#so i feel legally obligated to go to their concert tonight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elanorjane · 6 years

Text

California Soulmates: Epilogue

Summary: Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music and get out from under her father’s thumb. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him and get the hell out of L.A. When inspiration strikes, there’s only one problem…the songs they’re writing aren’t their own. They’re each other’s.

*“Telepathic soulmates” RCIJ for @beastlycheese

A/N: THANK YOU @beastlycheese for gifting me with this idea and letting me run with it...and run with it...and run with it some more. It was such a delicious idea I refused to let it go. <3

AO3 link

He missed the smell of cigarette smoke in bars. He’d mostly quit when Bae was young, but in the intervening years, he’d been known to sneak one up on the roof and bury the butt in the planter afterward. He enjoyed the nicotine contact high of being around smokers because it made him feel like it was still 1985 and his career was still in front of him, if only for the length of a song. But gone was the haze over the audience. Now, he saw each and every face crystal clear. He appreciated the vape smoke for aesthetics, but it wasn’t the same. Lately, he was more likely to get a whiff of pot from the tables below, which equally transported him back to his twenties. But honestly, he didn’t need the crutch anymore.

He’d been to enough open mic nights to know that many people squinted in the spotlight when they climbed on stage. Some, unfamiliar with the creaks and groans of an old wooden platform still sticky with decades of spilled beer, even threw up an arm to shield their eyes from the glare but he didn’t. Ancient stage or a slab of concrete in a dark corner, it felt comfortable to him, like home. Tonight, he could feel the heat from the overhead light on his face. He didn’t even need to look to see whether he sat in the center of the rickety stage raised one foot off the ground. He could just feel it.

But Belle winced as the stool she pulled forward scraped against the grain and wobbled a little climbing up. She’d performed in front of more people than he could comprehend, yet in this intimate club, he watched her eyes narrow when the light hit her face. She swiveled self-consciously so she faced him more than the expectant faces two feet away. He knew she was going to be uncomfortable tonight, that this was going to be a stretch for her, but he knew she’d be brilliant. She wiped her palms on her old torn jeans. He knew she chose to wear them here as a sort of armor.

He couldn’t guarantee her fame, he couldn’t give her money, he couldn’t promise her that their life together was always going to be easy, but he could give her nights like this. A safe space to build confidence in her abilities and a venue to workshop her feelings through song.

Sometimes they showed up at an open mic night and wrote together, telepathically, on the spot for fun. It was a rush, being in front of a crowd and not knowing if the next verse was going to appear, but it always did. They throwing out the beginning of an idea, because the other person was always there to finish it.

He’d brought her to this particular venue tonight because it was known for its discerning crowd. If you weren’t good, they’d let you know it with their indifference. It was also close to their old apartment.

Following her Hollywood Bowl performance, Belle had moved in with him and Bae. But it wasn’t long until they’d moved out of the neighborhood, leaving their cramped, bohemian rooftop living behind. They’d bought a modest house just outside the city but still close enough to music venues and nightlife.

Bae was going to a better school now. He fought the transfer at first, but he could still see his friends on the weekends. Unlike his old school, his new school hadn’t defunded the music program. Since he didn’t want to be in the school chorus, he’d landed in band. They’d given him his choice of instruments, they were even progressive enough to include electric guitar. But he refused to play the same instrument as his father. After trying out all they had to offer Bae discovered his new love - the trumpet. On any given night an obnoxious blaring reverberated through the house. Since Bae spent his entire life keeping it down for the neighbors, Gold couldn’t bring himself to tell him to knock it off, and being anything but wholly supportive was outside Belle’s capabilities. Gold found himself playing a lot of Miles Davis and Wynton Marsalis records around the house, trying to convey to Bae that he needn’t be blowing full-force, as loud as he possibly could, the entire time.

“Most of you know me,” Gold told the small but interested crowd. When he and Bae had lived here, this was the dive bar he played at regularly. It paid nothing, but let him practice. The owner even let a young Bae sit at the bar and drink ginger ale while he performed.

“This is my friend,” he cocked his head at Belle, “ah,” he picked a name at random, “Lacey.”

Many people in the room laughed, knowing exactly who Belle was. But he and Belle learned in the last few months that it wasn’t always prudent to give her real name everywhere they went. The headline of America’s pop princess shaking up with a single father twenty years her senior had captivated the celebrity gossip magazines. Bae thought it was cool when a mob of fans and paparazzi descend upon them, but Belle and Gold were less thrilled with the ensuing hoopla. Since “Belle French” set off alarm bells everywhere they went, they’d come up with a host of pseudonyms. Gold secretly hoped to give her his own last name soon, if she’d have it, so perhaps she could stop giving false ones.

Belle, now settled in her seat next to him, smiled at his attempted ruse.

“We’re going to start with a song we wrote together,” he continued. “You might know it.” He leaned back to play the opening notes then sang.

I know he hurt you Made you scared of love, too scared to love

It was Belle’s song from the Hollywood Bowl that he’d helped her finish. Fans had recorded it on their phones and put it up on YouTube and it got a positive response. He and Belle had tweaked it slightly since. He’d added a more complicated guitar lick at the beginning and Belle suggested they pick up tempo to add more mass appeal. He also took on lead vocals. They’d shopped that version around town and it was one of the first songs they’d sold as a writing team. People more famous than him sang it on the radio now. While he was proud of the money they earned every time he heard another man sing it on the radio or in a commercial, Gold preferred this stripped down version that made it more of a love song. Belle appreciated the more pop version because she said it sounded more celebratory, that they’d struggle but they’d made through to the other side and were together now.

He didn't deserve you 'Cause you're precious heart is a precious heart

Together over the past several months, he and Belle had built a credible reputation as in-demand songwriters-for-hire, penning a few tracks for various pop stars and even a big crossover hit. He didn't know what he had and I thank God, oh, oh, oh

Since Belle was still was technically under contract on Moe French’s label, until they could figure out how to disentangle her from that, she couldn’t record any of the music they wrote or release it.

And it's gonna take just a little time But you're gonna see that I was born to love you

But Belle wasn’t living off her father’s money any longer, or any money she made as “Belle”. Gold had tried to dissuade her, trying to convince her how hard it was to make a living playing music on your own. He wasn’t going to be able to provide for her at the level her father had been, but she wouldn’t be deterred. She had that much faith in their songwriting ability to sell to other major artists. After Moe took a large chunk off the top, the small percentage she did get in sales, radio, and licensing royalties went towards legal fees to unsnarl her professional relationship with her father. The rest she put into a college fund for Bae.

Belle closed her eyes, comfortable in the room now that she could lose herself in the song, and sang the chorus

What if I fall

Also new was a call and response they’d built into the chorus. Gold leaned into the mic and answered her.

I won't let you fall

Her voice was clear, angelic yet full of meaning. If you’d listen to a “Belle” record and her singing now, you’d never even guess they were the same person. She was beginning to find her own voice, outside of the one that Moe and the record label conceived for her.

What if I cry

Since she was still obligated to fulfill her contract, Belle was technically on her international tour right now, but she’d flown in from Houston for a couple days in between shows. She’d be leaving for Europe in a few months. She flexed her newfound muscles when she could, making her own choices where she was legally allowed. But the plan was to ride out this international tour, get her off Moe’s label, and move on with their lives. She was currently only talking to her father through intermediaries. I'll never make you cry

After her initial anger wore off, Gold could tell that it was hurting Belle to completely lose contact with the only parent she had left. Seeing her struggling forced Gold to finally let go of his old resentments against Moe. But Belle insisted that she needed to destroy her relationship with her father if she had any hope of rebuilding it.

And if I get scared

Also making the rounds on YouTube was a video his own son had taken.

I'll hold you tighter When they're tryna get to you baby I'll be the fighter

After Bae convinced him to not give up on Belle, they rushed off to the Hollywood Bowl. Surpassing even their Staples Center escape, they’d climbed the canyons in order to come down the other side and sneak into the venue. The whole time they could hear the concert in progress. By the time they slipped through the barriers, it was late and Gold feared they’d miss the show completely.

Because it was so late in the show, security was unnervingly lax and it was easy to slide their way through the crowd and to the stage wings unnoticed. He’d spent the past several days constructing a barrier in his mind to block out Belle’s voice, but it only took moments to disintegrate when he saw her at the edge of the stage, standing there in her ripped jeans. She looked vulnerable and beautiful and strong all at once. He didn’t need to read her mind, she was talking to the crowd, telling them about the song we was about to sing. A song he knew she’d written for him. She was putting herself out there, at her own show in front of thousands of people, in the hope that he’d reach out to her. She was doing so much and asking so little of him. He wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t abandon her, on stage or ever.

He bolted out of the wings and onto the stage, but was blocked by the unwelcome shadow of Moe French.

“You,” Moe growled, his cool demeanor from their previous run-in abandoned. “How many times am I going to have to destroy you?”

Gold’s ire immediately rose. But he couldn’t get caught up in the poisonous cycle, not again. Belle needed him. He could feel her impending panic as she reached the end of her song, with no answering lyrics from him.

“Once more, apparently,” and shoved past Moe and out onto the stage.

Gold hadn’t know it was happening. He was out on stage with Belle. But, fortuitously, Bae captured the entire exchange, and the tantrum immediately afterward, on camera. He said later that he pulled out his phone and started filming for evidence in case Moe physically assaulted him. But that didn’t explain why he immediately uploaded it to YouTube and titled it “Moe French Has Meltdown at Belle Concert.” The footage of Moe standing at the edge of the stage, spitting bile about his only daughter and verbally abusing the staff that were unfortunate enough to be standing in the vicinity, was difficult to watch. But not as difficult as sitting beside Belle, holding her hand, as she viewed it for the first time.

Back at the dive bar, the closing notes of their Hollywood Bowl song faded out. A silent pause, and then thunderous applause erupted from the audience.

He’d seen her showered with praise after two-plus hour concerts. But this was the happiest, the most proud, he’d ever seen Belle.

Riding that high, he unlooped the guitar strap from around his neck and thrust the instrument towards her. He accompanied her on all their songs. But he was teaching her to play, little by little, and this next song was for her and her alone.

“Ready?” he murmured.

She hesitated, swallowing audibly, before reaching out and wrapping her hand around the neck.

They wrote all their songs together, save this one. He hadn’t helped her with the lyrics, even when she asked. He gave her an assist with the instrumental, but he’d strictly limited his role. He knew the process of writing a song alone, of struggling with it over a period of time, of really having to dig, could be redemptive. You unearthed feelings long forgotten, pain you didn’t know you still held on to, pleasure you believed you’d never experience again. Either way you exorcized it through writing something honest, something true.

It was because the lyrics were so delicate, so plain, so raw, and not hidden behind heavy symbolism or clever turns of phrase that made her lyrics about losing her mother and, in a different way, her father, so powerful.

I'm learning how to live Without you in my life I'm learning how to live Without you in my life I'll take the best of what You had to give I'll make the most of what You left me with I'm learning how to live

Gold sat back and watched her play and sing. For years she’d mesmerized crowds with her youth, her body, her energy. He looked down at the crowd and marked how spellbound they were by her by her voice, her words, her feelings.

In its own way, what they were building together would eclipse his meteoric rise and fall or her pop stardom, and even Moe French’s empire. Because this career was built on love.

NOTES: Song: The Fighter Songwriters: Keith Urban / Michael James Ryan Busbee Song: Learning How to Live Songwriter: Lucinda Williams

#fic: California Soulmates #rumbelle fanfic #rumbelle fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

h-styles-babes · 6 years

Text

No Control | Chapter Forty

Summary:

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

Forty

“Mick, sit down. You shouldn’t be up so much,” Mum reprimands.

I roll my eyes as I plop down at the kitchen table, huffing so she knows I’m frustrated with her coddling. She smiles as she sees me sitting, going about making the tea, which I was doing before she made shooed me out of the kitchen.

“Do you like sugar in your tea, dear?” Anne asks, taking the tray from my mum.

Harry rounds the corner into the kitchen just as his mum asks, hair wet from his shower. He places a kiss on her cheek before saying, “One sugar and a dash of milk.” He takes a plain cup of tea from the tray before flitting over to where my mum is making pancakes on the stove. He places a kiss on her cheek as well before pulling plates out of the cabinet.

I’m a little antsy from not being able to do much to contribute. Anne and Mum have been here for two days now, helping me out when Harry’s gone out to meetings and whatever else he’s doing. It’s the beginning of April, and while I know I’ll be good to deliver Waverly any time in the coming weeks, I still get a little panicky when I feel any sort of pain or discomfort that I know can be associated with my pregnancy. It’s really just a matter of time before I go into labour, but now that it’s such a real possibility, I’m getting nervous.

“Got some errands to run today,” Harry tells me as he sets a plate of food in front of me. “Gonna go into Beverly Hills for a few hours. Then I’ve got a meeting with some studio execs, but that shouldn’t take too long.”

“Am I gonna find out where you’ve been sneaking off to, yet?” I ask, pouting at him. He still hasn’t told me about what this new, top secret project is that he’s been working on, but I’m trying to be patient.

“Yes, actually,” he answers, completely surprising me. Our mums are talking in the kitchen, so they’re not privy to this conversation, so I can’t gauge if he’s already told his mum or not, but I’m glad I’m finally going to be able to learn about what’s been going on. I hate being left out, even if I know he’s had to leave me out for legal reasons. “After this meeting, everything should be set in stone.”

“Seriously?” I ask, excited at the prospect. “You better tell me the instant you step into this house after the meeting, Styles.”

He chuckles and leans over to press a quick kiss to my lips. “Promise. Got a few things to talk to you about, so maybe we can get dinner tonight and spend some time together. Know you hate being holed up in the house and your flat all day. Might be one of the last chances we get before Waverly gets here.”

I nod. “Definitely. Dinner would be nice.”

“Wear a dress, yeah? Liked you in that one you wore to Trev’s party.” He winks at me and drops a chaste kiss to my shoulder.

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” I promise.

After finishing breakfast, Harry kisses me soundly on the lips and gives a rub to the belly before departing. He says goodbye to our mothers and bids us all a good day before taking off.

Mum and Anne clean up the kitchen as I go to have a shower. Trev’s coming by in a little bit, since he wants to go to the beach. It’s one of the last days of his Spring Break, and I promised him we’d spend time together while we still can. My living arrangements and basically my entire life for after Waverly is born is up in the air still, so I’m trying to fit in as much Trevor and Micky time as I can before everything gets crazy. I don’t know where my life will take me in the coming weeks, and I don’t want to neglect my best friend in the meantime.

Mum plaits my hair as a way to help me get ready, and once she’s done, I go to the room Harry and I share to change into my swimsuit. It’s a pretty burnt orange color, and a two piece that I’m actually not hesitant to wear. Despite being nearly full-term with my pregnancy, I think I still look good, Harry’s encouragement and love over the past few weeks definitely boosting my self-image. I throw a pretty, white lace coverup over it, tying it closed in the front, and slip on some sandals.

By the time I’ve put together a bag and grabbed the things I need, I hear the chime go through the house, indicating that someone’s just pulled through the gate. Trev’s in the foyer by the time I make it out into the main part of the house, dressed in a soft-looking t-shirt and bright pink board shorts. He’s already tan from our time in California, so the shorts look blinding against his sun kissed skin. He smiles when he sees me, kissing me on the cheek in greeting.

With some goodbyes and kisses from both my mum and Anne, Trev and I are out the door, in the Impala, and on our way to the beach.

After a long day at the beach, all I want to do is shower and curl up in bed, but I promised Harry I’d go to dinner with him, which I’m also looking forward to. We haven’t had time for just the two of us since the day of my appointment, and I’m a little antsy to see him. Plus, he’s promised to tell me all that’s going on with his career, since he’s been keeping it all very hush up until this point. I’m excited to finally find out what all his meetings and flying back and forth have been about these past couple months.

So, after Trev drops me off back at Harry’s—and sticks around to get acquainted with Anne and catch up with my mum—, I take a quick shower and get ready for our night together. I pick out a pretty floral dress that accommodates the bump and pair it with comfy sandals. I’m in no condition to be wearing heels anymore, which I’m not too sorry about. I do my makeup, keeping it minimal since it’s shaped up to be a particularly hot springtime here in Southern California, and emerge to ask my mum to fix up my hair again. She obliges and plaits the front, pulling to back into the bun she secures at the base of my neck. It’s cute and effortless and keeps my mass of hair off my neck and shoulders.

Harry arrives home as we’re all discussing what I want for my baby shower. I’m explaining that some of my coworkers would really like to be involved when he presses a kiss to all our heads and pats his hand on Trev’s shoulder in greeting. “Gonna shower right quick and then be down, alright?” he tells me. I nod at him with a small smile before he disappears into our room.

I give mum Joy’s phone number so they can get in touch. She wants to have the baby shower by next weekend, which I think is a bit ambitious, but both her and Anne assure that it can and will be done. Trevor points out that I don’t have a whole lot of people to accommodate for, since I’m only friends with a grip of people at work, and my family is still back in England. I suppose he’s right, so we can’t be having to provide space for more than fifteen or twenty people.

I’ve just finished putting together a tentative guest list by the time Harry emerges, freshly showered, though his curls are dry and bouncy, so I assume he’s blow dried them. He’s dressed in a pretty blue sheer button up, the first few buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s got his signature black jeans tugged on, brown boots slipped on his feet. He looks delicious, and I’m cursing the orders from Dr. Lorenz to avoid any activity that would elevate my heart rate significantly. Sex is definitely off the table.

“I meant to tell you this earlier, but you look beautiful,” he tells me, helping me off the couch.

I press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You look quite nice yourself, H.”

“Thank you, my love,” he hums, pecking chastely against my lips. “Ready to go?”

I nod my agreement and Mum and Anne wish us a goodbye and a goodnight as Harry ushers me out the door. There’s a car waiting for us outside the front door, and I raise an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs. “Just in case, Mick. Henry is much better at maneuvering around paparazzi than I am.”

Henry is Harry’s driver, and I have to suppose he’s right. Harry gets too on edge when there’s paps to get around while we’re out on the streets. Henry’s one of the most calm driver’s I’ve ever met, letting every cut off by another car and honking horn roll right off his back like he doesn’t even see or hear it. It’s amazing, and I would only be so lucky to be that laid back about driving one day. I’ve got a bit of road rage, if I do say so myself. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get around that one.

“Alright,” I sigh, letting him guide me into the car. Harry tends to keep one hand on my body at all times now that I’ve been put on bed rest. He’s terrified of something happening to me or the baby, and he figures his steady hands will somehow prevent my blood pressure from rising. While it’s a great practice, and I do quite enjoy Harry’s hands on me, I don’t think his hand on the low of my back is helping me much get into the car.

Once we’re on our way, Harry grins at me, looking more excited than I’ve seen him in awhile.

“What is it?” I ask, wondering what’s got him so giddy. He’s been so reserved lately, very obviously trying to keep in whatever big secret he’s got tumbling about in his mind. It’s been bugging me a bit, honestly, but as our mothers as distractions, I haven’t had much time to dwell on it. It’s only now, seeing his typical grin and cavern-like dimples that I realize it’s been a few days since I’ve seen them out.

“I’m gonna tell you now, but you’ve got to promise to stay calm,” he bargains. “Don’t want either of you getting too riled up. Can’t risk that.”

“Harry, just get on with it,” I demand. “You hyping it up like this is just making me more giddy.”

His chest expands with a deep breath. “I’ve got a movie deal.”

My mouth pops open as I blink at him. I’m silent for a few beats, trying to formulate a response to his bomb as he just grins like that cat who ate the canary. The smug bastard.

“I’m sorry. You’ve what?”

“I’ve got a movie deal. Everything got finalized today. That’s what the meeting was about. Contract’s signed, schedule is decided. Production starts in May.”

“That soon? That’s barely any time between now and then.” Go on, Mick, keep pointing out the obvious. That will definitely move this conversation along. I think I’m still in a bit of shock.

“Chris and Emma want a summer release next year, so we’ve got to get started now,” he shrugs, like this is completely casual.

Those names stick in my head, and I mull them over for a moment before I realize why they sound so familiar.

“Do you mean Chris Nolan and Emma Thomas? As in the director and producer of The Prestige, Momento, The Dark Knight Trilogy and the lot?”

He just nods, smirk still prominent.

“Bloody hell, H. You’re first fucking movie and you’re in a film directed by Christopher fucking Nolan and produced by Emma bleeding Thomas? Who are you?”

“Dunno, honestly. I’m just as surprised as everyone else that I actually got the part.”

“I’m not surprised! I’m sure you’re absolutely brilliant,” I assure. I have never seen Harry act, but I’s sure with the amount of talent he has, the fact that he’s good enough to land a role in a Nolan film is not surprising. “It’s just a bit shocking, is all.”

“I’m just glad I’m able to tell you, now,” he sighs, actually looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in recent days.

“I’m glad you’ve told me. How exciting! Where do you start filming?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugs, like the next few months of his life have no bearing on him. He’s a very go with the flow sort of guy, which annoys me a bit sometimes. We’ve got a baby on the way, and I’ve got to have a more structured schedule than it looks like Harry’s got right now. “Chris said he’d let us know for sure in the next week.”

That assurance made me feel a little better.

“Well, this should be exciting. Can’t wait to see you on the big screen.”

“I’ve got to cut all my hair off, as well,” he tosses in as casually as possible. “You’ve what?”

The next few days go by in a blur. Harry’s gone for a majority of the day with meetings and things, so I’m typically spending time with his and my mum, making last minute plans for the baby shower. We’re having it at mine and Trevor’s place, as to keep Harry’s privacy. They’ve been round the flat for a few days, tutting around with Trev in order to get the place in shape to hold the shower. Harry comes around after he’s finished at work in order to spend some time with us and bring around lunch or dinner.

My back has been hurting so badly lately that I don’t really bother to get up and do much, though sitting or laying doesn’t seem to help any. Harry’s so kind as to rub my back whenever he’s over, doing it even subconsciously now as he sits ant talks with Trev or our mothers. Even in bed at night, he’ll rub my back for a few before we settle in and doze off. He’s being exceptionally sweet to me, even by Harry’s standards, and I’m somewhat suspicious of it.

We still haven’t properly spoken about the Kendall thing, and while my feelings about it have definitely dulled, I know it’s something that’s hanging over both of our heads. So, when we’re alone on one of his days of just a day before the shower, I finally bring it up.

We’re sat on the couch while Trev’s at a lecture, flicking through the channels on the TV. Harry tends to just flip the channel instead of pulling up the guide and searching through there, so we get a bit of every show on for a few seconds before he moves on to the next. Of course, once we stumble upon E!, the Kardashians are on, and Kendall just so happens to be taking up a majority of the screen. I feel him tense up beside me, already twitching to change the channel, but I speak before he can make a move.

“We never talked about what happened the other week.”

He mutes the telly as he sighs, reaching his fingers up to pinch at his nose. “I’ve been avoiding it.”

“I can tell.”

“I just don’t know what to say, Mick. That whole thing was a fucking mess. Nothing even happened, and you reacted badly.”

I scoff at what he’s calling ‘nothing.’ So maybe my emotions haven’t dulled all that much. “I’m pregnant, Harry. My emotions are heightened. Plus, you ex-girlfriend showed up at your house, looking for a shag, and then ran her mouth about how kinky you are in bed! You think I don’t deserve to be a bit hurt by that, Harry?”

He scrambles to sit up and face me. “No, of course you’re allowed. I know why you’re upset. And I didn’t mean to dismiss your feelings. I just meant, at the time, you stormed off with no reason. I didn’t know you’d heard all the dumb shit she’d said while you were in the house. You just booked it out of there like the building was on fire.”

“I was upset, Harry. She’s so pretty and thin and a fucking model, for Christ’s sake! Who would ever choose me over her?”

Okay, so I was a lot more upset about it than I even let on to myself. I’d been pushing down all these feelings for far too long, even though it hadn’t been long at all. But it was too long when I was already in a fragile state.

Harry got a perplexed look on his face. “What in the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“If I were you, I’d be into her, too! I’m fat and bed-ridden, Harry! What man wants a fat, bed-ridden woman?” I am completely aware of how ridiculous I’m being, but I can’t seem to help it. The words just seem to spew out of my mouth without my control. All my deepest insecurities and worries are just being laid out there like I’ve never wanted them to be before, and I can’t seem to stop it. It’s absolutely awful.

“First of all, you’re on bed rest; you’re not bedridden,” he corrects, a stern look on his face that only intensifies with his next statement. “And second of all, you’re pregnant, not fat. Please don’t make me go back over how absolutely, devastatingly gorgeous I find you while you’re carrying my child. I find you completely stunning anyway, and you’re pregnancy has only magnified it. There’s no competition between you and anyone else. You’re it for me, Micky Bennet. I’d marry you today if I could. This is it for me. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve never wanted anyone else the way I want you, and I will never want anyone like I want you ever again. I’m in love with you, you silly woman. You and Waverly are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’d be a damned fool to give that up for a model I had a fling with for a month.”

Harry looks about as surprised by his little rant as I do. We both sit stock still for a few moments just gazing at each other, digesting all that has been said in the past few minutes.

Harry finally clears his throat. “I’m sorry, that was a little intense.”

His words seem to snap me out of my own surprised stupor. “You want to marry me?”

For some reason, this makes Harry giggle. “Out of all that, that’s what you focused on?” he asks with a small shake of his head.

I nudge at his hip with my foot, a little offended. “Well, obviously! I’ve never heard that before.”

“That’s because I’ve never said it before.”

“Then why have you said it now?”

“It slipped out,” he admits, his cheeks suddenly blooming a faint pink. “Think it a lot, just don’t ever say it.”

“You really want to marry me?” I ask, a bit stunned still by his confession. I’ve known for a while now that he loves me, but marriage? That’s a whole other ball game, as far as I’m concerned.

“Why do you say that like it’s so shocking? Of course I want to marry you. Think I’ve known that for a lot longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Really?”

He grins a little. “Really.”

There’s a small pause between us where a let a smile split across my face. Harry’s stretches to match it, both of us kind of giggling at the turn this conversation has taken.

“Just to be clear, that wasn’t a proposal.”

“I’d sure hope not. That was a lousy proposal if I’d ever heard one.”

“Oi! Rude.”

“You just said it wasn’t a proposal!”

“Yeah, but what if it had been? I’d be extremely offended.”

“Well, good thing it wasn’t.”

“True. Don’t even have a ring, either. Be a shit proposal.”

“Be a little more organized and prepared when you really do it, yeah?”

“I can guarantee that, pet.”

FORTY-ONE

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #No Control #one direction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #harry styles angst

97 notes · View notes