#i like it too it's just a slow read bc of the second-hand letter format but that adds to the atmosphere imo

[watermelinoe]

reading really does make you calm down

[vanchlo]

The Firsts / #7 “The First Gingerbread House”

---> NEXT BLURB: The last blurb of The Firsts is most likely coming tomorrow, 12-16! 

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST   

READ ON WATTPAD

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

and i’m too lazy for italics bc tumblr ignores formatting that i do in Docs so sorry i give up 

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 2.9k words - a fun extra blurb c: 

SONG: Thank God It’s Christmas by Queen (click to listen) 

* 

“The secret of our success is that we never, never give up.” 

- Wilma Mankiller 

*

The smell wafting under the door was the first thing I registered when I woke up the next morning. Christmas music and its splendid sounds were what followed, until my sadness ran away with that moment of respite. 

He was gone. He’d left me. Harry had abandoned me. 

Those thoughts filled the sleepy holes in my head once again. Well, until I felt a movement in the bed behind me, and my eyes shot open. The room was devoid of any light, my Christmas tree long ago thrown in my closet after I read that note. It’s all but forgotten when I turn around and I remember. The snoring man under my covers whose feet rest against mine makes it all come back to me, tear by tear. Am I dreaming still? Not unless that pretend world of mine remembers the scar above his eye, the one right under the curve of his chin, or the way his eyelids flutter while he’s dreaming. Already hiccuping, I close the distance between us and throw my arms around him. 

“Mmmm,” he groans, slowly reciprocating the action like muscle memory. The crook of his neck is warmer than usual from sleep, and somehow, it smells even better than before. His woodsy vanilla scent remains as I paint his neck with my tears. “Becks . . What’s tha matter, baby?” Harry’s rasped words coast over my head. The ‘baby’ gets me right away, and the sob only deepens at how that’s his immediate response. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” I weep into his t-shirt, clinging onto him and never wanting to let him go. 

“No, ‘m here, Becks, ‘m here. ‘m not goin’ anywhere, not ever again, I promise you that. Now, go back t’ sleep, bug, ‘s only seven . .  We don’t hafta be t’ me mum’s ‘til three, and me sleep ‘s all messed up.” 

My head nods along with his words as his arms tighten around me, and my tears ebb. Sniffling, I feel them stubbornly stay and crash onto his skin with each shake of my chest. 

“You promise?” the words are choked and fear sits in them. 

“I promise, Rebecca Ann, and ‘ll never ever break this one t’ you, I mean it.” 

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Styles,” it’s a half assed attempt at a laugh with my words, but it’s better than nothing. 

“Breathe, baby, and try t’ sleep. I know you didn’t get much tha last couple o’ days.” 

My head moves around until it finds that special spot, and in the midst of it, I think of the other night when I couldn’t sleep. He was all I could think about, per usual, and Skye’s yelling didn’t help. I couldn’t tell who she was talking to, and I just assumed that her and her boyfriend were having a row on the phone. Now that I think of it, I came home from work almost every night to her on the phone, and she would angrily hang up. She was there for me, but she was secretive too, and I couldn’t understand why. Until now. 

“Skye told you?” 

“Ya,” his answer is just as quiet and slow as mine. I want to be angry and upset at the both of them, but I had spent so much of my life the last few years being mad at him that I couldn’t fathom another unnecessary second of it. “I left t’ spare you tha hurt, but there wasn’t a moment that I stopped thinkin’ and worryin’ ‘bout you, bug. She was pissed at me, so much so I wasn’t sure if she’d let me in last night when I came . . but she did. She said you would’ve killed her if she hadn’t, which I believe . . I had t’ check on you and make sure you were okay, and she was tha one closest t’ you, even if she spent each phone call cursin’ at me.” 

“But I wasn’t, how could I be after that, Harry? You disappeared on me and fell off the face of the earth. I’d never been so scared, not knowing if you were okay, or if I’d ever see you again. Y-You can’t do that again to me, we’re a team, you’ve said it yourself. We’ve talked about getting married one day, you’re my best friend a-and-,” he cuts me off before the tears do, threatening to push me over the edge that I don’t know if I can bring myself back from. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know, and ‘m so sorry. ‘ll never stop apologizin’, Becks, never. I realized too late what I did was so foolish and how terribly I hurt you. I thought I was savin’ you from mo’ pain when really I was jus’ givin’ you mo’,” he sighs, and the misery in his words almost makes me want to stop him from going on. Although it had only been a few days, it felt longer with our recent breakup, like it was all a ball of pain rolled into one. Months of just wanting him to be happy again, more so now after I thought things were okay again, and then he left. “Trust me, ‘m not gonna fook things up again. ‘m rather sure n’body would lemme anyways, not My’ or Skye or me mum. They’re all jus’ as pissed at me fer what I did, and I won’t ever do it again. I love you so much, Rebecca Ann, and I won’t ever f’get that. When things get tough, I know that’s what I need t’ rememba - that and how much you always love me.” 

“I tried to stop loving you, but I couldn’t . . I can’t.” 

“And neither could I, love, ‘d never want t’,” he murmurs. He begins to hum our song and then it spills from his lips. At last, I find the sound of his heartbeat, and my breathing begins to slow. Once he’s a few lines in and his hands are carding through my hair, I give in to the sleep, knowing that he’ll be there when I wake up. 

“Our first Christmas t’getha,” Harry rasps later on as I rub at my eyes. I make the mistake of opening them and am blinded by the light that pours in from my poorly drawn shades. His giggle tickles at my ears when I nuzzle my head back into his chest. 

“First of many,” I mumble in between the folds of his t-shirt, finally feeling around and noticing the absence of his flannel. “Where did your flannel go last night?”

“Where d’ya think it went, Ms. Heater? Bloody hell, ‘s stiflin’ in yer bedroom, y’know that? ‘Least put onna fan or sumthin’, I fookin’ overheated last night. At least at mine, I know t’ turn tha heat down at night ‘cos you do it all fer me,” Harry nearly scoffs, but the humor in his voice is contagious. 

“Is that what happened with your pants too?”

“Ya, and skinny jeans aren’t comfy t’ sleep in,” he remarks. I feel his body move as my hand goes under his shirt, feeling his toned stomach. Without knowing it, it wanders down and to the front of his underwear. “Hey, mind that hand o’ yers, woman.” 

“You know I just like to feel it sometimes,” is all I say as I palm at his crotch, hearing his groan. 

“Ya, well now yer gonna make me hard, and ‘d rather not be when ‘m textin’ me sista. God, ‘s she mad at me.” 

I don’t mean to giggle, but I find it difficult to resist, and even more so when Harry is groaning at me. 

“‘s a good thing yer cute, and so are yer li’l snorts,” he says, shaking his head at me when I at last rest my chin on his chest to look up at him. 

“Aren’t you a little old to be wearing skinny jeans? You’re almost thirty-one, Harry.” 

“Hush,” he tuts, slipping his tongue out to swipe over his lips. His lips remain parted before he bites at his bottom one when his thumbs flit across the screen of his phone. “Stop bein’ mean t’ me, ‘m tired.” 

Another laugh slips out and his head is shaking furiously as I feel his dick harden underneath my hand. 

“Rebecca Ann, get yer hand away from me dick, or else.” 

“Or what?” I say, fully aware of what I’m doing to him, and so is he. 

“Woman,” it comes out as a perturbed sigh from him, but it’s all but ignored as I get on all fours. He doesn’t acknowledge the way that I climb up his body with kisses pressed up his scratchy neck. “What d’ya think yer doin’?”

“What, can’t I kiss my boyfriend?” I tease, threading my way through his arms. His neck smells amazing when I lay down on top of him, wheezing at the ‘ooof’ he makes. 

He hums an approval while his phone makes small noises every time he types a letter. A smile warms my face as I cozy my face into his neck, needing to make up for lost time as I think of how he didn’t even react or protest when I plopped down on him. He wrapped his arms around me and hooked his chin over my shoulder and carried on, as if normal. 

“Hey, look who’s callin’ me,” Harry notes, his voice still crackly from sleep. “Hullo? Hi, Harper, how’re you, darlin’?” in seconds, his voice drips of honey for his other favorite girl in the world, filling my heart. “Ya wanna talk t’ Anty Becky? ‘Kay, ‘ll put you on speaker so you can talk t’ us both.” 

“Best get ready, somebody may have missed you mo’ than me,” he grins at me as we stop in front of a door decorated with a festive wreath. “Didn’t know that was possible.” 

The door opens within moments, and a small girl with honey colored hair stands in front of us. 

“Anty Becky! Unky Harry!” she exclaims, her adorable pin striped apron billowing around her when she runs forward to wrap her arms around our legs. 

“Hiya, sweets. How’re you?” Harry coos, bending down to scoop her into his arms. If I wasn’t melting already, I sure am now. “Happy Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas! I missed you!” she whines, resting her head on Harry’s chest as he hugs her back. Goddammit, my ovaries better calm the fuck down. “And I missed you, Anty Becky!” Harper squeals when she lets up and reaches her arms out for me. I take the little girl in my arms and Harry ushers us into the house and out of the cold. 

“How are you, love?” I ask her, combing her hair out of her darling brown eyes. 

“Good. You’re both early, yay!” she announces, pulling on my hand and Harry’s when I let her down. We share hello’s with Gemma, her husband, and the walking and talking Ollie. 

“Mum not here yet?” I hear Harry ask his sister who replies with a curt ‘no.’ “Seems ‘m still in tha doghouse with her.” 

“What’s a doghouse?” Harper asks when she stops, seeing as how we’ve reached our destination. The kitchen table prepared with our supplies awaits us, and I get the message when I see the look Gemma gives Harry. 

“Don’t worry, love. So, I hear we’re makin’ gingerbread houses t’day?”

“Yep! Mummy said you’re really good at making them,” Harry’s young niece says. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when I meet them, but he still cracks a laugh. 

“I s’pose I am, or accordin’ t’ yer mummy, I am.” 

“Yay, I’ve wanted to make one for so long, and mummy said we could today since Christmas dinner isn’t for a few hours,” she answers, and it only continues to surprise me how much she’s grown since I first met her. 

“How’s school going, Harp?” my question finds a place in between her meticulous watching of Harry taking out the gingerbread pieces from the zipped baggy. 

“Good, I know all of my ABC’s now, Anty Becky,” she answers, but her attention couldn’t be further from me. 

Her eyes widen when her uncle takes off the lids to the frosting her and Gemma had prepared. My hand goes to my mouth when she tells Harry to be careful with the sprinkles container he opens. The organ that thumps away in my chest metaphorically swells at the sound of how she says his name. Hair-wee. It only drives my ovaries a bit more nuts at the sound, and I mistakenly think about our kids calling him that, and the beloved Daddy, of course. 

“‘Kay, here’s tha pieces t’ yer house, Harpy. Now, we can’t eat all o’ tha frostin’,” Harry tells her as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. Swoon. 

“Do you want some, Unky Hair-wee?” she offers, sticking her finger into the pink frosting and holding it out to him. He shakes his head at her offer, but when she isn’t looking, he swipes some for eating. “Hey, you said we can’t eat it all!” 

“I didn’t, I only had a touch, love.” 

“No lying, Unky Hair-wee!” she says with a wag of her finger at him, and soon, we’re all laughing but her. “Becky, Hair-wee is being naughty.” “Oh no. What should we do about it, love?” I find it harder to pose my question in a serious tone than I thought it would be. She hums a sound like she’s thinking, and I giggle under my breath when Harry picks her hand out of the bowl of gum drops. 

“He gets coal for Christmas,” she mutters, her small face squished with upset as Harry assembles the first two walls of her house. 

“‘m not gonna help you with yer house if yer not gonna be nice, Harp, but we won’t have anythin’ t’ decorate our house with if we eat all o’ our sweets,” he tells her gingerly, giving me an alarmed look when I find his eyes. Shaking his head, he picks up the piping bag and continues to put the walls together. 

Huffing, she pulls her hand back from the small plate of chocolate chips, placing them in her lap. Pulling my eyes away from my half assembled house, I watch her observe Harry and his craftsmanship. I don’t have to look very hard to see the similarities between the two. First off, oh my god with the stubbornness. Then, there’s the love of sweets and chocolate, to no surprise. Her hair curls at the ends beautifully, and deep dimples sit in her cheeks when they move. Although she’s a spitting image of her mother, when I see young pictures of Harry, I see Harper in them too. 

Resting my chin on my hand, I lose myself in watching him with her, knowing he’d be just as sweet, if not more, with his own babies. God, I need to get a grip. 

“Why’s it not working?” Harper whines ten minutes later when one of the walls of her gingerbread house falls down. 

“It jus’ needs mo’ frostin’, sweets. I didn’t do a very good job with that one, ‘m afraid. Here, why don’t you keep decoratin’ tha other sides while I fix it, ya?”

“Mmmmkay,” she sighs, picking up a small red cinnamon flavored candy to continue framing the door. Her pudgy, little fingers are careful and slow, and it makes me smile. “Yours looks cute, Anty Becky,” she comments and when I look over at her, she’s giving Harry a dirty look. He lifts his eyes with his face torn between being upset and trying not to laugh, asking me with his eyes, ‘did you see that?’ 

“Thanks, Harp, and so does yours. You and Harry are doing a good job.” 

“Not good enough,” it’s a mutter under her breath, but I hear it. I clear my throat as I continue to press peppermint twist candies onto a wall of my gingerbread house. 

“Hey, li’l miss, watch tha li’l attitude,” Harry warns with a raise of his eyebrows. He drops the piping bag after the house is all reassembled and dances his fingers across her ribs until she’s squealing from laughter. “Huh, what was that? Did I jus’ hear you say, ‘’m sorry, Unky Hair-wee, I love our gingerbread house so much! Yer tha best unky in da world, I love you so much!’” 

“No,” she giggles, and by now, my gingerbread house is forgotten as I watch the two with their dimples adorning their laughs. “I didn’t say that! I don’t love you, you’re all stinky and mean!” 

“Am not!” Harry scoffs, picking her up from her chair and holding her upside down. Her laughs continue loudly as he tickles under her arms and in the crook of her neck, tossing her onto the sofa in the nearby living room. 

“Are too!” she fights back, kicking at him as he towers over her, sending chuckles from her lips. “I like Anty Becky better!” 

Harry gasps at her proclamation and now, I’m laughing along with her. He looks over to me and I don’t think he could be smiling bigger. “Ya like this?” 

“Mmmhmm, you’re so cute together. You’re gonna make such a good daddy one day,” I muse aloud, surprising myself with the confession. It only makes his dimples bigger in his cheeks, and I can’t tell if they’re reddening from the tickling or from my words. 

God, I couldn’t have picked a better man to be a daddy to my babies one day.