AN: i started this back in march, but when i lost motivation to finish it and it was getting closer to june, i told myself i'd finish it and post it during pride month. i already have a daughter comes out story, so i wanted to switch it up and do it with a son. i hope you enjoy. happy pride everyone. especially to the ones who can't outwardly celebrate it, like myself unfortunately.
This story contains: crying, mentions of homophobia, acceptance, loving parents
{ dad!harry - husbandrry - soft!harry - au!harry - son is 16 yrs old }
word count- 1,119
After a negative reaction to coming out at school, your son Jax decides to come out as bi to Harry first, and than later that night, to you.
"Hey dad, can I ask you something?" your son Jax nervously questions as he walks into the kitchen where Harry was at the stove cooking dinner.
Harry turns away from the pot he was string to give your son his full attention. "You know you can always ask me anythin', mate. What's up?"
Jax steps further into the kitchen and that's when Harry notices how nervous his son is acting. His hands behind his back, nervously twisting his body side to side. He doesn't point it out though, waiting to see if Jax explains his behavior through his question.
Jax takes a deep breath before asking, "Um, I just wanted to know, um, bisexual people exist, right?"
Knowing how anxious Jax is, Harry doesn't laugh or make a snide remark at his unusual question. He keeps a straight face and answers matter-of-factly, "Well yes, they in fact do exist. Very real. Why'r you askin'?"
"Um," Jax stutters, and unlike the last time he spoke, now Harry can hear the emotions in his voice, as if he's about to cry.
"Hey," Harry turns the stove burner off and steps over to his son, embracing him in a hug. "It's okay. Just want to know why you're askin' so I know how to comfort you. Can tell you're very anxious right now."
Jax accepts the hug and continues speaking, this time into his dads shoulder. "Today at school, I kinda told a girl I fancy that I think I'm bisexual and she started laughing and saying bisexual people aren't real and it's made up."
Well, Harry wasn't expecting his son to casually come out to him like that, but is very happy he did. Just sad about the circumstances around it. Tightening the hug, Harry coos softly, "So you're bi?"
Nodding against his dads shoulder, he replies with a little sob coming out as well. "Yeah."
"Jax baby, don't cry. You'll make me cry. Why'r upset? That's great news. Thank you for tellin' me. Does mum know?"
"You're the first person I've told besides that girl at school. Should have never told her. She'll never like me now."
"That's her loss, mate. Not everyone is as accepting as our family is. You don't need to even be friends with someone who laughs or judges you for coming out." Harry pulls away from the hug slightly and gives Jax a warm smile. "When do you feel comfortable coming out to mum? I would never share that with anyone, not even her. That's your place to tell her."
Jax wipes away his dried tears and answers, "I think I will tonight, when the littles go to bed. Not that I mind my siblings knowing, it's just, they're gonna ask me a million questions and I don't feel like explaining it to them right now."
Harry smiles again and begins walking back over to the stove to continue dinner. "That's fine, Jax. Whatever you're comfortable with. Just know that I appreciate you coming out to me and know that your sexuality is valid and real. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."
--------------------------------------
After Jax's eight year old sister and five year old brother was in bed for the night, he walks up to his parents room and knocks on the door. "Come in." you reply from your position on the bed. You knew both Harry and your son Jax had been acting weird through-out the evening, but you couldn't place the reasoning. Maybe he's come to explain himself.
He steps inside your bedroom and quietly shuts the door behind himself, before making his way over to the bed. "Mum, I have something to tell you." Hearing your sixteen year old son say that sentence puts a million different thoughts into your head. Some good and some not so good.
"What is it, sweetie?" you ask gently.
Jax sits at the foot of the bed, on your side, and takes a deep breath before sharing, "I just wanted to tell you that I'm bisexual. I told dad earlier, so he already knows."
Your face lights up in a big smile. You want to tell him that he didn't have to have an official coming out to you because it should be normalized to be with whoever you want to be with, but you know it's a big deal to him. He's probably been nervous and overthinking this moment for however long and you want to take the time to show your appreciation.
You quickly slip out of the covers and crawl over to him. "Baby, that's great. I'm so proud of you. How long have you known for?" Unlike coming out to Harry a few hours prior, this coming out is less emotional. Probably due to Jax leaving out the incident that happened at school.
"Um, well I knew I fancied girls since I was little. Then around puberty I started realizing that getting butterflies when a cute boy chatted to me or was just around me wasn't what most other guys felt. That's when it dawned on me that I also fancied guys." While continuing to hug Jax, you look over your shoulder and smile at Harry. Harry returns your smile with an even bigger smile, really emphasizing how proud he is of your son.
You disconnect from the hug and say gently, "Me and dad love you very much. Thank you so much for telling us. Does your brother and sister know?"
"Not yet, and its not that they're too young to learn about sexuality, but I guess I just don't feel the need to share that with them right now. If I ever come home with a boyfriend, they may have questions and I'll be happy to answer their questions then." Jax explains with a similar reason as to what he gave Harry earlier.
You nod, "That's fine, honey. Only come out to them or anyone for that matter when you feel the time is right. But know to never be ashamed of your bisexuality. Embrace it, okay. Now go get some sleep. I can see you're tired."
Jax gets off the bed and heads out the bedroom door, but not before saying "Love you." and both you and Harry reply back with a, "We love you too."
--------------------------------------
Harry normally hates keeping things from you, but the incident that happened with Jax at school today will be one of them. He knows you'll get all upset that someone was rude to your son, which is very reasonable because he also got upset, but would rather you not have the added stress of worrying about your son. If Jax wants to eventually tell you what happened, he'll do so on his own time.
(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)
(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! some people who've requested to be added doesn't allow me to @ you. please check your settings first.)
This week I officially finished my last exam, and luckily, it went pretty okay. That means I only have one final step left before graduation: presenting my thesis. It feels a little unreal to be so close to the end of my academic journey, and I’m definitely feeling a mix of relief, tiredness, excitement, and nerves. This week was still quite busy, but knowing that I’m almost done makes everything feel a little lighter. I’m really looking forward to having more time and energy to write again and to focus more consistently on Tumblr, Patreon, and Wattpad.
Housekeeping Notes
📌 Requests? OPEN! Please feel free to ask away. Send me your soft thoughts, your filthy thoughts, your angsty little ideas, your “what if Harry did this?” moments. My inbox is open!!
📌 Commissions? OPEN! Something fun is coming next week! I’m not saying too much yet, but just know there is a little something-something on the way. A tiny surprise. A little treat. A sparkly writer goblin plan.
What I posted this week!
The Rules We Break | Chapter One: Welcome to Westbridge University, where reputations are fragile, parties are dangerous, and one impulsive kiss can make your life very, very complicated. Chapter one is officially here, and I am so excited that you finally get to meet this world properly.
Fried Eggs: At Wembley night one, Harry tells the crowd he’s too busy for poached eggs. Y/N remembers exactly why.
What happened this week?
I’m so, so excited that this series is finally out in the world. Chapter one introduced you to Westbridge University, Y/N’s, and I already can’t wait to share more.
Because chapter two? Chapter two is where things really begin. There’s more plot, more tension, more campus chaos, and, most importantly, the kiss that starts it all. The very surprising, very good kiss that Y/N definitely did not plan for and absolutely does not know how to deal with afterward.
I’m honestly so happy this story has officially started, and I cannot wait for you to see where it goes next. ;)
What’s coming next week?
I would love your help deciding what to post next. I originally planned to post Chapter 5 of Office Hours. At the same time, Chapter 2 of The Rules We Break is also coming together really well, and I’m excited to continue Y/N and Harry’s story at Westbridge University. Chapter 5 of Press Play is also almost finished, so that is another option for next week.
Because all three are possible, I’m letting you vote below.
What would you like to read next?
Office Hours | Chapter Five
The Rules We Break | Chapter Two
Press Play | Chapter Five
Voting ended onJun 15
As always, thank you for being here. Also, please never be shy to leave feedback, even if it’s just a tiny comment, a favorite line, a little keyboard smash, or telling me which character made you want to throw your phone across the room. It genuinely helps me so much, not only because it makes my day, but also because it tells me what you’re enjoying and what you want to see more of.
All you had to do was pass history. Nobody said anything about keeping your hands to yourself.
Word count: 11k
Authors note ✉️: okay so this is my take on nerd!harry and I want to be clear that I didn’t want to lean too hard into the stereotype. He’s not awkward or socially clueless, he’s just incredibly smart
Warnings: SMUT
The test came back face-down.
That was never a good sign. Professor Aldridge always handed back the good ones face-up, like she wanted you to see the grade before you’d even touched the paper, wanted you to feel good about it in front of everyone. Face-down meant she was giving you a private moment with your disappointment.
You flipped it over.
Sixty-one.
You stared at it long enough that the number stopped looking like a number and started looking like a shape, red ink pressed into the top right corner of the page like a brand. Around you, the shuffle of papers and the low murmur of other students reacting to their own grades filled the lecture hall, but it sounded far away. Sixty-one. You needed a seventy to pass the class. You were four weeks from the midterm.
You tucked the test under your notebook before anyone could see it.
Professor Aldridge dismissed the class at five past, and you were already reaching for your bag when her voice cut through the noise.
“Miss y/n?” She was looking directly at you. “Would you mind staying back a moment?”
The last few students filtered out. You made your way down to the front of the room, test in hand, and stood in front of her desk feeling very much like you were sixteen and not nineteen.
Professor Aldridge was not an unkind woman. She had sharp eyes behind square-framed glasses and a habit of pausing for a long time before she spoke, like she was choosing her words carefully. She looked at you now the way she always looked at things she was trying to understand.
“This is your second exam under a seventy,” she said, not accusatory, just factual. She folded her hands on top of her desk. “I want to talk about what’s happening.”
“I know the material,” you said, and then immediately felt how defensive it sounded. “I mean, I think I do. And then I get in here and it just.”
“Doesn’t translate.”
“Yeah.”
She nodded slowly. “That tells me the issue isn’t comprehension. It’s retention and application under pressure.” She slid a printed sheet across the desk. “I want you to look at the tutoring resources the department has available. There are a few graduate students who take appointments, and the writing center can help if your essay responses are where you’re losing points.” She tapped the paper. “Which they are.”
You picked it up. There were three names listed, email addresses beside each one, and a note at the bottom about the campus library hosting drop-in study hours on Thursdays.
“I don’t want to see you fail this class,” Professor Aldridge said. “You clearly have an interest in the subject. Your participation is good. But interest alone won’t get you through the midterm.”
“I know.” You folded the paper in half. “I’ll reach out.”
“Good.” She gave you a small, decisive nod that meant the conversation was over. “Office hours are Tuesdays if you need me.”
You thanked her and walked out into the hallway, blinking against the fluorescent light. The paper felt heavier than it should have in your hand.
want to read the rest? Check it out in my free Patreon!
Well.... i've finally finished this chapter and wow i hope you guys like this one i really went and tried to make this the best i could for everyone that's still here reading this.
I hope i did ok. please let me know what you guys think id love to know.
I follow behind as Rosie guides harry around the park giving him a lecture of how good she is on each piece of equipment.
The minute she saw and ran up to him it was like she had seen someone that had been away for a while , like he wasn't just a stranger that entered her life.
" I go high" She gestures to the sky pulling him over to the swings
"Do you?"
Rosie tugs him over
"Can you push?"
She climbs onto the swing ready for him to help.
I walk over to the swing with harry watching him stand behind , He pulls the swing back careful not to do too much and gives a light push continuously as it soared higher and higher.
He made sure not to do too much for fear of frightening her.
Her little giggles were felt throughout the playground and we both smiled seeing her so happy. My shoulders relax and i feel i don't need to worry anymore.
After a few more swings and she shook her legs frantically signalling that she wanted to get off
Rosie jumps around exited, her face lights up as she pulls harry all over the playground.
The slide
The sea saw
The jungle gym
At one point he bent down to tie her shoes , she leans forward resting her body on top of his like kids do.
She looks happy that there is someone new willing to listen understand and play with her and harry seems happy to do whatever he can to understand her.
She spots a patch of dandelions and lets go of harry's hand kneeling down exited to collect a few.
"She has a lot of energy"
"Yeah hmm' she's always been like this"
Rosie mumbles to herself admiring the butterflies perched a top the flowers.
"Sometimes she withdraws when she meets new people but it seems like she's comfortable around you"
I could feel the way he was watching me with sympathetic eyes
"You raised her well though she's kind, funny ,well spoken just like her mother"
I finally glance over and notice his eyes are glued to her not me. i follow his gaze as Rosie runs down the path following a butterfly as it flew away.
"ROSIE! DONT GO TOO FAR LOVE"
"I just wanted to know where the butterfly home is"
"No honey, stay close"
She skips back over to the flowers
"She's a good listener"
"Yeah, its rough sometimes but eventually she will listen , But you know she's still young so they will misbehave a bit" I smile at her
"Well... shes just like her mother"
The corners of his lips curved into a genuine thoughtful smile , almost as if he was .... proud?
Rosie crouched down beside the flowers, her face scrunched in concentration as she watched the ladybug crawl across her fingertips.
"It tickles," she giggled.
"Be gentle with it," I reminded her.
"I am."
Harry knelt beside her, careful to leave enough space between us.
"It's very brave," he said quietly.
Rosie looked up at him. "The ladybug?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It's very small, but it still goes wherever it wants."
Rosie seemed to think about that before carefully placing it back onto one of the flowers.
For a moment, none of us spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
Just unfamiliar.
"I really didn't think she'd talk to me," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
I glanced over at him.
"Neither did I."
He let out a soft breath
Rosie skipped back over as I helped her into her jacket, her cheeks pink from running around the playground.
"Are we going home now?" she asked.
"We are," I said, zipping up her coat. "It's getting late."
Rosie's shoulders drooped for only a second before she looked over at Harry.
"Okay."
Harry gave her a small smile. "Thanks for showing me around the park."
"You didn't know where anything was," Rosie informed him seriously.
"I know," he said. "Good thing I had an excellent tour guide."
Rosie grinned.
Before either of us could say another word, she threw her arms around his middle.
It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds.
One of those quick, thoughtless hugs children gave without understanding the weight they carried.
But Harry went completely still.
Then, slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around her just long enough to hug her back.
"Bye, Harry," Rosie said as she pulled away. "Next time, I'll show you the really big slide."
He blinked rapidly before clearing his throat.
"I'd like that."
Rosie slipped her hand back into mine as though nothing extraordinary had happened.
As though she hadn't just turned my entire world on its axis with a hug she would probably forget by bedtime.
I looked at Harry.
He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets now, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
For the first time since we'd arrived at the park, I didn't know what frightened me more
the thought of letting him in,
or the possibility that one day I'd have to tell Rosie who he'd been all along.
"Mummy?" Rosie tugged on my hand.
"Hmm?"
"Can we get ice cream?"
I glanced down at her before squeezing her little fingers.
Sorry i made the people wait for this, i was unwell but working on it then there was writers block and then i got better then someone close passed away and that was devastating for us then i came on here and people are being so horrible and AND THEN THEY CAME AFTER ME!!! ( Well i put that on myself so it was my fault TBH lol) But here it is.
Also i am taking requests now if anyone would maybe like to give me ideas on things to write id like to put out different things as best i can i will try. ☺️
But thank you to everyone that has followed this series so far i really appreciate your love for this story and the characters even if it may not be perfect and a little messy at times.
I hope you enjoy this part ❤️☺️
Today was the day…
I got up this morning knowing it would be a heavy day since right now I can’t help but feel a weight on my shoulders.
I never thought of this moment as she was growing up , all i wanted to do was protect her from everything.
The pain
But most of all I realized was trying to keep her from finding out the truth, so she wouldn’t be disappointed in me for keeping it from her,
Rosie Bounced and kicked her legs sitting in a chair as I took a chunk of her hair and tie it into two pigtails on each side of her head.
I stood back and examined it, she jumps of the chair and hurries to grab her jacket.
I Help her into it before zipping mine up grabbing my keys and Rosies hand we step out into the cool breeze of the afternoon sky.
The park we are meeting him at isn't too far from the apartment just a few blocks down across the street.
I swung rosies arm as she skipped beside me singing her favorite song.
We were approaching the park and i am already thinking about the many ways that this meeting could go wrong.
What if They don't get along?
She doesn't like him
or he feels its too much
we should just turn around and go home now , maybe some baking would take her mind off playing at the park.
"Mummy , look its the man from the bakery!"
I look up and there he is , sitting comfortably on the park bench leg crossed over the other and an arm tucked under his shoulder as he scrolls calmly through his phone.
Harry turns around at the sound of her voice and turns his phone off placing it in his pocket.
Before i can stop her she slips her hand from mine and skips ahead across the path stopping in front of him, for a second he looks as nervous as i feel.
"Hey little one , you remember me? "
Harry sinks down to her level to talk to her better. as Rosie rocks back and forth on the heels of her shoes.
She nods enthusiastically
"YES! I didn't know who you are then i saw you and you talked with mummy for a while when auntie took me"
The corners of his mouth curve up and he looks up at me as if about to say she's adorable.
“Mummy said we could play at the park today.”
“Did she?” Harry glances toward the swings before looking back at Rosie. “That sounds pretty important.”
Rosie nods seriously. “I can go really high.”
“I believe you.”
The conversation comes so easily to them that it almost hurts to watch.
I stand there frozen for a moment, staring at the two of them while every terrible thought I had on the walk here circles louder in my head.
What if this changes everything?
What if she gets attached and he lets her down.
What if she doesn’t?
Rosie suddenly reaches for Harry’s hand without thinking, tugging him toward the swings.
“Come on!”
Harry hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to - I can see it all over his face - but because he’s waiting for me. Waiting for permission.
And somehow that makes this even harder.
I'm finally so happy to have this chapter finished i've had so many ideas but they just weren't working out until i felt happy with this one.
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