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andrealabonairchewtoy · 2 years ago

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I FUCKING IMGMGMGMGMGMM I LOVED IT SO MYCH. WHY DO I HAVE BABY FDVER I DONT LIKE CHOLDREN.

TESTING POSITIVE | h. lewis

summary: you take the [dreaded!] pregnancy test. [9.2k words.]

pairing: reader x bog (W2S.)

notes: 2 fics in a week, dayum! 🤯 THE LONGLY ANTICIPATED FIC GENRE — we are officially on the road to dad!bog. I'M SO EXCITED. talking baby bogs is my favourite thing ever cuz i’m the worst for fucking baby fever, i will talk about dad!anybody 😭 posted this first cuz, well, we have to start at the start 🧐 lmk what you guys think and again feel free to send thru ideasss! & don’t forget to reblog <333

“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY?”

“I’m fine, Harry! You know what I get like,” you flushed the toilet with a scoff before standing to your feet.

He shuffled behind you as to not get in your way as you reached for your toothbrush to sort out your vomit breath. For many reasons, you could have been sick: for one, you were always sick if you’d eaten more than 3 different things before bed, and you’d done just that with your munch last night. Your stomach betrayed you that way.

You’d known this since you were young! Eating a bag of crisps, a chocolate bar, drinking your tin of lemonade and then having a couple biscuits with your cup of tea before bed — it had you cramped in a ball next to Harry an hour later, hand to your head as you already felt annoyed at the thought of having to get up and be sick in the toilet. It was a bad habit, and as much as you hated it, you had to laugh knowing you did it to yourself, and so would Harry.

“You didn’t even eat that much!”

“No, but I keep thinking about the three things sitting in my stomach right now and they’re not a good combo.”

Yuck.

The second reason may have been the idea that Harry was going away: yes, as ridiculous as it sounded, you always got nauseous the night your boyfriend was packing to jet off for maybe even a week away holiday with the boys. It could even be for a video, not even a proper vacation, but you’d for some reason be sick the day he was leaving, an inside joke forming between you as Harry would say you only did it to try and get him to stay with you. Last time, he’d been going to the US for a Sidemen video and your head had been stuck to your toilet as he stood there with his neck pillow on and passport in his hand, waiting for you to settle before you could drive him to the airport. You said it was soulmate behavior how it used to just come around when the days approached, but Harry considered it to be your nerves at the thought of something bad happening whilst he was away.

“—yeah, she was being sick before I got here.”

“Oh really?”

“Wow.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“. . probably preggers!” Behz hit his stomach.

“Probably! Probably.” He nodded casually, before the two would both burst out into laughter at the sick joke, sharing a shameful glance to the camera. Impossible, you’d been on the pill since you started dating Harry nearly 10 years ago.

And the third reason, the most obvious, was there was a bug going around. You’d been good at avoiding it and protecting yourself but you had a funny feeling luck was only so much on your side and were convinced Talia’s launch party had something to do with it, considering there only was like . . 200 people at it.

But if you had to guess, your guess this time was all three.

You dried your hands and mouth while Harry rubbed your back in your little en suite bathroom, feeling bad he was leaving you at a time like this. You were usually sick but this was a viscous vomit; you were really pouring your guts up and he didn’t know what to do. You’d been glued to the toilet since he woke up to the sounds of you at 3:00 in the morning, and while you waved him away to go and get ready for your drive to the airport, you’d stayed there the whole time he gathered all his things.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” you croaked, slipping on your black Uggs, your mood foul already as you moved him out of your way, awaiting a long day ahead. You didn’t want to worry him (obviously) because you wanted him to have a good time away (whether Josh put him on the good team or bad) and enjoy himself, especially when you knew you were really fine, you’d give it a few hours.

You’d both got in the car where you picked up Behz on the way and dropped them off, Harry still apprehensive for you to be by yourself. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Harry, I’m fine! It’s probably that bloody bug!” You reassured him once again, standing outside the car as he lifted his case from out the boot. “My mum will be over later, I’ll be back here in about 5 hours to come get her,” you looked at your watch.

That seemed to ease his nerves as he’d forgotten about your Mum coming over for a night to get some shopping done in London for your sister’s 18th. You’d been excited leading up to the day but you’d alerted her a week prior how you were feeling shitty and didn’t want to trail about London for the whole day - however, she didn’t care. She needed you to help her out and you knew you’d have no other choice.

“Ok,” he pressed his lips to your head whilst looking out to the dead night sky and the bright streetlamps lighting the roads. “Text me and let me know how you get on. I should be back tonight, I don’t think we’re staying over?” He looked to Behz.

“Don’t know mate. Depends on how fast we get this done,” the ginger tiredly laughed, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “If not, we’ll be back early tomorrow morning,” he guessed.

They were only flying out to another country within the UK for a challenge video, so at most, he’d only be away a night — not that it mattered, if you had some kind of flu, he’d only be able to do so much for you. So you didn’t see a point in him worrying so much.

“Ok – don't kiss me!” you pulled your head back as Harry went to lean in. If it was this dreaded bug, you sure didn’t want to pass it onto him. You’d be the one getting into trouble with Josh. “Let me know if you need picked up, I’ll come get you if i’m not dying,” you gave a soft chuckle as Harry finally unwrapped his arm from you.

Aw.

“Right,” he stole a kiss from you anyway, the closest he could get to your mouth, “see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you,” you pressed your hand to his chest as he eventually parted, both boys wandering through the airport’s entrance where they would meet with the rest of the boys. You waved them off before getting in your car, driving back home in the dark with that same sicky feeling swirling around back in your stomach, hoping a few more hours in bed would fix it.

When you’d woke up to the sound of your alarm the second time that day, you really didn’t want to leave your bed. You wanted to call your Mum and tell her you really didn’t want to go but she’d be landing at this time and you had to get up and get her.

But then, you felt the bile storm up inside you and you made a burst to the toilet to get that last bit up before starting your day. That last bit seemed to have done something for you as you felt like you could go on with your day and actually eat something again. You got ready and had breakfast, wishing you could put on makeup because you felt like you suddenly needed it more than ever, but you were genuinely just too tired to even lift a mascara brush to your eye, feeling extra lazy today. So, you collected your Mum and drove straight to the town, already getting a headache from her stress of getting everything and the idea of paying for London’s parking. You’d put it on your story ‘who wants to pay my parking’ for all the Londoners to relate.

“OKAY! First off!” Your Mum scrolled through the list of shops she needed to visit and you irritatedly brought her to each one, helping her with every present for your sister and wanting to actually kill her when he began buying stuff for Christmas.

“You are in one nasty mood this day, sort it out, please.”

“‘Cause you have me running about here holding your Christmas presents! Sophie doesn’t need all this stuff!” You hissed, raising the bag of jewelleries and makeup, and you hadn’t even collected that darn Dyson Wrap yet. “I don’t remember getting this much stuff for my 18th!”

“No, you had a rich boyfriend to buy them for you,” she piped, raising her brows at the simple fact.

You stayed quiet after that.

Thankfully, approaching lunch time, you decided to go for a coffee before heading to your final shop and going home. You were unbelievably exhausted and felt weak sitting down, your surroundings making you nervous at the thought of a certain smell of food making you feel queasy again.

It might have been too late for that: “God, I feel sick again.”

“You’re a terrible colour, y/n. You don’t look too nice,” your Mum tried not grimace at your pale state.

You looked at her offended. “Thanks, Mum. Not like I haven’t tried telling you!”

“You definitely got worse throughout the day. Goodness, you need to lie down,” she sipped her latte.

You wanted to tut at her. “I have been lying down. I just feel . . ew. Like, disgusting. Yucky.”

“Are you on your period?”

“No, but-” i’m probably due it, was your next sentence, until you began thinking through the days. You knew you’d missed it last month which wasn’t that unusual as sometimes your pill messed with it, you just gave it another month to arrive twice as harder. But, you’d entered your second month . . in fact it was almost over. Your brows furrowed as you considered having to ring your GP to tell them your situation, assuming it couldn’t be healthy if you had to wait three months for a period to come.

“But what?”

“I was gonna say it’s due,” you shook it off, lifting your head from your hand.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Obviously not, Mum,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes at her, drinking your coffee. “It’s probably that bug!”

“It’s coming into the Summer, y/n.”

“And?”

She scoffed at your attitude and finished her coffee, playing a word game on her phone. “Where’s Harry?”

“He’s filming a video, he’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Have you got my room all ready?”

“You can just stay in my room with me?”

“And lay in your bed full of germs?! No thank you!”

“MUM!”

“How’s your little friend who had her baby? You still see her?”

“Yeah, I see her all the time. I’m going to stay with her next week,” you smiled, feeling smush at having a little baby for a night.

“Oh really?!”

“Yeah!”

“Oh lovely! How come?”

“The boys are all away to like Dubai or something. I don’t know. I told Behz I would stay with Faith for the week, just ‘cause she didn’t want to go home or ask his Mum so . . girly week only.”

“Adorable. You’ll have a fab time.”

“I know. She mentioned about a wedding coming up and I offered to take her as well.” You raised your brows.

“Oof. What’s Harry think?” She stirred her coffee with an amused grin, knowing that boy like the back of her hand.

“He’s dreading it as per,” you rolled your eyes, “I keep telling him not to say to Ethan how he’s feeling or then he’ll just worry him and put him off asking! He’ll probably go out or something,” you picked at the crumbs of the wrapper once holding a brownie, wishing it hadn’t ended. Wishing you’d bought two.

Your mum rolled her eyes playfully, “no. You don’t say.”

“Big scaredy cat.”

“Hopefully he stays in with you, you’ll need each other!”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” you shook your head, laughing at the thought of Harry making an effort to get involved — he’d probably be better off just not being there.

“He’s silly,” your Mum shook her head, finding his fears ridiculous, (although you could say she was biased) never in her life had she come across someone so intimidated by babies. “He needs to wise up.”

You could have argued with her and said ‘no, he doesn’t, he has no responsibility,’ yet but decided not to spark the debate up. He just didn’t know how to be around babies and kids ‘cause he’d never grown up with them around him, you knew he’d be fine when the day came and he had his own.

“I’m serious, he needs to have more confidence in himself! I worry about him.”

“I worry about him too,” you made an expression which had your Mum scoffing for not taking her seriously. She just tutted and drank her coffee, deeming you too childish to talk to as well. Perfect pair.

“Where is she sleeping?”

“I mean I could keep her in her pram if Faith wants, but I don’t mind having her in the bed - if Faith’s ok with it.” You guessed.

“Have you told Harry that?”

“No.”

“Ha! Good luck with that! Where’s he going?”

“Oh my God, Mum, if i comes to it, I’ll sleep in the spare room with her! It’s not a big deal,” you gave a laugh, “or Harry can! He’ll think he’ll crush her!”

“. . . probably would to be fair.”

“Probably.”

“He’d be scared to crush her lying beside her awake, never mind.”

“I know,” you nodded, “breaks everything he touches,” you mentally rolled your eyes at his mindset. He did, he did need to have more confidence in himself.

After your coffee break, the pair of you finished ticking off the check list of collecting all things for your sister’s birthday and headed home. Your Mum bought you both a chinese to eat in your pyjamas, alongside a bottle of wine collecting dust in your kitchen. Whilst she took a bath during the wait of your delivery, you called Talia on FaceTime to see how she was feeling after the event and if she was as bad as you.

Christ.

“You look lovely.”

“I was about to say the same to you!”

The two girls laughed, the popstar as sarcastic as you as she lay in bed, surrounded in comfort. Her eyes were hooded and her nose was red; she looked pale aside from the pink on her cheeks and her voice sounded to be trembling. She really did look to be suffering. “Are you okay?!”

“This flu or whatever is kicking my arse,” she complained, smiling for the first time today seeing you on her screen.

“I thought so too until I seen you!”

“HEY!”

You chuckled, taking a sip of the red liquid in your glass. You asked her what she’d been doing all day and how she was getting on, if she needed anything.

“I’ve been sick all day. I’ve had a headache, I’m exhausted — I’m bloody shivering in my skin – shaking! But Simon said I’m burning up and—” she stopped with a cough, “I am so cold, Y/N.”

You laughed at her serious expression. You could tell, she was wrapped in blankets! “Your throat sounds sore, do you need me to drop anything over for you?”

“No, honestly, I’m fine. How are you, aren’t you sick too?”

You thought you were sick until you’d talked with her. “I’ve been sick all day, like,” your voice suddenly felt dry as you didn’t want to complain when she was clearly going through worse than you. “I-I, I was throwing up when Harry left - I feel like I’ve been throwing up all week to be honest, but . . seeing you I think I feel better.” You both erupted into giggles.

“But um, no fever or anything.”

“You eating ok? I seem to have lost my appetite,” she lifted the lonely bottle of water.

“Psh! Stuffing my face, more like!”

“Oh my. I seem to be on my deathbed!”

“You must have got the worst of it.”

“Probably. It's what I deserve, karma, innit?”

“Was your party,” you jokingly avoided eye-contact. “Oh shit! Calfreezy’s ringing me, I’ll let you go, T. Let me know if you need anything at all!”

“Will do! Thanks for checking in!”

“‘Course! Get your rest. Love you!”

“Love you!” She sang before you hit answer on the call.

“Yo!”

“Yo,” you furrowed your brows, “ . . what’s up?”

“Harry told me to check on you, you alright?” His confused expression filled the screen as he eyed you from top to bottom, looking for anything worrying enough to report back to his boy. He was making something in the kitchen.

You frowned your brows. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“He said he’s worried about you. You throwing up or something?”

“I was, yeah?!” You laughed. “I’m fine now, my Mum’s here.”

The phone suddenly tightened in his grip as he looked frantically, “IS SHE?”

You nodded.

“SHE MAKING DINNER?”

“No, we just ordered a chinese there.”

“SHE THERE TOMORROW?”

“Not for dinner, no,” you laughed more.

“Fuck sake,” he scoffed, slamming some cupboards of his in his apartment. “Where is she, lemme talk. I’m-I’m waiting on that y/l/n dish to come through—”

“She’s in the bath! She’s not cooking tonight, I’ll get her to send it to your after!”

“She better, she always lying to me,” he perched his phone up to put the rest of his cutlery away. “You sure you ok? My guy was worrying about you.”

“He always gets worried, he was going away! I was being sick! I’m always sick when he goes away!”

“You are. You’re an attention seeker,” he dried his knife.

You gave him the finger.

He observed you once more. “Alright. I’ll tell him you’re chillin’. You haven’t kicked the bucket yet.”

“Yes. Please do,” you rolled your eyes at his kindness.

“Alright. Text me if you need anything. You know where I am.”

“I know. I’ll speak to your later.”

“Aight—”

You hung up, in two moods to text Harry or not to ask him why he was worrying so much, it was really unlike him. By now he’s be too pissed and preoccupied with the boys to remember your weird tick. You posted on your story a cute photo of you and your Mam chilled on the sofa that night, drinking your wine and watching a film just as you’d placed your food on the table - hoping it reassured your panicked boyfriend that you were truly fine.

However . . the moment your mum had opened her dish with mixed veg – you didn’t know what hit you — but the smell of the onions and peppers had you jumping to your feet to be sick in the sink.

Maybe you had lost your appetite like Talia mentioned – suddenly the thought of eating your meal was turning you. You kept it closed and saved it for Harry coming home tomorrow, now only wanting to drink water like Talia.

Your Mum proceeded eating her combination, unphased, drinking her wine. “You are a weird one, where did I get you from?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, diverting your eyes to Ant & Dec on your TV.

After lounging on the sofa, empty chinese cartons and a dash of wine left in the bottle, you forced yourselves to bed. When your Mum walked across the landing to the guest room without second thought, you immediately felt lonely holding the handle of your door. Why didn’t she want to sleep beside you? Harry worrying about you played on your mind again, and it made you feel even sadder, realising you must have been missing him more than you thought.

Christ! Grow a backbone, y/n! You grimaced. He’s not even away a full 24 hours! You don’t miss him that much when he’s gone a week!

But you did. You missed him once you got into bed and smelt him on all things his side, as well as his t-shirt he’d left on the floor you’d shouted at him for not putting in the wash basket. You just wanted to snuggle him.

My big baby, worrying about me.

Hastily, you texted your Mum to come into your room to watch another film. Had she said no, you probably would have cried.

The following morning, you’d treated your Mum to breakfast to help with her subtle hangover before dropping her off to the airport, the woman more than thankful her flight was only an hour long before she was back in her own house to sleep off the rest without you skipping behind her going, ‘can’t hack it! Can't hack it!’

You’d been texting Harry to see how he was getting on and the last he’d told you was that the flight was delayed thanks to the rotting UK weather. It was storming down outside. He’d told you he’d had a really good time away and he’d genuinely done nothing but laugh the entire trip, especially since sharing a room with Ethan. You didn’t doubt they were sloshed going to bed.

You stood in the bathroom texting, just having cleaned it with the rest of the house when you felt that sudden wave take over you.

Fuck sake, not again.

The bleach. It must have been.

You’d been cleaning with it all morning and just now that whiff had you hurling your french toast up. That was it. What was up with you? It couldn’t have been that flu — you were nowhere near as bad as Talia. Why was everything turning you? Why couldn’t you keep your food down?! You wanted to cry, knowing you’d had such a nice breakfast and now it was back up again. You felt tired again and unmotivated to move. You were on your own again, your boyfriend not even on the plane home yet. And now you had to eat again after feeling like your stomach was empty. Why?! Why is this happening? You felt angry. What was it?! Was it some kind of flu?! You had a sympathetic cry to yourself over the toilet before pulling off and leaning against the wall.

Facing you, you starred into the cupboard beneath the sink, all the different body washes and coconutty shampoos lined up with your different scrubs. The bottom right was specifically your area, with different boxes of tampons, boxes of your pill prescription, dry shampoo, nail varnish remover and pink razors you didn’t use ‘cause Harry always left his out — and to the very back was something that had literally collected dust.

A spare pregnancy test. Two actually, one in the form of a paper strip.

The idea was ridiculous. You could never picture the day you’d use that contraption seriously. Your Mum had bought you those strips when you’d first moved out as they were ‘always handy to have’ in case of an emergency. You were like 19 - you’d thrown them to the back of your cabinet, although, they’d now moved house with you twice, so, maybe her words affected you more than expected. The pregnancy test had been thrown in your 22nd birthday hamper gifted between your few friends along with a lot of other whacky shit for a laugh, but you’d kept it as well, again, for safe-keeping.

You weren’t going to take those, right?

Let me get this through to you — you’d never had to consider the possibility of getting pregnant because you were devoted to your birth control: your pill. She was your best friend, your queen, you worshipped her. You and Harry were like a throuple, you were so loyal to this little tablet. She was your saving grace in your relationship. You’d been with that boy weeks before your 18th birthday and your sex life was as lively as a crowd of drugged-up teens at Tomorrowland ever since. Alright, bit of a rough comparison, but you get the gist — it never changed. You were horny fucking dogs, you never had to worry if it was safe, so long you took that pill. She worked a wonder for you. Gave you no issues (aside from postponing your monthly flow every now and then). You did it anywhere and everywhere, anytime you wanted. If your doctor was to ask you when was the last time you had sex, if the answer wasn’t last night it was probably this morning. You were protected from the little tablet that worked well with your body and you abused the hell out of it. Had you and Harry used Ethan’s contraception tactics, you'd have well have been on your 11th kid by now.

So it was absolutely out of consideration that it could be a possibility: you hadn’t missed a day!

Your phone buzzed, and you found Harry telling you he was just boarding the plane.

But . . you’d also gotten a text from the SideWomen groupchat, where Ellie and Faith had sent photos in of their boyfriends slightly peppered from their airport drinking. You did not DOUBT Harry was in on that as well. You texted Kon to make sure he was looking after your Harry and in response, you’d got the expected photo back of him sitting at the airport lounge, a pint in his hand, lazy eyes on full show.

You bit your nails, debating on it.

You weren’t pregnant though. You literally couldn’t be. I know you’ve missed your period but . . sometimes it goes like that. You’re sick but it’s a one off. And you feel fine. A little achy in some areas but you literally are fine.

Shall we google symptoms? No. Hell no! Let’s not do that!

Your brain was fighting with you. Starring at those tests was like a self-discipline test.

But there was no point in taking one because you weren’t pregnant. You weren’t. You literally weren’t.

Ok, so if you aren’t . . take one. What’s the big deal? Makes more room in your cabinet once you throw them out.

Go on, prove it. Go.

You don’t need to, though, you slowly slid towards the cupboard.

I mean you have to pee anyway, may as well.

You’re peeing a lot lately. Is that a symptom? No, you’re just constantly drinking.

Fuck! You better not be pregnant! You helped finish off a bottle of wine with your Mum last night!

And urgh. That chinese. No. You’re gonna be sick. You actually gag at the thought of the smell, and scramble to your feet to heave.

Fuck it! You’re gonna piss yourself! Let’s do it, you grab the box and tear it open.

You’re not pregnant though, you reassure yourself, sitting on the toilet with your sweats pulled down, so, you’ll phone the doctors afterward and voice your concern for your lack of period. For God’s sake, another inconvenience. What could that be about? And your bug too, maybe you’ll get some antibiotics to help with your stomach. Maybe Talia might have some to spare. Should probably check up on her, you think, setting the stick aside before peeing on the strips of paper. UGH! And I need to pick up that dreaded MacBook you’d ordered in for your sister for her birthday, texting Harry to confirm you’d got it from the both of you.

Never got anything like that for my birthday, you complained, placing the paper strips on the counter before standing up. You got a nice handbag and matching purse, a beautiful necklace and money, but nothing like your sister Sophie was getting. No Dyson Airwrap, no MacBook, no designer jewellery or perfumes. Yeah, you had Harry blowing his cash on you all year round but why did Sophie get so much on this special birthday. She had a boyfriend too, you know.

Greedy bitch. I swear, she’s more spoiled than I ever was at that age. At every age. I live in London and Harry’s a millionaire and you don’t feel as spoilt as her.

How come you didn’t get a big sister to lavish you? You fucking — you were getting her a MacBook! If she dared say something to you about—

Your phone rang.

“Hello?”

“A-hello. I’m just calling to see if you’re alright, I’m – i’m on the plane now. I should only be an hour or so, not even.”

“Perfect,” you can hear the wheezy laughter in the back, and the chuffed chuckles from your boyfriend alone on the other line. Fuck me, many pints did he have? Has he even been sober since last night? You could hear Behzinga laughing next to him, telling him to say something to you, but he was ignoring him.

“Nah – I’m, I'm just checking to see if you're alright. I’ll– I should be home soon. S’the door locked?”

Babe, it’s broad daylight on a Tuesday morning. “No. I’m here.”

“A–ok, ok. Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Okay. Speak to you later my lovely. See — see you soon.”

“See you soon,” you spoke into the speaker, dropping it from your ear. “Love you.”

“I—I love you too.”

It ends. What? What? Was there a proper reason for that? Why . . whatever. Why was he still worrying? It was so unlike him.

Adorable though.

Truth be told, you’d forgotten about the tests and gone out to get the laptop for your sister before you forgot, knowing town wouldn’t be as busy, and wrapped it and put it away so it was hidden if she happened to see it in the back during a FaceTime or something. You’d began faffing about in your room again, tidying up and fluffing pillows when you glanced into the en suite to find the bottles of cleaning products and your tests still sitting on the counter. You picked them up, glancing at them as they fell into the mini trash bin, thinking of the two red lines you didn’t want to see and feeling satisfied looking down at them.

There.

. . . pause.

What?

You dove to the floor. Bottles hitting the ground and fished them out of the bin, holding them still in your hand to confirm you were seeing what you were seeing. Your glasses. You needed your glasses, your vision was playing up and you always see double. Two red lines.

That’s what you don’t want.

That’s not what you’re hoping for.

But they’re starring at you, the vision in your head, projecting onto the stick in real life.

Why is this not adding up in your head?

It’s two red lines, right?!

You scrambled the box in your hands and checked for the key, confirming two lines meant pregnant and one was not.

WHY WAS THERE TWO LINES?

THAT WAS WRONG.

You flipped up the paper strips, scanning them for the code and found them portraying the same thing.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

What the fuck?! Your head was fried.

These weren’t your tests.

You walked out of the bathroom, stood in your room for a moment, and walked back in.

It felt like the ground was moving, the earth shifting, and you were trying to keep your balance, that’s how dizzy you felt. A wave hit you, something washing over you, pulling you to the ground to sit down and collect yourself; to take it in.

“This is not mine,” you spoke out loud, holding the strip. You were talking to your floor. You thought you were on drugs.

You didn’t know how long you sat in the bathroom. Felt like hours, felt like days, you wouldn’t know, you were waiting for that click to happen so you could snap out of this stage of denial and take in what just happened. But it wouldn’t click. You daydreamed at your floor for ages.

It was like, that’s saying i’m pregnant, so i’m pregnant, but how am I pregnant if I don’t want a child? I don’t want one. I’m not ready for one, so that can’t be. So it’s not true. My boyfriend—

YOUR BOYFRIEND. You were clung to the radiator, rotating yourself, clutching your sweatshirt, your boyfriend is going to die. He’s just going to chuck himself off a hill if he sees this. He’s going to burst into tears and not happy ones. He’s going to crumble to a ball like you right now and just perish.

Your mouth finally felt your hand, the disbelief beginning to fade and the reality of it settling in as you realized this was real, this was happening. You began to feel emotions again and you could just feel the thousands of nerves rushing and jumping around in your body, sending shakes through your limbs.

That wasn’t my pee. This isn’t my baby.

MY BABY, my boyfriend, your whiney voice cried in your head again, you were twirling around your radiator, nails scraping down your face at the thought of him being informed. He’s going to die.

What the fuck do I do? You were suddenly laying on your floor, facing the bright white light in your bathroom, not caring if it was messing up your vision. You couldn't do this, this wasn’t happening to you.

You couldn’t have a kid, you weren’t ready.

Everyone knew Harry would be the one to freak out, not take it well and immediately dwell on all the things he had to kiss goodbye in his life, fall to his knees at the thought of never getting to go to a rave or festival again. Be a youngster. Be immature. Be chaotic.

But you sat there for what genuinely felt like hours.

You couldn’t have a child. You always said you were excited for one, but you just weren’t ready. You weren’t done living your life, you didn’t think you ever would be. You’d just gotten so used to it just being you and Harry. Holidays. Concerts. Dinner events. Party events. Your outings. Your nights in. Even just sharing a house as a pair was your favourite form of intimacy, coming home to one another, having dinner made and climbing into bed to chat shit about everyone.

You liked your holidays. You liked waking up and having a drink first thing, getting dolled up, being sick throughout the night and dying from a hangover the next morning. You could look like shit and rot in bed all day, laugh about it with friends and make plans to do it all over again ‘cause you had no responsibility, no consequences. You could waste a day. You loved clubbing and raving, competing with people in a dance fest and fighting with cheeky fuckers at festivals. You liked making a fool of yourself, not caring if you broke your leg or knocked out your tooth in Ibiza. You loved all your reckless tattoos and secret piercings. You loved your group of friends and how independent you all were, able to blow your money on weeks away and nights out. Splurging your cash on you and only you - or Harry. You loved going to your Mum’s and having her baby you when you were sick or even just having a bad day on your period. You liked being able to jump into the car and go wherever you wanted with no other plans. You liked having no responsibility. Just keeping yourself alive.

That all changed once you stepped into parenthood. It wasn’t like you weren’t allowed to do all those things once you had a baby, that becoming a Mum meant an expiry date was now in place, but . . realistically . . they kind of were.

You couldn’t throw yourself off tables or get into fights, drink ‘til you blacked out and almost get yourself killed on a night out like you usually did — because you now had someone who depended on you. Someone you needed to set an example for, someone who needed you around.

But you loved your old life so much, oh my goddd.

Your hand slapped your mouth again. “I have Creamfields booked,” you squeaked. You just bought tickets for creamfields. NO. WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO DO?! You were about to cry. “I just booked Ibiza!!”

Harry. I need to tell Harry.

Fucking hell. I’m going to have to to tell Harry.

No matter how mature you got or even planned on having the child — you would never get to be that person who told their spouse they were expecting through a gift. Through a mini football top. Through a mini pair of trainers or a scan in a box. No. It was always going to be done in a panic. Nothing about this was a nice surprise.

A nice surprise was really an expected surprise because if you’re fucking without contreception — whether you want one out not — you’re basically asking for a fucking child. You don’t care what people say. You’re playing with fucking fire, do not act shocked when you get burned. You were not supposed to get burned. You never had your gloves off. You had your pill. You even had the coil too a few years ago, you’ve taken every precaution to avoid being burned.

You jumped at your phone buzzing.

Harry

Just landed but the boys said about going out for a few so I’ll probably be home around lunchtime?? 😊 xxxcc

You pulled your hair.

Can you actually just come home?—

You paused. Wait. How do you actually say this? How do you tell him to come home without getting him all worked up? Make him panic?

Can you come home first? I need to tell you something xxx

Well that was fucking horrific.

Or ask you something I mean, I need your help xxx

Harry was laughing, actually giggling in the airport with the boys, waiting for the minivan to come pick them up and drop them home. All of them were just slightly starting to sober up from their previous drinking binge. Tipsy was the word, and it was Behz who had pitched the idea.

Well actually, it was a joint effort:

“I’m not ready for this hangover, boys,” the dirty-faired man snickered as he brought his hands to his eyes, the lazy, sluggish feeling beginning to appear.

“I say stay on it!” Ethan threw his arms around him and roughed him up, laughing with him as the others also liked the idea of another hair of the dog.

“Boys—” he held his hand up, wanting an excuse to keep him from going out but he didn’t have one. He could so go for a couple.

The lot of them were texting their Mrs the proposition, laughing at each other’s nerves sending the message, and laughed even louder at the ones who got such a scolding over text. Harry never felt like he needed to ask you, more like tell you why he wasn’t going to be home for a while, and you always gave the thumbs up. That was your way over ‘asking’ the other. You texted him the same — ‘so, brunch tunred bottomless and niw we’re at that new club. Don’t wait up bavyboy 😉😉😉 xxxzzx’.

So something flagged up when he read the response.

He immediately typed back, thumbs almost through the screen.

Harry

What is it

Harry

Are you alright

Harry

Is it the TV again

Harry

Is it that plank is it out the bed again

In fact he rang you, moving away from the group of cackling men.

Your hand was shaking holding that phone. “Hello?”

“What’s the matter? You alright?”

You cleared your throat. “Yea– yeah! No, I just—” just what? Hm? Just what, y/n? “Harry don’t panic, there’s nothing wrong. Like, nobody’s dead or hurt or anything, it’s not bad. Don’t get worked up about it.” Yeah, it’s horrific! “I just need your help with something. Can you just come home ASAP?”

“Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“HARRY! It’s not bad! Nothings wrong! I just want you to come home! Don’t freak out!” You almost yelled.

How was he supposed to not freak out when you exactly told him not to freak out. Of course he was going to freak out! He was going to be a worrying mess. And so were you.

You were sitting on the floor, hands on your mouth, heart beating out of your chest, and he was in the taxi van, hand on his mouth, now feeling completely sobered up as he looked out the window, the boys’ drunk antics now only putting him in an irritated mood.

You texted him not to feel stressed, knowing he had quite a bit of driving before he got home, and locked your phone.

Fucking hell.

You looked at the tests again, feeling your racing heart.

But we were going to book Mykonos next month . . . URGH!

You thought over everything again while waiting for him, all the ins and outs, the what ifs and the maybes, the losses and the gains. But you needed Harry. You just needed him to tell you what to do.

Harry was a bit of a grumpy mess by the time he reached his front door, scowling slightly, the handle rattled at his attempt to open it with his backpack sliding down his arm. The hangover was in full swing now he wasn’t going out for a top up. “Hello?!”

The pace of your heart at the sound of the door opening almost sent you into cardiac arrest.

Suddenly, you didn’t want to see Harry. Suddenly, you didn’t want to speak to him.

In fact, you grabbed the tests to hide them, and then backtracked, wondering what the hell you were doing, while he began worrying even more at the lack of response. What were you playing at?

YOU FELT SO SICK.

Actually — you were going to be sick, but with nerves.

“Y/n?! You alright? Are you in here?” You heard his footsteps coming up the stairs and suddenly into your room. You could picture his confused face, not having a clue what you were doing.

And then you saw him poke his head in the bathroom. He’d tripped over your trainer but played it off once he found you, letting his bag fall onto the floor. “You alright?!”

He looked at you on the ground, sitting crossed leg by the toilet bowl and smiled as he went to help you up, “are you okay?” he didn’t take his eyes off you, and you couldn’t help but smile at his humored gaze, stomach gone warm and fuzzy as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You couldn’t even look at him though! “Just hold me a second,” you huffed, wrapping your arms around his waist, the side of your head to his chest.

Let me enjoy this peace before I set chaos off in your head.

“Y/n are you okay? Are you still being sick?” He didn’t know what to do. Harry was so confused. He didn’t even feel like he could hug you back because he knew something was up. He was afraid to touch you. “Can yo — can you answer me, please.” He held your shoulders to slowly detach you from him.

Tell him. Just tell him. What other way is there to do it.

“Don’t freak out . .” you kept your eyes on him, keeping him grounded as you slowly pulled the strips out from your hoodie pocket and placed them on the sink.

Harry’s eyes were trained on you so skeptfully before trailing down to the noise of the plastic gently tapping the countertop.

You know in movies when a person disassociates? Like the camera pans out and rushes back in and it goes all wavy and shifty — that’s what you felt you were watching right now. You were witnessing an out of body experience.

You were holding Harry’s hands but you felt them go weak, and you were prepared to pull him up and second when he fell to the floor.

He looked at them.

And then to you.

And then to them.

And to you.

He paled. “They’re your— you took them?” Now his eyes were glued on them, face completely frozen. You’d think there was a baby crocodile sitting on your sink.

When he looked at you again, he could just tell by your face that you wanted to scream YES. OBVIOUSLY, it didn’t take a genius. He pulled his hands from yours and apprehensively picked it up, squinting at the two lines. Your heart was in your stomach. With freed hands, you placed them like a prayer over your mouth, waiting for the pin to drop. Waiting for Harry to drop.

The piece of plastic landed on the counter again with a clank and a breath escaped your boyfriend as he leaned against the wall.

Fuck sake, he we go. Here we go, he’s going into that disbelief stage like you did.

The room was so quiet. He was just looking at you and you were looking at him.

ASK ME IF IM OKAY?!

“Are you ok?”

“Are you ok?!” You shot back.

You looked like a pair of students doing detention together. The silence was painful.

“Is it accurate, but?” He looked questionably down at the stick again, and suddenly you were beside him, hovering over it as well, scared you’d interpreted it wrong.

You both glanced at each other.

“You go in.”

“YOU GO IN!”

“I’m not going in like this, you do it.”

“Y/n, if someone recognises me—”

“Harry! I just drove! I’m not showing my face. If you don’t get out of this care in 2 seconds—”

He went into the shop, hood up, playing it casual as he bought another test, the most expensive and proclaimed accurate. In fact he bought a few.

When you came back, he watched you pee to give himself peace of mind it wasn’t a joke and that you were being serious. You sat and waited in silence for it to load.

It felt like the longest 3 minutes of your lives.

“ . . . luck’s run out, feels like.”

You perched your head at that, feeling like you were minutes away from a breakdown.

Why were you taking this way worse than he was? Surely he was a wreck inside.

Luck's run out. It was the perfect phrase to summarise your conditions, it did feel like it had run out.

What do we do? What did you do? If you’d asked the other this question 10 years ago, you’d have your answer. But you were 25 now. You were grown up. You were in love. You were stable. You’d lived your lives together as a couple for the last 10 years now, more than enough time to realise how perfectly made you were for one other. You couldn’t cheat life’s plan now, it would feel wrong this time around. You were ready, you had to be. You could only put this off for so long.

“Feels that way,” you spoke to him from the toilet seat, your head on your hand, a dejected vibe from you. You should’ve been happy but you were just still so shocked that it didn’t feel real. It felt like it hadn’t been properly established yet.

“Are you alright?”

“Are you alright? I’m worried about you,” you confessed.

“I’m fine,” he gave a discreet chuckle, watching you from the floor.

“I feel like I need to say sorry to you,” you laughed at how ridiculous it sounded.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I feel like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

He laughed at your ridiculousness and shook his head. “Y/n . . i’m–i’m probably, I will probably have a breakdown at some point but like . . what can we expect at this point like . . it–it was bound to catch up on us eventually,” he comforted you both. In all honesty, Harry felt the only way to stop him from passing out was by comforting you because it felt like you needed it way more than he did. “Everything happens for a reason, eh?” He tapped his foot to yours, telling you your famous phrase to say.

Meant to be, it’ll be. You could only nod, fingers holding your head before the alarm of your phone went off. Both of you felt your hearts stop. You passed it immediately onto him, watching his reaction which told all. He flipped it around after, showing the 3+ weeks. You could feel yourself become dizzy again.

You both just sat there again.

Shit.

It was real.

“Don’t know what to do now.”

“Same.”

Silence.

“When do you reckon it was?”

You shrugged. “Dunno.” Probably on holiday?

“Probably your birthday.”

“Probably Ibiza.”

“Probably about festival season.”

“Probably.”

You looked at him. Why? Why wasn’t he hating you right now? Why wasn’t he having a breakdown with you.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you nervous?”

“I'M NERVOUS ABOUT YOU!” You exploded. “YOU'RE NOT DOING ANYTHING! YOU'RE JUST SITTING THERE! WHY ARE YOU NOT FREAKING OUT?! DO YOU WANT THIS TO HAPPEN?!”

He blinked.

“Y/n . . I am freaking out, I'm just not worried.”

MATE! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

He stood to his feet and pulled you up with him, finally leading you out of this tiny bathroom and to your bedroom. “Why are you crying?” He secretly smiled, wiping your tears of worry.

“I’m just so confused. I don’t know what to do, I can’t process this.” You croaked.

You got that well-needed hug you’d been longing for. His arms pulled you into him, you head at his chest as you both lay on the bed. You clung to him, crying for whatever reason it was but you felt safe. Secure. Protected in his arms, sniffing your nose and breathing in his scent.

You know what? It could’ve gone a lot worse.

“Did you underestimate me?”

“I thought you were gonna hate me!”

“Y/n! I’ve been with you nearly 10 years? You think I would just drop you?” He laughed outloud, in disbelief of your claim.

“I know but like . . you don’t – we don’t want one. . .”

“I know but . . we’re old,” he looked down at you clung to him, “and shit happens.”

You stared at him. He had to be drunk or something. There was no way he was reacting like this. Was this even your Harry? “you–you’re, I . . I got my eye on you.”

“I’m gonna be a nervous wreck, is that what you want to hear?”

That was exactly what you wanted to hear, in fact, it actually had reassured you.

You pushed yourself up and looked down at him, scanning every bit of his face. Was he . . was he taking this as a joke? Did he find this . . funny? “What are—what is going through your head?!”

Was he delusional?

He laughed below you, feeling the pressure of your elbow leaning on him. “I am petrified and going to be sick at the thought of having to care for something I have made. Being someone’s dad,” he almost gagged. Hadn’t forgot about that hangover. “But i’m not . . I don’t know, I don’t feel upset about it,” he tucked a bit of your hair behind your ear, face drying of your precious tears.

Maybe because he knew if Behzinga could do it . . he could do it.

He paused. “I think it’s just supposed to happen, Y/n. How long have we managed to avoid this, I mean,” he laughed again, getting a small chuckle from you. I mean really. Almost 10 years together. 10 years of pure loving and selfishness and you hadn’t had a kid thrown your way? The world was getting sick and tired of waiting. “I think it’s something that’s meant to be. I don’t think we’re supposed interfere, we — what’s our excuse?”

You were taken back. You didn’t have one. It was simply time. It was your sign from the universe.

No other words could have impacted you as much as those ones had. “Are you ready?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. I’m going to want to off myself but I don’t think we should interfere.” He held your hands extremely tight. “But you’re my baby and I love you.”

“I love you too,” you kissed, feeling his hands rub up and down on your back as you lay there. You couldn’t believe the difference in reactions from you both - the complete opposite of how you’d envisioned it. You couldn’t believe this was it.

It was going to be that 17-year-old you’d hated in school. He was going to fucking knock you up. “Harry, I don’t think it’s hit you.”

“Oh it definitely hasn’t. And it probably won’t until like a year from now or something.” He laughs with his hands behind his head.

Yep. Still the same kid. Still the same one who threw computer chairs at your TV.

You both laughed against each other, feeling more and more relieved the more he shared his anxieties with you, because you felt the exact same way. You didn’t feel ready but you knew you would be - Harry however? He was never going to feel that way even when the kid would crown him best dad in the galaxy. You worried for him.

“Harry this really hasn’t hit you.”

“I know. I’ll wake up and have forgot. I think I’m still drunk to be fair.”

Oh for fuck’s sakeee, don’t say that!

“Promise me you’re okay?” You muttered into his chest. “I need you to be an anxious mess like me.”

“I will be an anxious mess with you. I think it’s time we suck it up.” He closed you in on him, heavy arms wrapped tightly around. “It’s not the end of the world, Y/n. It’s not like we’re gonna be completely different people,” he coyly smiled at you. He held his pinky out, “Ocean Beach next year.”

You hooked it, but pulled back to scan his face, to find any little giveaway that told you or triggered his real reaction to come out, but he just checked you out back, sensing the clogs turning in your brain. “I’ve got my eye on you,” you repeated, hoping he heard the amusement in your tone. You just didn’t believe him. You’d be awaiting that breakdown.

“I got my eye on you,” he replied, feeling like yours wasn’t quite done, and you both quietly laughed into each other, both terrified out of your minds but also feeling that little stream of soothness flow down between you as you both held each other.

So you’d both be watching each other’s backs.

And you couldn’t believe it.

That this was really happening. You were really doing this.

This was the beginning, the start of a new era.

As terrifying and sad as it was to have to kiss it goodbye, Harry had you feeling like it was more bittersweet than anything. It’s not really goodbye . . just, see you every so often.

You couldn’t believe he was taking to it better than you — wasn’t that the shock of the century?

The whole thing was the shock of the century, and still didn’t feel real. You felt like it was still to hit you even harder.

Well . . at least you had Harry to pick you up . . or lean on at least.

Every step of the way.

Whatever the next step was.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“. . . i’m gonna be sick.”

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andrealabonairchewtoy · 2 years ago

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HELPPPP??? i love this far too much. i love hayley marshall. and i love girls

Hey ! Can you make a Hayley marshall x female reader imagine in which they're fake dating to make eachother's crushes jealous of something like that idk but end up catching feelings ? Could you also add a bit of an angst and jealous Hayley but fluffy ending?

I love your writing btw !

um yes i absolutely can!! & thank you so much, im glad you enjoy my writing <33

“What?”

“It’s a good idea!”

You blinked at Hayley, titling you head as you pondered— the hybrid observing you with watchful eyes. You’d been discussing your crushes together: your hopeless crush on a certain Rebekah Mikaelson and her crush on Elijah.

“It is?” You laughed, leaning forward and she watched you— suppressing her own little smile as the sight of your happiness, “it doesn’t sound very good.”

“What’s there to lose, Y/n?” She challenged, hopefully. “If they don’t react, boo hoo and we’ll dramatically break each other’s hearts but if they get jealous then we can call of our arrangement and live happily ever after!”

“Christ, lady wolf.” You smiled amusedly at your friend who pouted and grumbled at the nickname. “Will to make you happy if I agree?” You giggled, teasingly.

“Um, extremely.” Hayley promised, nodding.

“Then you, Andrea Labonair, have permission to fake date me.” You stage whispered, your eyes bright with laughter.

“I’m honoured.” She whispered back with her own grin.

• • •

And so you did just that. You enacted your fake dating plan, but as you had said nothing really happened— apart from the consequently spending a lot more time with Hayley herself, in slightly more intimate circumstances in case anyone was spying. Which, they likely were.

It felt nice.

It did. And that confused you slightly, perhaps you liked the way her softly muscled arms pulled you closer because of friendly comfort. And the way her rings pressed against your bare skin because it reminded you that your friend was with you.

And you liked the way her hair framed her face as she looked down at you, when you lay in her lap, because she was gazing at you kindly, in a friendly manner. You liked how her eyes gleamed brightly when she stared at you, because it was nice.

It was nice being friends with her.

The more than friendly touches were also nice— maybe a bit too nice, but you were fake dating. Maybe your mind was trying to get into the fake dating scene as well. But the smell of her perfume shouldn’t have had you as dazed as it did, when you buried your head into her neck, her arms around your waist; you can like a friends perfume, your mind affirmed.

Your thoughts of her cut short as the very accent you thought was perfect spoke up and caught your attention.

“You and Hayley, then?” Rebekah inquired interestedly, staring at you with a slight smile.

Your eyes connected with her own pretty blue ones and while they were still pretty, she was still gorgeous as ever, your whole body didn’t spark excitedly as it tended to do around her.

Instead, you oddly longed for that sparkling blue to magically morph into a gentle green, the old, elegant accent to morph into a wicked, heart capturing american accent: your cheeks turned pink at your own abrupt thoughts.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice slightly breathy as you lost yourself in your own head. “Yes. Yes. I mean.” You cleared up.

Rebekah laughed heartily and you observed her, the smile on her plush lips and the beautiful smile likes on her smooth skin— she was truly a work of art, you wouldn’t deny, but for some reason Hayley’s own wicked smile and pretty laughing face invaded your mind.

A smile tugged at your lips when you thought of the brunette.

“I’m glad!” Rebekah smiled, sweetly. “You two have been a long time coming. We all anticipated this.” She giggled.

“You did?”

“Oh, obviously.” Rebekah confirmed with a large smile, clearly as happy for you as she said she was— “the longing looks and seconds too long touches, dead giveaway.”

You blinked, stunned, but as your thoughts consumed you once more a unknowing soft smile wormed its way onto your lips, envisioning the looks that Hayley allegedly gave you.

Shes so pretty, your mind babbled.

And as you lost yourself to your thoughts, Rebekah gazed at your spaced out face with a knowing grin.

However, unbeknownst to the both of you, Hayley stood near the doorway.

The hybrid had gone to find you, bundling excitedly through the doors and prepared for you to pull her into your arms, prepared to feel the stress and tension on her poor muscles release completely as you softly spoke into her ears, your voice and embrace the most soothing thing she’d ever encountered.

Hayley didn’t know when this had happened, but she’d lost herself to the fake dating.

At first, her emotions for you were entirely platonic— well, mostly. Her heat had been set on Elijah, she’d been convinced, but as time progressed and days of fake dating morphed into weeks, everything felt so real.

The way you looked at her with such tenderness made her skin buzz and head feel fuzzy, the way your hands mindlessly ran up and down her thighs as you lay across her lap sent wildfire across her body. The way you curled strands of her hair around your fingers gave her butterflies, fuck, even the way you smiled at her made her melt.

Her feelings towards Elijah dissolved entirety, not longer giving a shit if his oak brown eyes were watching her— no longer conscious of what she could do to catch his attention.

Instead, she longed to have your y/e/c eyes trace her every moment, a loving smile at your lips and a fullness in your heart. Instead, she was precise almost with how she acted around you, hoping dearly to capture your heart as you had captured hers.

Her mind continuously tried to remind her that all your actions were fake, merely a ploy to capture someone else’s affections but in favour of her heart, she ignored all the level headed warnings.

She should have known better.

Her soft green eyes glossed over with tears as she stared at the scene in front of her, the reality of her situation sinking in. Unrequited love was a bitch, and Hayley Marshall knew that better than anyone.

A tear, then another one, tricked down her cheek— the happiness in her heart dulling, a cloud of sadness now hanging over her head, she bit down on her bottom lip to restrain the sobs ready to escape, turning and climbing hurriedly up the stairs.

She should have known better.

As you and Rebekah turned to the abrupt noise, Elijah appeared in the doorway and looked more sad then he usually did.

“Y/n.” He said, softly. “Perhaps you should head upstairs, Hayley needs you.”

You didn’t question it, immediately shooting up from your seat as instant worry took over: Rebekah and Elijah trading a look.

As you shot up the stairs with a pace you didn’t realise you even possessed, you went to the door of Hayley’s room and knocked, gently.

“Hales.” You called out, concerned. “It’s me y/n, can I come in please?”

When no reply came, you waited a few seconds and feeling slightly bad you opened the door anyway and walked inside.

“What are you doing?” Hayley sharply asked, though she didn’t sound half a menacing as she hoped, the fresh tears and slightly quivering lips taking away the look.

“Hayley—“ You faced her, you mouth falling open slightly as you took in the state of her, preparing to rush forward and wrap her in your arms.

“Don’t!” She interrupted, already knowing what you were going to do and you stopped immediately. “Don’t.” She cried again, and you look at her with pain in your expression as she sobbed, but didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” You implored.

“You!” Hayley exclaimed, her teary and slightly red green eyes turning to face you. “Just go back to her please, I can’t.”

“What?” You whispered confused. “Her? Hayley, what’s happening?”

“Ugh!” She let out a loud frustrated groan through her tears. “I like you— hell, maybe even love you, you fucking idiot! And you— and you like her and I’m so stupid I know, the whole plan was for— for you to get her—her attention. And I don’t know what happened, I am so-so fucking sorry— I know you’re in love with her and it’s all fake—“

“It’s not!” You interrupted loudly through her hysteric sobbing, and she quietened down to look at you, “Hayley it’s not fake.” You breathed out, a weak smile at your lips. “I.. I like you too.”

“You do?” She gasped, teary eyed.

“I do.” You agreed, giggling seconds after. “You big idiot.”

Hayley joined in with you, giggling softly even though she was still in tears and you walked over, taking her in your arms to which she sank into your embrace.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered sheepishly, staring into your eyes as you both lay opposite each other on her bed, hands intertwined.

“It’s okay.” You assured, smiling comfortingly. “A tad dramatic, if anything.”

Hayley laughed slightly, heart fluttering as she stared into your eyes— in a moment of impulsiveness, she raised your conjoined hands, and softly kissed the back of your hand, holding eye contact.

“Kiss me?” She asked, tone underlying desperate for your affection, her warm breath brushing against the back of your hand.

“Always.”

With your quiet but meaningful assurance, you untangled your hands and wrapped your hands around her neck, shuffling closer to her as you lips met in a tender first kiss.

Yeah, this was nice. Really nice.

#i am in love #hayley marshall #hayley marshall x reader #kiss me #this author>>>>#i want this

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