kahluamystery97

[kahluamystery97]

This was everything. So beautifully written. Every first was a joy to experience in this fic.

The Many Firsts.

Author's Note: When I put out a vote for what trope I should explore next, this one came out on top, and honestly, I wasn’t surprised. So many of you connected with Father’s Day and Every Day, and seeing Harry as a dad really seemed to hit home.

So let’s head back into the world of our little family. Let’s revisit those chaotic, beautiful, emotional firsts - the ones that sneak up on you and leave you teary-eyed in the middle of the kitchen. The ones that make parenting feel impossibly hard and impossibly worth it. Thanks for being here, and loving them the way you do 🩷

Read the first entry of Dad Harry, here

Find my masterlist here

———————————————————————————

First time, again.

The house was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that meant chaos was brewing - no suspicious thumps or tell-tale baby wails - but the soft, blissful silence of a baby fast asleep, white noise humming gently through the monitor.

Remy had been down for forty-three minutes. Not that Nora was counting. But she was. Because it had taken four months to get her sleeping through the night, and she wasn’t about to jinx it now.

She padded out of the nursery and into their bedroom, her feet bare, her heart a little quick.

They hadn’t talked about it in any concrete way. The topic had come up, in small glances and lazy kisses, but life - and hormones, and stitches, and colic - had kept pushing it off.

Until tonight.

She paused by the dresser, glancing at the soft cream lingerie set she’d pulled from the back of the drawer. It was one Harry had bought her when she was pregnant, silky and romantic and untouched since. She’d hesitated before slipping it on, second-guessing herself in the mirror: her body softer, changed in quiet ways. But then she’d caught her own eye and breathed in deep. She wanted this.

So she fluffed her hair. Dabbed on a little lip balm. And now, she stepped lightly down the stairs, heart in her throat, nerves fluttering like moths behind her ribs.

Harry was curled up on the couch, reading, his curls still damp from the shower, dressed in his usual worn-in joggers and a plain white tee.

He looked up when she came in and froze. His book dropped gently to his lap.

“Christ,” he murmured. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Nora laughed, but it came out shy. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said back, slower, his eyes sweeping over her - not greedy or lewd, just in awe. “You look… you look like a painting.”

She crossed the room, settling in next to him. “A slightly nervous one?”

“A very, very beautiful one,” he said, cupping her jaw gently. “We don’t have to do anything tonight, you know that?”

“I know,” she nodded. “But I want to.”

He studied her carefully. “Are you sure?”

She smiled. “I’ve never been more sure of anything I’m this nervous about.”

He laughed softly and leaned forward, kissing her - slow, reverent, with a tenderness that made her eyes burn. They stayed like that for a while, fingers tracing, limbs tangling gently, and when they finally made their way upstairs, it wasn’t rushed or feverish, just warm. Thoughtful. Patient.

And yes - it hurt, a little.

Her breath caught at one point and he immediately stilled, whispering, “Do you want to stop?” against her cheek.

“No,” she whispered back. “Just… give me a second.”

So he waited. Held her face. Let her come back to herself before continuing.

They moved together like they were relearning the rhythm - and maybe they were - but there was so much love in it, so much care. No pressure. No expectation. Just rediscovery, heartbeat to heartbeat.

And when it was over, and they lay tangled in the sheets, skin cooling, Nora rolled into him with a quiet sigh.

For a while, they just breathed. Then, in a small voice:

“Was that okay for you?”

Harry blinked. “What?”

She propped herself up on one elbow. “I just… I know it’s been a while. And I know my body’s different now. So I guess I just wanted to make sure it was… still the same. For you.”

Harry’s face softened, like she’d just asked him if the sky was still blue.

“Hey,” he said, brushing a hand over her arm. “I hope you didn’t do that for me. I never, ever want you to feel like I’m expecting something from you.”

“I didn’t,” she said quickly. “I wanted to. Truly. I just-” her voice cracked, just a little, “-I wanted to make sure it felt as good for you as it did before. That I felt as good to you.”

Harry sat up slightly, cradling her face in both hands. “Are you crazy?” he said, not unkindly. “Nora. You’re my dream girl. You always have been. That’s never going to change.”

She sniffed, her lips curling into a wobbly smile. “Even with the stretch marks and mum boobs?”

He kissed her hard, then pulled back enough to say against her lips, “Especially with the stretch marks and mum boobs.”

She let out a watery laugh and tucked her face into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he murmured. “And that was… perfect. Not because of sex. But because it was us. Still us. And I missed that.”

“Me too.”

They lay there in the quiet hum of the dark, her palm pressed to his chest, his fingers running lightly up and down her spine, and somewhere down the hall, the baby monitor stayed blessedly silent.

It was their first time again. And it felt, in the best way, like coming home.

———————————————————————————

First time out.

The restaurant is candlelit and quiet, tucked into a cobbled side street they used to walk past before everything changed. Harry had booked it months ago, thinking ahead, knowing their anniversary would fall around the time Remy would be nine months. Long enough, he’d thought, for things to feel more normal.

Nora’s wearing a navy dress that skims her waist, soft makeup, and her hair is tucked up in a messy twist that she hadn’t had time to redo after Remy’s bath. She still looks so beautiful Harry wants to grab her and run out into the night just to kiss her under the streetlamps.

But she’s quiet. Her smile is tight. Her fork nudges at her food more than it eats it.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks gently, cutting his salmon, watching her over the table.

She glances up. Caught.

“Yeah,” she says too quickly, then softens it. “Sorry. I know this is… I know you planned this.”

He reaches across the table and places his hand over hers.

“Don’t apologise. I just want you to be here with me. That’s all.”

“I am here,” she says, then lets out a quiet breath and shakes her head. “But I’m also not. I keep thinking I left the instructions for Gemma too vaguely. That I should’ve stayed five more minutes. That I didn’t say bye to Remy properly.”

“You kissed her five times,” he reminds her with a soft smile. “You said you loved her. You sang her the bunny song. You packed her bag like she was off to uni.”

Nora laughs at that, a thin smile cracking across her mouth. But her eyes still look glassy.

“I know,” she says. “I just… she’s never not been with me. I feel like I’ve left a part of myself behind.”

Harry threads his fingers through hers.

“You haven’t. She’s just a ten-minute drive away. And she’s with my sister, who literally lives to swaddle that child.”

Nora nods. She knows all this. Her brain knows it. Her heart - the stretched, tired, aching part of her - doesn’t.

They eat for a bit in silence. The food is lovely. The wine sits untouched on her side of the table. Harry’s had half a glass. It feels like too much.

After a while, he says, “I’ve missed this. Just being with you.”

Her eyes dart to him, apologetic.

“I’m sorry I’m being weird. I’m trying not to ruin it-”

“You’re not ruining anything,” he cuts in, gently. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel. This is a big first.”

She looks down at her hands.

“I think I thought I’d feel relief. I wanted a break, I really did. But now that we’re here, I just feel guilty. Like… like I’m being selfish for wanting to be out. But also like I’m broken because I can’t enjoy it.”

Harry puts his fork down. The table between them feels too wide, the candle too fragile.

“You’re not broken,” he says. “You had a baby nine months ago. You grew her inside you. You feed her. You hold her every day. It’s okay if it’s hard to be away. It doesn’t mean anything bad.”

She blinks quickly, trying not to cry in the restaurant.

“And,” he adds, “you’re not selfish. Wanting a break doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human.”

Her lip wobbles. “But you’ve been amazing. Like, I see you in the mornings with her and how she lights up when she sees you, and I think maybe she doesn’t even need me.”

Harry’s eyebrows crease. He leans forward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Nora. That’s not true. That little bug is obsessed with you. She tracks your voice like it’s GPS.”

She smiles weakly.

“And yeah,” he adds, “she smiles when she sees me. But that’s because of you too. You made our home safe. You made me a dad. You’ve given her so much love it just overflows.”

She shakes her head slightly, overwhelmed.

“I didn’t expect to feel so much,” she admits. “Like… we’re out at a restaurant and I feel like I’m grieving. Isn’t that crazy?”

“No,” Harry says gently. “I think it means you’re doing it right.”

They fall into silence again. The server brings dessert menus. They wave them away.

“I love you,” he says softly, after a long moment. “And I love being a dad. But I also miss us. Not because this version of us is bad, it’s not, but because I miss seeing you breathe.”

She nods, swallowing hard.

“I miss me too,” she whispers.

Harry moves around the table then. Doesn’t care if people look. He slides into the seat beside her and pulls her against him, arms wrapping around her shoulders.

She leans into it without resistance, head on his shoulder, tears finally sliding down her cheeks in the quiet hum of the restaurant.

“Happy anniversary,” she whispers against his shirt.

He kisses her hair. “Best one yet. Even if we bail on dessert.”

She laughs against his chest. “We’ve got ice cream at home.”

They leave not long after. The drive is quiet but less heavy. The air has shifted. They don’t talk much - they don’t need to.

When they arrive back at Gemma’s, Nora tries not to rush through the door but does anyway. Remy’s asleep, cheeks flushed, a thumb in her mouth, curled in a little ball in the cot. Safe. Warm.

Gemma meets them in the hallway, whispering, “She was perfect. Didn’t fuss once.”

Nora thanks her, probably too many times, and Harry gives her a grateful squeeze before lifting Remy’s overnight bag. Nora presses a kiss to Remy’s temple as she scoops her gently into her arms.

Back home, the three of them crawl into bed. Remy stays between them for the night, tucked into her sleep sack, cheeks squished against the mattress. Nora wraps herself around her and exhales for the first time in hours.

Harry watches them - his girls, his heart - and thinks maybe next year, they’ll book a place closer. One with room for a travel cot.

———————————————————————————

First cough and fever.

The cough started in the early hours of the morning, soft and raspy at first, more of a whimper than anything. But by sunrise, it had turned into something jagged, dry, and persistent.

Remy clung to Nora’s chest, cheek damp and warm with a low fever, her body curled like a comma against her mother. Her breath came in short little huffs between coughs, and every sound twisted something sharp in Nora’s stomach.

“Her nose is all blocked,” Nora murmured, gently running a cool cloth along Remy’s forehead. “She barely slept. She kept waking up every twenty minutes.”

Harry nodded from where he was crouched beside the bed, hand resting on Remy’s small ankle. “She wouldn’t even let me hold her. Just wanted you.”

Nora didn’t respond. She was too tired to. The whole night had been a blur of pacing the hallway, sitting in the steamy bathroom with the shower running, reading the back of every medicine bottle twice. Her hair was scraped into a messy bun, skin drawn with exhaustion. She hadn't eaten. She couldn’t. Not while Remy was this fragile, this quiet.

“I think she’s got a temperature,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have let her walk home in the rain the other day. That was stupid. She was soaked through.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.”

“She was shivering. I thought it was cute. I wrapped her in my scarf. And now-”

“-Now she’s sick. Kids get sick, Nora.”

“She’s never been this sick.”

Harry moved closer and pressed his hand to Remy’s back, eyes soft. “She’s gonna be okay.”

But Nora’s face stayed tight, her jaw clenched against the guilt. Against the panic she wouldn’t name.

They stayed like that most of the morning. Harry made tea, tried to coax Nora into toast, brought her vitamins she didn’t ask for. He sat with her while Remy slept in her arms, the TV murmuring something gentle in the background.

By early afternoon, Remy stirred, coughing again. Her tiny voice croaked, “Mummy.”

Nora kissed her hair. “I’m here, baby.”

“She wants you again,” Harry said softly. “She won’t even look at me.”

“She’s just clingy.”

“I get it. I’d want you too.”

Nora looked up, eyes glassy. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I hate feeling useless.”

“You’re not. She’s in your arms. You’re her entire world.”

She sniffled, adjusting Remy’s blanket. “I just want her to feel better.”

They gave her more baby paracetamol, ran another steam shower, played lullabies and white noise. Nora stayed in bed with Remy most of the day, and Harry did everything else - washing bottles, restocking tissues, changing the cot sheets just in case she’d want to sleep there later (she wouldn’t).

That evening, while Remy finally dozed in the sling strapped to Nora’s chest, Harry leaned over the kitchen counter and said, “You need to sleep too.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“She cries if I put her down.”

“I’ll hold her.”

“She doesn’t want you.”

Harry smiled sadly. “That’s okay.”

“You’re allowed to be upset about that.”

“I’m not. It’s not about me. It’s about her feeling safe.”

Nora stared at him, then finally let him take Remy - slowly, gently -into his arms. She whimpered, fussed, and Nora’s body tensed on instinct.

But Harry whispered softly to her, rocking her in small figure eights, and after a few minutes, she was asleep again, tucked into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Nora whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“I feel like I failed.”

“You didn’t.”

“She’s never this quiet. She’s never not smiling. Her cheeks are all hot. She’s so little.”

“I know.” He came close, free arm wrapping around Nora’s waist. “But we’ve got her. And we’ve got each other.”

She nodded, finally letting her cheek rest against his shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut.

Later that night, when Remy woke up crying again, Nora was the first to reach her, instinct before thought. She paced the room with her, whispering nonsense words, heart aching.

And two days later, when the fever broke and Remy woke up babbling and trying to feed yoghurt to the dog, Nora cried in the kitchen out of pure relief.

Harry held her close, kissed the side of her head, and murmured, “Told you she’d be okay.”

Nora wiped her eyes and smiled. “I know. I just needed to see it.”

———————————————————————————

First touch of fame.

The morning had been mild, unexpectedly warm for late February. The sort of rare London sunshine that practically begged you outside. So Nora packed a light bag - snacks, spare socks, a juice box - slipped Remy into her soft pink coat, grabbed the lead for their Cocker Spaniel, Milo, and headed toward Primrose Hill.

They hadn’t planned anything. Nora just needed to move, and Remy had been restless, asking for swings and “the duckies,” which may or may not have been a made-up memory from summer. Either way, it felt like a good day to be outside.

It had started lovely. Milo chasing pigeons, Remy shrieking with delight from the climbing frame, her curls bouncing beneath her little hat. Nora took pictures for Harry, even recorded a video of Remy narrating her own attempt to go down the slide “like a monkey.” It wasn’t until she sat on the bench with a cup of takeaway tea while Remy made mud cakes near the sandbox that she felt it.

That shift. That strange sense of being watched.

It wasn’t overt. Just a prickling behind the ears, a quick flash of something reflective between the trees, a man standing far too still by the railing with a phone in his hand. Nora instinctively shifted Remy’s coat hood up and gently adjusted her position so her back faced the direction of the camera.

She didn’t make a scene. She didn’t run. She just stayed calm and kept her daughter close.

They walked back slowly, with Remy holding Milo’s lead, and asking if ducks lived in trees.

Harry was home later than usual - studio meetings and something about a magazine cover shoot in New York. So Nora didn’t mention it. The photos didn’t feel major. Not threatening. Just a reminder of the world they lived in. And she knew, she knew, how it would sit in Harry’s gut. She didn’t want to worry him. Not when everything was calm again.

But the photos hit his inbox just after eight.

He was still in his coat, phone in hand, frozen by the kitchen island as Nora wiped down the table.

“Nora.”

His voice wasn’t angry. It was... confused. Quiet. Something that made her look up immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned his phone to her.

Four grainy shots.

Nora in the park, kneeling down to button Remy’s coat. Remy clutching Milo’s lead, looking slightly off to the side. Another where Nora was shielding her daughter’s face with her hand, gently turning her away. No zoom lens in the world could mistake her intention.

“Oh,” she said softly, setting the cloth down. “That was today.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I know.”

“Why wouldn’t you-” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. His voice stayed low, but tight. “They shouldn’t have been there.”

“No, they shouldn’t.”

“She’s two. She’s a baby, Nora.”

“I know.”

He paced toward the sink and back, phone in hand. “Jeff sent these. He said they’ll be on a couple of sites by morning. Nothing nasty, just… public interest crap. 'Harry Styles’ Family Enjoying the Sunshine' or some garbage like that.”

“I figured.”

Harry looked at her then, really looked. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Nora folded her arms and leaned against the table. Not defensive. Just steady.

“Because it wasn’t a crisis,” she said. “And because I handled it.”

“But it’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

She exhaled. “Maybe not. But I do. And honestly? I was more focused on making sure Remy didn’t notice than anything else.”

His jaw clenched, frustration flickering behind his eyes. Not at her. Never at her. At this. At the fact that he couldn’t stop people from intruding on something as innocent as a park date.

“I hate that this is part of it,” he muttered. “I hate that you have to think about this crap when all you wanted was fresh air. That she’ll grow up with flashes in her face and people whispering about who her dad is.”

“She didn’t even notice today,” Nora said quietly. “And I didn’t tell her anything different. We came home, she took a long nap, Milo threw up half a pigeon feather in the hallway. It was normal.”

“But it’s not normal. You shouldn’t have to carry this for me.”

Nora crossed the room and touched his hand, lowering the phone gently.

“I’m not carrying it for you,” she said. “I’m carrying it with you.”

He looked like he might say something more, but just then, the monitor crackled to life and then they heard the thump of little feet against her mattress.

“Up!” she called. “Dadda you home??”

Harry blinked. A whole new softness fell across his face.

Nora smiled gently. “That’s your cue.”

She followed him into Remy’s room, watching as their daughter lit up at the sight of him.

“Dadda!” she squealed, standing unsteadily in her cot. “You home! You home!”

“I’m home, baby,” he laughed, sweeping her into his arms and spinning gently.

She wrapped around him like a koala, giggling into his neck, cheeks flushed with sleep. Nora leaned in the doorway, watching as Harry pressed kiss after kiss into her messy curls.

“See?” she said softly, catching his eyes. “Best dadda ever.”

He kissed Remy’s temple and looked over her head at Nora, heart aching.

“I just want her to have the life she deserves.”

“She does have it.”

“I don’t want my job to steal anything from her.”

“It won’t,” she promised. “Because the things that matter - her dad singing her lullabies, making dinosaur pancakes, dancing like an idiot in the kitchen - none of that is affected by a long lens.”

Harry kissed the top of Remy’s head. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You absolutely do.”

“And you’re sure you’re okay?”

Nora stepped in, pressing her hand against the small of his back.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice warm. “I didn’t like it, but I’m fine. I know what this life is. I chose it, too. I chose you. And she’s going to grow up knowing that her family is solid. That she’s safe.”

Remy yawned loudly, hand patting Harry’s cheek.

“Dadda, story?”

He smiled. “Always.”

Nora kissed Remy’s forehead. “One story, then it's bath time, yeah?”

“Okay, Mummy,” she whispered, already relaxing against Harry’s chest.

As he carried her toward the rocker in the corner, Nora stepped back, giving them space. Her eyes lingered on the photo frames on the shelf - Remy as a newborn, Remy’s first muddy puddle, the three of them in bed on a Sunday morning.

They couldn’t control the outside world.

But in here, in this warm little orbit, everything was exactly how it should be.

———————————————————————————

First tantrum.

It had been one of those deceptively calm mornings - the kind that makes you believe everything is going fine until you realise you’re sitting on a landmine.

Remy had woken up at the respectable hour of 7:10, asked for her usual milk and bananas, and had sat on the floor flipping through a cloth book while Nora dozed on the couch beside her. Harry, after his morning run, had swooped in all dewy-faced and caffeinated, scooping Remy up with dramatic flair and a sing-song voice that earned him a giggle and a near miss of milk spit-up.

All signs pointed to smooth sailing.

Until lunch.

Until the sandwich.

“I don’t wan' it!” Remy declared, her voice sharp and royal, like she was sending back an overcooked steak at a five-star restaurant.

Harry, who had just carefully cut the peanut butter and banana sandwich into perfect triangles - diagonally, mind you, per request - blinked in confusion.

“You said you wanted this,” he reminded gently, crouching to her level.

“No,” she said, folding her arms. “I say ‘maybe.’”

“Oh my god,” Nora muttered behind him. “We’ve raised a tiny lawyer.”

Harry smiled and offered a bite. “Just try it. It’s your favorite.”

It happened fast.

One second he was offering a lovingly prepared sandwich. The next, he was being hit in the face with it.

A soft thwack of bread against cheek, a faint smear of banana, a stunned moment of silence.

Nora froze with her cup of tea halfway to her mouth.

Harry blinked. “Did she just...?”

“She did.”

Remy sat there, unapologetic, clutching her water bottle and kicking her legs like it was just another Tuesday.

“Okay,” Nora said, taking a breath. “Alright. That’s... new.”

They’d talked about tantrums. Prepared themselves with books and podcasts and far-too-serious conversations that happened over half-eaten dinners. But somehow, this real-life situation - the sandwich, the sass, the unbothered toddler - made all the preparation feel like a lie.

Harry slowly wiped banana off his shirt. “Should we... do the thing?”

Nora nodded. “Yeah. Time-out.”

Remy didn’t agree.

“Noooo,” she howled when Nora gently reached for her hand. “No time-out!”

“It’s not a punishment, Remy,” Nora said calmly. “It’s a moment to think. Just two minutes.”

“NOOO!”

Harry stepped in, crouching again. “Bug, throwing food is not okay. We just need to take a breath, yeah? Just sit on the bottom stair with mummy. Two minutes, then we’ll come back and talk.”

“I DON’T WANNA STAIR! I WAN' RASBRY!”

“You didn’t even eat your sandwich!”

“YOU ARE SANDWICH!”

That was new.

Between the shrieks and the twisting and the flailing arms, they somehow managed to guide her to the bottom step. Nora sat with her at first, murmuring gently about feelings and kindness and choices. Remy’s response was to start singing.

The alphabet. But she skipped Q and shouted “W!” twice.

Harry leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. “She’s mocking us, right?”

“She’s thriving,” Nora whispered. “Time-out is her stage.”

“Should we just... leave her there?”

“She’s two, not an existential poet.”

Still, they slipped into the kitchen, out of view, as she continued her serenade to the stairwell. Nora leaned against the counter, arms folded tightly across her chest.

“She threw it right at your face,” she said, lips twitching.

“I felt it in my soul.”

“She’s never done that before.”

“She’s testing the limits.”

“She’s a tyrant in bunny socks.”

Nora couldn’t hold it anymore. She snorted into her sleeve.

Harry followed, laughing quietly but freely now, wiping a hand over his face.

“We’re terrible at this,” she said between laughs. “I mean... are we supposed to go back and teach her something? Because I’m about to start singing ‘W’ too.”

Harry reached for her hand. “I think she’s already teaching us something. Like how to dodge flying snacks.”

“And how to silently cry-laugh behind a fridge door.”

They stood like that for a moment - breathless, laughing, overwhelmed. Then, from the hallway, came a solemn voice:

“All done now.”

Nora stepped back into view. “Are you ready to say sorry, Rem?”

Remy nodded, solemn as a monk. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Harry crouched to her level again. “Thank you, bug. Just use your words next time, alright? Sandwiches have feelings too.”

“I be kind now.”

“I know you will.”

She held her arms out, her signature olive branch, and Harry scooped her into his chest. She tucked her face into his neck, already halfway to humming a new tune.

Lunch resumed, this time with crackers and cheese, carefully plate-shared to avoid another flying incident.

Later that night, after Remy was asleep (finally, after three books and an elaborate hunt for a missing bunny sock), Nora curled up next to Harry on the couch.

“I really thought I’d be better at this,” she admitted quietly.

Harry shifted, pulling her closer under the throw. “You’re brilliant at this.”

“She threw food at you.”

“And you tried to give a TED Talk on emotional regulation. That’s parenting.”

She sighed. “I thought I’d be the calm one. You know, the one who always knows what to do.”

“You were calm.”

“I was faking it.”

“I thought I was going to start laughing when she called me a sandwich.”

“You are a sandwich.”

He grinned, tipping her chin toward him. “She’s two, Nor. This is the part where we wing it. And laugh a lot. And maybe cry sometimes.”

“We should’ve recorded that time-out. For the archives.”

“She’s going to run this house.”

“She already does.”

He leaned in, kissed her hair. “But I wouldn’t want to be ruled by anyone else.”

Nora smiled, eyes on the monitor where a tiny chest rose and fell in sleep. “She’s a menace.”

“She’s perfect.”

“And she’s ours.”

———————————————————————————

First parenting argument.

It had been a beautiful, chaotic kind of morning. They’d invited both sides of the family over for a lazy Sunday brunch. Anne brought pastries, Gemma wrangled her own toddler with a practiced eye, and Nora’s dad was loudly debating the best way to make scrambled eggs in the kitchen. Remy, two and a half and riding a sugar high from half a croissant, was on a mission.

She ran between legs, tugged on tablecloths, and refused to eat the strawberries Nora had cut into careful little hearts. Instead, she dropped them, one by one, onto the dog’s head.

Everyone was laughing. Except Nora.

She was tired. And overstimulated. And trying to keep her cool while maintaining some semblance of boundaries with a toddler who had no interest in boundaries.

“Rem, no more throwing food,” she said gently, crouching beside Remy who was now shoving her sippy cup across the floor. “Come on, bug, let’s clean up.”

But Remy didn’t want to clean up. Remy screamed.

Before Nora could do much else, Harry stepped in. With practiced arms, he scooped Remy up and said, in his calm but firmer-than-Nora tone, “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s have a little quiet time, yeah?”

He carried her upstairs. Nora felt every pair of eyes flicker to her.

“She’s just tired,” someone said helpfully.

Nora smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The house was quiet again by late afternoon. Everyone had gone. Dishes were piled high. Nora stood at the sink, scrubbing a pan with more force than necessary. Harry walked in, drying his hands on a towel.

“You alright?” he asked, gentle.

Nora didn’t look up. “Fine.”

Harry waited, but she didn’t say more. Just kept scrubbing.

“You sure? You’ve gone quiet since this morning.”

She turned then, arms crossed, still holding the sponge. “You didn’t need to step in like that, Harry.”

He blinked. “She wasn’t listening to you.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to swoop in and take over.”

His brows knit. “I wasn’t trying to take over. I was trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t feel like help.” Her voice cracked slightly. “It felt like you didn’t trust me to handle our daughter.”

That landed heavy.

Harry leaned against the counter, exhaling. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked. “You get to come in and be the calm one. The fun one. While I look like I can’t even manage a tantrum. Everyone just laughed it off and you... you carried her off like I couldn’t be the one to do it.”

“I didn’t think you couldn’t,” Harry said, his voice low. “I saw you were overwhelmed and I wanted to help.”

She was quiet for a beat. Then:

“I just wanted to feel like you had my back, not like you were correcting me in front of everyone.”

That hit him in the chest.

Harry stepped closer. “I do have your back. Always.”

Nora looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like we’re on the same team.”

He touched her arm. “We are. We are, Nora. I messed up, I see that. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just panicked. She screamed so loud, and your dad looked worried, and I... I wanted to keep it from becoming a scene.”

Nora let out a breath. “I get that. I do. I just... parenting in front of an audience is hard. And I was trying so hard to keep it together.”

Harry reached for her then, pulling her into his chest. She let herself fold against him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “You were amazing. You always are.”

She let out a small, tired laugh. “You’re forgiven.”

He leaned back to look at her, brushing her fringe from her face.

“We’re terrible at this sometimes,” he said with a little grin.

“Speak for yourself. I’m flawless,” she teased, nudging him.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He started planting dramatic, smacking kisses all over her face. One on her cheek, one on her nose, another on her forehead. She yelped, trying to bat him away, giggling.

“Harry!”

“This is what you get for being right. Infinite kisses,” he said, continuing his attack.

She was laughing now, breathless. “Okay, okay! Truce.”

He finally settled, arms wrapping tightly around her. They stood there for a while, just holding each other.

Nora sighed into his chest. “I love you. Even when you do annoying things in front of our families.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I love you more. Even when you hoard all the strawberry hearts.”

She smiled, eyes closed. “We’re doing alright, aren’t we?”

Harry swayed them gently. “We’re doing great.”

———————————————————————————

First night without Nora.

Harry stands in the doorway of Remy’s room, rocking slightly on his heels as she lies nestled beneath her lilac bunny-print duvet. Her little hand, clutching her strawberry plushie, rises and falls gently with each breath.

He doesn’t move until her breathing steadies. Not quite asleep yet, but close enough. He whispers, “Goodnight, my bug,” and slowly backs out of the room like she’s a live alarm system.

He’s proud he got through the bedtime routine mostly unscathed - only one small meltdown over toothpaste flavour and one bonus chapter of the bedtime book. It’s the first night Nora’s away for work. An overnight trip to Manchester for a big pitch, and even though he insisted she go, practically pushed her suitcase into the hallway, Harry now feels the silence of the house like a physical weight.

He closes Remy’s door and exhales, padding downstairs to clean up from dinner. He hadn’t realized how many peas a toddler could throw when they were in the mood. Milo watches him from the doorway, clearly unimpressed with his slow cleanup rate.

"Alright, alright," Harry mutters, tossing another spoon into the dishwasher. "We survived."

By the time he finally sits on the sofa, nursing a cup of tea, it’s nearly ten. He checks his phone. No new texts. He sighs, sets it aside, then picks it up again two seconds later.

FaceTime incoming: Nora

He fumbles the answer button like he’s been waiting hours.

Her face appears, a little tired but smiling. Hotel lighting never does anyone any favors, but she still looks beautiful to him.

“Hey, love,” she says softly. “How is everything?”

“Still standing,” Harry replies. “Remy threw peas at the dog, insisted on a fourth bedtime story, and called me ‘Mummy’ twice just to wind me up.”

Nora laughs, and he melts a little.

“You sound good,” she says.

“I’m not,” Harry admits, glancing at the baby monitor next to him. “I mean. She’s fine. She’s asleep. But I... God, I missed you today.”

She goes quiet, just listening. He notices the way her face softens.

“Not just in a clingy husband way,” he adds, shifting. “Though, also that. But more like... parenting with you is this thing I’ve got a rhythm to. Like I know the beat. And today I was a bit off-tempo all day. Kept reaching for you and you weren’t there.”

Nora nods slowly. "I know that feeling."

He sighs again. "What if I messed something up and it only shows up years later, like in therapy when she’s twenty-five?"

"Harry."

He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. You just make this look easy. And I never realized how much of her day is muscle memory between the two of us. Like the way you rub her back while brushing her teeth, or how you always sing the same song after the bath. She asked for you so many times. I just kept saying you were working."

There's a long beat of silence. Nora blinks hard.

“I felt guilty all day,” she says finally. “Every second I was proud of myself for nailing that meeting, I also wanted to run straight back to the train.”

Harry shifts the phone to his other hand, voice low. “You can be both. You can be brilliant at work and the best mum in the world. She’s going to grow up thinking women are absolute superheroes. Because she has you.”

Nora closes her eyes, lets that sit.

Just then, Remy stirs on the monitor. A soft whimper. Harry immediately sets the phone down and walks upstairs. Nora doesn’t hang up.

When he returns, Remy’s snuggled against his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. Her hair is sticking up a bit, cheeks flushed from sleep. He picks the phone up again, adjusts it so Nora can see.

“Look who needed a cuddle,” he murmurs.

Nora practically melts.

“Hi, my beautiful bug,” she coos through the phone. Remy is too sleepy to respond, but she smiles in her half-sleep, like she knows her mum is near in some invisible way.

“We’re okay,” Harry says, rocking slightly.

“You’re amazing,” Nora whispers.

Harry smiles, kisses the top of Remy’s head. He looks at Nora again. “Next time, I want you to go without worrying about us, alright? We’ll be okay. Missing you is proof of how good we’ve got it.”

She wipes at her eyes.

“And I want you to know,” she adds, voice soft, “I love the dad you are. I never, not for a second, worry when she’s with you.”

The screen begins to blur a little for Harry, too.

“We’ll save you some leftover peas,” he jokes, and she laughs again.

They stay on the call until Nora is practically asleep and Harry is gently laying Remy back into her bed. Even apart, even across cities, they are still in sync.

First night alone? Survived. And loved through every second of it.

———————————————————————————

First mess and first reward.

The sticker chart hangs on the fridge like a warning sign.

“Potty Time = Sticker Time!” it declares in pastel letters Nora printed off Pinterest at 2 a.m. after one too many “gentle parenting hacks” videos on her feed. A smiling cartoon toilet grins back at her every morning like it knows what’s coming.

They’re two weeks in.

Two weeks of squatting next to a tiny plastic toilet in every room of the house. Two weeks of bribery, pleading, soggy trousers, Peppa Pig on loop, and more laundry than their early newborn days.

Harry wipes a hand across his jaw as he crouches beside Nora in the hallway. They're both eyeing Remy - pantsless, bouncing from foot to foot and insisting with increasing volume, “No wee-wee, Mama! No wee-wee, Dadda!”

“You’re dancing,” Nora says gently, fighting the urge to laugh and cry simultaneously.

“'M not,” Remy says.

Harry leans in like a hostage negotiator. “Bug, we’re not saying you have to go, but how about checking? Just sitting?”

“No!” Remy takes off running down the hall, bare bum wiggling like a threat.

They look at each other in silence. Then a splatter. Then the unmistakable “oh no” that echoes from the living room.

Nora exhales through her nose like she’s about to face a battlefield.

“You get her,” she says. “I’ll get the mop.”

Day eleven had been the worst.

Remy peed directly onto Harry’s socked feet while grinning - grinning - and then asked for a chocolate button.

He just stared at her. “You didn’t even try to make it to the potty.”

“I busy drawin',” she shrugged, like a tiny CEO explaining quarterly losses.

They’d considered waving the white flag that night. Called it early. Back to nappies. Back to dignity.

Instead, Nora had pulled out an old bag of tiny underwear covered in ducks and hearts and dinosaurs, and laid them out on the bed like sacred offerings.

“Two more days,” she said. “We go hard for two more days.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “We’re treating this like a hostage situation.”

“It is a hostage situation,” she muttered. “Only she’s the hostage and the captor.”

But it wasn’t all war.

There were moments, fleeting ones, that made them both clutch their chests.

Like when Remy sat on the potty reading her little board book, legs too short to touch the ground, completely unbothered, narrating out loud in her singsong voice: “An' bunny say - Wan' play with me?’”

Or when Harry found her trying to wipe using the entire roll of toilet paper and said, “You’ve used a forest, Rem,” and she giggled like she’d heard the greatest joke in the world.

Or the very first time she did it on the potty - and they both broke into wild applause, like she’d just solved a physics theorem. She clapped for herself, cheeks round with pride, and shouted, “I made a splash!”

They gave her two stickers and half a biscuit.

She asked for another biscuit the next time without even sitting down.

So when it finally happens, really happens, they almost miss it.

It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon. Rain drizzles outside, the dog’s asleep, the telly’s on low.

Nora’s halfway through folding laundry when she hears it: the soft sound of feet padding across the wood floors, the creak of the bathroom door, and the gentle click of plastic against tile.

She freezes.

Then - splash.

Her heart stops. “Harry?” she calls, dropping a onesie mid-fold.

He appears in the hallway, brows raised. They meet at the bathroom doorway and peer in like investigators.

Remy stands proudly in her dinosaur underwear and a too-big sweatshirt, the plastic potty beside her. Her curls are wild from a nap, and she’s holding up a hand.

“I went,” she says.

“Did you-?” Harry starts, crouching to eye level. “By yourself?”

Remy nods. “I felt the wee and I runned and I did it.”

There’s a stunned silence. Then Nora claps a hand over her mouth, eyes brimming, while Harry scoops Remy up and spins her in a wild, joyous circle.

“YOU DID IT!” he shouts. “You’re a potty champion!”

Remy giggles wildly, arms thrown out like airplane wings.

“I get sticker now?”

“You get five! And a chocolate button! And honestly I think you now legally own this house!”

Later that night, Remy’s tucked in bed, one hand around her bunny, a sticker proudly stuck to her pajama top.

Harry slides into the sofa beside Nora, a bowl of popcorn between them. They sit in peaceful silence for a moment, the kind that only happens after toddler bedtime.

“She did it,” Harry murmurs, still in awe.

“I know,” Nora whispers back, a little misty.

“Do you think we made too big a deal of it?”

“No. No, I think it was the correct amount of hysteria.”

A pause.

“…Do you think we’re cool parents?”

Nora turns to him, deadpan. “You clapped for a full minute and cried when she flushed.”

Harry grins. “So… yes?”

She chuckles, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“It’s gross and weird and exhausting,” she says, closing her eyes. “And I wouldn’t want to be doing it with anyone else.”

Harry kisses the top of her head and murmurs, “Same, love. Same.”

———————————————————————————

The first family portrait.

The drawing sits crooked on the fridge, clinging to its magnet like it’s sacred. Crayons in every direction. Scribbles layered over scribbles. What looks like a chicken wearing trousers. But it’s not a chicken, not according to Remy. It’s her baby brother.

“Well,” Harry says, hands on his hips as he inspects it with exaggerated seriousness, “it’s a bold interpretation. The strawberry-like shape for our son? Inspired. Avant-garde, even.”

Nora just stands beside him in quiet awe. Her hand, almost instinctively, rests on the curve of her belly.

It had started that morning like any other.

Nora was still in Harry’s t-shirt and her slippers, stirring porridge with one hand and scratching Milo’s head with the other. Harry was finishing up an email on his phone when Remy trotted into the kitchen, clutching a sheet of paper like it was ancient scripture.

“Mama, Dadda,” she declared, eyes shining. “I made you sumfing.”

She laid it on the floor like it belonged in a gallery.

Harry knelt first. “Oh, bug. This is… this is amazing. Walk me through it?”

Remy tapped each crayon figure with complete confidence. “That’s you,” she said, pointing to a tall, brown-haired stick person with suspiciously large hands. “That’s Mama - see, I drawed her tummy ‘cause baby there. That’s me,” she added, beaming, gesturing to a shorter figure with purple shoes. “And that’s Milo.” She grinned and pointed at a lumpy blob with four uneven legs and a tail sticking straight out.

Nora crouched next to them, hand over her mouth.

“And what’s this one, bug?” Harry asked gently, pointing at a red oval with green squiggles coming out of the top. It floated in the sky between Nora and Remy, with a smiley face drawn sideways.

“That’s baby bruvver,” Remy said. “He looks like a strawberry ‘cause he’s my strawbry baby.”

Nora made a noise. Not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. Somewhere in between. Harry turned toward her just in time to catch her blinking too fast, lips pressed together.

“You okay?” he murmured, touching her knee.

She nodded. “I just-” Her voice cracked. “She drew us. All of us.”

Harry stood and kissed the top of Remy’s head. “You’re the best artist I know.”

Remy giggled, delighted.

Later that afternoon, when Remy was down for her nap and the house had quieted, Harry found Nora standing by the fridge.

She was staring at the picture again, her hand absentmindedly tracing the strawberry-shaped brother.

“Nora?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

He stepped closer. Gently. Softly.

Her shoulders trembled before she spoke. “It just hit me,” she whispered. “She sees us. I mean really sees us. Her little brain made this, this messy, perfect little snapshot of us and-” She shook her head. “I just- why am I crying over a strawberry baby?”

Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Because,” he said quietly, “you’re carrying her brother. And you’re exhausted. And hormonal. And full of porridge you didn’t want. And you love her so much it makes your ribs ache.”

She let out a weak, teary laugh. “It does. That’s exactly what it feels like.”

He turned her in his arms, cupping her cheeks. “You made that little girl, Nor. And now you’re making another. And they see us. They see who we are. Even if you feel messy and tired and scared.”

“I do feel all of those,” she said, voice trembling.

He leaned in, nose brushing hers. “You’re the best mum. Truly. This house runs because of you.”

She tucked her head into his chest, arms around his waist, letting him hold her like a harbor.

“She drew you huge,” she mumbled into his shirt.

He chuckled. “Yeah. Big hands and all. Looks like I bench press cows.”

“She drew my belly,” Nora said softly, brushing her fingers over her bump. “She already knows who’s coming.”

He kissed her hair, long and slow. “She’s ready. And we will be too.”

They stood like that for a while - surrounded by the smell of coffee, the hum of the fridge, and the soft sound of Milo snoring under the kitchen table.

Their family of almost four.

[kahluamystery97]

I should be up and getting ready for work. Instead I laid in bed and read this incredibly romantic fic. So good.

Come Back To Me: The Beginning.

Author’s Note: So… welcome to the prequel. This is where it all begins: the banter, the tension, the soft little moments that turned into something bigger than either of them expected. I hope you enjoy falling in love with them all over again - or maybe for the very first time.

Also… I know Dad Harry got requested a bit more as a trope… but that one is taking a little bit longer to finish as I’m a bit stuck. But here is firefighter Harry for those that care…

> Read ‘Come Back To Me’ here

> Find my masterlist here

———————————————————————————

Amelia Lockwood wasn’t one for surprises. But sometimes, the universe handed you one with broad shoulders and a clipboard.

It was just past 10 a.m., and the classroom buzzed with quiet energy. Seven-year-olds, it turned out, had infinite questions about everything - especially when Amelia asked them to describe the world’s most unusual animal for their creative writing task.

“A flying lion,” Willow announced, pencil tapping her cheek. “But it only flies when it’s happy. Like, if it eats spaghetti.”

Amelia smiled, crouching beside her desk. “That’s very specific. I like it. What kind of spaghetti?”

“Tomato,” Willow said confidently. “But not the chunky kind. That’s gross.”

She moved between desks, offering encouragement, keeping the calm rhythm of the morning intact. This was her favourite kind of day - smooth, focused, a little silly. No glitter spills yet. No lost lunchboxes. A miracle, honestly.

Then the fire alarm screamed through the halls.

Amelia stood instantly. No panic, just motion. “Alright, everyone,” she called over the wail. “Just like we practiced. Grab your jumpers, push in your chairs. We walk in a line - quietly and calmly.”

Some students jumped, others hesitated. One boy clapped his hands over his ears. But they trusted her, and within thirty seconds, they were filing out of the building in neat-ish rows, Amelia at the front with her clipboard and register.

Outside, the air was crisp, edged with the smell of fresh-cut grass. A line of fire trucks was parked by the staff lot - right, the drill. Today was the fire department’s annual safety review.

Amelia directed her students to their spot on the field, kneeling to tie a shoelace and patting one boy gently on the shoulder as he whispered that the alarm had made his tummy feel weird.

“I know,” she said softly. “But you did everything right. And we’re safe. That’s what matters.”

“That’s exactly what I told my little sister,” a voice said beside her.

Amelia looked up. And up.

A firefighter stood nearby, broad-shouldered, holding a clipboard and a stopwatch. His navy blue uniform hugged strong arms, his curls tucked beneath a cap with the station logo stitched on the front. His face was open and kind, with a bit of stubble and - okay, those dimples were unfair.

“Oh,” Amelia said, blinking. “Hi.”

He smiled. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She stood, brushing grass from her skirt. “No worries. I’m just glad they didn’t scream.”

He chuckled, nodding toward the class. “They did great. Some of the best drill times we’ve seen today.”

“We practice,” she said. “And I may have promised extra recess if they didn’t run in circles.”

He looked impressed. “You’re good.”

“Thanks. I try.”

There was a brief pause - not awkward, just full of something unspoken.

She glanced at his clipboard. “Do you do this often?”

“Fire drills?” he asked. “More than I’d like. But we rotate between the primary schools. I’m usually assigned here. Familiar faces, you know?”

Amelia raised a brow. “I’ve worked here three years and don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Must’ve gotten lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you feel about alarms.”

One of her students tugged her sleeve then, asking if it was time to go back in. She gave a soft “Almost, sweetheart,” and turned back, only to find the firefighter already stepping away.

He hesitated, looked like he might say something - then nodded once, as if deciding against it.

“Thanks for being here,” Amelia said instead.

He tipped his head. “Anytime.”

Then he walked off, clipboard in hand, calling out to another firefighter across the field.

She didn’t catch his name. He didn’t ask for hers.

But she watched him for a second longer than she meant to - watched the way he moved like someone used to carrying heavy things without complaint. Watched him scratch behind his ear when he laughed at something another firefighter said. Watched him glance back once, just once, before turning away completely.

Amelia shook her head and turned back to her class.

It was nothing. Just part of the job. A fire drill, a kind face, a strange little flicker in her stomach that would probably go away by lunchtime.

Still, that night, as she sat grading spelling tests on the couch, she caught herself doodling tiny flames in the margins.

———————————————————————————

He didn’t even get her name. Rookie mistake.

By the time they were packing up the trucks and wrapping hoses back into tidy coils, Harry couldn’t get the image of the schoolteacher out of his head.

She’d crouched so easily beside that kid, voice calm and sure, like she’d done it a hundred times - which, maybe she had. And the way she’d looked up at him like that? A bit startled, but with the kind of eyes that stuck with him.

“Earth to Styles,” came Rachel’s voice, teasing and way too loud. “You’ve coiled that hose three times. You planning to sleep with it?”

Harry blinked. “Right. Sorry.”

Mick, one of the senior firefighters, snorted from across the bay. “Don’t tell me it’s the teacher from this morning.”

Harry straightened. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Rachel grinned, tossing a rag over her shoulder. “You were talking to her for, what, thirty seconds? And we all saw it.”

“She was just being polite,” Harry muttered, though his ears were already pink.

“She smiled at you, Harry,” Rachel said. “Like, real smiled. I thought your knees buckled.”

“They did,” chuckled Dev, the youngest on the squad, as he pulled the door to the rig closed. “He stood there for a full five seconds like he’d forgotten the alphabet.”

“I didn’t forget the alphabet.”

“You did,” Mick agreed. “Didn’t even ask her name. You okay, Romeo?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t have time.”

“You had time,” Rachel shot back. “You just short-circuited. Classic crush symptoms. Next time, maybe don’t let a literal fire drill catch you off guard.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughed, waving them off as he stepped into the gear room. “I’ll coil your bloody hoses if you keep talking.”

“Yeah, but will you ask her out?” Dev called after him.

Harry shut the door behind him but not before muttering, under his breath, “I really, really might.”

———————————————————————————

The worst part wasn’t that her car had died. It was that it had the audacity to die in front of a bakery she liked.

The engine made a sound like it was clearing its throat, twice, then sputtered into silence as Amelia pulled to the curb.

She blinked, tried the ignition again. Nothing. Just a click and that quiet sinking feeling in her chest.

Perfect.

She sat back, hands on the steering wheel, lips pressed together. It had already been a long day - glue in her hair, a child’s nosebleed mid-maths, and a parent who thought “gifted” meant superior in every measurable way. She had been planning to grab a sourdough roll and an aggressively sweet coffee and eat it in silence with the windows down.

Instead, she was in a stalled car in a side street that suddenly felt far too small.

Amelia pulled her phone from her bag and dialed roadside assistance. The woman on the line was apologetic and kind, but not particularly helpful.

“Soonest we can have someone out is seventy to ninety minutes,” she said. “Is it in a safe location?”

“Define safe,” Amelia mumbled, glancing in the rearview at the stream of cars squeezing past her.

The woman chuckled. “If it’s driveable, try a parking lot. Otherwise, hazard lights and deep breathing.”

She hung up, threw her head back against the seat, and let out a frustrated groan. She’d just reached for the emergency chocolate in the glovebox when someone knocked gently on her window.

She jumped, a tiny yelp escaping her, then turned and saw a familiar face bending down, squinting slightly through the glass.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It was him. Fire drill guy. The firefighter with the clipboard and the navy shirt that fit a little too well. The one who had haunted her Thursday night brain like an unsent email.

She rolled the window down.

“Hi,” he said, voice warm with recognition. “Looks like you’re having a rough one.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve seen car fires look calmer.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

He grinned, dimples and all. “Didn’t mean it like that. Want some help?”

She glanced toward the steering wheel. “Unless you moonlight as a mechanic…”

“Actually,” he said, already stepping back, “I do a little moonlighting.”

He opened the driver’s side door, and they swapped positions without much thought, he slid in and popped the hood like he’d done it a thousand times - because he probably had.

He leaned out, propped it open, then disappeared from view for a moment.

Amelia stood there, stunned by how quickly this had escalated from my car broke down to I’m sharing airspace with clipboard firefighter and he smells like cedar and engine oil.

He returned a few minutes later, wiping his hands on a rag. “Your battery’s likely shot. Might’ve been coming for a while. Do you have jumper cables?”

“I think so,” she said, rifling through the boot. “Somewhere under the… emergency blanket and three different tote bags.”

He laughed, properly laughed, as he found them himself and popped the hood on his truck, which was parked just ahead.

“I swear I’m more competent in a classroom,” she muttered, cheeks warm.

“I never doubted that,” he said, hooking the cables in place.

She leaned against her car, watching. “Do you rescue stranded teachers often?”

“Only the ones who bribe their students with recess.”

Her mouth curled. “You remembered.”

“I tried not to,” he teased. “But I’ve had a few people at the station grilling me about a mysterious schoolteacher, so it stuck.”

“Oh no,” she groaned. “I’ve caused gossip.”

“Harmless stuff.” He glanced over, eyes crinkling. “They’re just surprised I didn’t get your name.”

Amelia held out a hand, playful. “Amelia Lockwood. Year Two teacher. Slightly stressed but a highly functional adult.”

He took it, firm but warm. “Harry Styles. Firefighter. Reasonably decent at car trouble and remembering faces.”

Their hands lingered a second longer than necessary before the engine clicked back to life behind them.

Harry gave the car a pat. “There she goes.”

Amelia beamed, genuine and bright. “Thank you. Really.”

“No worries. I’m off-duty… you saved me from having to fold laundry.”

She hesitated, nerves dancing across her stomach. “Can I… buy you a coffee? As a thank-you? Assuming you drink sugar with your caffeine.”

Harry smiled again, softer, this time. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.”

“Then yeah,” he said, tugging his truck keys from his pocket. “Let’s get that coffee.”

———————————————————————————

The bell above the café door jingled as Amelia stepped inside, the warm smell of roasted coffee beans and bread wrapping around her like a soft jumper.

Harry held the door for her, his other hand still on the keys to his truck, which he’d parked around the corner. “After you.”

“Chivalry and jumper cables,” she muttered. “You’re ticking boxes.”

He glanced sideways as they joined the short queue. “Is that so?”

“Not saying it’s a list,” she shrugged, “but if it were a list…”

He grinned, and it made his dimples show - one on the left deeper than the right. “Well, I’ll try not to blow it before you get your coffee.”

They stepped forward in the queue.

“You come here a lot?” he asked, scanning the blackboard menu like he hadn’t already picked something.

“Sometimes,” Amelia said. “It’s walking distance from school, and they know to put two sugars in my order without judging me.”

“That’s rare,” Harry said. “My team judges me if I put honey in my tea.”

“Do you put honey in your tea?”

“Depends,” he said. “Am I being judged?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Absolutely.”

When they reached the counter, she ordered her usual - a strong oat flat white and a sourdough cinnamon roll - and Harry followed suit, nodding like it was his idea all along. They took their drinks and sat by the front window, sunlight slanting in across the wooden table.

“So,” Amelia said, stirring her coffee, “do you always stop to help strangers with car trouble, or am I special?”

Harry raised a brow, smiling. “Bit bold of you to assume you’re a stranger.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh?”

“You’re Amelia Lockwood. You teach Year Two. You bribe your students with recess. You’ve got impressive clipboard power. And you panic when your car dies.”

“Only slightly.”

“Also, you were eating chocolate at the wheel.”

She gasped, laughing. “You saw that?!”

“Caught a glimpse. Bold move in a crisis.”

“Emergency chocolate,” she said with a mock-serious nod. “Standard teacher protocol.”

Harry sipped his drink, eyes warm. “Well, now I know who to call next time I’m dealing with a paperwork disaster.”

“You fill out a lot of forms as a firefighter?”

“Too many. Health and safety, incident logs, truck checks…”

“And here I thought you just saved cats and looked good in navy.”

He leaned back, playful. “You think I look good in navy?”

She made a face of mock horror. “I said what I said.”

A silence settled - not awkward, just gentle - as they ate. The roll was flaky and warm in her hands. Harry seemed content to let the conversation drift, but not disengaged. His eyes flicked to hers often, with a kind of quiet interest that made her pulse tick up.

“How long have you been a firefighter?” she asked.

“Five years,” he said. “Before that, I was a mechanic for a while. Thought I’d stick with it, but…” He shrugged. “Something about it didn’t feel right.”

“And this does?”

“Most days,” he said, then smiled. “Especially when there’s a school drill and someone makes faces behind me while I’m talking.”

“I wasn’t making faces.”

“You were,” he said. “Little ones.”

She bit into her roll, grinning. “You were so serious with your clipboard. You looked like you were about to write someone up.”

“I was trying to be professional.”

“You had a pen behind your ear and everything.”

Harry chuckled, and she could tell by the softness in his eyes that he was enjoying this - not just the conversation, but her. The kind of enjoyment that went beyond politeness. It made her chest feel… light. Untethered.

When they finished, Harry stood to toss their plates and napkins. He lingered by the bin, then returned with a slight shuffle of nerves.

“So,” he said. “I’ve got a couple days off this week.”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Would you want to do something again? Not car-related, I mean.”

Amelia blinked, lips curling. “Like a date?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, then paused. “Well. I was gonna say a second date.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Second?”

He gestured between them. “Coffee. Bread. Laughing. I don’t know what your standards are, but where I’m from, this feels like a date.”

She took her time answering, purely to make him sweat - though the smile tugging at her mouth gave her away.

“Alright,” she said finally, standing with her empty cup. “Then I guess you’re asking me on a second date.”

“I am,” he said, trying not to look too pleased.

“Okay, then,” she said, brushing past him with a flirty grin. “I’ll let you know if you make it to a third.”

As they stepped out into the sun, Harry matched her stride, and for the first time in a long week, she felt her shoulders drop and her cheeks ache from smiling.

———————————————————————————

Harry wasn’t nervous. He was… alert. That’s what he was telling himself.

He adjusted the cuff of his button-down shirt for the fourth time, then checked his phone again. Amelia had texted she was “two mins away,” which realistically meant five. He liked that about her already - honest, but also human.

The little Italian restaurant he’d picked had low lighting and linen tablecloths that didn’t take themselves too seriously. The air smelled like garlic, olive oil, and red wine. Soft jazz played somewhere near the back. His palms were slightly warm. Not sweaty. Just warm.

He’d just taken a sip of water when he looked up and stopped mid-swallow.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, standing a little too quickly.

There she was.

Amelia Lockwood, walking toward him in a dress the colour of ripe cherries, heels clicking softly against the tile. Her hair was down, glossy and effortless, and her lips were curved in this smug little smile that said yeah, I know I look good. And she did. More than good.

She looked like the reason the lights dimmed. Like the music slowed just to match her steps.

“You’re staring,” she said as she reached the table, voice low and playful.

Harry huffed a soft laugh. “Sorry. I forgot how to talk for a second.”

He pulled her chair out, brushing a hand along her back as she sat. “You look… incredible.”

Her smile tugged wider. “Thanks. You clean up alright too.”

He raised an eyebrow, sitting across from her. “Alright?”

“Okay, very alright,” she allowed, eyes drifting over his open collar and sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. “Happy?”

“Getting there.”

They ordered wine, something Italian that neither of them could pronounce, and settled into easy conversation. The tension between them wasn’t awkward, just… charged. Like they both knew this was going somewhere, but were having fun pretending not to rush it.

“So,” Amelia said, twirling pasta around her fork, “were your firefighter friends invested in tonight?”

Harry groaned. “You’ve got no idea.”

“They grilled you?”

“Relentlessly. I’m pretty sure Dev tried to slip condoms into my jacket pocket when I wasn’t looking.”

She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. “Tell him I’m flattered.”

“Oh, he already assumed you’re out of my league.”

“Smart man.”

They moved from pasta to shared tiramisu, leaning in closer across the table now. Her elbow brushed his once, then again. Each touch was casual, but deliberate.

He watched the way she laughed with her whole face - eyes crinkling, nose scrunching slightly. She was sharp, warm, quick. And she looked at him like he was interesting, not just there.

Halfway through telling a story about one of her more chaotic students, she shifted slightly in her chair and Harry felt the unmistakable press of her foot along his calf.

It was slow. Intentional.

She didn’t break eye contact.

His breath hitched.

“Trying really hard to look unbothered right now,” he said, voice a little lower.

Her lips curved, wicked and sweet. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

He sipped his wine to cover the grin tugging at his mouth. “You always this forward on your ‘second’ dates?”

She leaned in, chin resting on her hand. “Only with firefighters who rescue me and then feed me carbs.”

“Good to know.”

Her foot stroked up his calf again, deliberate.

Harry cleared his throat, sitting back a little like that might save him. It didn’t.

“This restaurant’s nice,” she said innocently.

“Is it?” he said, tone tight. “Haven’t noticed anything besides your leg.”

Amelia bit back a smirk, then finally - mercifully - withdrew her foot and popped the last bite of dessert into her mouth.

He let out a slow breath.

“I like you flustered,” she murmured, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand down his jaw. “I can tell.”

By the time the cheque arrived, Harry was mentally shifting his whole evening around. He hadn’t made any assumptions, she didn’t seem like the kind of woman you assumed anything with, but there was something decided in her posture now. Something open.

“You want to go for a walk?” he asked as they stepped into the warm night air.

Amelia looked up at him, eyes a little darker than before. “Only if you don’t take me home yet.”

Harry blinked.

She smiled. “Told you. I’m forward.”

He swallowed hard, then offered his arm with a half-smile. “I’m starting to like that about you.”

They strolled down the street toward the quieter end of the block, the air between them heavier now. Not uncomfortable - just simmering with all the things they hadn’t said yet. The kind of tension that felt like a question hanging in the space between heartbeats.

And Harry… was already imagining what the answer would be.

———————————————————————————

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Harry’s place, maybe a chaotic bachelor pad or something halfway furnished and smelling faintly of smoke and aftershave. But the minute he unlocked the front door and stepped aside for her, she knew she was wrong.

His home was warm. Lived-in, but tidy. Shoes neatly lined up by the door. A record player in the corner. Soft lighting. A throw blanket draped over the arm of a leather couch that looked far too comfortable to just be decorative.

“This is… not what I expected,” she said, slipping out of her heels.

He turned, raising a brow. “Is that good or bad?”

She smiled. “It’s good. Just… soft. You’re kind of soft.”

Harry snorted. “Please don’t tell my coworkers that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They stood there a beat too long in the entryway - the air between them humming, charged.

“I want you to know,” he said suddenly, voice a little rougher now, “you being here doesn’t come with expectations. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

Amelia stepped closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the collar of his shirt. “But what if I want to meet those expectations?”

His eyes darkened - just a flicker, but it sent her pulse skittering. “Then I’d say… we should probably stop talking.”

She kissed him. It wasn’t a sweet first-date kiss. It was hungry. Breath-stealing. Like something pent up over two weeks of glances and brushes and low laughter had finally snapped loose inside both of them.

Hands fumbled with buttons and zippers, urgent and clumsy. His shirt landed somewhere on the hallway floor, and she barely registered him lifting her into his arms until her back hit the bedroom wall. There was tongue, teeth, breathless laughter - and then no more laughter, only sighs and low, desperate sounds as they found the bed.

Clothes peeled away like they were in the way. And then it was just heat and skin and hands everywhere, mouths on necks and thighs and hips. It was messy and all-consuming and absolutely everything she hadn’t realized she wanted until now. Every time she thought they’d slowed down, it was only a pause to catch breath before diving back in.

When it was over - or at least, when the haze of it settled - they were tangled together in the sheets, the room thick with the scent of sex and the quiet buzz of his bedside fan. Her skin glistened. His chest rose and fell, still heavy with effort.

Amelia let out a breathy laugh, arm draped across his stomach. “So… that happened.”

Harry turned his head on the pillow, eyes glinting in the dim light. “You’ve ruined sex for me.”

She grinned, half delirious. “Come again?”

“No one else is ever going to feel like this. This-” He gestured between them. “It’s unfair. You’ve raised the bar to an unattainable level.”

Amelia leaned over and kissed him, slow and messy and lingering. “I’ll try not to feel too guilty about that.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, their breaths syncing without trying. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

Then she shifted onto her side, propped up on an elbow. “I didn’t think I’d like someone this quickly.”

Harry glanced at her, one hand resting loosely over his stomach. “Yeah?”

“I was kind of on a break from dating, to be honest. Told myself I didn’t have the energy to learn someone new. The awkward beginnings, the texting games, all of it. And then you…” She trailed off, shrugged lightly. “You made it easy.”

He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “Same.”

She looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Wasn’t looking either,” he admitted. “Just kind of thought… I’d be doing my job, living my life. Never expected to get handed a clipboard during a fire drill and then meet the woman who’d flip everything upside down.”

She smiled at the memory. “I looked like a disaster that day.”

“You looked like the best kind of disaster,” he said, deadpan. “Totally distracted me from checking the fire exits.”

She laughed, letting her head drop to his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

He kissed her hair. “I know the feeling.”

There was something soft in the way they curled into each other after that. Not sleepy yet - just wrapped in the kind of closeness that made the room feel smaller, safer.

She ran a fingertip across his chest, idly tracing the faint scar near his collarbone. “So… are you one of those guys who panics after things get too real too fast?”

Harry snorted. “No. I’m the guy who already knows he wants to see you again tomorrow. And the next day.”

She smiled into his skin. “Good answer.”

———————————————————————————

The smell of something sweet drifted into the bedroom before she even opened her eyes - warm, sugary, familiar. There was a soft hum, too, low and tuneful, and the faint sound of a spatula tapping against a pan.

Amelia blinked awake slowly, the sunlight slanting through Harry’s curtains casting soft golden lines across the bed. The sheets beside her were empty, still warm.

She sat up carefully, her limbs deliciously sore in that deeply satisfied, post-wonderful-sex kind of way. The t-shirt she’d been wearing last night was somewhere lost in the hallway, so she reached for the first thing she could find - one of Harry’s button-ups draped over a chair. It smelled like him when she slipped it on: soap, cedar, a little bit of smoke, and something purely him.

Padding barefoot out to the kitchen, she leaned against the doorframe quietly for a moment, just watching.

Harry stood at the stove in grey sweatpants, bare back flexing slightly as he flipped a pancake. The radio played softly and he was humming along under his breath, hair mussed and curls flattened on one side. There were two mugs of coffee already poured on the counter, steam rising lazily from both.

She smiled without meaning to. This didn’t feel like a one-night thing. It didn’t feel like a fling. It felt real.

She took a step in, and the floor creaked. Harry turned his head, and when he saw her - his shirt barely buttoned, sleeves rolled to her elbows, eyes still sleepy - he grinned so wide it made her stomach flutter.

“Well, good morning,” he said, voice warm and teasing.

“Hi,” she murmured, brushing hair from her face.

“You’re shy this morning,” he said, stepping away from the pan and walking over. “Very different vibe from the woman who bit my shoulder last night.”

Amelia laughed, blushing, trying to duck her head - but he caught her around the waist and pulled her in, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He kissed her there softly, arms wrapping fully around her as she melted into his chest.

“I like this look on you,” he said into her skin. “You can keep the shirt, by the way.”

“I was planning on it,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He leaned back just enough to kiss her temple, then her cheek. “Coffee’s ready. Pancakes are fluffy. You picked the right morning to stay over.”

She smiled. “Is that a routine thing? You cooking breakfast after all your conquests?”

“Bold of you to assume I have conquests,” he replied, handing her a mug.

“Right. You’re very chaste. I can tell.”

He smirked. “You’re the first person to wear that shirt, for what it’s worth.”

Amelia looked up at him, surprised at the sincerity in his voice.

“Really?”

Harry nodded. “Didn’t want to share any of this with someone until it felt… right.”

She took the mug from him and took a slow sip. “I’m glad I stayed.”

“You never actually left,” he said, grinning.

———————————————————————————

They sat at the small round table in his kitchen - Amelia curled up in the oversized shirt with her legs crossed under her, and Harry sitting across from her, flipping more pancakes onto her plate with the pride of a man who had truly mastered his Sunday morning game.

“Okay, but seriously,” she said, mouth half-full, “these are like… next level. What’s the secret?”

“Love and cinnamon,” he said.

“You’re lying.”

“A little. It’s buttermilk.”

She laughed. “I’m genuinely impressed. You may have ruined pancakes for me. It’s these or nothing now.”

“Good. My plan is working.”

He passed the jar of blueberry jam across the table. Amelia scooped a little onto her knife and tilted her head, smirking at him.

“Lean in a sec.”

Harry obliged, suspicious but curious. She reached forward slowly, and very deliberately dabbed a smear of jam just outside the corner of his mouth.

He froze. “Did you just—?”

“Just trying to see if jam makes you more kissable.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Scientific method?”

“Always.”

Before he could say anything else, she leaned in and licked it off - a slow, deliberate movement that immediately turned the air thick. Then she kissed him. Open-mouthed, teasing, too short.

When she pulled away, she was grinning, smug and completely unbothered. He blinked at her, stunned.

“I- Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “So we’re doing that now.”

“I was being very mature about breakfast. You started this.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with a napkin and shooting her a pointed look that didn’t quite hide the twitch of his lips.

“Thanks,” she said sweetly, stealing a piece of pancake from his plate with her fork. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He reached for her hand and held it over the table, thumb brushing slowly over her knuckles. “I like you, Amelia Lockwood.”

She smiled, a little softer now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The moment held - something warm and slow settling between them, comfortable and promising. She didn’t say anything at first, just traced her fingertip over the back of his hand.

Finally, she looked up. “I like you too, Harry Styles.”

“Even though I make dad-joke level puns and leave my boots by the door?”

“Especially because of that.”

———————————————————————————

Harry was halfway through cleaning one of the ladders when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He wiped his hands quickly on a nearby towel and pulled it out.

Amelia

you left something at mine

looks important

and very firefighty

Harry

that’s not a word

Amelia

and yet you understood me perfectly

do you need it?

i can drop it off… i’m near the station on my way to lunch

Harry

yes. thank you!

He shook his head, laughing, and told Rachel, that he’d be stepping out front for a second.

She raised a brow. “Is this a ‘certain school teacher’ kind of errand?”

He grinned. “Possibly.”

Rachel just chuckled and waved him off. “Tell her to come say hi sometime. We’re all dying to meet the woman who has had you smiling for the last three months.”

Outside, Amelia was waiting by the sidewalk, hair tied up, sunglasses on, holding the small canvas bag that had his multipurpose tool belt in it - something he absolutely needed back. She looked casually beautiful in jeans and a plain tee, and when she saw him, her whole face lit up.

“This looks important,” she said, holding the bag up.

“You have no idea,” Harry said, taking it from her, and without a second thought, leaned in to press a long, grateful kiss to her lips. “You saved me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, but before she could step back, she glanced over his shoulder and hesitated. “I’d kiss you goodbye again, but I can feel about twelve people staring at me.”

Harry turned slowly.

A part of the crew was at the garage door. Rachel. Alexa. Mason. Dev. A few of the newer recruits. All very unsubtly pretending to be engaged in absolutely nothing while watching him like it was a damn rom-com.

Harry sighed. “Great.”

Amelia bit her lip. “Well. You’ve been caught.”

“Might as well do this properly, then.” He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You want a tour?”

Her eyes widened. “Wait- are you sure? I didn’t mean to crash your shift.”

“You didn’t. Come on,” he said with a grin. “We’ll get the public shaming over with all at once.”

The moment they stepped through the door, Alexa immediately clapped. “Aww, look who finally brought his girlfriend to work!”

Harry didn’t correct her - just glanced at Amelia. Their eyes met for a beat, a small flicker of something unspoken passing between them. It wasn’t official, not technically. But neither of them flinched from it.

Amelia tilted her head, clearly amused.

“She looks like trouble,” Rachel said teasingly.

“Oh, she is,” Harry said, slipping into his usual smirk. “Total menace.”

Amelia gave him a sweet, sarcastic smile. “Right back at you.”

Mason stepped up next, extending a hand. “I’m Mason. I’ve been waiting to meet you just to verify that he didn’t make you up.”

“Nice to meet you,” Amelia said, giving a firm shake. “And don’t worry - he definitely didn’t. Although the amount he talks about this place, I could probably pass your certification exam.”

“Great,” Rachel said, leaning against the wall. “We’ll just throw you into the next live burn. Trial by fire. Literally.”

“I teach seven-year-olds. Nothing scares me anymore.”

“Respect,” Alexa murmured, eyes wide.

Harry leaned over, whispering, “This is why I’m obsessed with her.”

Amelia rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of his hand. They spent the next ten minutes walking through the main areas - the rec room, the kitchen, the bunk spaces. Harry showed her where they hung out during downtime, where they ran drills in the lot, and even pointed out the infamous fridge that Mason swore was cursed.

“This is very much like a dorm,” Amelia said, inspecting the lineup of mismatched mugs on the counter.

Harry chuckled. “Pretty much. Except we’re legally responsible for saving people.”

“Terrifying.”

“Yeah.”

She looked around once more, clearly trying to take it all in. “Thanks for showing me. It’s… really cool to see it.”

“I’m glad you came.” He lowered his voice a little. “And also, I’m glad you’re not scared off now that you’ve met the crew.”

Amelia laughed, placing a hand on his chest. “They’re not that bad.”

“Give it time.”

She checked her phone and winced. “Okay, I actually do need to go - staff meeting in fifteen and I still haven’t eaten.”

“Want me to walk you out?”

“No, you’ve already risked enough mockery for one day.”

“Not mockery,” Mason called. “Celebration.”

“Leave now while you still have dignity,” Alexa added.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked her toward the garage entrance anyway. Just before she stepped out, she turned around and tugged him in for another kiss - softer this time, but no less sure.

“Thanks for not pretending I was just ‘dropping something off,’” she said quietly.

“Thanks for not pretending I wasn’t worth the stop.”

They smiled at each other, and for a moment, the noise behind them faded.

Then someone (probably Mason) made a very loud kissy noise, and Harry flipped them off over Amelia’s shoulder.

“I’ll text you later?” she said, already backing away.

“Yeah. And hey,” he added, watching her with a soft smile, “thanks again.”

She gave a tiny wave, then slipped around the corner and out of sight.

Back inside, Harry barely got ten feet before Rachel and Alexa ambushed him.

“She’s pretty,” she said, amused.

“Very pretty,” Alexa added. “And fiery.”

“She’s a schoolteacher, not a dragon.”

“Same thing.”

Mason dropped onto the couch dramatically. “We were starting to think you made her up.”

“You all are obsessed with my love life,” Harry muttered, tossing the bag Amelia had brought onto the counter.

“Because we’re invested,” Alexa said.

Rachel nodded. “You smile like an idiot every time you get a text.”

Harry rolled his eyes again but couldn’t hide the grin sneaking onto his face. “Alright, alright. Can we get back to work now, or do you want to ask what our first date was like too?”

They immediately all raised their hands.

He groaned and walked away.

“Her foot on your calf under the table during dinner,” Alexa called. “That���s my guess!”

“I’m never bringing her back here again,” Harry muttered.

But the truth was, he absolutely would.

———————————————————————————

The roof of the firehouse was still warm beneath them, radiating the last of the day’s heat into the soles of their shoes. A soft breeze tugged at the edges of Amelia’s t-shirt as she leaned back on her palms, head tilted to the sky, legs stretched out in front of her. Crickets chirped somewhere below, and the town’s hum had finally quieted, like even it was letting itself exhale for a moment.

Harry handed her a cold bottle, the label already damp from the cooler they’d brought up.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his against hers.

“To what?”

He thought for a second. “To me not falling asleep mid conversation this time.”

She snorted, sipping. “To that.”

It was easy with her. Even after months, it still surprised him sometimes - how natural it felt to sit beside her, without the need to impress or fill silence. She didn’t demand noise. She just let him be. And he liked who he was when he was around her.

“You know,” she said, nudging his sneaker with hers, “for a place that smells like smoke and sweat ninety percent of the time, this rooftop’s kind of romantic.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “Don’t let the guys hear you say that. They’ll start hosting date nights up here.”

“Oh god, no,” she said, grinning. “Could you imagine Rachel with a cheese board?”

He leaned back on his elbows, his shoulder brushing against hers. “You say that like Rachel doesn’t have a Pinterest board called ‘Apocalyptic Charcuterie.’”

Amelia laughed - properly, head thrown back, nose crinkled - and the sound bounced between the walls like it belonged there.

They kept chatting, the kind of soft, rambling talk that only shows up late at night - about songs that reminded them of childhood, ridiculous school stories, weird foods they swore were actually good. Every so often, their knees bumped, or she’d brush a hand against his when reaching for the bottle opener. He didn’t move away. Neither did she.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, the space between words growing as they both stared up at the sky. The stars were clearer here than in town. Dozens of them scattered across the dark, like someone had flung glitter on velvet.

Harry turned to say something - maybe a joke, maybe something about constellations he half-remembered - but stopped short.

She wasn’t speaking. She was just looking.

Head tilted up, eyes soft, lips parted slightly in thought. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the label of her beer. The light breeze lifted the ends of her hair, and her profile was etched against the moonlight in the kind of way that felt like a painting.

And in that moment, everything just… settled.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was just clear.

This was it.

He didn’t want anyone else on this rooftop. He didn’t want anyone else drinking his beer, or laughing at his stories, or showing up at his station holding something “firefighty” he’d forgotten. He wanted her. Fully, with no blurred lines or half-definitions.

His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“Hey, mills?”

She glanced over. “Yeah?”

He swallowed. “I know we’re already sort of… doing it. Whatever this is.”

She raised a brow, playful. “Your powers of observation are incredible, firefighter.”

He smiled, a little sheepish. “I just mean… I’d really like to call you my girlfriend now. Like, properly.”

Amelia blinked. It wasn’t surprise exactly - more like that moment when you finally find the thing you’ve been wondering if they’d say first.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him for a second. Then she smiled - slow, crooked, teasing.

“God, it’s about time, Styles.”

Relief bubbled up through his chest, laced with warmth. He laughed, hand coming up to cup the side of her face.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Well,” she said, leaning in like she was considering it, “only if I get to call you my boyfriend and make fun of how much you cry at Pixar movies.”

He groaned. “That was one time-”

“Luca,” she reminded him. “You sniffled into your hoodie.”

“That was a sad fish-boy situation.”

She tilted her face toward him until their noses brushed. “So is that a yes to me being your girlfriend?”

He kissed her before answering - soft and smiling against her mouth.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It’s a yes.”

They sat there for a while after that - not needing to fill the silence with anything more. Just the occasional sip of beer, the brush of a hand across a knee, her head leaning on his shoulder as the stars burned above them.

And when she eventually sighed and said, “Okay, boyfriend, now I’m cold,” he shrugged out of his hoodie and draped it over her shoulders like it was instinct.

Because by now, it was.

[kahluamystery97]

Make sure you have your Kleenex handy for this one. This one had me all over. Happy, sad, scared, happy.

Come Back To Me.

(Find my masterlist - here)

Synopsis: In a quiet town, firefighter Harry Styles and schoolteacher Amelia Lockwood share a deep, established love, built on everyday moments and quiet strength. Their world is shaken when a devastating fire breaks out at Amelia’s school, leaving her injured. As Harry races against time, battling smoke and fear, he must confront the possibility of losing the woman he wants to spend forever with. Amidst hospital rooms and whispered promises, their bond is tested and strengthened, reminding them both what it means to come home - to each other.

Trigger Warnings: Fire and smoke inhalation injury, physical injury/burns, hospitalisation, trauma, anxiety and fear of losing a loved one.

———————————————————————————

The alarm was cruel. It always was.

Harry reached out with one arm, silencing it before it could shriek a second time. The other arm stayed firmly around Amelia, who made a low, tired sound of protest and tucked her face into his chest. Her hair smelled like lavender and something sugary, probably her students had made cookies again. She always brought them home, half-wrapped in foil, like treasures too small to leave behind.

“We should get up,” she mumbled against his skin.

“We should,” Harry agreed, making no effort to move.

A minute passed. Maybe two. Eventually, she sighed and wiggled out from under his arm, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder as she sat up. He watched her in the morning light - her profile soft and familiar, hair piled on top of her head in a messy twist. She tugged on the hem of his T-shirt, the one she’d stolen, and stood, stretching as she padded into the bathroom.

He followed a beat later, toothbrush in hand. The mirror was a little foggy from the old radiator that ran too hot, even in June. She was already dabbing concealer under her eyes, squinting with professional focus. Their elbows bumped once, then twice.

“You’re crowding me,” she said, without looking.

Harry bumped her again, on purpose this time. “This is my sink.”

“Your sink,” she repeated, deadpan. “That’s interesting… since I’m the one who keeps the toothpaste stocked.”

“Debatable,” he said through his toothbrush foam.

They danced around each other in the practiced rhythm of people who’d shared mornings a hundred times. He stepped back so she could grab her eyeliner; she shifted so he could spit. No announcements, no requests. Just movement. Trust.

In the kitchen, the coffee machine sputtered to life on its own, because one of them had prepped it last night. They always did. It had become a quiet competition: who could remember first, who could care better. She poured his mug without asking - one sugar, splash of oat milk, and he passed her hers the second it finished - black, hot, no room for error.

“You know me too well,” he said, lifting the mug in salute.

“You’re easy,” Amelia replied, wrapping her fingers around the warmth of hers. “Predictable.”

“Steady,” he countered, leaning against the counter. He bumped her hip again. “You love that about me.”

“I love that you don’t make me say it every morning,” she said, and took a sip.

He watched her over the rim of his cup, half-smiling. She was dressed for the classroom already - soft cream blouse, her favourite navy trousers, hair tucked neatly back. Her ID badge was already clipped to her lanyard, which was covered in stickers her students had given her. She hadn’t noticed the smudge of coffee on the back of her hand.

“You’ve got…” he reached over, wiping it gently with his thumb. “There.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. Her eyes flicked to his, and for a moment, the kitchen was still. Just light and warmth and two people who’d made a life around each other without ever really having to say, this is permanent.

Harry thought about the little velvet box in the sock drawer. He hadn’t told anyone about it yet, not even parents, who would’ve gone nuclear with excitement. But it had been there for weeks now, tucked between the things he wore the least. Waiting for the right moment.

Maybe this morning. Or maybe…

“Babe?”

Amelia was at the door now, slinging her tote over her shoulder and trying to juggle her keys. He blinked. Shook the thought off.

“Yeah,” he said, catching her water bottle before it tipped off the counter. “Coming.”

They met by the door like always. It was habit, but it was more than that, too.

She looked up at him and stepped in close. Their foreheads met, just for a second. Breath to breath.

“Come back to me,” she murmured. She always said it like it wasn’t dramatic, like it was just a thing they said. Just something small and soft to hold onto while the world spun on.

Harry closed his eyes and let it settle in his chest.

“Always,” he said.

And then she was out the door, walking briskly toward her car with a hand raised behind her in goodbye. He waited until the taillights disappeared before he grabbed his own jacket and headed out.

The air was bright already, just past seven. The fire station was only five minutes away. He climbed into the driver’s seat and leaned back for a moment, coffee in one hand, her words still echoing in his head.

He hadn’t proposed. Not yet. But he would. Soon. Maybe even tonight. He just had to make it through today.

———————————————————————————

Amelia Lockwood’s classroom always smelled faintly of Crayola markers and hand sanitiser - equal parts chaos and care. The walls were alive with colour: student art pinned in lopsided rows, laminated posters reminding kids to “use kind words” and “be brave when it’s hard,” and one slightly crooked banner above the whiteboard that read: Room 3B: The Brightest Stars in the School.

It was the kind of space you didn’t grow out of easily. Even the older kids peeked in sometimes during lunch, just to see if Beans, the class guinea pig, was out of his enclosure.

“Miss Lockwood! Beans pooped on the spelling sheets!” Lila Singh shrieked, halfway between horror and laughter.

“He what?” Amelia spun from the whiteboard, marker still in hand.

“Look!” Lila held up a sheet of paper spotted with tiny, unmistakable evidence. Diya, beside her, dissolved into a fit of giggles so dramatic her glasses nearly fell off her nose.

Amelia sighed, pressing her lips together to hide the smile. “Lila, Diya - new rule. No rodents on paper, even if they look like they’re proofreading.”

Ellie, quiet and observant in the back corner, raised her hand. “Can we still let him sit on the class plant during silent reading?”

Amelia considered this with mock seriousness. “Only if he promises to stop reading out loud.”

The class erupted into laughter, exactly the way it always did - high-pitched, chaotic, unfiltered joy. She loved it. She loved them. Every scraped knee, every oddly folded paper swan they brought her, every misspelled “you’re the best teecher” on her birthday cards.

It was just after ten, and they were working through their morning literacy block. Today’s focus: sequencing events in stories.

Amelia had written three sentences on the board:

• The dragon roared.

• The knight raised his sword.

• The sky turned black.

“Now,” she said, turning back to them. “Your job is to put those in the right order and then write your own ending. No laser swords, please, Milo.”

“Not even if it’s a space dragon?” Milo shot back instantly, pencil poised in rebellion.

Amelia gave him a look, the one that meant you’re lucky I like you. “You can write about space dragons during free writing this afternoon.”

He groaned, dramatically collapsing into his worksheet like the weight of his imagination was too much to bear.

Jayden, at the front, was frowning at his page. He’d been quiet today, more than usual. Amelia crouched beside him and gently tapped the eraser end of his pencil.

“You stuck?” she asked.

He nodded, lips pressed tight. Jayden was a thinker, not a talker. Ever since his parents separated, he’d become even quieter, especially when stories had fighting or yelling in them.

“Don’t worry about the dragon,” Amelia said softly. “Tell me what the knight is feeling. What’s it like to stand there, sword in hand, knowing something big is about to happen?”

Jayden’s eyes flicked to hers, and something eased in his shoulders. He started to write.

The room settled. Scratching pencils, low murmurs, and the occasional rustle from Beans’s enclosure were the only sounds. Amelia walked between desks, glancing over shoulders, offering quiet praise. Diya had drawn an entire dragon family in the margins of her paper. Lila, predictably, was writing a love story between the knight and the dragon.

“Tragic,” Lila explained. “They’re not supposed to be in love, but they are.”

“You’re eight,” Amelia said, eyebrows raised.

“I have older cousins,” Lila said matter-of-factly.

Amelia smiled again, despite herself.

Her phone buzzed gently on her desk. She crossed to check it—just a text from Harry.

Hope today’s a quiet one. x

Coffee’s still in my veins, so I’m surviving.

She leaned against her desk for a second, thumbs hovering.

Kids have staged a rodent uprising. We’re losing the war.

She was halfway through typing “Come back to me later for mop-up duty,” when the fire alarm chirped.

Just once. Short. High. Then silence.

The class barely reacted - most of them didn’t even glance up. They were used to drills. Amelia, however, froze for half a second, her eyes lifting instinctively to the blinking red sensor near the door. Nothing else followed. No siren. No flashing lights. Just that one chirp, like a warning trying to decide if it meant anything.

Probably nothing. Faulty sensor again. It happened twice last month.

Still, she didn’t finish the message to Harry. Instead, she tucked her phone back into her desk drawer and moved to open the window a crack. The air outside was bright and warm already, but it felt heavier than usual, like something pressing just slightly on the edges.

Behind her, Lila and Diya were giggling again, heads bent over the same paper.

Amelia smiled faintly and turned back to the board.

———————————————————————————

The bay doors were open to let in the June air, and Harry was halfway through checking the hose pressure valve on the back of Engine 2 when Callum barked across the station floor.

“Dev, if you’re not through that door in thirty seconds, I’m sending your paperwork to your mum.”

“I’m literally here!” Dev shouted, jogging in with a protein bar in his mouth. “Traffic was-”

“Lies,” Callum said, not even looking up from the clipboard in his hand. “You live four minutes away.”

Harry chuckled under his breath and closed the valve with a satisfying click. “Callum, you know he needs a dramatic entrance.”

Dev tossed his jacket onto the bench and pointed at Harry. “Exactly. Someone appreciates the flair.”

“Go check the tools,” Callum muttered. “Before I flair you.”

Harry moved to the driver’s side compartment, methodically scanning through the equipment - thermal imaging camera, pry tools, med kit. Everything in its place. Gear checks were daily routine, but he never did them on autopilot. It was muscle memory by now, sure, but he knew what happened when someone forgot even one thing. Missed gloves, jammed latch, bad batteries - any one of them could be the difference between clean rescue and disaster.

Max walked by, coffee in hand, offering him a quiet nod. “Slow morning so far.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Harry replied, wiping his hands on his uniform trousers.

His phone buzzed once in his back pocket, he figured it was Amelia. He hadn’t heard from her since that text earlier. Probably wrangling the class. He was tempted to send another message.

Don’t let beans overthrow the curriculum.

But he didn’t. Then the speaker crackled.

“All units, stand by. Report of smoke seen issuing from roof, possible structure fire - Ridley Avenue. Standby for full dispatch.”

Harry looked up, heart tightening reflexively.

Callum was already moving, clicking his pen once before tossing it to the desk. “Mount up.”

The team snapped into motion. Harry grabbed his jacket, gloves stuffed into one sleeve. Jayne was already climbing into the cab. The station’s tone shifted like a flipped switch, calm became command.

As they rolled out, the dispatcher’s voice came through again, clearer this time over the radio.

“Confirmed fire. Educational facility. Ridley Avenue Primary School. Repeat, Ridley Avenue Primary.”

Harry blinked.

What?

The engine’s siren kicked in, wailing through the air, but it barely registered over the sudden thunder in his chest.

“Did they just say-” he started, breath catching.

Jayne and Dev twisted in the seat ahead of him, reading from the dispatch tablet. “Ridley Avenue Primary. Looks like it started in the back building. Kitchen or staffroom maybe. One side’s fully engulfed.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

“That’s-” He sat forward hard, nearly knocking his helmet off the bench. “That’s Mills’ school.”

Max turned his head slightly, eyes flicking up to the rearview.

“Amelia?” Callum asked from the passenger side, voice clipped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, already pulling out his radio. “That’s her school. That’s her fucking school-”

His hand was shaking as he pressed the call button, and he knew it.

“Control, Engine Two en route. ETA four minutes,” Callum said into the comm, calm and efficient.

Harry sat back, jaw clenched tight, fists white-knuckled in his lap. The sirens screamed, but they were nothing compared to the noise in his head.

He tried to focus on the checklist - gear, harness, breather - but all he could see was Amelia’s car in the lot, Amelia standing by the whiteboard with her soft voice and her classroom of tiny kids, Amelia laughing as she told him about the happenings of Lila and Diya.

And then smoke. Flames. Chaos.

He didn’t know how to breathe.

Max glanced at him in the mirror. “You okay, mate?”

“No.” Harry swallowed hard. “Not even close.”

There was a pause.

Then Dev - serious for once - said, “We’ll get there fast.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

The fire was real now. Not just a callout. Not just someone else’s emergency.

It was her.

———————————————————————————

The smoke was a living thing - writhing through corridors, clawing at every open space with hot, invisible fingers.

Harry hit the ground running, pulling on his mask as soon as he jumped down from the truck. Three engines had already lined the curb, lights strobing across the playground equipment like a nightmare kaleidoscope. Water sprayed in high arcs from the roofline, steam rising in bursts. The fire had eaten through half the back wing already - classrooms gone, windows shattered.

“East side!” Callum shouted over the roar. “Check for remaining personnel. We’ve got kids accounted for but a teacher went back in!”

Harry froze.

“A teacher?” he said sharply, already sprinting toward the double doors.

Jayne caught up beside him. “We don’t know who - could be anyone.”

But Harry knew. It was Amelia.

Because of course it was. Of course she went back.

He charged through the entrance, boots slamming against soaked linoleum. The hallway was nearly opaque with smoke. Flashing strobes overhead pulsed red through the haze like a heartbeat. His flashlight beam cut a narrow path through the gloom.

“Room 3B, Room 3B,” he muttered into his mask, turning left. His oxygen hissed steadily in his ears. It was too hot in here. Too thick. He knew the signs. They were already past the safe burn point. Structure was getting unstable.

“Harry!” Dev’s voice barked through comms. “Watch your time - backup’s clearing the northwest-”

“I know where she is,” Harry snapped, pushing through the corridor.

Room 3B’s door was warped from heat, but not burned through yet. He kicked at it once, twice, shoulder slamming into it on the third hit. It burst open with a crack of splintered wood.

The classroom was almost unrecognizable. Tables overturned. Artwork curling on the walls. The air was so thick he couldn’t see five feet in front of him.

“Amelia?” he shouted into the smoke, voice muffled.

Nothing. He swept the flashlight low.

Then he saw the pale shape - just inside the door, slumped on her side.

“Shit. No, no- Mills-”

He dropped beside her, grabbing her shoulders, rolling her gently onto her back. Her face was covered in soot, lashes blackened with smoke, and her skin - he could see red welts, burns along her arms and collarbone where her shirt had torn. One of her hands was still curled, like she’d been reaching for something.

“Breathe, come on, breathe-”

He ripped off his own mask and pressed it over her mouth instead, sealing it as best he could. She didn’t respond.

“Control, this is FF Styles. I have an unconscious civilian- female, burns, heavy smoke inhalation, I’m bringing her out now-”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He hooked one arm under her legs, the other behind her shoulders, and lifted her into his arms.

She wasn’t heavy. She never was. But right now, she felt like the weight of his entire world.

“Hang on, baby, please,” he whispered against her hair as he turned back toward the corridor.

The smoke fought him with every step. His mask dangled uselessly from his neck. His lungs burned raw. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear anything but the roar.

But then-

A voice on comms. “We see you, Harry - north hall! Straight ahead, twenty feet!”

Light broke through the grey.

He stumbled forward. Max and Dev burst through the fog and grabbed his arms, steadying him as he half-ran, half-collapsed through the last doorway.

They pulled Amelia from his grip as medics swarmed.

“Got her! She’s breathing, shallow pulse!”

Harry hit the pavement outside and coughed so hard he tasted blood. But she was there. She was alive.

Someone was putting an oxygen mask on her. Someone else was cutting open her sleeve to assess the burns. The world narrowed to that tiny circle around her face, her chest rising just barely under the medic’s hands.

“Mills,” he rasped, crawling forward, not caring who tried to stop him. “Mills, baby, can you hear me?”

Her head lolled to the side, eyes closed.

“Come on, Amelia, come on, don’t do this… don’t you dare-”

“Pulse steadying,” one of the paramedics said. “We need to move now!”

Harry moved with them. He didn’t let go of her hand.

———————————————————————————

The siren wailed again, louder inside the cramped ambulance than it ever had in the fire engine. The smell of antiseptic mixed with burnt fabric, thick and suffocating.

Harry sat beside Amelia, her body limp against the stretcher’s straps, her skin pale under the harsh fluorescent light. The medics worked silently but quickly, checking vitals and sliding an oxygen mask over her soot-smudged face.

“Her lungs sound really congested,” one of them murmured, voice clipped but steady. “Smoke inhalation’s bad. We might need to intubate.”

Harry nodded, his throat tight. He gripped her hand as if sheer force could bring her back.

“Stay with me, Mills. Please. Just breathe. You hear me?”

There was no response. No flutter of eyelids, no tightening of fingers.

The medic prepared the tube, and Harry looked away for a moment, swallowing hard to keep down the panic clawing up his throat. When they gently slipped the breathing tube down her throat, he gritted his teeth and stayed silent.

Minutes crawled by in the shaking ambulance. Every bump felt like a hammer blow to his chest.

He whispered her name again, over and over, though he knew she couldn’t hear it.

The paramedic adjusted her oxygen, checking monitors as the city lights blurred past the window.

“Almost there,” the other medic said from the driver’s seat, voice steady but low.

When they pulled up to the hospital’s emergency entrance, the ambulance screeched to a halt.

“Move her inside. Fast,” the lead medic barked.

Harry followed, heart pounding like a drum in his ears.

Inside, the ER was a cold, harsh place. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, nurses and doctors rushing past with clipped orders and wheels squeaking.One doctor approached quickly, a woman with sharp eyes and a calm but urgent voice.

“Sir, we need you to step back. We’re going to take over now.”

Harry’s breath hitched, his hands twitching toward Amelia’s stretcher.

“Wait- she’s my girlfriend- please, I need to be with her,” he said, voice cracking.

The doctor softened fractionally but remained firm. “I understand. But we need space to work. She’s in critical condition. We’re doing everything we can.”

Harry swallowed, feeling like the ground had slipped beneath him. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to panic.

He stepped back reluctantly, eyes locked on her pale face, the breathing tube, the monitors beeping steadily but without promise.

“Please, Mills,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

———————————————————————————

The sterile smell of the hospital lobby was nothing like the acrid smoke choking Ridley Avenue. But it clung to Harry now, invisible and suffocating.

He sat in the stiff plastic chair outside the ICU waiting room, hands fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, heart pounding with every passing second.

Anger bubbled beneath the surface, raw and jagged.

Why did she go back in? he thought, eyes closed tight. Why Amelia? Always the one to run toward danger, never away from it.

But beneath that anger was something fiercer - something he couldn’t name but felt in every nerve ending.

Love. Damn near blinding love.

She wasn’t just a teacher. She was a fighter. A protector. And maybe that was why he’d fallen so hard for her - the way she’d put herself on the line without hesitation.

The thought of losing her tore at him like acid.

His phone vibrated. He ignored it. The minutes stretched into an hour, each one a small eternity.

And then the door opened.

A woman in scrubs stepped inside, her expression serious but gentle.

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry stood instantly, heart hammering.

“I’m Dr. Reyes. I’m overseeing Ms. Lockwood’s care.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly.

“She’s stable at the moment,” Dr. Reyes said carefully. “We had to intubate her because of the smoke inhalation - it caused severe swelling in her airways. We’re monitoring her closely.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, tension unraveling with every word.

“Is she going to be okay?”

The doctor hesitated.

“She’s unconscious, and the burns will need treatment, but the biggest risk right now is the swelling in her lungs. We’re doing everything to reduce it. She’s on a ventilator, so she’s breathing with assistance.”

Harry’s breath hitched. “Can I see her?”

Dr. Reyes nodded. “Yes. But only for a few minutes.”

He followed her down the hall, heart pounding louder than his footsteps.

Outside Amelia’s room, he paused.

Through the glass, she lay still - pale, tubes running from her mouth and arms, machines beeping softly.

He felt every ache in his chest, every tear threatening to fall, and swallowed it back.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You scared the hell out of me.”

His fingers pressed against the glass, barely able to reach her.

“I hate that you went back in. But I love you so much for it.”

He stayed there a moment longer, drawing strength from her quiet presence.

Then, as the nurse came to gently usher him out, he promised silently, I’m here, Mills. I’m not going anywhere.

———————————————————————————

He hadn’t called.

That was the first sign.

It was a habit - after every shift, even the slow ones, Harry would send her a quick voice note or a sleepy “off to bed, love you” text. Nothing came through by dinner. And Amelia tried not to spiral, but the longer the silence dragged, the more her hands fidgeted and her mind filled in the blanks.

Then, just past nine, her phone buzzed.

Harry: Can I come over?

No emoji. No kiss at the end. Just five words, sent almost an hour ago.

She was already pulling on a hoodie and unlocking the door when she heard the knock.

When she opened it, Harry stood in the hallway, half-slung out of his uniform jacket, eyes tired and skin pale beneath the ash on his cheeks.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, reaching for him. “Harry.”

“I’m okay,” he rasped, raising a hand. “Just- can I come in?”

She stepped aside wordlessly, watching as he walked in like he was made of glass.

When the door closed behind him, she turned on the light and only then, saw the bandages wrapped around his forearm, the wince as he moved his ribs.

“You’re hurt.”

“I know,” he said softly.

Amelia’s voice trembled as she crossed the room. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, that didn’t work.”

He cracked a tired smile. “Fair point.”

She took his jacket, then his shirt - carefully, slowly, wincing every time he did. His undershirt was sweat-soaked and torn near the side where a purpling bruise was forming beneath his ribs.

“Jesus, Harry.”

“Some old boiler exploded during a call-out,” he said, settling into her kitchen chair like his bones had turned to dust. “Caught part of the wall. Nothing major.”

“This is not nothing major.”

“I’ve had worse,” he said, with a lopsided grin.

“Don’t say that like it’s supposed to make me feel better.”

Her hands were gentle as she grabbed the first aid kit, unscrewing a jar of cooling cream and lightly dabbing it over the exposed burns on his arm. He winced, teeth gritting, but didn’t pull away.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she said quietly.

“I don’t like being like this,” he muttered.

Amelia met his eyes. “You could’ve stayed at the station. Or gone home. Why here?”

He hesitated.

Then he said, “Because this is where I feel safe.”

That undid her.

She didn’t say anything - just set the jar down and gently cupped his cheek, brushing soot from beneath his eye with her thumb.

“I thought I could handle this job, and the danger, and all the unpredictability,” she whispered, voice cracking. “But it’s so much harder when it’s you.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking you to quit,” she added quickly. “I love what you do. I’m just… scared.”

“I know,” he repeated, leaning forward, forehead pressing softly to hers.

It was the same way they always grounded each other. Not a kiss. Not words.

Just breath. Skin to skin. A shared silence that said I’m still here.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he murmured after a beat.

“You did.”

“But I also wanted to be where you were.”

Her hands stayed on him as his shoulders finally relaxed. As if her presence alone made the bruises sting less.

She made him tea that night and sat with him on the couch, her legs curled beneath her, gently tracing the bandage on his arm while he drifted between exhaustion and comfort.

And even though they still lived in separate homes, that was the night she left a spare toothbrush in her bathroom drawer for him.

———————————————————————————

The hospital room had settled into a dull rhythm. Beeping monitors. The low hum of filtered air. The soft hiss of oxygen.

Harry sat slouched in the chair beside her bed, head tipped forward against his forearm, her hand still tucked in his. He hadn’t left in three days - not really. A quick rinse in the staff showers, a bite of hospital coffee and toast - but always back before she could notice he was gone.

Not that she had noticed. Not yet.

The steady rise and fall of the machine breathing for her was both comfort and torment. Keeping her alive - but also keeping her distant. Somewhere he couldn’t reach.

He didn’t cry often. But he had. Quietly. Late at night. When the nurse shut the door softly behind her and he was left with nothing but time and what-ifs.

What if she hadn’t made it?

What if he hadn’t found her in time?

What if the last thing she ever did was run back into a burning building… and never come out?

He blinked hard, rubbed his jaw, and looked up at her again.

Still. Too still.

Then-

A twitch.

A shift beneath her eyelids.

Harry straightened instantly, the chair screeching softly beneath him. “Amelia?”

Another twitch. This time her fingers moved - slight, uncertain - but enough to light something in his chest. He stood fast, eyes wide, panic and hope crashing over him in equal measure.

“Hey- Mills?” He stepped closer, touching her wrist. “Can you hear me?”

Her head shifted slightly, brows drawing in - and then her whole body jerked, a choking, gagging sound escaping her throat.

The breathing tube.

“Shit- hey! I need help in here!” Harry’s voice cracked as he reached for the call button and slammed it with his palm. “She’s waking up- she’s choking- please!”

The door burst open seconds later. A nurse swept in with calm urgency, already pressing the intercom for assistance. “She’s gagging on the ET tube - we’ve got a gag reflex, she’s coming out of sedation.”

Another nurse entered as Harry stepped back, hands clenched uselessly by his sides.

They moved fast - one stabilizing her head, the other adjusting the monitor, then gently, carefully sliding the tube from her throat as she gasped and coughed, her body curling instinctively with the force of breath returning.

The sound of it, her first real breath, nearly brought him to his knees.

“Easy now, Amelia. You’re okay,” the nurse said, soothingly. “That’s it. Breathe slowly for me.”

She was crying - not full sobs, just tears, silent and hot down her cheeks, confusion and pain flickering in her half-lidded eyes.

Harry was beside her before they gave the all-clear.

“I’m here,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m right here.”

Her eyes finally landed on him, dazed and glassy, but hers.

He reached for her hand again. She didn’t speak — couldn’t, not yet - but her fingers squeezed his.

That was enough to wreck him.

A soft sob escaped him as he pressed his forehead to her hand. “You scared the absolute hell out of me, Mills. Jesus.”

She blinked, slowly, trying to form a word. Her lips moved - sorry - but the sound didn’t come.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t try. Just rest. You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

The nurses monitored her a bit longer, adjusting her oxygen mask, checking her levels. One of them touched Harry’s arm as they left.

“She’s tough. Give her a minute.”

He nodded but didn’t look away from Amelia’s face.

When they were alone again, he sat down, still holding her hand. She was watching him now, really watching - her brows furrowed slightly as if she could already sense the weight he’d been carrying.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Just… so you know.”

Her mouth trembled. She blinked once. A tear slid sideways across her temple.

Harry smiled - watery and crooked. “Yeah. You don’t have to say it. You already did.”

———————————————————————————

It was the first time in three days that Harry sat in silence without feeling like the world was collapsing around him.

The monitors still beeped. The oxygen mask still hissed. Machines still blinked their coded reassurance. But Amelia… Amelia was sleeping again. Not the kind of unconscious sleep that left his chest hollow and terrified, but real sleep.

Natural. Breathing on her own.

She’d drifted off after the doctor finished his checks. The breathing tube had come out hours earlier, and her vitals had stabilized. They were still watching her closely, but the worst, they said, was over.

Harry didn’t move from his chair.

He just sat there, one arm on the edge of her bed, his hand wrapped gently around hers like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. He hadn’t dared let go since she first woke that morning and choked on the tube - the sound of her body fighting for breath again still haunted the corners of his mind.

She’d cried. He hadn’t expected that.

She hadn’t spoken then, not really, but the look in her eyes had said everything. Confusion, pain, apology. Guilt.

And he’d just kept saying the same thing: You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

He looked at her now - pale, bruised, her hair a tangled halo against the stark hospital pillow - and his chest ached with something sharp and enormous.

God, he loved her. And he’d almost lost her.

He hadn’t even known where they were going when the call came in. Just a structure fire, mid-morning, downtown - and then in the truck, someone said the name of the school and everything inside him snapped.

He could still hear his own voice - panicked, wild - “Tell me it’s not the school. Not her school.”

And it was.

It had taken everything in him to do the job and not just tear through the smoke yelling her name. He didn’t even know he’d found her until he was cradling her in his arms, her body limp and streaked with soot, smoke curling off her hair, her fingers still curled like she’d been trying to protect something.

The image had burned itself into his brain. He didn’t think he’d ever forget it.

A quiet rustle pulled him out of the thought - the soft sound of sheets shifting, then the faintest cough, dry and strained.

His head snapped up.

“Amelia?”

Her face twitched, then again. Eyes fluttered beneath lashes. He stood quickly, hand tightening gently around hers. “Hey, Mills? You with me?”

She blinked slowly, then again - eyes unfocused, adjusting - and finally locked onto his.

A tired, fragile kind of recognition passed over her face. Her lips parted.

“Harry…” Her voice was barely more than air - hoarse, dry, painful - but it was her.

“Hey,” he said, swallowing hard. “You’re awake.”

She nodded weakly, brows pulling together like she was trying to remember how her body worked.

He pushed a few strands of hair back from her forehead, thumb brushing her temple. “You’re okay, alright? You’re safe.”

Her eyes filled almost instantly.

“Kids,” she whispered, each letter rough like it scraped her throat to form. “Are they-?”

He nodded quickly. “They’re okay. All of them. Your whole class made it out. No major injuries. Everyone at the school is okay.”

She sagged back into the pillow with a shaky exhale, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks.

“I went… back…” Her voice broke on the word. “Ethan-he tripped- he was scared-”

Harry leaned in closer, heart in his throat, but he stopped her with a gentle touch to her wrist.

“Hey. No. You don’t have to explain.”

She shook her head faintly. “I couldn’t leave them. I-I told them I’d always keep them safe.”

“And you did,” Harry said, his voice cracking. “You did, Mills.”

She closed her eyes as more tears escaped. He watched her struggle to breathe steadily, to keep control, and he hated that he couldn’t take the pain from her. The guilt. The memory.

“You’re okay,” he said again, gently but firmly. “That’s what matters. The rest- just let it go for now, yeah?”

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

“I thought… I wasn’t gonna make it out.”

He bowed his head, forehead brushing the back of her hand. “Me too,” he admitted. “But you did. You came back.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment. Just looked at him, really looked, and then whispered, “You found me.”

He smiled, a soft, watery thing. “Always.”

He felt her fingers shift, trying to bring his hand closer. He gave in easily, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m so tired,” she murmured.

“You can rest,” he said, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She exhaled, soft and uneven, and her eyes drifted closed again - but this time, he wasn’t afraid.

This time, her breathing was steady. This time, he knew she’d wake up again.

———————————————————————————

The room was quiet again, morning light soft through the blinds, filtered and gentle. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and the paper-cup coffee Harry had been nursing for hours. Amelia blinked slowly, her throat dry but not on fire anymore. Her chest ached when she breathed too deeply, but it was manageable now - like her body had stopped screaming and settled into a dull, exhausted whisper.

She turned her head carefully. He was there. Still.

Slumped awkwardly in the chair beside her bed, arms folded, chin resting in one hand. His curls were a mess. His shirt was wrinkled. He hadn’t shaved - not that she minded - but his eyes looked heavier than she’d ever seen them.

“Harry…” Her voice cracked, low and raspy.

His head snapped up instantly. “Hey.” He was already leaning forward, eyes wide, like he thought she might vanish if he looked away. “You’re awake again.”

She gave a small nod, grimacing a little. “Still here?”

“‘Course I’m still here.” He smiled, but it was tight, cautious. “Where else would I be?”

Amelia tried to shift a little in the bed. Her muscles protested, but not as loudly as before. “You look… awful.”

He let out a quiet laugh and reached for the water cup on her tray. “Thanks, baby. That’s the reassurance I needed this morning.”

She smiled too, just barely, and took a slow sip as he held the straw for her. The water felt like heaven on her throat, even if every swallow still came with effort.

“You haven’t left,” she rasped, voice thin but steadier than yesterday. “Have you?”

Harry tilted his head. “Nope.”

“Not even to shower?”

“Nope.”

She sighed and let her eyes close briefly. “You smell like smoke and stress.”

“Perfect. That’s exactly the scent I was going for.”

When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her - not smiling this time. Just looking, like he needed to memorize every freckle, every blink, to believe she was really in front of him.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said quietly.

Her heart twisted. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… I couldn’t find you. I didn’t know where you were at first. And then when I did—when I saw you—”

He stopped. She saw his throat work around the rest of the sentence like it was too heavy to speak.

“I thought you were gone,” he finished, barely above a whisper.

Amelia reached out slowly, touching his fingers. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like that.”

“You ran back in for a student,” he said. “They told me. You could’ve died.”

She didn’t deny it. There was no point.

“I didn’t think. I just…” Her voice caught. “I saw Ethan fall. I told them I’d get them out. I had to.”

Harry shook his head, but not in frustration - just in something close to heartbreak. “Of course you did. That’s who you are.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just full of everything that didn’t need to be said.

“You should go home,” she murmured eventually. “Shower. Sleep in a bed that doesn’t beep.”

He raised a brow. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He leaned forward again, closer this time. “I’ll go when you’re home. Not before.”

Amelia exhaled, weak but affectionate. “Stubborn firefighter.”

Harry grinned. “Stubborn teacher.”

She smiled back, though it faded when she studied him. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red from lack of sleep, and something deeper. Something she couldn’t quite reach.

“Talk to me,” she said softly.

He looked down, thumbs brushing over her knuckles. “It made everything real. You know?”

“What did?”

“All of it.” He swallowed. “How fast things can change. How close I came to losing you. I kept thinking - what if that had been it? What if I’d never gotten to say the things I wanted to say?”

Amelia’s fingers squeezed his.

“You’ve always said them,” she whispered. “Every morning when you make my coffee. Every time you fold my laundry even though I ask you not to. Every time you kiss me on the forehead when you think I’m asleep.”

His jaw tightened.

“I love you,” she said, voice raw. “I don’t need anything else.”

“I do.” His voice cracked. “I need a future with you. Not just mornings and maybes. I need to know you’re mine - properly.”

She blinked slowly. “Harry…”

He didn’t reach for his pocket - not yet. There was no box. No grand gesture. Just him, exhausted and open, sitting in a shitty hospital chair, holding her hand like it was sacred.

“Not asking you right now,” he said gently. “You’re still on morphine. I want your full faculties when I ask you to marry me.”

A laugh broke from her throat, hoarse and surprised. It turned into a cough, and he was instantly on his feet, adjusting the oxygen.

When she settled again, still smiling despite the pain, she whispered, “You’re not subtle, you know that?”

He leaned down, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Didn’t plan to be.”

———————————————————————————

The hospital doors slid shut behind them, and the sharp antiseptic smell gave way to the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun. Amelia leaned against Harry’s hand, holding on like it was a lifeline after days that felt unreal.

“My legs are fine,” she murmured, voice scratchy but steady. “You don’t have to carry me everywhere.”

Harry grinned, fingers tightening around hers. “Humour me, will you? You look like you might collapse any second.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. “Maybe I want to collapse. On my terms.”

He laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”

The car hummed along slowly, Harry’s hand warm and steady in hers. The ache of exhaustion settled deep in her bones, but the thought of home pressed a soft ache in her chest.

When the front door swung open, the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla wrapped around her. Safe. Warm. Real.

She made for the couch, muscles weak but determined.

“Let me help,” Harry said gently.

“No,” she said, voice firm though her legs wobbled. “I’m fine.”

He settled beside her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “You sure? You don’t have to be a hero all the time.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she whispered.

They sat quietly for a moment, the weight of everything settled between them. Then Harry’s shoulders shook with a soft, sudden sob.

Amelia’s arms wrapped around him instinctively. “Hey,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

He buried his face in her shoulder. “I was so scared,” he admitted. “I didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“You’re here now,” she said softly. “That’s what matters.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes red but fierce. “I love you so much. I don’t think I ever realized how much until now.”

She reached up, cupping his cheek. “Me too.”

Harry swallowed hard, then laughed shakily. “You’re the most stubborn person I know.”

She smiled, tired but warm. “Takes one to know one.”

They stayed like that, tangled up in each other, the quiet comfort of home healing what the fire had nearly taken.

———————————————————————————

The apartment was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt fragile and precious after the storm they’d weathered. Sunlight sifted softly through the curtains, falling in warm patches on the worn couch where Amelia sat, wrapped in one of his old shirts. She looked small and fierce all at once - her skin still tender and raw in places, the burns stubborn reminders of how close everything had come to falling apart.

He set the tray of supplies down gently on the coffee table and knelt beside her, careful not to jostle her. Changing the dressings was a delicate dance - steady hands, soothing words, and more patience than he ever thought he had. But every time he peeled back the bandages and saw the pink, healing skin beneath, it felt like a new kind of closeness, a way of saying, without words, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice soft, steady.

Amelia nodded, biting her lip as he slowly and carefully cleaned the wounds with sterile cloths. He hated how vulnerable she looked, but there was something fierce in the way she met his gaze, a stubborn courage that made his chest ache. She was everything he ever wanted to protect.

He reached for the burn cream, the familiar coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from her skin. As he spread it gently over her neck, a sudden urgency gripped him - a raw, aching need to stop just caring for her and start making it official. To stop spending any more time in that limbo of what ifs and maybes.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly, almost afraid to break the fragile peace. “About us. About the future.”

Amelia let out a breath, eyes half-closed as the ointment settled on her skin. “Don’t say that while you’re putting goo on my neck,” she teased, voice hoarse but light.

Harry chuckled, the sound soft but full of meaning. “Fair enough. But I mean it. I want to marry you. I want all of it… the good, the messy, the forever.”

She looked up, her tired eyes shining with something raw and real. “I want that too,” she whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “Just… not while you’re smearing goo all over me and I feel gross.”

He smiled, brushing a stray curl back from her face. “Promise me you’ll say yes?”

Amelia traced her fingers over the tender skin, still raw from the burns but healing. “Only if you promise to keep doing this - keep being here.”

His throat tightened. “I promise. Always.”

As he finished with the dressing, Harry felt a fierce protectiveness rise up. Not just for her body, but for their life together. Every minute he’d spent waiting, every second he hadn’t called her fiancée, felt like time stolen from what was meant to be.

He couldn’t stand the thought of another day passing without making it official. Without giving her the certainty she deserved.

He swallowed hard, words catching in his throat, but the look she gave him - soft, unwavering - gave him strength.

“This-” he gestured between them, “this is everything to me. And I don’t want to spend one more minute not being your fiancé.”

Her lips quirked into a tired smile, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Well, you’d better hurry up then.”

Harry laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in days. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath his lips.

They sat like that for a long moment - two people stitched together by love, healing, and the messy, beautiful reality of being human.

The burn cream had been applied. The dressings fresh. But it was the quiet promises between them that truly sealed the healing.

———————————————————————————

The door creaked open, and the familiar creak of the old wooden floor greeted her like a whisper from home. Amelia stood in the hallway, shoulders slumped, the weight of the day pressing down hard enough to make her knees ache.

“Harry?” Her voice was hoarse from talking all day, but she tried to sound lighter than she felt. “Do we have ice cream? Because I’m gonna need it. I had the worst fucking day.”

She rounded the corner, expecting the usual quiet living room or the clutter of Harry’s guitar case tossed carelessly near the couch.

Instead, her breath caught.

Candles flickered softly, casting a golden glow over the space. A handful of wildflowers - her favorites - were arranged carefully on the coffee table. And there, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was Harry. His hair was a little messier than usual, but his smile was wide, hopeful, and completely, utterly hers.

In his hand was a small box - not big, but heavy with meaning.

“Amelia,” he said softly, voice steady even though his eyes were shining. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Her heart hammered so loud it was almost deafening. The exhaustion, the weight of the day, it all melted away, leaving only this moment, perfect and terrifying and beautiful.

Harry opened the box to reveal a simple, elegant ring - a thin band with a tiny cluster of diamonds catching the candlelight like stars.

“You’re my person,” he continued, voice thick with emotion. “The woman who makes every day better, who’s fearless in the face of anything, who I want to grow old with.”

Amelia’s throat tightened. She dropped her bag with a soft thud and took a cautious step closer.

“I want to be your fiancé, and then your husband,” he said, as if the words were both a promise and a question.

Her lips curved into a smile that was a mix of relief and overwhelming love. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

Harry’s grin widened as he slipped the ring onto her finger. She marveled at the way it sparkled, but even more, the way his eyes lit up just looking at her.

The moment hung between them for a beat longer, before Amelia’s practical side, that teacher’s voice in her head, nudged forward.

“You know,” she began, voice playful, “there’s something else you need to do to be considered a fiancé.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face. “Oh? And what’s that?”

She grinned, stepping closer, her hand still in his. “Get a dog.”

Harry blinked, surprised and amused. “You teach kids with that logic?”

She shrugged, mock serious. “Hey, it’s a well-known fiancé requirement. If you want to seal the deal, you’ve got to prove you can handle puppy chaos.”

He laughed, deep and full, the sound wrapping around her like a warm blanket. Then he leaned in and kissed her silly, like it was the only thing that mattered.

“I guess we’d better start looking at puppies, then.”

Amelia’s eyes sparkled with tears and laughter. For the first time in weeks, all the fear, all the uncertainty, felt miles away. All that mattered was here. Now. Them.

[kahluamystery97]

I stayed up late to read this and I regret nothing. I'll nap today. Top tier fic. Sweet and lovely.

Father’s Day, and Every Day.

(Find my master list here.)

Trigger Warning:

This story includes sensitive themes related to pregnancy, loss, and family dynamics. Please take care of yourself while reading!

First Father’s Day.

The sunlight is soft, spilling across polished floorboards and linen curtains. It’s Sunday. It’s Father’s Day. Nora is sitting on the toilet lid in their en suite bathroom, her knees drawn up, Harry’s old T-shirt hanging loose over her body, and her whole world has just shifted direction.

The test sits on the edge of the sink. Two pink lines.

Positive.

It’s the third test she’s taken… one after the other, all with the same result. She doesn’t cry. Not yet. She just sits - phone in her lap, thumb hovering over a message to her friends: Haadiyah, Alex, and Caitlyn.

Guys. I think I’m-

No. Delete.

She tries her dad next. Cliff. Her rock. She could tell him anything. But this? This is different. Not because he’d be disappointed - he wouldn’t. He’d be soft and warm and probably go silent with shock and joy, then ask if she’s okay. But still. Not yet.

Carrie, her stepmum, too. She types and retypes:

Are you around later?

I need to talk to someone.

No. She knows who this belongs to first. Harry.

Of course it’s him. It has to be him.

She hears the front door downstairs - keys jingling, footsteps, the soft rustle of a paper bag. He’s home.

He’s been out for a run and stopped to grab her favourite pastry from the café on the corner - the one with the cinnamon sugar that always sticks to the paper bag. He’s humming something - maybe a Fleetwood Mac song, off-key and sweet.

“Babe?” he calls up, his voice echoing gently through the house. “You still asleep?”

She exhales once, deeply, and forces herself to stand. Her legs feel like they’re made of air. She scoops the test into her palm, holding it face-down - like it might shout its secret too soon - and steps quietly into the hallway.

He’s halfway up the stairs, flushed from his run, curls damp around his temples, a smile pulling at his mouth.

Then he sees her face. The smile falters, but not with panic, with concern.

“Hey. You alright?” he says softly.

She swallows once. Then again.

“So…” she tries, voice tight but dry, “turns out Father’s Day is going to be a bit more literal this year.”

There’s a beat of silence. He just stares at her. His eyes flick down to her hand. She slowly turns over the test in her palm and holds it out.

“Wait… what?” he asks, stepping forward, taking it gently. He stares. Blinks. “That’s… that’s what I think it is, right?”

“Yeah,” she nods softly.

Another pause. He’s still, like he doesn’t want to breathe too loudly and break whatever spell they’ve just stepped into.

Then he looks up at her again, eyes wide and impossibly soft.

“We’re having a baby?” he breathes.

“Looks like it.”

“Jesus.” He doesn’t move immediately. Just stands there, holding the test like it might shatter. Then, finally, he breathes out - a deep, shaky breath - and steps forward. His free hand cups the back of her neck, gentle, grounding.

“How long have you known?” he asks.

“About twenty minutes. I took three. You know… for scientific accuracy,” she says, half-smiling.

He lets out a small laugh, then pulls her in, wrapping both arms around her now. She sinks into him, her cheek against his shoulder, the test still between them, caught in the hug like a weird paper crane.

They stand like that for a long time. No one talks. Just breath and heartbeat and shock.

Then, quietly, muffled into his shirt, she asks, “How do you feel about this?”

He pulls back slightly to look at her, his hands still on her arms.

“Honestly?” he says. She nods.

“Scared. In that… this-is-enormous kind of way. But… not bad scared. Just… holy shit, you know? It’s us. A baby. That’s wild.”

She watches him carefully, trying to read the space behind his eyes. He sees it, of course he does.

“How do you feel about it?” he asks softer now.

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. Then lets out a slow breath.

“I’m overwhelmed. And terrified. And kind of… guilty? Because there’s this tiny part of me that feels like I should be happier right away, but my brain’s just spinning.”

“Hey. That’s okay. That’s normal.”

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I think I do. But it’s a lot. Like, a lot a lot. And I keep thinking about my mum. And how she never even got to-” Her voice breaks a little, but she swallows it down.

He wraps her tighter.

“You don’t have to be okay right away. We’ll get there. Together.”

Another beat of quiet.

Then-

“Can I ask… how?”

She snorts slightly. “I mean, I hope you know the basics.”

He smiles.

“I meant… I thought you were still on the pill.”

“I am… I was. I switched brands a few weeks ago. Didn’t think twice about it. Took everything when I was supposed to. But I guess… I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t check if I needed to use backup or something. God, I edit romance books for a living. You’d think I’d be a bit better at reading fine print.”

“Hey. Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”

“I know. It just… it wasn’t the plan.”

“No. But sometimes the best things aren’t.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to see her face again. One of his hands goes instinctively to her waist, the other still warm on her shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out. However you want to go forward. I’m with you. Fully.”

After a long pause, she says, “I think… I want to keep it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think I want our weird little baby with your curls and my anxiety.”

“That sounds like a hell of a kid.”

They stand there again, forehead to forehead.

“Happy Father’s Day, to me.”

“Don’t push it.”

They end up in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, knees bumping. The test lies somewhere on the nightstand, forgotten for now. The pastry Harry bought her is still in its bag, the warmth long gone — neither of them has touched it.

For a while, they just sit. She lets her head fall gently against his shoulder, and he rests his chin on top of her head like he always does when he doesn’t know what to say, but wants her to feel him anyway. The weight of him is a comfort. Familiar. The one thing that doesn’t feel like it’s changing.

She speaks first.

“I keep thinking I should feel more… I don’t know, elated. But it’s more like my brain’s short-circuiting.” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “I want this, but I’m scared that if I let myself want it too much, something will go wrong.”

Harry shifts, just enough to see her face. “Yeah,” he says gently. “I get that.”

She pulls at a loose thread in the duvet. “I’ve spent so long building this life that feels safe and balanced. Then you came in and everything expanded in this messy, brilliant way. And now this… this is a whole new thing. I just - I don’t want to screw it up.”

He nudges her knee with his. “You won’t. You won’t screw it up, Nora.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says simply. “Because it’s you.”

He doesn’t rush her. Doesn’t try to give her some neat little pep talk or solution. He just says it like it’s obvious - because to him, it is. That’s what steadies her more than anything.

“I think I want to tell my dad,” she says after a beat.

Harry smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Carrie, too. And eventually my friends. But I want to keep it quiet for now. Just for us. For a bit.”

He nods. “I’d like that.”

“And we’re not calling it ‘the bean’ or ‘peanut’ or anything weird, by the way.”

“Oh come on,” he grins. “Not even just for a little while?”

“Absolutely not.”

He kisses the side of her head. “Alright. But I’m telling you now — if it’s a girl and she wants to wear a dinosaur costume to school, I’m letting her.”

“And if it’s a boy and he wants to wear glitter and fairy wings?”

“Then I’ll buy him glitter and fairy wings in every colour.”

She leans her forehead against his. “We’re going to be tired all the time.”

“I’m already tired all the time,” he murmurs, lips brushing hers. “But yeah. We’re going to be exhausted.”

“But kind of amazing too, right?”

His eyes meet hers. “Yeah,” he says. “Kind of amazing.”

They spend the rest of the morning in bed, legs tangled under the duvet, talking. Not everything — some things they’re still too raw for — but the edges of it. Whether they’ll want to find out the gender. Whether they’ll stay in London full-time or split time somewhere quieter once the baby comes. How they’ll make space in their lives for this.

Eventually, he pads down to the kitchen and comes back with the now-cold cinnamon bun and two mugs of tea. She smiles and tears a piece off, even though it tastes a little stale already. He eats the rest, because of course he does, crumbs catching on the stubble along his jaw. They sit by the window, watching the slow movement of clouds through the trees outside their bedroom.

They sit by the window, mugs of lukewarm tea cupped in their hands, the breeze nudging the curtain like it’s trying to come in and hear the news too. Outside, the trees sway softly in the garden, casting shadows across the grass. Neither of them speaks for a minute. There’s too much in the air already - words trying to find their way to the surface.

Nora’s phone buzzes against the side table, a message from Caitlyn in the group chat:

Caitlyn

Happy Father’s Day to all the father figures out there 💙 love you Nor, give Cliff a squeeze from me today x

Nora picks it up, staring at the screen for a beat. Then looks at Harry.

“I feel like I should call him.”

Harry glances over. “Your dad?”

She nods, thumb hovering over the contact in her favourites. “We always speak on Father’s Day, even if it’s just for five minutes.”

“You don’t have to tell him now,” he says gently.

She hesitates. “Yeah. I know. But… it’s always been me and him. Every year since I was a kid. He’s the one who made everything okay after Mum died. He always tried to make sure this day wasn’t heavy for me. And now…”

She trails off, the emotion catching in her throat. Harry watches her with that soft, steady look - the one he gives her when he’s holding space for everything she can’t quite say aloud.

He reaches out, covering her hand with his. “Then tell him.”

“But we haven’t even been to the doctor yet. What if we’re rushing this? Don’t people wait? Until the scan at twelve weeks or something?”

Harry shrugs gently. “Yeah. A lot of people do. But this isn’t a press release, Nor. It’s your dad. It’s not about getting the timing ‘right’. It’s about what feels real for you.”

She doesn’t reply straight away, just leans her head against the window frame, looking out at the leaves fluttering against the sky.

He nudges her knee with his. “We can still go tomorrow. First thing. Make sure everything’s okay. We’ll do all the steps. But this part, this moment, it’s just for us. You get to choose how you hold it.”

She looks at him, eyes flickering between his. “What if I tell him and he cries?”

“Then you’ll cry. And it’ll be beautiful.”

She lets out a shaky laugh. “You always say the exact thing I need to hear and I don’t know whether it’s lovely or just irritating.”

He grins. “Bit of both, probably.”

She stares down at her phone again. “If I tell him… we’d have to tell Anne too. Feels weird not to.”

“We can FaceTime her after. Say it together, if you want.”

There’s a quiet moment between them, warm and suspended. Then-

Nora sighs and stands up. “Alright. I’m calling him.”

She paces into the other room, barefoot and wrapped in Harry’s hoodie. He stays in the window seat, giving her space, but he can hear the soft swell of her voice as the call connects. Her laugh, then the pause. Her voice dipping into that hushed, almost childlike register she only uses with her dad.

And then: “Yeah. It’s good. Actually… I’ve got some news.”

Silence.

Then a quiet, watery, stunned: “You’re going to be a grandad.”

She’s gone a while. When she comes back, her eyes are a little pink but glowing.

“He cried,” she says simply. “Well, kind of laughed-cried. You know his thing.”

Harry smiles, pushing back a curl from her face as she folds herself back beside him.

“He said,” she continues, voice softer now, “that Mum would’ve loved the timing. And that he can’t believe I’m going to be someone’s mum. That it makes sense though. That I’ve always had the heart for it.”

She lets her head fall to his shoulder again.

“You did the right thing,” he murmurs.

She nods. “We’re going to have to call Anne now.”

“I’ll make the tea.”

Before he can get up, she lifts her head and gives him a look - part affection, part amusement.

“Do you think,” she asks, lips twitching, “we can figure out the exact time it happened?”

He laughs. “What, like… scientifically?”

“I mean, we’ve had sex more than once lately, Styles, but I distinctly remember one afternoon where you said, and I quote, ‘it’s irresponsible how good this feels.’”

He chokes on a laugh, eyes scrunching shut. “Okay, yeah. That was… yeah. That one might’ve been it.”

She grins. “Reckless, honestly.”

“We’re a cautionary tale.”

“I’m going to tell the kid that story when they’re sixteen and trying to sneak off to someone’s house.”

Harry leans in and kisses her cheek. “You’re evil.”

“I’m pregnant. It’s different.”

He pulls her in again, tighter this time, their laughter dissolving into something quieter - something still buzzing with joy, but softer now, a hum that lives under the skin.

“You’re going to be such a good mum, Nor.”

She wraps her arms around him, her mouth tucked near his collarbone. “And you’re going to be the kind of dad that wears a tutu to a school recital because they asked nicely.”

“Damn right I will.”

They sit like that until the light begins to fade, wrapped in the strangeness and the sweetness of it all. Just them. Their quiet life, suddenly more full than it was yesterday.

And still - somehow - perfectly theirs.

They’re still tangled up in each other when Harry glances at the clock and shifts slightly beneath her.

“You up for FaceTiming my Mum?”

Nora blinks up at him, face pressed against his chest. “We don’t have to do it today.”

“She’ll want to hear from us. I always call her on Sunday… and if we wait, she’ll know something’s up.” His hand curls gently around her side. “You okay if we tell her?”

Nora nods. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

He pulls his phone from the side table and taps into FaceTime. Anne answers quickly, her warm face appearing in that too-close way that parents always manage on video.

“Hi, love,” she says brightly, seeing Harry. Then she spots Nora beside him and her expression softens into something deeply fond. “Oh, hello you two. What have you been up to this morning?”

Harry grins. “I got Nora a cinnamon bun and we have life-altering news.”

Anne squints. “Life-altering?”

Nora doesn’t say anything. Instead, with the smallest of smiles, she reaches out and lifts the pregnancy test into the frame, holding it just below her chin.

For a second, Anne blinks in confusion — then suddenly gasps, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh! Oh my God. Oh my God! Are you—?”

Nora nods.

Anne’s voice breaks instantly into a loud, choked squeal, laughter and tears tangled up in the same breath. “You’re pregnant? Is this real? Is this real?!”

Harry is laughing now too, and Nora’s laughing through her tears, and Anne is crying so hard she has to angle the phone away while she grabs a tissue.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Anne says once she can speak again. “This is the best news. The best news. You two - oh my God, you two are going to be incredible parents.”

“We haven’t even gone to the doctor yet,” Nora manages. “But… yeah. It’s real.”

Anne dabs her eyes again. “I’m already knitting. I don’t even know what I’m knitting yet, but I am.”

They talk a little more - about nothing and everything. About due dates they haven’t calculated, names they haven’t thought of, how to keep it private for a little while. Anne promises she won’t breathe a word, and you can hear her joy down to the bones.

When they hang up, the room is quiet again.

Harry sets his phone down slowly and rubs a hand over his face. He stays quiet longer than usual. Nora watches him closely, waiting for the usual afterglow grin or one of his dorky, overjoyed one-liners. But it doesn’t come.

He just sits there. Breathing unevenly. His eyes glassy.

Nora shifts, pulling her legs beneath her as she turns to him. “Hey,” she says gently. “What’s going on?”

He looks at her, really looks at her, and then lets out a shaky laugh, one that folds into a quiet sob at the edges.

“I’m just-” He shakes his head, wiping at his eyes again, clearly frustrated with himself for crying but unable to stop. “I didn’t think I’d ever have this. Not really.”

Her face softens instantly. She reaches for his hand, threading their fingers together.

Harry breathes through it, his voice low and a little broken. “Touring all the time… hotel rooms and airplanes, not knowing what country I was in some weeks. And then when we went through that rough patch early on - I thought I lost you. I thought I blew it. After the other relationships, I kind of assumed maybe this kind of thing just… wasn’t in the cards for me.”

He swallows thickly.

“And now I’ve got this house. You. A baby on the way. I just… I don’t know how I got here, but I don’t want to mess any of it up.”

Nora’s throat is tight. She squeezes his hand, tugging him closer so his forehead leans into hers.

“You won’t,” she whispers. “You’re not messing it up. You’re here. You’re present. And we’ve got each other.”

He closes his eyes and nods, a tear slipping down his cheek that she gently brushes away.

“You’ve built this life with me,” she continues. “And it’s ours, Harry. Not some accident, not a detour. Ours. You belong here. You are here.”

He breathes out, steadier now, and leans forward to press a kiss to her temple. His arms wrap around her completely, like he needs to feel every inch of her to believe this is real.

They stay that way for a long time - no urgency, no more decisions tonight. Just warmth. Stillness. Everything quiet except the rhythm of their breathing, the occasional deep sigh as the weight of the day settles around them.

Eventually, she murmurs, “If this kid gets your dimples and my sarcasm, the world’s in trouble.”

He chuckles, kissing her cheek. “And if they get your brain and my… modesty, we’re really doomed.”

She smiles, nestled against his chest. “You know what’s wild?”

“What?”

“I actually think we’re going to be really good at this.”

He brushes a thumb along her shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, quiet and certain. “I think we are.”

———————————————————————————

Second Father’s Day.

The pram is packed but unused. Instead, Remy is fast asleep, warm and snug against Harry’s chest in a soft charcoal-grey baby carrier that makes him look like the world’s most stylish kangaroo, and the most stylish DILF.

She’s all cheeks and peach fuzz, her tiny fist curled around one of his necklaces like it belongs to her now. Nora thinks it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever seen -this man, this moment, this ridiculous contrast of soft baby snores and tattoos and tousled hair.

They’re walking through Hampstead Heath - Nora nursing a takeaway coffee, Harry balancing a water bottle between his arm and Remy’s padded leg. It’s sunny but not hot, dappled light playing between the trees.

“Do you remember,” Nora begins, smiling without looking up, “when you tried to swaddle her for the first time and she immediately Houdini’d one arm out?”

Harry laughs, the sound deep and tired and full of adoration. “It was like she knew I was being cocky about it. I genuinely thought I’d nailed it.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Look at this masterpiece.’”

“And then” he flicks his free hand out in a magician’s reveal, “a little rogue fist pops up like she’s starting a revolution.”

Nora chuckles, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “She’s a born rebel. I blame you.”

“You should,” he grins, adjusting the carrier gently as Remy snuffles in her sleep. “She’s got that ‘no shoes ever’ look in her eyes already.”

They walk in silence for a moment, not awkward — just soaking it in. The quiet buzz of insects. A dog barking somewhere. The faint squeak of the baby carrier strap when Harry shifts his weight.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Nora says softly.

He hums, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the weight of those words. “Isn’t it mad that this time last year…”

“You were crying next to me on the bed,” she finishes. “I’ll never forget your face. You looked… like you’d just realized you’d found your entire future and didn’t know how to hold it all at once.”

Harry’s quiet for a second. He presses a kiss to Remy’s head without even thinking. “I still feel like that, some mornings.”

“Which is wild because you’re actually really good at this.”

“Are we?” he asks, half-joking but not really.

She stops, reaching for his hand. “Yeah. We are.”

The room is too bright. The overhead fluorescents buzz faintly, the white of the walls almost clinical in their indifference. Machines beep steadily, and nurses move with quiet urgency. Nora grips the edge of the bed hard, her knuckles blanched, breath coming in ragged bursts.

Harry is at her side - disheveled, calm-eyed, sleeves pushed up, voice soft. His hand cups the back of her head as another contraction grips her from the inside out.

“I need- I need a second,” she pants, voice edged with panic. “I… Harry, I d-don’t-I don’t want to do this.”

He crouches next to the bed in one fluid motion, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Nora,” he says, steady and low. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay. You’re doing amazing.”

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“No, you don’t get it,” her voice cracks. “My mum… she died doing this. What if I don’t get to meet her? What if she’s born and I don’t-”

Harry stops her with a kiss - not urgent, not panicked - just anchoring. He presses his forehead to hers afterward, his hands cradling either side of her face.

“That’s not going to happen,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t say that, please. You’re not her. This is not then. And you’re not leaving us. Do you hear me?”

She blinks, eyes glassy but focused. Breath trembling. Still clutching his hand like a lifeline.

“I’m scared,” she murmurs.

“I know, baby. But I’m right here.” His thumb brushes her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They kiss again - a longer one, full of fear and love and the surreal stillness in the eye of a storm. She hugs him tight, belly stretched between them, and he doesn’t let go.

The room is finally still.

There’s no screaming now. No counting, no alarms. The machines beep in soft, steady rhythm. The lights above have been dimmed. A nurse moves quietly in the corner, typing into a chart.

And Nora’s holding her. This warm, soft, blinking little person - cheeks flushed from the sheer effort of existing, lips puckering in sleep, curled against Nora’s chest like she’s always belonged there. Their baby.

She’s wearing a hat far too big for her head. Harry has one hand spread protectively over her back, and the other is curled around Nora’s wrist, grounding himself.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he says quietly. “You just brought a whole person into the world. You’re unbelievable.”

Nora exhales a laugh, exhausted and raw and somehow still sarcastic. “You should’ve seen the view from my angle.”

Harry lets out a laugh, his eyes shining. He leans in and kisses her temple. “You’re magic.”

“Yeah, well,” she murmurs, “remind me of that next time I’m crying because we’re out of oat milk.”

He laughs again, quieter this time, like he’s afraid to wake the baby. His hand strokes softly down her arm. “I mean it, though. I’ve never… I’ve never seen anything like that. What you did. What she did.”

They both look down. Their daughter sighs in her sleep, fingers twitching.

“She’s perfect,” Harry says, voice breaking slightly.

Nora just nods, tears already slipping down her cheeks again, but these are different. These are the kind that fall when there are no words.

“Alright,” she says, after a pause. “We’ve put it off long enough. What are we calling this tiny dictator?”

Harry shifts slightly, rubbing his thumb over the baby’s back.

“So, our short list,” he says. “Marnie, Thea, or Remy.”

Nora nods slowly. “She doesn’t look like a Thea.”

“I know,” Harry says. “And Marnie’s lovely but-”

“But Remy feels like her,” Nora finishes.

They sit in silence for a few more heartbeats. Then Harry clears his throat, his voice gentler now. “There was one other name I thought of. I didn’t want to spring it on you, but…”

He meets her eyes. “Maeve.”

Nora freezes for a beat. The name lands like a slow ache in her chest.

“That was your mum’s name, right?”

She nods, eyes filling.

Harry watches her carefully. “I just thought… if you wanted a way to honour her.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. The baby shifts slightly, nose scrunching, but doesn’t wake.

“You’re… I love you even more for saying that,” Nora finally says, her voice catching. “But I can’t. I’ve lived longer without her than I ever lived with her. And I don’t want that to be the start of our daughter’s story… grief.”

Harry nods. No argument, no question. Just complete understanding.

“I want her to be her own person,” Nora continues. “Not tethered to someone she’ll never know. I’ve carried the weight of that loss my whole life. I don’t want her to have to carry it, too.”

Harry kisses her softly. “Okay.”

They look back down at the baby. Nora touches her tiny hand with one finger.

“Remy,” she whispers. “She’s Remy.”

Harry smiles. “Remy Styles. She already sounds like trouble.”

“Remy Anne Styles,” Nora adds, glancing at him with a soft grin.

Harry blinks. “Anne?”

Nora nods. “After your mum. If anyone’s name deserves to be carried forward… it’s hers.”

His eyes go glassy in an instant.

“I love you,” he says thickly, kissing her forehead again, then brushing his fingers over Remy’s tiny shoulder. “She’s going to be so proud.”

There’s a knock, and then the door opens slowly. Cliff, Carrie, and Anne step in - eyes puffy, hands full of bags and gifts and caffeine.

They stop when they see them - Harry sitting beside Nora, who’s propped up on pillows, their baby curled against her chest.

“Oh, my god,” Carrie whispers, already crying.

Cliff doesn’t speak. He just walks over and wraps his daughter in a careful, reverent hug. Then he leans down and kisses Remy’s head like it’s holy.

Anne holds Nora’s hand tightly, her voice shaking. “She’s beautiful.”

Harry glances at Nora. She nods.

“We wanted to tell you her name,” he says.

Everyone goes quiet.

“Remy Anne Styles.”

Anne chokes out a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Cliff wipes his eyes. Carrie clasps her hands together over her chest. It’s a blur of hugs and soft exclamations, kisses and hand squeezes and murmured congratulations.

The baby stirs. The nurse, a kind-eyed woman named Marsha, helps Nora adjust her top as Remy tries to latch.

“It’s okay,” Marsha says gently, guiding her. “Just relax. She knows what to do.”

Harry stands beside the bed, watching in stunned silence as his daughter begins to feed. He looks like he’s witnessing a miracle.

“She’s… she’s actually doing it,” he says softly, brushing a finger over Remy’s tiny foot.

Nora smiles, tired and amazed and aching in every part of her body.

A minute later, Harry slips out of the room. When he comes back, he’s holding his phone.

“I have some people who want to say hello,” he says, and turns the screen around.

On FaceTime: Haadiyah, Alex, and Caitlyn, all crammed onto a couch, faces beaming, hands over mouths.

“OH MY GOD,” Haadiyah shrieks.

“NORA, YOU’RE A MOTHER,” Alex cries.

“She’s breastfeeding and still looks hotter than I do on a normal day,” Caitlyn says. “What the hell.”

Nora laughs, blinking back new tears. “Say hello to Remy, guys.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the people who love them, tired beyond belief, Remy nestled against her chest, Nora thinks - This. This is what safe feels like.

Remy is fast asleep in her bassinet by the window, one hand curled near her cheek like she’s mid-thought in a dream. Outside, the late afternoon sun slants through the trees, golden and soft.

Nora and Harry are curled up on the sofa, legs tangled, each with one arm looped around the other, a film playing quietly on the TV. Neither is really watching.

Harry’s thumb is brushing lightly over the inside of her wrist. Nora’s head is tucked against his shoulder. There’s a blanket over both of their legs, and a half-finished cup of tea on the table in front of them.

They’re quiet for a long moment, both half-lost in the stillness.

“I got you something,” Harry says.

Nora blinks, straightening just slightly. “You got me a present? Why?”

Harry gives her a look, amused. “It’s Father’s Day.”

“Exactly,” she says, sitting up more now. “You’re the father.”

“And I wouldn’t be,” he says simply, “if it weren’t for you.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t have a counter for that.

“Well,” she mutters, “now I feel like an arse.”

Harry grins. “Good. My plan is working.”

Nora narrows her eyes at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” he says, leaning in, brushing his nose against hers.

“Unfortunately,” she says, deadpan, but her lips are already twitching. There’s a pause, then she exhales.

“Alright,” she says. “Fine. But I’m going first.”

Harry leans back. “Okay. Hit me.”

She stands and walks toward the bookshelf, pulling out a slim package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a blue ribbon.

“I have… a theme,” she says, handing it to him. “And no, it’s not socks.”

Harry grins and unties the ribbon. The paper falls away, revealing a hardback book. Hand-bound, cream-coloured linen cover, a title embossed in gold foil:

“Little Light: A Story About You.”

He stares at it, frowning in confusion, until he opens it and sees her name.

Written by Nora Elwood.

He blinks hard. “Wait.”

“I wrote it,” she says, sitting beside him again, voice quiet. “Started when I was pregnant. About a little girl and her dad who makes the world feel safe.”

He’s already turning pages. Gentle watercolor illustrations fill each one - a father and daughter in little moments: tying shoes, dancing in the kitchen, looking at stars.

He turns to the dedication page.

For H, who taught me that home can have a heartbeat. And for Remy, who made us into a family.

Harry covers his mouth with one hand. His eyes are glassy. He doesn’t speak for a long time.

Then, just, “Nora…”

“I wanted you to know that she’ll always know who you are,” she says, brushing her fingers down his arm. “Even though she’s too little to understand it right now.”

Harry looks at her like he’s never loved anything more.

“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat, trying not to cry too. “Second present.”

She reaches for a tiny box and hands it over. He opens it to find a delicate silver charm — a small, brushed disc engraved with a single R.

“I thought maybe… for your chain,” she says, gesturing at the necklace always around his neck. “So she’s always with you, even when you’re off doing something wild like headlining Glastonbury or whatever.”

He leans forward, kisses her slow and grateful. “I’m obsessed with you,” he says into her mouth.

“I know,” she says smugly.

“And the third one?”

She smirks. “Already given.”

“What?”

She points toward the stairs. Harry follows her gaze. Mounted on the wall, halfway up the staircase, is a framed photo - one of those unposed, caught-in-a-moment ones. He’s holding Remy against his chest, shirtless, early morning light coming in behind him. His head is bowed to kiss her temple, her hand gripping his necklace. Nora’s not even sure who took it -maybe Carrie, maybe one of their friends - but it’s her favorite. Nora also knows it’s Harry’s favourite.

Harry stares at it.

“That’s my favorite photo,” he says softly.

“I know,” she murmurs.

He kisses her cheek, then her shoulder. “Alright,” she says, smiling. “What on earth did you get me, Mr. Styles?”

He grins and reaches behind the couch cushion. “Okay. Don’t laugh.”

Nora lifts a brow. “Immediately nervous.”

He hands her a small, unevenly wrapped parcel. She tears it open and finds a tiny, rectangular silver keyring. Engraved with a quote.

You are my wild calm.

Her breath catches.

“I know you hate stuff that’s too shiny or overdone,” Harry says quietly. “But… it made me think of you. You’ve always been the calm. Even when everything’s loud.”

She doesn’t speak - just reaches out and pulls him in, hand at the back of his neck, and kisses him long and soft. They breathe into each other, mouths warm, bodies curled close. One of those slow, grounding kisses that say thank you and I love you and I still can’t believe it’s us.

They pull apart just a little, foreheads resting.

“Maybe this is cheesy,” she murmurs, “but today’s been one of the good ones.”

“It’s us,” Harry says. “Even the worst ones feel okay.”

They’re kissing again when-

Remy lets out a startled little cry from her bassinet, a hiccuping wail that makes them both freeze.

Harry groans and drops his head to Nora’s shoulder.

“I’ll get her,” she says.

“No, no, let me-”

They both move at once, untangling from the couch, bumping into each other in the scramble.

Nora’s laughing as she reaches the bassinet. “Happy Father’s Day, H.”

“Best one yet,” he says, scooping Remy into his arms.

She blinks up at him sleepily, one hand curling around the edge of his shirt. He kisses her head, then looks over at Nora - his girl, his love, his anchor - and smiles.

“Although, next year… maybe a lie-in?”

———————————————————————————

Third Father’s Day.

The cabin is tucked into the trees like it’s been waiting for them all year - sloped roof, ivy climbing one side, wind brushing softly through tall grass just beyond the fence. It’s late morning, the kind where everyone’s still in pyjamas and socks and no one knows where their phone is. A long wooden veranda stretches across the back of the cabin, looking out on a patchy yard where a very determined toddler is toddling, a pink stuffed strawberry clutched in one hand, and Harry, soft-voiced and shoeless, crouched in the grass, arms open, matching her wobble with exaggerated cheer.

From the wicker loveseat near the railing, Nora watches the two of them like she always does when she thinks no one’s looking. A mug of tea rests warm in her hands, bare feet tucked under her. Cliff, her dad, sits beside her, elbow resting on the arm of the chair, relaxed in a way only he seems to be when surrounded by his girls.

“Thanks for inviting us,” Nora murmurs. “It’s so nice just… being.”

Cliff glances sideways at her. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“I do,” she says, then after a beat, “Happy Father’s Day.”

He smiles, quiet, and tilts his chin out toward the yard. “Think I might be sharing the title with someone new.”

They both watch as Remy collapses into Harry’s lap in a fit of toddler giggles. He topples backward dramatically, falling onto the grass with a gasp and an “Oh nooo!” that makes Remy clutch her strawberry tighter and squeal with delight. She clambers over him and smushes her face into his chest with a happy hum.

“I always knew he’d be good,” Nora says, voice low, “but I didn’t know he’d be this good.”

Cliff hums. “That’s the kind of dad you become when you’ve done the work on yourself. He’s soft where it matters. But he shows up.”

She nods. “He makes it feel… easy. Like we’re a team. Even on the hard days.”

Cliff’s voice turns even gentler. “And you - you’re a hell of a mum, Nora.”

Her throat tightens at that, even though it’s not the first time he’s said it. But something about it, today, with Remy giggling and Harry throwing himself around in the grass like a Muppet, it hits a little differently.

“I didn’t know if I would be,” she says, and Cliff says nothing, just rests a hand briefly over hers on the mug.

From below, Remy suddenly lets out a wobbly, high-pitched “Noooo!” and stamps her foot once before she topples - a soft tumble forward, strawberry still in hand, catching herself with a little thump on her knees.

There’s a pause. That toddler silence. That one beat between are they fine and are they about to scream.

And then:

“Mamaaaa!”

It’s not even a cry at first - just a wail of where are you?, rising in pitch as her face crumples and fat tears brim in her eyes.

Nora’s already halfway across the porch before Harry can even sit up. His hands are out, ready to comfort, but Remy bypasses him completely, little hands reaching toward her mum like nothing else will do.

“Oh, bug, come here-” Nora scoops her up and sinks to her knees in the grass, holding Remy close as she sniffles and sobs into her shoulder.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, looking a little apologetic. “She tripped on the strawberry again. Bit of a hazard.”

Cliff chuckles from the porch. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that sentence before.”

“She okay?” Carrie calls from inside, where she’s chopping something loudly and happily to music.

“She’s fine!” Nora calls back, brushing her fingers through Remy’s hair. “Just got startled.”

Remy hiccups into her collarbone and murmurs something muffled and soft. Nora kisses the top of her head.

“She’s such a Daddy’s girl,” Nora says with a smile as she shifts Remy onto her hip. “Until something hurts.”

Harry stands beside her now, hand brushing lightly across her back.

“That’s when she needs the CEO of Comfort,” he says. “You’re irreplaceable.”

“Obviously,” she replies dryly. “You’re just the comic relief.”

He leans in and kisses her temple, then Remy’s. “She gets her drama from you.”

“She gets her tantrums from you.”

“She gets her face from me,” he says proudly.

They both laugh, and Remy, comforted and calmed, leans back just enough to study them, cheeks still blotchy but smile starting to creep back.

“Dada,” she says with a sleepy grin.

Nora grins. “Traitor.”

“Say Mama,” Harry prompts gently.

Remy holds up the stuffed strawberry like it’s a prize and yells, “BAH!”

Nora sighs. “Close enough.”

Back on the porch, Cliff lifts his tea to toast. “To the weirdest, cutest little family.”

The sunlight filtered softly through the curtains as Nora quietly set the scene in their cozy bedroom. A small, delicate “Happy Birthday” banner, pastel colors with tiny gold stars, was strung gently across the headboard. Nothing over the top, but just enough to make the morning feel special.

Harry was still half asleep when Nora nudged him gently. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, smiling as she handed him a neatly wrapped little box.

He peeled off the paper with sleepy excitement, revealing a slim leather-bound journal - something she knew he’d wanted for a while. “You remembered,” he said, grinning, pulling her in for a soft kiss.

Then, with a quiet laugh, Nora reached over and lifted Remy, still in her pajamas, into his arms. “And here’s one for you too,” she said, holding out a tiny velvet pouch.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a small charm engraved with an “H” and an “N” - their initials intertwined. “It’s just a little something for Remy’s first birthday,” Nora said softly.

Harry’s eyes softened as he clasped it gently around her tiny wrist. “She’s going to love this,” he murmured, kissing the baby’s head.

They settled back into the bed, Remy squirming and cooing, clutching her favorite stuffed strawberry. Harry smiled, brushing a stray hair from Nora’s face. “Best birthday morning ever.”

The room was buzzing with laughter and chatter, fairy lights casting a warm glow over the gathering of friends - Harry’s close crew from London, Nora’s friends sprinkled in, and the clinking of glasses filled the air. It was a celebration in full swing, with music drifting softly beneath the conversations and the occasional cheer for Harry.

Harry, holding a glass of wine, leaned close to Nora as the noise swirled around them. “You really pulled off something incredible here,” he said, genuine gratitude in his eyes. “I didn’t even know you were planning all this. I mean, I’ve got a one-year-old at home, and you’re out here being a superwoman.”

Nora smirked, nudging him playfully. “Well, I do try,” she said, her voice warm. “But honestly, watching you as a dad - it’s been amazing. You’ve been so involved, changing nappies, staying up late, making her laugh. I’ve heard so many horror stories where dads do the bare minimum, but you? You’re the best partner and dad I could’ve hoped for.”

Harry’s smile softened, touched by her words. “I just want to celebrate you tonight too,” she continued, “because you deserve it. I’d celebrate you every day if I could. I love you so much.”

He chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “When we get home, you’re going to have to show me just how much you love me,” he teased.

Nora laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, I will.”

As the moment settled between them, Nora glanced toward the corner where Anne and Gemma were chatting with friends. “Do you think Remy’s okay with my dad and Carrie?” she asked quietly.

Harry nodded confidently. “She loves them. She’s such a good baby. I think she knows how lucky she is.”

Nora smiled, heart full, as the night continued around them - a perfect blend of friendship, family, and love.

The air is golden and still upstairs, curtains swaying gently in the open window, the soft hum of summer birdsong just audible beyond the breeze. The rest of the house is quieter now - Carrie has shushed Cliff after he nearly dropped a stack of plates, and downstairs is all muffled laughter and the click of a kettle boiling.

Up here, it’s nap time.

Harry sits cross-legged on the floor beside the crib, Remy tucked against his chest in her little sleep suit, one chubby fist curled around his shirt, the other gently holding the plastic cap of her milk bottle. Her head rests on his shoulder, curls tickling his jaw. Her breathing is quick but slowing. She’s resisting sleep with determination, blinking dramatically between sips like the very idea of closing her eyes is an injustice.

Nora stands just outside the cracked door, unnoticed, holding her breath in that reverent way you do when the moment feels sacred. She’s still, leaning lightly against the frame, arms folded across her chest, one foot crossed over the other, eyes soft and quiet.

Harry gently rocks back and forth, humming something low and familiar - not quite a song, more like a melody you hum without realizing. It sounds like something he might’ve sung to her when she was brand new. He kisses her temple.

“Okay, little bug,” he whispers, “story time. But only one. It’s nap rules.”

Remy makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sleepy groan.

Harry smiles against her hair. “Wanna hear about the first time I met your mum?”

Nora’s lips quirk.

“She wore this jumper that kept falling off one shoulder. It was this cream thing. Looked like something you’d wear now if you could pick your own clothes.”

Another slow rock.

“She was drinking peppermint tea, which I judged - silently, of course - because I was drinking an oat flat white and I felt very superior. Until she said she hated coffee. And then I panicked and ordered peppermint tea the next time we went out. Which was the next day, by the way.”

Remy lets out a soft, rhythmic breath, finally starting to settle.

“She had these boots on - big, chunky ones. And I remember thinking, she’s either going to be the most intimidating person I’ve ever met or the love of my life. And lucky me…”

He trails off as Remy’s breathing evens, her bottle slowly slipping from her grasp. He takes it gently, placing it on the rug, then leans down to kiss her cheek.

“Night, Rem,” he whispers. “Best decision we ever made.”

He slowly, slowly, eases her down into the crib. She stirs once - he freezes - then she sighs, curls onto her side, strawberry tucked under one arm, and stays asleep.

Harry tiptoes out of the room, easing the door nearly closed, and turns, jumping slightly when he sees Nora leaning against the wall in the hallway.

“Christ, Nor,” he mutters with a grin, hand over his heart. “Were you just standing there?”

She lifts a shoulder, not hiding the smile playing on her lips. “Maybe. That was… really nice.”

He flushes a little, looking suddenly shy. “She wouldn’t go down. Thought I’d bore her into unconsciousness.”

Nora steps forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. “You’re the most amazing dad. Honestly. I can’t even express it. Watching you love her like that… Happy Father’s Day, H.”

He bends his head and presses a kiss into her hair. “I wouldn’t be a dad without you. Or at least, not one with that specific sassy baby in there.”

She pulls back slightly, eyes bright. “Well. I do pride myself on creating premium-grade humans.”

Harry laughs. “You really do.”

She smirks, voice lowering slightly as she tugs at the collar of his shirt. “And maybe later… if you’re lucky, the premium-grade human maker is feeling generous.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, a smirk curling slow at the corner of his mouth. “Nora. Your parents are literally downstairs.”

She leans in, lips brushing his ear. “You love it.”

He looks at her, long and slow, like he still can’t believe she’s his, even after years and a child and a million quiet Tuesday mornings.

“I really, really do.”

Downstairs, Carrie calls, “Lunch is ready!” like it’s a celebration, and a second later Cliff yells, “Harry, come carve something!”

They pull apart, just slightly, and Harry sighs.

“Duty calls.”

Nora kisses him, a soft little thing. “We’ll pick up this conversation later.

He looks hopeful. “Soon?”

“Very,” she grins.

And they head downstairs - laughing, brushing fingers, stepping into a kitchen full of toast crumbs and family, and the smell of something roasting in the oven.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the canopy, casting soft golden patches on the veranda where Harry and Nora lounged together, limbs intertwined like they belonged to each other. The gentle hum of birds and the faint rustle of leaves filled the air, blending with the soft patter of Remy’s tiny footsteps as she played nearby, absorbed in her pile of pinecones and twigs.

Harry watched Nora’s profile, the way the sunlight caught the curve of her cheek, the subtle smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she glanced down at Remy. The sound of their daughter’s delighted babbles made his chest swell with something fierce and tender all at once.

“I still can’t believe this is our life,” Nora murmured, her voice soft but steady, “You, me, Remy, this little wild thing with her strawberry. It’s… everything I didn’t know I was waiting for.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around hers. “Remember that first Father’s Day? You telling me you were pregnant? I was scared, terrified, honestly. But I also knew then that everything was about to change, for the better.”

Nora chuckled, shaking her head. “You were so worried I’d get mad at you.”

“I was,” he admitted with a grin. “But mostly because I was worried about you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching Remy wobble unsteadily toward them, her little face scrunched in concentration as she tried to balance on two feet.

“I never imagined I’d be good at this,” Harry said quietly, “Being a dad. But with you… watching you with Remy, how strong you’ve been. I feel like we make a pretty good team.”

Nora’s eyes shimmered, her hand finding the curve of his jaw. “You make me braver. Better.”

Harry’s gaze softened, and he shifted closer. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

He reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate ring that caught the light and sparkled like a secret promise.

Nora’s breath hitched, her heart pounding loud in her ears.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, voice steady but full of hope.

For a moment, time slowed - the birdsong, the whispering leaves, even Remy’s distant giggle all faded into the background.

Tears pricked at Nora’s eyes as she laughed through them, the pure joy and disbelief swirling together like sunlight and rain.

“Yes,” she whispered, sliding the ring onto her finger. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

Just then, little Remy toddled over, eyes wide and curious.

“Mama?” she called out, reaching up.

Nora scooped her up, holding her close, the three of them wrapped in a quiet bubble of love and new beginnings.

Minutes later, Cliff and Carrie returned from their walk, laughter and warmth spilling into the space.

Cliff’s eyes twinkled as he looked at the trio on the love seat. “Looks like I walked into something special.

Harry just smiled, pulling Nora and Remy closer.

That evening, over dinner filled with congratulations and gentle teasing, they talked about the future - dreams, hopes, and the beautiful chaos of family life.

Later, in the quiet of their room, with Remy asleep nearby, Harry brushed a loose strand of hair from Nora’s face.

“Are you happy with how I asked?”

Nora smiled, her hand resting on the ring. “More than happy. You, Remy - you’re my everything. It’s always been us two, and now it’s us three.”

Harry leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Here’s to forever.”

———————————————————————————

Fourth Father’s Day.

The dressing room buzzed with the low hum of last-minute preparations. Harry’s friends and Nora’s close pals Haadiyah and Caitlyn filled the space with laughter and chatter. Anne and Gemma sat quietly, soaking in the lively atmosphere, while Cliff and Carrie were nestled in a corner, chatting softly.

Remy was everywhere at once - a tiny whirlwind in a tutu, her curly hair bouncing as she darted between legs, clutching her beloved stuffed strawberry. Her bright eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, but the lack of a nap was making her a bit restless.

“Remy, please don’t climb on the equipment,” Harry said gently but firmly as she reached for the cables. Before she could even register, she’d tugged a cable loose, sending a brief jolt through the room.

“Remy!” Harry’s voice was calm but serious. “That’s not safe.”

Remy’s face crumpled. She scampered over to Nora, tears spilling down her cheeks as she buried her head against Nora’s side.

“Mama!”

Nora knelt down, brushing strawberry-blond curls off her daughter’s damp forehead. “Hey, I know you’re upset, baby. You got in trouble because climbing on things can be dangerous. We have to keep you safe, okay? It’s okay to cry.”

Remy sniffled, her tears falling freely, but Nora didn’t pull her into a full hug - just kept a steady hand on her back. She wanted Remy to understand that it was safe to feel upset, but that the rules were still important.

Harry watched the scene quietly from the side, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Nora caught his eye and mouthed, “She’s just tired.”

He nodded, then crouched down beside Remy, voice softer now. “Hey, Remy, can you say sorry for climbing on the stuff?”

Remy nodded, hiccupping between words, “Sowwy, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” Harry said, giving a gentle high-five.

Nora stood, smoothing her dress, and glanced around at the room, where everyone was quietly watching the little family moment. Anne smiled warmly; Gemma whispered something to Carrie with a knowing grin.

Harry took Nora’s hand briefly, squeezing it. “Ready to go sing some songs, yeah?”

Harry laughed softly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The soft hum of the arena buzzed faintly through the backstage corridors. Harry and Nora moved slowly down the narrow hallway, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders. Nora’s free hand gently held Remy’s, who toddled beside them, clutching her stuffed strawberry tightly. The tiny pink dummy bobbed in her mouth, and her oversized toddler headphones muffled the distant sounds of the crowd.

Remy’s wide eyes scanned everything - backstage lights, crew members bustling past, cables snaking along the floor. Her energy was waning; she was quieter than usual, the lack of a nap catching up. Yet the wonder of the moment still gleamed in her gaze.

Harry bent slightly, brushing a loose curl from Nora’s temple. “Ready for this?”

Nora smiled, leaning into his warmth. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Happy Father’s Day, Harry.”

He smiled back, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Thank you, love. And happy Father’s Day to you too. Couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

They walked a few steps more, and Remy suddenly tugged at Nora’s hand, her face scrunching as little tears welled up. A small, uncertain whimper escaped her lips.

Harry crouched down to meet her eyes. “Hey, hey, don’t cry, bug. Daddy’s just gonna sing a few songs, yeah? You like when Daddy sings, don’t you?”

Remy blinked, her voice muffled by the dummy, but she managed a hopeful, “Daddy sing?”

“You got it,” Harry chuckled softly. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

With a gentle hand, Harry passed Remy to Nora, who wrapped the little girl in a soft hug. Remy rested her head on Nora’s shoulder, the tears ebbing as she felt the comfort of her mother’s arms.

Harry stood, straightened his jacket, and gave Nora one last, lingering smile before turning towards the stage entrance. Nora watched him go, then shifted her gaze to Remy, who was now curiously peeking around the corner.

Together, Nora and Remy headed towards the family area set up in the stadium, where Cliff, Carrie, Anne, Gemma, and the others were waiting, ready to welcome them for the show.

The soft Italian morning light filtered through the shutters of the villa’s bedroom, casting a gentle glow over Harry and Nora. The villa was quiet, still holding onto the calm before the joyful storm of the day ahead.

Harry stirred first, carefully shifting so as not to disturb Remy. He smiled down at Nora, tracing a lazy circle on her arm. “Morning,” he whispered.

Nora blinked awake, a sleepy smile spreading across her face. “Morning,” she murmured back, her fingers brushing his.

Their two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Remy, was still asleep between them, nestled under a light cotton blanket. The room smelled faintly of the sea and fresh linen, a perfect Italian spring morning.

Minutes later, Remy’s soft coos turned into sleepy babbles, and her small voice broke the quiet: “Mama? Daddy? Go swim?”

Nora chuckled softly, pulling Remy closer. “Not today, Remy. It’s a very special day. Today Daddy and Mama are getting married.”

Remy’s eyes widened with innocent curiosity. “Weddin’?”

Harry kissed the top of Remy’s head, feeling the weight of the moment settle warmly around them. “That’s right, bug. You’re so smart. Lots of people we love will be here, and we’re going to have a big celebration.”

Downstairs, the villa buzzed with gentle activity. Friends and family gathered in the large kitchen and sunlit dining room, filling the air with laughter and the scent of fresh bread, pastries, and strong coffee. Nora’s closest friends helped with last-minute preparations, while Harry’s family quietly reminisced in corners, sharing smiles and stories.

Breakfast was simple but heartfelt - fresh fruit, cheeses, warm croissants, and homemade jams. Plates clinked, voices mingled, and glasses clinked softly as everyone toasted the beautiful day ahead.

Harry glanced across the table at Nora, noticing she was picking at her food more than eating. Her fingers toyed nervously with a piece of toast.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “You okay? You haven’t eaten much.“

Nora shook her head but smiled faintly. “I’m just a bit nervous. I guess… it’s the big day.”

Harry squeezed her hand gently. “You’re going to be amazing. And it’s not about perfection or tradition - it’s about us. Our family. Our love.”

Nora looked into his eyes, feeling grounded by his calm. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Us.”

They shared a quiet moment, surrounded by the warmth of family and friends, the soft murmur of the sea just beyond the villa walls.

Nora’s wedding dress was a vision of modern elegance. The gown was a strapless, corseted silk dress that hugged her figure gracefully. Its sleek silhouette was complemented by a dramatic circular train that added a touch of grandeur without overwhelming the simplicity of the design. The dress featured delicate French Chantilly lace detailing, adding a vintage charm to the otherwise contemporary piece. To complete the look, Nora wore sheer opera gloves, adding a layer of sophistication and timelessness to her ensemble.

Her hair was styled in a sleek, middle-parted updo, with soft tendrils framing her face, and a long veil trailing behind her, creating a romantic and ethereal appearance.

Remy’s dress mirrored Nora’s in design, tailored for a toddler’s frame and coloured in dusty pink. The miniature gown featured the same lace detailing, with a shorter skirt that allowed for movement and playfulness. A tiny pair of opera gloves completed her ensemble, making her the perfect sidekick.

In the villa’s sunlit room, Nora stood before the mirror, adjusting her dress. The soft rustle of fabric filled the space as she admired the gown’s delicate details. Remy, in her miniature version, twirled around, her laughter echoing through the room.

Anne, Carrie, and Nora’s best friends - Alex, Haadiyah, and Caitlyn - bustled around, offering assistance and sharing in the excitement. Anne helped fix Remy’s hair, while Carrie ensured the flower arrangements were perfect. Alex and Haadiyah chatted animatedly, Caitlyn capturing candid moments on her camera.

Remy tugged at Nora’s sleeve, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Mama, pretty,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Nora knelt down, pulling Remy into a hug. “Thank you, my beautiful girl,” she replied, her heart swelling with love.

Anne appeared quietly at the door, holding up a phone. “Nora, love, this is for you,” she said softly.

Nora took the phone with a small smile as Anne handed it over. The screen lit up with Harry’s name.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice came through, warm and calm.

“Hey yourself,” Nora replied, her voice catching just a little.

“I just wanted to hear your voice before everything kicks off,” Harry said gently. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Nora smiled, feeling a flutter in her chest. “Thanks, baby. I’m a bit nervous, not gonna lie.”

“You’ll be amazing,” Harry reassured. “And Remy’s going to steal everyone’s hearts.”

The sound of Remy laughing in the background made them both smile.

They chatted quietly for a moment longer before Nora handed the phone back to Anne, feeling a little more grounded.

The late afternoon sun filtered gently through the olive trees that framed the ceremony space at the villa. Pale florals lined the aisle, their soft fragrance carried in the warm breeze. Guests were seated in two neat rows of chairs on the lawn, a quiet hum of excitement in the air.

At the top of the aisle, Harry stood waiting. His hands were clasped in front of him, his jaw tight with nerves, but his eyes - soft and wide - were fixed on the villa door, waiting.

Then the soft instrumental began. The crowd rose to their feet.

From the villa’s garden gate, Nora stepped into view, but all eyes weren’t just on her. Because walking beside her, tiny hand tucked into hers, was Remy - in her own miniature version of Nora’s dress. She held her stuffed strawberry in the other hand, beaming with glee, clearly aware that something special was happening, even if she didn’t fully understand what.

The guests melted into quiet awe.

Halfway down, Remy lost her rhythm and started skipping a little - making Nora laugh gently before steadying her again. By the time they reached the end of the aisle, Cliff stepped forward.

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to Remy’s curls, then turned to Nora. His voice caught as he whispered, “You look just like your mum.”

Nora’s eyes shimmered. She smiled as she took Cliff’s hand briefly, then placed hers into Harry’s, standing beside the man she loved, their daughter already between them.

As the officiant welcomed everyone and began the ceremony, Remy - ever her own person - looked up at the quiet crowd and asked, clear as anything:

“Weddin’?”

Everyone burst into laughter.

Harry and Nora couldn’t help it either - they both leaned down and kissed Remy on the cheek.

Harry whispered, “That’s right, bug. Mama and Daddy are getting married.”

Remy nodded, very serious. “Okay. That okay.”

Cliff scooped Remy gently into his arms, whispering something into her ear as she snuggled against his shoulder, satisfied.

The ceremony continued, full of heartfelt vows and quiet tears. Nora promised honesty and home. Harry promised laughter and light. When the officiant declared them husband and wife, the guests erupted into applause, and their kiss - sweet and full of years of love - sealed it all.

They turned, hand in hand, and walked down the aisle, the sun sinking behind them in a wash of golden pink.

Just before they reached the end, a little voice called out — “Mama! Dada! Wait me!”

Everyone turned in time to see Remy break free from Cliff’s arms and run, arms flapping, strawberry stuffie trailing behind her.

Harry turned just in time to scoop her up and spin her once in his arms. She giggled in delight.

Nora leaned in and wrapped them both in her arms.

A tangle of silk and curls and laughter. A family. Married now, but already whole.

The roar of the crowd was electric as the lights dimmed, and the spotlight snapped on, illuminating Harry as he strode confidently onto the stage.

From the family area, Nora held Remy close in her arms, gently bouncing her to the rhythm of the opening beat. Remy’s tiny fingers curled tightly around the edge of Nora’s top, her wide eyes flickering between the bright lights and the familiar figure on stage.

Nora caught Harry’s eye and smiled, noticing the gleam of his wedding ring catching the stage lights. She nudged Remy gently, murmuring, “There’s daddy. Do you see him?”

Remy’s brow furrowed for a moment, curious and a bit confused by the booming music and the vast crowd, but then she nodded slowly, her toddler mind processing the love and magic filling the stadium.

Remy’s brow furrowed for a moment -curious and a bit confused by the booming music and the vast crowd - but then she nodded slowly, her toddler mind processing the love and magic filling the arena.

As the show moved halfway through, Anne gently took Remy’s hand, whispering, “Let’s get you back to the dressing room, sweetheart,” and they slipped away together, leaving Nora to enjoy the moment.

Nora, now surrounded by her friends - Haadiyah, Caitlyn, Carrie, and Gemma - was dancing and singing along, her laughter mixing with the music. The energy was contagious, and the group was clearly having a blast.

Suddenly, Harry appeared by Nora’s section. The crowd’s roar shifted as screams erupted from fans spotting him up close. Yet, between Nora and Harry, the world seemed to pause - his eyes locked on hers as he reached her side.

With a mischievous grin, Harry grabbed the mic and shouted, “And hey - shout out to all the dads tonight! Especially mine… and my amazing wife!” The crowd exploded in cheers, the fans sensing the special moment.

Nora’s friends and Harry’s crew gave playful cheers and chants. “That’s her! That’s wifey!” one shouted, another clapped and laughed, soaking in the celebration.

As the final song neared, Nora glanced at her watch and murmured, “I better get backstage before the end…”

When Harry finally walked off stage, Nora didn’t hesitate - she rushed into his arms, hugging him tight. “I’m so proud of you. That was incredible. Watching you up there… wow.”

Harry smiled, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Thank you, love. You and Remy were my lucky charm tonight.”

He pulled back slightly, a curious look crossing his face. “Where’s our little star?”

Nora smiled softly. “Your mum took her to the dressing room to put her to bed. We’ll probably head back to the house soon, maybe after the crowd clears.”

Harry chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sounds perfect. Let’s go, Mrs. Styles.”

Nora blinked, still catching her breath. “It’s been two weeks, but I still can’t believe I’m your wife.”

Harry squeezed her hand. “Happy Father’s Day, Nora. We’re really doing this.”

They shared a quiet smile, standing together in the glow of the fading stage lights - just a family, wrapped in love and celebration.

———————————————————————————

Fifth Father’s Day.

The house was quiet now, the gentle hum of the oven long since faded. Nora sat on the soft couch, fingers nervously twisting a cushion, her mind swirling with the secret she hadn’t yet shared. The late afternoon light cast long shadows through the windows, filling the room with a warm, golden glow.

Footsteps came down the stairs - slow, careful. Harry appeared, brushing his hands together as he crossed the living room. Nora looked up and smiled shyly.

“Thanks for making the roast,” Harry said, settling beside her. “It was delicious. Remy’s already asleep upstairs.” He reached out, fingers brushing hers before leaning in for a quick kiss.

Nora sighed softly. “Always. Happy Father’s Day, Harry. We love you so much.”

He looked at her, concern flickering in his eyes. “You okay? You seem a little… off lately.”

She bit her lip. “Just tired, I guess.”

Harry’s brow furrowed playfully. “What is it? Did you crash my car? Are you pregnant? Did you break my favourite photo frame?” He grinned, but the sparkle in his eye softened when he said ‘pregnant.’

Nora twitched. His grin faltered. “Wait — are you pregnant?”

She groaned, hiding her face behind the pillow. “Why did you have to ruin it? This was your Father’s Day present.”

Before he could say anything more, Nora pulled the pillow aside and reached behind it, pulling out a small, carefully wrapped box.

Harry’s fingers trembled slightly as he opened it. Inside lay a little pregnancy test, the faint second line barely visible.

“No way,” he breathed, eyes wide. “Another Remy?”

Nora laughed softly. “I don’t know if I can handle another Remy. That girl is crazy — but in the best way.”

Harry shook his head, a smile spreading across his face as he pulled her close. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me.”

She smiled into his chest.

He teased, pulling back just enough to look at her. “So, is this going to be a pattern now? You tell me you’re pregnant every Father’s Day?”

Nora chuckled. “Maybe.”

They shared a laugh, the house full of quiet joy, kisses, and hugs - a perfect moment sealed in the calm before their family grew again.

The warm afternoon sun spilled through the windows as Nora and Harry put the final touches on the nursery. Soft pastel curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze, a mobile with tiny stars and moons hung gently above the crib, and shelves were lined with a few carefully chosen books and stuffed animals.

Nora adjusted a framed photo of the two of them, smiling nervously. “It’s almost real, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, stepping back to admire their work. “Feels like we’re ready for her. Feels like home.”

Nora smiled, rubbing her belly. “I just want her to be safe and happy.”

Later that evening, they curled up on the couch, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room. Nora rested her head against Harry’s shoulder, her hand gently resting on her belly. Remy’s little nursery was just down the hall, waiting.

Harry smiled down at her. “Hey, little one,” he whispered, voice low and tender. “We’re almost ready for you. Can’t wait to meet you.”

Nora smiled, her eyes soft with anticipation. Harry’s fingers traced small circles on her bump as the movie played quietly.

“Your mama’s doing amazing,” Harry said softly. “We’ve got so much love ready for you. You’re already so lucky.”

Nora sighed happily, feeling the tiny kicks and movements inside her. “She’s going to be so loved.”

They sat there for a long while, wrapped up in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, dreaming of the family soon to come.

The front door creaked open softly as Harry and Nora stepped inside, carefully carrying their tiny bundle wrapped in a pastel blanket. The house felt different - quiet but warm, filled with the promise of new beginnings.

Remy fussed softly, little whimpers breaking the silence. Harry adjusted his hold, gently rocking her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, little one,” he whispered, voice full of wonder.

Nora moved quietly to the living room, settling into the armchair. She cradled Remy close, soothing her with gentle strokes as she began to breastfeed. The soft sounds of her lullabies mingled with Remy’s quiet suckling.

Harry watched them for a moment, a smile spreading across his face. He picked up his vintage camera from the side table and captured the scene: Nora’s gentle profile, Remy nestled against her, and the love glowing between them.

After the shutter clicked, Harry lowered the camera and whispered, “Perfect.”

Nora smiled, eyes meeting his. “Our whole world right here.”

The three of them settled into a tender silence, the house now truly a home.

Back in the present, Harry sank into the couch beside Nora, their hands naturally finding each other’s. The soft afternoon light spilled across the room as they sat close, the quiet hum of the house around them.

Harry brushed a stray lock of hair from Nora’s face, his eyes warm. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this again,” he said, voice low but full of awe. “Another little one on the way.”

Nora smiled, a mix of excitement and nerves flickering behind her eyes. “Me too. It’s… a lot. But I can’t picture doing it with anyone else but you.”

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “We’re in this together — every messy, wonderful moment.”

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “I’m scared, but mostly I’m just so happy. For us. For Remy. For this little one.”

Harry smiled, holding her tight. “We’ve got this.”

And in that quiet embrace, they shared a promise, to face everything as a family.

Harry pulled back just enough to grin at her. “So… do you think this kid’s going to have your stubbornness or my charm?”

Nora laughed, nudging him gently. “Definitely mine. But you better bring your A-game because they’ll need someone to balance me out.”

He raised an eyebrow, mock serious. “Challenge accepted. But I’m warning you, if this one turns out half as wild as Remy, we’re going to need a bigger house.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m counting on wild. Life would be boring without it.”

Harry’s grin softened. “Wild, loving, stubborn… sounds like the perfect family.”

Nora leaned in, whispering, “And just think - in a few years, you’ll be chasing two of them around, trying to keep up.”

He groaned dramatically. “Already tired just thinking about it.”

They both laughed, tangled together on the couch - nerves eased, love stronger than ever.

Harry shifted slightly, looking thoughtful. “You know, we never really talked about how many kids we want. I mean, we’ve always said we want kids… but, like, the plan?”

Nora smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I was thinking about that too. I guess I never felt the need to put a number on it. I just knew I wanted a family with you.”

Harry nodded, his voice steady but gentle. “I get that. And, obviously, now you’re pregnant again - congrats, by the way - but what’s the plan? Or is there even a plan?”

She looked down for a moment, then met his eyes. Harry reached out, taking her hand. “Whatever you want, I’m with you. I want you to be healthy and happy - that’s what matters most.”

Nora squeezed his hand. “I’ve been thinking… maybe three. I don’t want them to ever feel lonely. I want Remy to have siblings, someone to grow up with, to share everything with.”

Harry smiled, a warmth spreading across his face. “Three sounds perfect. And I’m sure we’ll make it work, together.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Me too.”

Just as Harry and Nora were sinking into the quiet of the moment, they heard the familiar patter of little feet upstairs - followed by the soft call of:

“Mummy?”

Nora smiled, pushing up to her feet. “Guess naptime’s over.”

A moment later, Remy was nestled in Nora’s arms as she walked down the stairs, sleepy-eyed and warm with post-nap cuddles, her plush strawberry clutched tightly in one hand.

“Hey, bug,” Harry said gently, brushing back her curls. “We’ve got something special to tell you.”

Remy blinked at him, then looked up at Nora.

“There’s a baby in Mummy’s tummy,” Nora said softly, watching her daughter’s expression carefully.

Remy stared at her mum’s belly for a beat, then furrowed her brow and looked back up at them. “A baby?”

“That’s right,” Harry said, smiling. “You’re gonna be a big sister.”

Remy gasped, then grinned. “Oh a baby!!”

Nora laughed, pulling her in close for a kiss. “You’re happy?”

Remy nodded excitedly, then squinted again at Nora’s stomach, tapping it lightly with one little finger. “It’s a strawberry?”

Both Harry and Nora burst into laughter.

“No, love,” Nora said, grinning, “it’s a baby, not a strawberry.”

Remy clutched her plushie tighter and giggled, clearly unconvinced. “It’s a strawberry.”

Harry kissed the top of her head. “You’re not wrong. You were our little blueberry once - now this one’s a strawberry, huh?”

Remy nodded with complete confidence, content with her interpretation.

Nora looked at Harry over Remy’s head, their eyes meeting with a soft joy - the kind only found in a messy, beautiful, growing little family.

The following week…

The room was dim, quiet except for the soft hum of the machine and the gentle voice of the technician as she moved the wand slowly across Nora’s belly. Nora was lying back on the exam table, one hand resting over her bump, the other gripping Harry’s, their fingers laced. Remy sat on Harry’s lap, her feet swinging, her eyes wide with quiet curiosity.

She clutched her plush strawberry tight against her chest, unusually still for a three-and-a-half-year-old, watching the screen as blurry black-and-white images flickered to life.

“There’s baby,” the sonographer smiled gently, turning the monitor slightly so they could all see. “There’s the head… the little arms and legs…”

Remy gasped softly, her voice no louder than a whisper.

“Baby…”

Nora turned to look at her daughter, her heart full. “That’s right, Rem. That’s your little brother or sister.”

Harry’s thumb rubbed gently over Nora’s hand. “It’s mad, isn’t it? Seeing them like this.”

The technician paused, adjusted something on the machine, then offered a small, knowing smile. “Actually… it looks like you’re a little further along than you thought. About eighteen weeks.”

Nora’s eyes widened, turning to Harry. “Seriously? I counted and everything.”

He blinked. “How did we miss four weeks?”

“You’ve both got a toddler,” the sonographer laughed gently. “You’d be surprised how often it happens.”

“And…” she continued, her smile growing just a touch more playful, “if you’d like to know — we can already tell the sex.”

Nora looked over at Harry, who nodded once, eyes soft. “Yeah… we’d love to know.”

There was a short moment as the wand moved again.

“It’s a boy.”

Nora exhaled softly, a watery smile pulling at her lips. Harry let out a quiet, breathy laugh, like it hit him all at once.

“A boy…” he echoed, as if saying it aloud would help him believe it. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Nora’s temple.

Then, a tiny voice from the stool:

“My strawberry baby boy.”

Harry and Nora both looked at Remy, who had one hand resting gently on Nora’s thigh, her eyes locked on the screen.

Harry smiled, crouching next to her. “That’s right, bug. Your baby brother. Your strawberry baby.”

Remy’s brows drew together thoughtfully, then she nodded, as if she’d made a decision. “I will share my strawberry.” She held her plushie up solemnly.

Nora let out a laugh through her tears. “That’s very kind of you.”

The technician printed out a few images for them and left them in the room to gather themselves. Harry pulled Nora gently into a side hug as she sat up, resting his hand over the warm curve of her belly.

“A boy,” he murmured again. “We’ve got a Remy and now…”

Nora glanced at him, teasing. “Don’t start throwing names out yet. We’ll argue for weeks.”

He grinned. “As long as we’re not naming him Strawberry Styles, I think we’ll be fine.”

From the stool, Remy perked up. “Strawberry Styles!!”

They all laughed - a perfect moment, frozen in that soft, echoing room.

[kahluamystery97]

@maincharactermuse I love this. I have bookmarked you and I cannot wait to read through your masterlist! I love your OC. Perfectly sassy. Great banter.

I Rest My Case.

Author’s Note: Listen… when i saw that video of Harry offering help with reverse parking and then immediately being the most confused man in italy… i felt something. embarrassment? love? the desperate need to fictionalise it?? all of the above. 😂

Please know this comes from a place of deep affection. I adore Harry but i also believe with my whole heart that he would 100% be the passenger princess in rome and not even pretend to be ashamed about it. 💅🏼

This little thing is for everyone who’s ever parallel parked like a badass while someone else watched in stunned silence.

RIP to harry’s parking reputation. Long may it live in fanfiction.

(FIND MY MASTERLIST HERE)

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The sun was already high over Rome, lazy and golden, filtering through the olive trees that lined the courtyard of Harry’s house. The city hummed quietly in the distance, like it was still deciding whether to be chaos or charm today.

Harry emerged from the kitchen, barefoot, shirtless, and holding a set of car keys, twirling them on one finger like a man with a plan.

“C’mon,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “Let’s go get coffee. That café in Trastevere… the one with the grumpy waiter who pretends not to like me.”

“He doesn’t pretend,” she said, slipping her sandals on.

“Rude,” Harry replied, unfazed. “Anyway. I’m driving.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll drive.”

He blinked. “Oh?”

She plucked the keys from his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You get to DJ.”

“Wait - what just happened?” he said, trailing her toward the car. “I was offering.”

“I accepted. I just accepted in a more… capable way.”

Harry placed a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Are you saying I’m not capable?”

“I’m saying the Fiat is small, the roads are smaller, and we both know you think parallel parking is a team sport.”

“That’s a low blow.”

“You tried to reverse into a Vespa last week.”

“It came out of nowhere!”

“It was parked.”

He followed her down the gravel path, still scandalized. She slid into the driver’s seat with too much ease. He noticed, of course.

The drive into town was scenic in that picturesque, slightly terrifying way Rome had perfected: cobblestone alleys, scooters darting past like caffeinated bees, tight corners that required divine intervention and power steering.

About ten minutes in, Harry glanced over from the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath him.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

He paused. “Do you think I’m a bad driver?”

She hesitated just long enough to make his eyes narrow.

“Oh my God,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You do.”

“I don’t!”

“You do,” he said, pointing at her. “That was a hesitation. A full-body hesitation.”

“I was just thinking.”

“You were thinking about how to lie to me gently.”

She laughed, adjusting the mirror with one hand. “No! I was thinking about how to say… diplomatically… that I think I’m better.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “That’s even worse!”

“It’s not! It’s self-confidence. I’m not saying you’re bad.”

“You’re saying you’re better than me. At driving. In Rome.”

She smirked. “Would you like to keep talking or would you like to get to the café without mounting a curb?”

He muttered something under his breath and turned up the music, but he was grinning.

They reached the heart of the city twenty minutes later, a few turns away from the café they both liked - small terrace, strong coffee, grumpy but charming waiter who always gave her free biscotti.

The streets narrowed as she turned into the final block, a gap between two parked cars just ahead.

Harry’s lips parted. “You’re not gonna try to-”

She already was.

With one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting casually on the back of Harry’s seat, she twisted to look behind her. In one fluid, precise movement, she reversed the car into the space - one go, tight fit, perfect alignment. It was absurdly smooth.

She clicked the handbrake, turned back to face him, and smirked. “I rest my case.”

Harry was staring at her like she’d just performed a magic trick.

“I- what… how did you-” He turned to look out the window. “That was a one-handed, first-try parallel park. On a hill.”

She grinned. “I know.”

“And you didn’t even do that weird shuffle people do where they keep adjusting and looking anxious. You just did it.”

“I’m efficient.”

Harry turned slowly to face her. “Marry me.”

She giggled as she leaned across the console, tugged him by the collar, and kissed him full on the mouth - warm, a little smug, definitely victorious. It was the kind of kiss that said I told you so, but lovingly.

When she pulled back, he looked dazed. “That… was hot.”

She unbuckled her seatbelt. “Glad you think so.”

“You parked a car and I fell in love with you all over again.”

She opened the door. “Then you’re going to love watching me reverse out of here later.”

Harry stayed in the passenger seat for a second longer, watching her walk around to the café door like she hadn’t just destroyed his ego and kissed him senseless in the span of forty seconds.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured, and followed her in.

[kahluamystery97]

Loved this story so much. The writing I have read on here lately has been top tier.

Summary: "It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back."

Word Count: 11.6k

A/N: Plus-sized!reader x Trainerry based on this request <- To the Anon that requested this. I hope it's everything you wanted and more. I really had to pull at some feels for this one. Thanks you so much for this!!

Warning: Angsty self-hate with a happy ending, and a mild sweet smut scene at the end that you can skip if that's not your cup of tea. (Heavy themes centered around hatred of body-image/body shaming. All self-induced)

It wasn’t that you wanted to change yourself entirely. You just wanted to be able to look into the mirror and, for once, like what you saw. It wasn’t a size or a number you were after, you wanted the peace of mind, the relief, the weight of the stigma lifted for more than just the occasional, oh yeah, I look good kind of moments.

 Because let’s face it, we all know those moments were fleeting, but what if you could feel it for longer? What if your eyes could roam over your body, and maybe, just maybe, you could spend less time picking yourself apart. What if you could try on those jeans and this time they fit just perfectly—none of the excruciating cut of the waist digging into your belly while you sat, or the fear of not even being able to button them in the first place. 

You wanted freedom, you wanted joy, you wanted less days of the mental prison that your brain held you in every time you looked into the mirror, or binged on that food you knew you should avoid. That was what this would be, the journey you were ready to embark on—a journey to confidence, a journey to loving yourself, a journey back to you. These were the words you were filling your head with, the prep talk you had given yourself that morning as you got ready, and now that shit was laughable, you thought as you walked through the gym doors, eyes already darting around as a gust of cool air spread over your bare arms. 

This was the part you hated, the part you were dreading. It hadn’t even been two seconds and you were already tugging at the hem of your oversized tee, your gaze scanning over bodies in motion, most fit as fuck, some laughing and moving about, some focused forward in the zone, their eye on a prize that felt out of your reach, bending and flexing with an effortless ease you couldn’t even wrap your mind around, let alone even conceive the amount of energy you knew went into making each rep look like a walk in the park.

And now you felt crazy, because you were signing yourself up willingly, putting yourself out there for what? To fail? To be judged?

Was this really what you wanted? Did you really hate yourself this much? Was this even considered hate, or was this self-love? Because suddenly, the line was becoming blurred, and here you stood, waiting by the front desk on full display, following the instructions given via email, because you were too weirded out to set up everything in person. Hell, you didn’t even know where the bathroom was. It wasn’t like you could disappear until you were ready.

So maybe you couldn’t run and hide, but you could hide behind your phone, and wait for your trainer, god, what was his name again? Henry? Harris? Fuck, how could you be blanking, and as you took to searching for your welcome email, a deep voice sounded through your frantic thoughts:

“Hey there! ” a cheerful voice called out.

That’s when you turned to see a tall figure approaching you, his bright smile lighting up the room as he ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, green eyes reflecting the light, and holy shit, that physique, that body screamed fitness. And as you peered over your shoulder to see if he was signaling for someone else, your heart skipped a beat, cheeks flushing, because there was no way in hell this dude was going to be your trainer.

“Oh… were you talking to me?” you stammered, trying to maintain eye contact but failing miserably, hands already fidgeting with the him of your shirt.

“Yes, you have a training session at 9, correct?” he asked, extending his hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, and you felt a jolt of electricity the second your hands collided. “I’m Harry, it’s really nice to meet you. I can’t wait to help you on this journey.”

“Thanks,” you replied, trying not to drool over his British accent as your voice came out small. Your palms were sweaty, and you quickly wiped them on your pants, hoping he didn’t notice.

“So, what are your fitness goals?” Harry asked, his tone encouraging and friendly, and just by the way he was making eye contact, you could tell that he was genuinely curious, like it wasn’t just his job to know.

For a second, you hesitated, your mind racing. You had so many thoughts swirling around this very question. What was it that you wanted again? To lose weight? Feel healthier? Gain some kind of confidence? But the words felt stuck in your throat, your mind going blank as you said, “Um, I just want to… you know, get in shape and feel better about myself,” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

Harry nodded, his expression holding a warmth you weren’t expecting, maybe an understanding, like he knew exactly what you meant to say, a sort of grace given that sent a flutter to the pit of your stomach.“That’s a great start! Remember, it’s all about progress, not perfection. I’d love to work together to set some goals that suit you and your lifestyle. I’m all about sustainability for the long-term, not the instantaneous results that rarely last long.”

And even though his words sent a flicker of hope through you. You could feel the self-doubt trying to creep back in. “I’m not really sure about all this,” you admitted, eyes moving around the room. “I’ve never been good at working out, and honestly, this place isn’t really my vibe. Like a place I feel like I belong... I guess.”

Yet as you said the words, Harry’s smile never wavered. “I get it. Change is always a little uncomfy at first, but you know everyone starts somewhere. The important thing is that you��re here, ready to take that first step, and as cheesy as it sounds, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, you looked at him, holding his gaze, and that’s when the nervousness seemed to fade. There was something about his confidence and the kindness he exuded that was infectious, and you felt a small spark of determination ignite within you. “Okay…” You breathed.

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise you anything,” you told him with a small smile, feeling a bit more resolute, like yeah, maybe you could actually do this, like there was hope for the self-loathing bitch within you, because fuck her, she couldn’t have it all, you deserved a little light, some time away from the shadows of your self that kept stealing tiny moments of joy you could never get back. 

At some point, you had to live, right?

“That’s the spirit!” Harry answered, his enthusiasm making your smile grow despite the lingering insecurities. “Shall we get started?”

And as he led you deeper into the gym, you couldn’t shake that feeling of awe, that mix of anxiety threatening the surface. You were about to do it, finally take that leap, about to be trained by this gorgeous guy, and while the thought made your heart race for maybe all the wrong reasons, you also felt a sense of possibility, like maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something great, something to make you feel alive again. 

But it’s crazy how quickly excitement can fade.

The first week was pure torture, and the second week was no better. You wanted to quit, but you didn’t know what you wanted.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? You had walked through those gym doors with all these grand ideas about transformation, about becoming someone new, but now, three weeks in, you were just as sweaty, still a breathless mess who couldn’t even do a proper squat without Harry having to adjust your form for the millionth time. 

And god, those hands, always professional without a doubt, but there was something about the way they would ghost over your shoulders, the way they corrected your posture, or lightly pressed against your lower back to guide you, that had your skin burning from everything but the workout.

“Let’s try something different,” Harry said, and you could hear that patient tone, the one that never made you feel like the failure you knew you were. 

He grabbed a bench, positioning it behind you. “…Seated squats. They’re gentler on the knees, and the bonus is they’ll help you build the strength for the full movement.”

Your first instinct was to prove yourself, to convince him you were able to do a full fucking squat like every other person in this gym, but somehow the words died in your throat when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—red-faced, sweat pooling in places you didn’t want to think about, your oversized shirt clinging to rolls you had been spending years trying to hide, and lets not even get started on your arms, fucking hell, your arms felt like they were made of jello, wobbling with each movement. Not to mention your thighs had already been chafing with every step, that familiar burn a reminder of exactly why you had been avoiding this place for years.

It was torture, pure fucking torture, but you sat anyway.

“Hey,” Harry called out, pulling you from your thoughts, and suddenly he was in front of you, those green eyes level with yours as he crouched down. “Where’d you go just then?”

“Nowhere… I’m fine,” you lied, because what were you supposed to say? That you were having a mental breakdown over a squat? That you could feel every pair of eyes in the gym judging the “chubby girl” who couldn’t even do basic exercises?

But Harry just nodded, like he knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “Right then, seated squats it is. And after that, we’ll work on some upper body stuff. Sound good?”—The thing about Harry was that he never seemed to push when you shut down. His superpower was to redirect, adapt, and move on to something else, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Never an ounce of judgment.

You had noticed other things too, in these first three weeks—like how sometimes he shifted his weight to his left side during demonstrations, or how he would choose specific exercises over others without explanation. Once, when he was showing you how to do lunges, he distinctly favored his right leg, the change so evident that you almost asked about it, but something in his expression had stopped you.

One day, near the end of week three, the gym’s usual crowd of fitness models decided to make their appearance. You had recognized them by now, you know the type, the group of women who looked like they just stepped out of a Lululemon catalog, all tight abs and perfect ponytails, not a jiggle in sight. They were hard to miss, and even more apparent the way they gravitated toward Harry like moths to a flame, and why wouldn’t they? He was gorgeous, British, and had the kind of body that made you wonder what he looked like without a single scrap of clothing.

And these were the kind of thoughts that you had to shake from your head, because you didn’t want to go there.

Not when he was that close.

“Harry!” one of them shouted, her outfit like a latex glove, leaving little to the imagination as she bounded over. “Could you check my form on these hip thrusts?”

And fuck, you would have laughed if you weren’t trying to make yourself invisible, focusing on your water bottle like it held the secrets of the universe, but you couldn’t help watch them from the corner of your eye. Harry glanced at his watch and then back at the woman.

“Sorry, Melissa, I’m with a client right now,” he said, and was it your imagination or did he step slightly closer to you? “Maybe check with Tom at the front desk about booking a session.”

That was when the woman’s eyes flicked to you, and you could practically feel the onset of her assessment, knew the exact look she was giving, that up-and-down glance that was cataloguing every flaw, every roll, every reason you didn’t belong here. But Harry had already turned back to you, already demonstrating the next exercise like the interaction hadn’t even happened.

“Right, so for this one, you’ll want to keep your core engaged to protect your low back,” he was saying, but all you could think about was how he had just dismissed her, how he had chosen to stay focused on you when he could have just as easily given her five minutes of attention, and you chalked it up to professionalism without a second thought. He was getting paid to train you, after all.

This was his job.

But then why did your stupid heart skip when he smiled at you after you completed your set?

Week four started like any other, except it felt harder as you dragged yourself through the gym doors, already anticipating the torture ahead. You felt like shit... not good at all, more like death had warmed over you. Even though your body was starting to recognize the routine, your brain was still screaming at you to run every time you saw the weight rack.

“Morning!” Harry called out, and damn him for always being so cheerful at 9 in the morning. “How’re you feeling? Any soreness from last session?”

“Just my entire body,” you groaned, but there was less bite to it than before. “Who knew your ass muscles could be this sore.”

He laughed, that genuine sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, that means you’re doing it right, and that’s a win, ay? Today we’re going to work on some balance exercises, really activate those stabilizer muscles.”

You were halfway through a set of single-leg stands, wobbling like a baby giraffe and cursing Harry’s name in your mind when it happened. It was quick, you losing your balance—again—and you stumbled backward, your elbow connecting with Harry’s leg as he moved to steady you, and out of nowhere, he made a sharp, pained, involuntary sound that made your blood run cold.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry!” and when you whirled around, he was gripping his knee, face tight with a pain that looked too familiar to be from your clumsy elbow. “Harry, I—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, but his voice was strained, and he was still holding his knee like it might shatter if he let go. “Just an old injury acting up. Nothing to do with you. I promise…”

But you had seen that kind of pain before, in your own mirror when your body would decide to remind you of all the ways it had been pushed too far. “Sit down,” you tell him, taking charge of the situation, surprising even yourself in the process. “Seriously, sit.”

For a second, he looked like he might protest, but something in your expression must have convinced him because he lowered himself onto the nearest bench, still favoring that right knee. The gym suddenly felt too quiet, too exposed, and without thinking, you positioned yourself between him and the rest of the room, like you could shield him from all the curious glances.

“It’s an old football injury,” he said finally, the words coming out reluctant, like he was still trying to hold them back. “Soccer… I mean—sorry, I know you Americans call it soccer. Tore my ACL completely about six years ago. Had surgery, did all the physio, but...” He shrugged, a gesture that looked too casual for the weight of what he was sharing. “Sometimes bodies don’t heal the way they’re supposed to.”

Startled by his words, you stared at him, this perfect-looking trainer with his perfect-looking body, and it was like something shifted inside your chest. “But you’re... you’re a trainer. I always pictured you all so—”

“Perfect?” He finished, looking up at you with a wry smile. “Yeah… that’s what everyone thinks. But the truth is, I can’t even run anymore. Can barely kick a ball without my knee giving out. Gosh, some days I wake up and have to spend like twenty minutes just trying to convince my knee to work properly.”

The words seemed to linger, weighted with an openness you hadn’t expected. Here was Harry, this beautiful, confident man, admitting to being broken, and somehow it finally made him real in a way that his encouraging words, or the professional distance he kept, never had, and that seemed to scare you.

“Is that why you became a trainer?” you asked, settling onto the bench beside him, your workout forgotten. “Because of the injury?”

He nodded, absently rubbing his knee. “Yeah… I guess in a way…I couldn’t play anymore, but I couldn’t stay away from fitness entirely… it was kind of my life, so I started learning about adaptive training, about working with bodies that don’t fit the typical mold. Turns out I’m better at helping people find their own path than I ever was at following mine.”

In that moment you wanted to say something, wanted to match the encouragement of his words, but all that came out was, “Well, that feels really fucking unfair.”

He laughed, surprised, but sincere. “Yeah, it really fucking is.”

And just like that, something changed. That professional distance he had been maintaining cracked just a little, and you saw him, not Harry the trainer, but Harry the person, a man who had his dreams ripped from under his feet, but still learned how to build new ones from the scraps.

“I should probably tell you,” he said, his voice lighter now, “this is why I modify so many exercises. It’s not just for you—half of them I can’t do the ‘proper’ way anymore. Those seated squats? I do them on my bad days, oh, and those knee-friendly lunges? Learned those during my physio.”

And fuck, there it was beating at your insides, that crush, that you had been desperately trying to ignore, suddenly felt less like a schoolgirl fantasy and more like... god dare you say it… Something else. Something deeper. Because now, when you looked at him, you didn’t just see the attractive trainer who was nice to the “fat girl”. You saw someone who maybe understood you more than you knew, who probably knew your body better, knew all the ways it betrayed you, the frustration of every limitation, and the slow, painful process of finding acceptance.

“Thank you,” you breathed, really wanting him to know you meant it. “For telling me.”

He stood to his feet then, eyes sweeping over your face, before offering you a hand up. “Come on, let’s finish your session. But maybe we’ll skip the jumping jacks today, yeah? My knee’s not the only one that needs babying.”

After that day, everything shifted, not just in your mind. Harry, of course, still maintained his professionalism, but there was a warmth now, an understanding that hadn’t existed before. Your workouts became less about pushing through pain and more about finding what worked for your body—and his.

“See, the thing about traditional training,” he explained during week five, while demonstrating a modified plank that didn’t make your wrists scream, “is that it assumes everyone’s working with the same equipment. But we’re not, are we? You’ve got your challenges, I’ve got mine… but the trick is finding what works for us.”

Us… 

And, damn it was such a small word, but boy did it seem to carry weight.

That’s when you started noticing more things, like how he would ice his knee between clients, or how he would shift positions during longer demonstrations, or how his jaw would tighten on particularly bad days. But you also noticed how he never let it stop him, how he moved through it, and adapted his entire life around this limitation without a trace of self-pity.

So why couldn’t you?

“After my surgery,” he told you one day while you struggled through a stupid resistance band exercise, “I spent months being angry. Angry at my body, at the universe… I guess at everyone… everyone who could still do what I couldn’t. It took me a long time to realize that anger was just fear wearing a different face.”

“Fear of what?” you asked, breathless from exertion but curious nonetheless.

“Fear that I’d never be enough again. That, without soccer, without that, I guess that identity, I was just... nothing.” He told you, adjusting your form gently, his hands warm through your shirt. “Sound familiar?”

He had you there; it was all too familiar. Because wasn’t that exactly what you felt every time you looked in the mirror? That without the body you thought you should have, you were somehow less than? And the parallel hit you like a ton of bricks, because was this not him basically telling you that he understood, that he had been where you were, just in a different way—that maybe not all trauma was the same, but it still hurt, even when the two weren’t comparable.

“So what changed?” you asked during a water break, after you finally digested the realization, watching him absently massage his knee.

“Perspective,” he said simply. “Started focusing on what my body could do instead of what it couldn’t. Yeah, I can’t play soccer anymore, but I can help people like you find their strength. That’s not nothing, is it?”

People like you… And maybe the phrase should have stung, but the way he said it, with such an honest warmth, made it feel more like a compliment.

“You know what I love about training you?” he asked suddenly, and your heart did a stupid flutter in your chest. “You’re honest. You don’t pretend like it’s easy or fun. You show up even when you hate it. Do you know how rare that is?”

This makes you laugh, wiping sweat from your face with a towel. “Yeah, I’m a real inspiration... The girl who nearly cried doing wall sits yesterday.”

“Maybe… but you still finished them, though,” he pointed out. “That’s what matters. Not how pretty it looks or how easy it is. Just that you don’t give up.”

With perfect timing, the gym hotties made another appearance, a new group this time, but technically the same, all giggling and hair-tossing as they tried to catch Harry’s attention. One of them even “accidentally” dropped her water bottle right by where he was spotting your chest press, and for a second you held your breath, waiting for him to look, to give them the attention they were so desperate for, but he just kicked the bottle gently out of the way and kept his focus on you.

“That’s it, three more,” he encouraged, and maybe it was your imagination, but his voice seemed a little louder than necessary, like he was making a point. “You’ve got this.”

Later, as you were packing up your things, you overheard one of them complaining to her friend: 

“He’s always with that girl. Like, what’s the deal? Is she paying him extra or something?”

It was one of those times you wished you could roll it off, but the words pricked at your skin, and before you could spiral into self-loathing, Harry appeared at your elbow. “Ready for the cool-down stretches?” he asked, and his hand touched your lower back, guiding you away from the women who were still whispering their gossip. 

“I’ve got a new routine I want to try—it’s specifically designed for people with knee issues, but I think it’ll help with your hip flexibility too.”

People with knee issues. 

Like him, like you, like your fucking body that creaked and fought you at every turn, but now what was once a negative connotation had shifted, had become a positive acknowledgment, a thing you both shared. All the modified movements, the limitations, yes, they were real, but gone was the judgment, and the monster you could make of them.

By week six, you had developed a routine. You still hated mornings, still wanted to die during cardio, but there was something else now, a sense of anticipation. Not for the workout itself, god no, but for the hour you got to spend with Harry. 

A growing anticipation for the way he would light up when you managed something you couldn’t do the week before. All the terrible jokes he would tell to distract you during the dreadful planks. The way he would casually touch your arm or back—always appropriate, always professional, but still, there was something that made your skin tingle, a curious wonder that had your mind reeling.

“You’re getting stronger,” he told you one morning, watching as you completed a set of squats—real ones this time, not the shitty seated ones. “Can you feel it?”

And honestly, you could. Not just in your muscles, but in the way you carried yourself. You still had times when you tugged at your shirt, still felt your thighs rub together, but it was different now. Maybe less shameful, more just... fact. Your body was what it was, but it was capable of more than you thought.

“My knee’s been acting up this week,” Harry had admitted during a demonstration of a new exercise. Mentally, you had already noticed that it was less fluid than usual, but you didn’t say anything. 

He cleared his throat, trying to hide the wince of pain, “Probably the weather change. But look—” Then, he showed you how to modify the movement, turning what should have been a jumping exercise into a step-touch pattern. “Same muscle activation, less impact. All of this to say we work with what we’ve got, yeah?”

We…

And there was something in the way he said it, like he was trying to bind you both together through all the tiny imperfections. That’s when you found yourself, starting to stay a few minutes after your sessions, helping him reset equipment or just chatting while he iced his knee. It was during one of these moments that he opened up a little more about his injury.

“The thing is… the pain wasn’t even the worst part…” he said, pressing a bag of ice into his finicky knee. “It was watching my mates continue on without me. I mean, of course, they would visit the hospital, tell me about matches, and I was grateful… really I was… and I would smile and nod, hit all my marks… but the truth was I was dying inside… Took me years to be able to watch soccer again without feeling bitter.”

“Do you still feel bitter?” you asked, organizing dumbbells to avoid looking at him directly.

“Sometimes,” he confessed. “On bad days, when my knee won’t cooperate and I see people running without thinking twice about it... Yeah, it stings. But then I remember that without this—” he gestured to his knee, “—I’d never have become a trainer. Never have met the people I’ve helped. Never have...” He paused, and when you looked up, he was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “…Never have met you...”

You couldn’t help the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with it, and like an idiot, you fumbled the dumbbell you were holding, completely giving yourself away. “I’m sure you say that to all your clients,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice from wobbling, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

And as his words settled, the world around you seemed to pivot, the air now filling your lungs, charged with something that felt dangerously close to desire, but then someone dropped a weight plate across the gym with a thunderous clang, and the spell was broken, but you held onto that moment for as long as you could, because you felt it, felt the need beginning to ache in your bones.

But the one question that would always remain was:

Could he ever want a girl like me?

Week seven was when you nearly quit. It had been a bad week all around—work stress, family drama, and your fucking period decided to show up with a vengeance. You had barely slept, your body hurt in ways that had nothing to do with exercise, and the last thing you wanted was to squeeze into workout clothes and pretend like everything was fine, when it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry… But I don’t think I can do this today,” you told Harry the moment you walked in, not even bothering with a greeting. “I just... I can’t.” And there was shame in the way the words came out, like maybe this was your true self after all, and the rest was just an act.

He took one look at you, like, really looked at you. Not the quick bullshit assessment most people did, and nodded. “Okay. Tell me what you need?”

And his words nearly blindsided you. It wasn’t the “you have to push through” or “you’ll feel better after.” It was just a simple acceptance of where you were at, and you stood there trying to gather your words, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. 

“I don’t know,” you forced, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I’m honestly so exhausted and everything hurts, and I looked in the mirror this morning… I don’t know… it’s just been a shitty week, and I’m just not sure what the point is anymore, and—”

“Hey,” he gently interrupts, steering you toward a quieter corner of the gym. “Breathe for me, yeah? Just breathe.”

And you did, gulping in air like you were drowning, and maybe it was his hand on your low back, but gradually the panic receded just enough for embarrassment to creep in. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re just being human,” he corrected. “We all have these days. Hell, I had one last week—woke up and my knee was so stiff I could barely make it down the stairs. Wanted to throw things, and cry, and give up. You know what I did instead?”

“What?”

“Called in sick and spent the day on the couch watching terrible reality TV and eating biscuits.” Your brows shot up, and he grinned. “What? You thought I was going to say I powered through with positive thinking? Fuck that. Sometimes you need to just feel what you’re feeling.”

You felt overwhelmed. His answer was so unexpected, so honest, that you found yourself laughing despite the tears. “So what should I do?” You asked, wiping at your eyes.

“Today? If you want to stay, we can modify everything. Gentle movement only, nothing that makes you want to die. We can do some stretching, maybe some light resistance work if you’re up for it. And if at any point you need to stop, we stop. No judgment, no pushing. Just listening to what your body needs.”

And thank the heavens up above, because it was by far the easiest session you had ever had, physically speaking. But emotionally? God, emotionally, it was everything. Harry had adapted every single movement to match your energy level, never once making you feel weak or pathetic for needing the modifications. Everything was intuitive, even when the gym hotties walked by and gave you pitying looks, he shifted positions to block their view, talking louder about muscle groups to draw your attention away.

“You showed up,” he said at the end, as you were doing your final stretches. “On a day when everything in you said to stay home, you showed up. That’s a huge win.”

“It feels like nothing,” you muttered, but he shook his head.

“Six weeks ago, would you have come in feeling like this?”

And as you gazed into his green eyes, you thought about it. Six weeks ago, you would have used any excuse to avoid the gym. “No… I would have stayed home.”

“Then that’s progress. Not all progress looks like smaller jeans or bigger muscles. Sometimes it looks like showing up when you don’t want to.” His hand rested on your shoulder, warm and steady. “I’m proud of you.”

His words seemed to hit you harder than any physical exercise could ever touch the surface. When was the last time someone had said that to you? When was the last time you had given someone a reason to?

By week eight, something fundamental inside you had changed. Not just in your body, though you had to admit, you were feeling stronger, more capable, but in how you existed in your skin. You still had all the same insecurities, all the same soft places and jiggly bits, but they felt less like failures now and more like... just parts of you.

Which is why, when you got dressed that morning, you reached for the new workout outfit you had bought on impulse—fitted leggings and a tank top—there would be no hiding behind excess fabric, not today. Of course, your reflection still showed everything you usually hated—the belly that refused to lie flat, the arms that continued their gentle wobble, the thighs that would always touch. But for once, you didn’t want to reach for the oversized shirt.

“Fuck it,” you told your reflection. “Let’s see what happens.”

And what happened was Harry nearly dropped his water bottle when you walked in.

“You look—” He caught himself, his professionalism snapping back into place like a rubber band. “That’s a great color on you… It really brightens up your complexion.”

And try all he wanted, but you had seen that first reaction, the way his eyes had widened, tracked over your curves before he could even remember himself. It sent a thrill through you, gave you a sense of power that had you on cloud nine.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to sound casual even as your heart hammered. “Figured I would switch things up a bit…”

“Yeah… It’s a nice change for sure,” he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made you look at him. I mean, really take in his expression, because it said it all. “Just... for what it’s worth, you should wear whatever makes you comfortable. But this—” He gestured vaguely, carefully not looking directly at your body. “This confidence suits you.”

He had you soaring, and the workout that followed ignited a new kind of tension growing between you. Harry had always been hands-on with corrections, but now each touch felt loaded with a new possibility. When he adjusted your hip position during bridges, his fingers seemed to linger a beat too long, and fuck, when he spotted your chest press, he stood closer than strictly necessary. And when he demonstrated proper form for a new exercise, you caught him glancing at you in the mirror, checking if you were watching.

You were. You always were.

“You know,” he said during a water break, his own face flushed from a particularly intense movement, “I’ve been training people for five years, and I’ve never seen someone transform the way you have.”

“I haven’t really transformed, though,” you told him, gesturing at yourself. “I mean, I’m maybe a size smaller? If that?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Then he sat on the bench beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “When you first walked in, you looked like you wanted to disappear. Moved like you were apologizing for taking up space. Now look at you—wearing what you want, taking up all the space you need, moving like you have a right to be here. Because you do.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tight. “It’s because of you,” you said quietly. “The way you teach, the way you... see me. Not as a project to fix, but as a person. Like I don’t have to fit into the mold I thought I did.”

“Fuck the mold. It’s boring,” he said, and his hand covered yours on the bench, just for a second. “Lifes too short to try and keep up with all the bullshit.”

That was when the gym hotties chose that moment to make their appearance, a trio of them this time, chest high, all sports bras a size too small, stretched across their fucking boobs with an obvious intention. You watched as the tallest one made a beeline for Harry, her trajectory as clear as a heat-seeking missile.

“Harry! I was hoping you could show me that lunge from the other day during our session… it seems to have totally slipped my mind.”

“I’m with a client, Bridgette,” Harry said, not even looking at her. His hand had left yours, but he shifted closer, his knee touching yours. “Like I tell the others, you can book a session at the front desk if you need personal instruction.”

Bridgette’s eyes flicked between you and Harry, taking in the minimal space between you, the way Harry’s body was angled toward yours like a plant seeking sun. “Right. Sure. I’ll do that.”

And just as she was about to turn to leave, she says, “Oh… and it’s Courtney, by the way…” then she stalks off, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. 

“You know, I think they’re all convinced I’m either paying you extra or sleeping with you.”

Harry’s amused expression fell. “Have they been saying things to you?”

“No… no more than I expected,” you confessed. “You know how it is.. heaven forbid the chubby girl get any personal attention from the hot trainer? It’s probably not realistic in their world… and I guess in mine either… but of course, they’re going to talk.”

“You’re not—” He stopped, jaw clenched, and when he continued, his voice held a careful control. “First of all, I don’t think your chubby… if that’s what you want to call it… so fuck them. Second, you’re not just nothing. You’re a client who works harder than anyone else in this gym, who shows up even when it’s hard, who—” He cut himself off again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And I’m not just giving you attention because... Christ, I’m making this worse.”

“Because what?” you urged, heart racing.

He looked at you then, and for a moment, you saw past the professional mask he was trying to hold, to something real and wanting underneath. “Because it’s my job,” he said finally, but the words sounded hollow. “Come on, let’s finish your session.”

The rest of the workout passed in tense silence, both of you overly aware of every accidental touch, every shared glance in the mirror. When he helped you stretch at the end, his hands on your calf as you lay on the mat, the tension was almost unbearable, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded.

“Same time Thursday?” he asked when you were gathering your things, and there was something helpless in his expression, like maybe he was afraid you might say no.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Same time Thursday.”

As you left, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror by the exit, flushed and sweaty, curves on full display in your fitted outfit, looking like someone who belonged here. Not because your body had dramatically changed, but because maybe you were actually starting to believe you had a right to exist in places like this, exist in your own skin, like maybe it could be okay.

And just as your eyes were about to move forward, you caught sight of Harry watching you go, and the look on his face...

Yeah. You were definitely in trouble.

But for once, you didn’t want to run from it. You wanted to see where this path could take you, just as you were.

When week nine rolled around, you were back on track, your mind totally on board, and everything was going great. Even you were amazed by yourself, the way you were hitting every mark. Harry still kept a professional distance, but it wasn’t taking from the attraction you felt, now a low hum over your skin, signalling an obvious draw to him, that sent a pulse between your thighs every time his hands touched your body.

It was becoming a problem, actually. The way your body responded to him now—not just the flutter in the pit of your stomach, but it had turned into a full-body awareness every time he was near. When he corrected your form, his fingers grazing your hip or pressing against your back, you had to bite back sounds that had nothing to do with exertion. And you were pretty sure he knew it, too, from the way his jaw would tighten, the way he would step back a little quicker than necessary, like he needed the distance just as much as you.

One day, you were in the middle of box step-ups, feeling strong, feeling capable, feeling like maybe you were actually becoming the person you had wanted to be when you first walked through those doors. The fitted workout clothes were your new normal, and while your body hadn’t dramatically changed, the way you moved in it had. Confident. Taking up space. Belonging.

Because like Harry said “Fuck them all.” 

“That’s it, drive through your heel,” Harry encouraged, and god, his voice when he got all instructor-mode did things to you. “Really activate those glutes.”

You were focused, you were in the zone, you were—

And then your fucking ankle rolled.

One second you were stepping down, controlled and strong, and the next you were falling, your right ankle giving way beneath you with a sickening pop that you felt more than heard. The sound that tore from your throat was raw, primal, and suddenly, you were on the ground, hands clutching at your ankle as pain shot through it like lightning.

“Fuck!” The word came out high and sharp as a sob ripped from your throat, and then Harry was there, dropping to his knees beside you, his professional calm never wavering even as his hands hovered over you, not quite touching.

“Don’t move,” he demanded, his accent thicker with urgency. “Let me see—can you wiggle your toes?”

You tried, gasping at the pain that radiated up your leg. Around you, the gym had gone quiet, and you could feel every pair of eyes turning your way. The fat girl has fallen, was all you could think, because, of course, she had. Everyone was probably thinking you couldn’t handle the exercise, probably pushed too hard, probably—

“Hey, look at me,” Harry whispered, cutting through your thoughts. His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Just me, yeah? No one else matters right now.”

But they did matter. You could hear the whispers, feel the stares, and like another betrayal, the tears of frustration burned at your eyes, already threatening to spill over. Not just from the pain—though fuck, it hurt—but from the humiliation of it all. Nine weeks of progress, nine weeks of building yourself up, and here you were, crumpled on the gym floor like every stereotype you had been fighting against.

The stares felt like the harsh truth of ‘I told you so,’ feeding that inner monologue you had been trying to suppress.

“I need to check if it’s broken,” Harry said, his hands gentle as they ghosted over your ankle. You hissed at even the lightest touch, and he pulled back immediately. “Right, we’re going to the hospital. Can you stand at all?”

“I don’t—I can’t—” The tears came then, hot and angry. “Everyone’s watching.”

“Fuck them,” Harry said fiercely, and the sharpness startled you enough to look at him. His green eyes were blazing with something protective, something furious, something lighting a fire within him. “Marcus!” he called to another trainer. “I need you to clear this area. Now.”

Then, to you, his voice softer now: “I’m going to help you up, okay? We’ll go out the back exit. Can you put your arm around my neck?”

The next few minutes were a blur of pain and movement. At that point, Harry was essentially carrying you, your weight supported against his solid frame, and for a moment, you forgot about everyone else because all you could focus on was how strong he was, how easily he held you up despite his own bad knee. When he got you to his car, he helped you into the passenger seat with a gentleness that made your chest tighten.

“I need to cancel my appointments,” he muttered, pulling out his phone as he started the car. “Sarah? Yeah, it’s Harry. Let’s go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the day...”

And you listened, dazed, as he gave her instructions. “You know you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.

“Yes, I do. You’re hurt, and you need to get to the hospital. End of story.”

The hospital was a whirlwind of X-rays and ice packs, and doctors with cold hands. Your ankle wasn’t broken, thank goodness, but a bad sprain that would have you off your feet for at least a week, and even though the news was disheartening. There was joy in the way Harry stayed the whole time. He even held your hand during the x-ray, kept you distracted with silly stories while you waited for results, and graciously helped you fill out paperwork when your hands were shaking too much from residual adrenaline.

“You know,” you said at one point, watching him charm the nurse into bringing you an extra ice pack, “most trainers would have just called an ambulance and been done with it.”

He looked offended at the proposal. “What kind of person would I be if I did that? Besides,” his expression softened, “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

The drive to your apartment was quiet, your ankle propped up in the backseat, wrapped in an ace bandage, throbbing with every heartbeat, or sudden bump in the road. Harry had insisted on driving you home, waving off your suggestion for an Uber, and now here you were, trying not to think about how normal this all felt, him driving you home, eyes flicking to yours in the rearview mirror, every time you stared too long.

“Third floor,” you said when he pulled up to your building, and then realized what that meant. “Shit. I’m on the third floor. With no elevator.”

“We’ll manage,” Harry said, already getting out to help you.

‘Managing’ turned out to be a slow, painstaking process. Harry’s arm was around your waist, taking most of your weight, and you had never been more aware of your body—not in the usual self-conscious way, but in how it pressed against his, how his fingers splayed across your hip to hold you steady. He smelled good, inviting even. You liked this proximity, enjoyed the feel of the muscles in his shoulders working as he nearly carried you up each step.

Halfway up the second flight, his knee buckled slightly, and you both had to stop, pressed against the wall, breathing hard.

“Your knee,” you gasped, guilt flooding through you. “Harry, I’m too heavy—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his arm tightening around you. “Don’t do that. You’re not too anything. My knee’s just being a bastard today. We’re both a bit broken, remember? We’ll make it work.”

And you did, step by careful step, stopping when his knee was cranky, adjusting when your ankle screamed, a quiet give and take, you both seemed to be savoring, and by the time you reached your door, you were both sweating and trembling, but something about doing it together, about both of you pushing through your limitations, made it feel like a victory rather than the anguish of a struggle.

Harry helped you inside, getting you settled on the couch with your ankle elevated, and for a moment, you just looked at each other, both breathless from more than just exertion. The silence felt weighted, thick in the air, heavy with the words unspoken, and you found yourself saying, “Do you want to stay? Like hang out, I mean? I could order food or—”

“I should get back,” he said too quickly, but he looked reluctant. “I probably need to get back. Sort out the schedule for tomorrow, since I canceled on everyone today. Figure out how to rearrange things…”

That’s when reality crashed back in. Right. Of course. This was his job; you were just a client, and he had definitely already gone above and beyond. The disappointment must have shown on your face because then he quickly added, “But we’ll need to talk soon, yeah? Go over modifying your workouts for your current situation. Once you’re healed enough to come back, I mean.”

Situation…

The word like a fucking knife to your gut… “Your situation,” he said, like you were some kind of problem to be solved, a complication to work around. Just like always, too much, too difficult, too... everything, and all at once, you felt the warmth of the last few hours evaporate, leaving you exposed, foolish in the way you thought there could be more, but silly you.

“Right,” you said, your voice coming out flat. “My situation.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, clearly sensing the shift but not understanding it. “I just mean with your ankle—”

“No, I get it.” And you forced a smile that felt like plastic. “Thanks for everything today. Really. It was... above and beyond.”

He stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Here, let me... I don’t normally do this, but...” He seemed to be fighting with himself. “Can I give you my number? Just in case you need anything or have questions about the ankle?”

Your heart sank. He was giving you his number out of pity. Poor chubby girl who hurt herself, better make sure she doesn’t feel completely abandoned, god, it was so obvious—it was charity, wrapped up in the typical nice guy package.

“Sure,” you said, typing it into your phone with numb fingers. “Got it.”

“Text me so I have yours,” he said, and you did, sending a simple “Hi, it’s me” that felt like swallowing coals.

The awkwardness stretched between you like taffy, both of you unsure how to move the moment forward. Harry shifted his weight, favoring his good knee, clearly wanting to leave but not knowing how. “So... rest, ice, elevation. Doctor said a week minimum before trying any weight-bearing exercises. We can work with that when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, definitely.” You told him, trying to keep that plastic smile in place. “I’ll let you know.”

After he left, you sat in the growing darkness of your apartment, ankle throbbing, and did what you always did when things got too real—you retreated. But you did send him a text that night: 

Y/N: I appreciate you shifting your day around. It was really kind. I’ll reach back out when I’m ready to come back. Thanks for everything.

Professional. Distant. Safe.

And his response came quickly: 

H: Of course. Rest up and let me know if you need anything. We’ll get you back on track in no time. 

But you didn’t reach back out. Days turned into a week, then two. Your ankle had healed, but your mind had spiraled back to old patterns. Every time you thought about the gym, you remembered falling, remembered everyone staring, remembered Harry having to literally carry you because you were too much for your own body to handle. 

To your surprise, his texts came sporadically:

H: Hey, how’s the ankle?

H: Just checking in. Doctor cleared you yet?

H: We got some new equipment that I really think you’ll like. Excited to try it when you’re back.

H: Hope you’re okay. Miss having you in sessions.

That last one even made you cry, but you still didn’t respond. It was easier to ghost him than to face the humiliation of going back. Easier to order takeout and binge Netflix than to deal with the messy feelings he seemed to stir up. You had been down that road with guys like him; it never works. Always the friend but never the lover. You were stupid to think there was something there, stupid to believe you were anything more than a client he felt sorry for.

Two and a half weeks after the ankle incident, you were deep in the trenches of doubt, sucked in by yet another self-loathing pity party, when the doorbell rang, but you ignored it at first. Then it rang again, followed by a knock.

“If that’s Mrs. Gladys about the rent, it’s in the mail!” you called, not moving from your cocoon of isolation.

“It’s not Mrs. Gladys.” You froze. That accent, that voice, fuck, it was Harry at your door. 

“I know you’re in there,” he continued. “I can see the TV light under the door. And... I brought Chinese.” He spoke up again.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You hauled yourself up, catching sight of yourself in the hall mirror, and immediately regretted it. But it was too late, he already heard you moving, and it would be worse to leave him standing there, so you opened the door just a crack, trying to hide your body behind it.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

He looked good. Of course, he looked good, in jeans and a worn tee that clung to his chest in ways that should be illegal, especially on a Tuesday night. He was holding a massive bag of takeout in one hand, and wait… were those flowers?

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the genuine worry in his eyes made your chest tight. “I know this is weird, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. You hadn’t answered any of my texts, and I was worried about you…”

“I thought it was just protocol,” you answered, your voice tight.

He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I mean I was asking from a trainer’s point of view, yes, but I was hoping that it would come across as... I don’t know... more?”

“More? What do you mean?” You asked, cracking the door open a bit more.

“I thought when I gave you my number, you were catching the vibe that I was trying to put out...” He laughed, looking down at his feet, and the bashfulness was so startling on him that you almost forgot to breathe as a strand of hair fell loose. “What I’m saying is I thought there was a vibe between us?”

“Mmm,” was all you could manage, stunned. “A vibe?”

“Honestly, I thought you gave everyone your number?”

This made him laugh, looking back up at you with those heartwrenching green eyes, and fucking hell, those dimples. “No, trust me, I’ve learned my lesson with that one... Have you seen some of those ladies at the gym? A little persistent, yeah? Trust me, they’re not my type. I’m not interested.”

“I see...” You were mesmerized. This guy, this gorgeous, sweet, amazing guy, was standing at your door with flowers and food, talking about vibes.

“I can go, though... if this is too weird... but I’d hate to eat all this Chinese takeaway by myself,” he said, holding up the bag, and it did indeed look like enough to feed a small country, and it took everything in you not to make a fat joke, but something in his expression stopped you. 

He was nervous. Harry was nervous.

“No. Please... come in... I never pass up... what did you call it? Chinese takeaway...”

When he came in, you shut the door and immediately examined the bag. The smell was incredible, and your stomach reminded you that depression meals of cereal and toast weren’t actually sustaining.

“I do think you bought enough to feed a small army, though...”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything...”

This got a laugh out of you, the first real laugh in weeks. “Well, lucky you, I like everything... You don’t get curves like these being a picky eater...”

“I see...” He said with a sexy smirk, that had you giddy as his eyes roamed your body with the same heated look you had seen that day in the gym mirror. He wasn’t hiding it now, wasn’t trying to be professional. He was just a man, looking at you like you were something to devour, pajamas and all.

“Yeah... there was definitely a vibe...” You teased, narrowing your eyes at him while taking the flowers from his hands and bringing them to your nose. They were simple, but the gesture made your heart flip.

“I’ll put these in water...” And as you moved toward the kitchen, you felt his eyes following you, suddenly aware of how small your apartment felt with him in it. 

The energy you guys had been dulling in the past was present, making itself known as it filled the space. Now you had a new hunger growing in your belly that had nothing to do with Chinese food and everything to do with the way Harry was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Fuck it you thought, and you set the flowers down in the sink for later, “I’m not usually this forward… but I’ve been dying to kiss you?” you asked pressing your back against the sink, and you said the words with an air of confidence that seemed to flee the second your eyes found his. Sending you right back to that place of self-doubt.

Harry didn’t answer, and you watched as he silently pushed himself away from the counter and closed the small space between you.

 It felt like every movement slowed, every breath hollow, as if the sight of him before you was a figment of your imagination, and you couldn’t quite bring your eyes to meet his, not yet. You just stared at his broad chest, his strong stature like stone before your gaze, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his breath, like maybe he was waiting for you to make the move.

But it was something about the way he stood there, that same gentle patience he had exuded all along. It was devastating, the kindness now an ache that deepened inside you, the second you pressed your palm flat to the center of his chest. 

Yet his stillness remained as you felt the warmth of his body, the beating of his heart, but you still couldn’t look, because here was the fear telling you that you couldn’t have it, that you weren’t worthy, that this wasn’t real, but god he was real, and the breath that left his body was real.

And it hurt, and you were scared, and when his hand moved to yours, pressing your palm into his chest, you felt yourself breaking. Then you braved a look, your eyes finding his, and it was like something cracked within you, a well of every insecurity you had ever had, came spilling from your chest with a gasp, as a sob rose, and it wasn’t even him that you were crying about.

It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back.

Then his hand was cupping your face, his eyes on your mouth, and the second his lips pressed to yours, delicate and soft, he drew in a deep breath, like you were the air he needed to fill his lungs with, like suddenly here you were, and as your mouths begin to move, the chatter in your head began to fade away.

As the kiss deepened, hands roaming, you felt yourself letting go, slipping to a place of peace, to a place you had only ever felt with him, to those times when he had you in a room full of people, yet the world always seemed to narrow to just the two of you. This was that moment, a universe that belonged to you and Harry.

And for the first time, maybe ever in your life, you allowed yourself to just exist.

When you pulled away, your eyes met, making a silent exchange, and you grabbed his hand with a slow nod, ready to make sacred what you felt in your heart, give him the pieces that he had made whole with the kindness of his spirit. You wanted to give yourself in the only way you knew how to convey what words couldn’t say.

And when he laid you down on the bed, he was gentle, hands moving over your curves like they were the most sacred gift you could give, and maybe they were in that moment, and when he kissed your lips, you felt the passion and the need in the delicate balance of his control. It felt safe. Harry was taking his time to explore the plains of your body, no rush, just a tender embrace that had tears streaming down your face.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against your skin, and the care in his voice made your chest tight. Always checking, always making sure, like you were the most beloved artifact, instead of too much.

You nodded, but your hands were already moving to guide his away from your stomach, that soft place you had spent years hating, years hiding. He noticed, you knew he would, and he paused, his green eyes searching yours in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his hand stilling on your hips. “What’s going through that beautiful mind?”

“I just...” You said, turning away, and the look in his eyes was too much for the shame pricking at your skin. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before, but there had never been this level of positive vulnerability on both parts. The feeling reminded you of your first time, and maybe almost every time, actually.

The good times, few and far between.

Yes, the fear was there, and so was the desperation, but that was the part you didn’t want to be there. You didn’t want that desperate feeling of doing, just to feel wanted. You knew this wasn’t the case now, but it was hard to shake that pattern of thinking when this was the only relationship you had to sex. “You’ve probably been with so many girls who are... who look...” And the words stuck in your throat. 

Skinny. Fit. Perfect. Everything you weren’t.

“Hey.” His finger gently turned your chin back to him. “I’m here with you. Only you. And I’ve wanted to be here, exactly here, for weeks.”

But when his hand moved again, you caught it, redirecting it away from your middle, and this time he didn’t let you. Instead, he slowly lowered down your body, holding your eyes as he did, and before you could stop him, his lips were pressing against the soft flesh of your stomach, right where you were trying to hide.

“Harry—”

But he was already kissing every inch, every delicate place, every roll and curve you had spent years despising, and as he continued, your body trembled with sobs beneath his lips, overwhelmed by the adoration in his touch.

“God,” he breathed against your skin, “Every inch of you is beautiful. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

And just when you thought you couldn’t break anymore, here was another wall crumbling, and when he moved back up to kiss you, you could taste the mingling of your tears on his lips now, salt and beauty, a messy mix of his devotion and time.

“Can we just...” you start, then stop, embarrassed by what you wanted to ask. This was the part you wanted to skip, the lead up, you didn’t think you were strong enough for it, not right now, not in this moment, not when you were barely hanging by a thread, your emotions everywhere.

“What do you need?” He pulled back slightly, studying your face. “Tell me.”

“Can we just... be together? I want to feel you, to kiss you. Is that okay? I don’t need...” You gestured vaguely over your body, unable to say the words.

Then you watched as understanding dawned in his eyes. “If that’s what you want,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But… hopefully you’ll let me take care of you another time—”

“Another time?” You repeated, a little too excited, because god, the hope in your voice was already embarrassing.

He smiled, that dimpled smile that had you out of your mind from the beginning. “Yeah, love, there’s no way this is a one-time act. I’m already hooked. You have me completely. Trust me.”

That was all you needed, because then you were reaching with a shaky hand to your nightstand, pulling out the condom you had optimistically kept there. He took it from your trembling fingers, and the care he took with everything—with you—made fresh tears spring to your eyes.

And it was like a light switch flipping on in your brain when he pushed inside you, like something waking. At first, you weren’t sure what to do, whether you should just lie there, and let him lead like you had usually done in the past with others, or if you should use your words. But everything in you wanted to take some kind of control, to show him that you weren’t just passive, that you could give as good as you got.

The feeling built slowly, his hands mapping your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every response. And just as you felt yourself getting close, that familiar tightening, a surge of confidence unlike anything you had ever felt before, flooded through you like a line of fire.

That’s when you pushed your hands into his shoulders, trying to be smooth about the move, hoping he would get the hint, but then he stopped without hesitation, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to—”

But you were already moving, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top, not giving a fuck that your stomach was visible, or that your boobs would bounce, that hell, maybe everything would jiggle, but for once, you didn’t care, because the way he was looking at you, like the fucking goddess you were and felt, was everything. It made you feel powerful, turning what was already pleasure into a feast that fed the famished hunger within.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands gripping at the flesh of your hips, as he bucked up to meet you, and the awe in his voice was already pushing you to the edge. It didn’t take long until you came hard, crumbling forward, and his arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you tight against his chest as he followed you over.

Even though you were aware of everything, all the flaws, all the thoughts, the way your body felt pressed against his, you stayed like that for a long moment, giving your body time to meld with his, no matter how uncomfortable it was or if you felt like your body would crush him. You wanted to be with this man in every way, maybe even savor the way his hands still moved up and down your body, caressing over every curve as both of you caught your breath. When you finally lifted your head, he was looking at you with such tenderness, such wonderment that it made your chest ache.

“You’re incredible,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Absolutely incredible.”

Later, after he had cleaned you both up with a warm washcloth, yes, you let him, because he insisted on taking care of you despite any objections, and damn he was a sweet talker, you knew you couldn’t resist the power of his words. Because you knew he meant them. Afterward, when you lay curled against his chest, his bad knee elevated on a pillow, and you with all your insecurities knocking at your mind’s door. You knew in that moment that you were two broken people, but even two broken halves can make something whole together, and that was the devastating truth you held onto.

And as you drifted off to sleep, his arms around you, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you thought maybe the universe was finally giving you something good, giving you someone who saw you, saw the real you, not just as a project to fix or some kind of problem to solve, but as someone worth loving, exactly as you were.

You knew the journey to confidence wasn’t over. You knew that you would still have your bad days, still struggle with mirrors and fitted clothes, and that fucking voice in your head that said you were never enough. But for now, you had someone who wanted to be there for those days, too, someone you knew would remind you of your worth when you forgot it yourself.

Someone who would love every inch of you, especially the parts you’ve allowed yourself to hate. Someone who made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to take up space in this world—and in his heart.

And that was worth more than any number on a scale could ever be.

Taglist: @mads3502 @matildasatellite @likea-silhouette @lizsogolden @manna86 @chelseatpwk @aileen1237 @aglimpseofharry @olvsbee @bibltch @xnthld @cherrycolas-things @avas-daniel @mellamolayla @caroll-94 @montse1608 @hellohowareyouearthlings @bentley-119 @harrymatcha @girlslovejahseh 

@peach-x-petals @boredhsblog

Other One-Shots<-

[kahluamystery97]

The Lockdown Sessions

She might not be their actual mum but these boys love her like she is

But you’re our mum

Finn’s words echoed in her head and she couldn’t stop the sob in her throat, clamping her hand over her mouth to try and contain the sound as tears welled and blurred her vision.

In all their years as a family neither of them had ever called her ‘mum’. She was always ‘Clara’ or ‘that’s our step-mum’. Which was fine - exactly how it should be really, because she wasn’t. She would never be Aoife and she’d never had any wish to try and replace or usurp her like that.

But, as the little sobs made her shoulders shake, and she grabbed a tissue to stifle her sounds, she couldn’t pretend that it didn’t mean the world to hear him call her that.

After all their trying, and all they had lost, she was finally a mum.

- A Month In Fragments

I forgot about Mother’s Day when it happened here back in March but since it’s happening in other parts of the world today, I get the chance to make up for it.

Happy Mother’s Day to the best step-mum they could ask for, from Eoin and Finn

» The Lockdown Sessions «

» TLS - A Month In Fragments «

[kahluamystery97]

If you are my age the answer will forever be, My So Called Life.

Do me a favour and reblog this with a show you like that was cancelled after only one season. I don't mean shows that were always meant to be miniseries or shows that work perfectly well as a standalone story, or shows that might still get renewed. I mean shows that are and will forever remain unfinished. The more obscure the better.

[kahluamystery97]

I swooned. I giggled and then I laughed real belly laughs.

Worth the Fight: Hand Flex

Masterlist: Here

CW: Crying (like multiple moments of crying lol), pregnancy symptoms, one moment of jealousy

A/N: I think this is pretty much exactly how their first date would go because Harry can’t just have things go smoothly😂 enjoy!✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes @mads3502 @tpwkdpr @unfuckwitablenarry @itscoucouharry @latedirectionerera @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cumuluscranium @donutsandpalmtrees @silastylesswift @prettygurl-2009 @blueleonor @daphnesutton @angeldavis777 @harryssunflower17 @blckburd @tinawritesstuff

Summary: It’s date night and even though Harry has everything planned out of course it doesn’t actually go the way he wants✨

You can feel his eyes practically burning a hole in the back of your head as you stand in front of your refrigerator, the sigh of frustration he lets out is an indicator that he’s running out of patience with you this morning as he stands there waiting for you to make a decision. With a huff you turn around and begin to rub your belly as you glance over at your kitchen table where your water bottle is. Part of you thinks maybe all you want this morning is some water and toast but as you begin to think about the juice you’ve been having almost every morning for the last two months you feel your mouth start to water.

“It’s been ten bloody minutes.”

“Okay? And?”

“And I just need to know if you want pineapple in your juice or not.” Harry struggles to maintain his composure as he runs a hand through his hair while his eyes remain glued on you as you take several steps towards the table.

“I don’t know.” You answer as you take a seat at the table so you can face him. “I don’t-I don’t know if I want pineapple or mango or-maybe both? I just-my mind can’t seem to come up with an answer besides that I just know I want- I want the juice.” You do your best to explain where your mind is at in hopes it’ll ease some of the frustration you can feel radiating from the man who is leaning against your counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth set in a hard line.

Harry has been a bit on edge since he got to your apartment this morning and when you asked if he was okay he was quick to brush your question off with a “M’fine just tired from the gym”. But of course that answer didn’t sit well with you and now your mind is too busy racing with the thoughts of him possibly regretting the events of the day before that it can’t even comprehend a simple question of what fruits you want in your juice for the day. The moment Harry hears you struggling to articulate what’s happening in your mind you can see him physically begin to loosen up, starting with his shoulders slumping a bit and his arms slowly sliding down to his sides and the wrinkle between his brows becoming less visible.

“It’s okay.” You feel your eyes begin to water as Harry takes a step towards you. “It’s not a life or death decision so how about I just make it how I did yesterday? You liked that one right?” Harry smiles when you nod your head at him while he closes the space between the two of you so he is now standing at the table next to your seat. “What’s got your mind all-”

“Do you regret it?” Harry quirks an eyebrow at you as you tilt your face up so you can look him in the eyes.

“Regret what?”

“The-the kiss and asking me out on a date? Do you-”

“No.” His quick response comes with him placing a hand on the top of your bump, covering the one you have resting there as he crouches down so he can be eye level with you. “I don’t regret any of it. Why? Do you? Because if you’ve changed your mind that’s okay.” He reassures you as he runs him thumb across your knuckles as you try to blink back the tears that want to fall down your face.

“I haven’t changed my mind but you’ve just been in a weird mood all morning and-”

“I’m sorry about that. I really did just over do it at the gym.” You feel your worries start to dissipate as he gives you an apologetic look. “M’a bit sore and tired so that’s why I’ve been a little snippy this morning. I’m sorry love.” Harry adds as he leans in and places a kiss to your cheek making you let out a small breathy laugh as you look down at his hand that’s still holding yours on your bump.

“God why am I so emotional today? I’ve been on the verge of tears all morning and then you-you being all weird just-I don’t know? Made me upset and I’m sorry I-”

“Don’t do that.” You stop your rambling when you feel Harry place a hand on your cheek, his thumb gently sweeping under your eye to wipe away the last few tears that decided to try to make their way down your face. “Don’t apologize for being emotional. You’re pregnant with twins so being emotional is normal and honestly if you didn’t cry all the time I’d be a little worried.”

“I don’t cry all the time.”

“Really? So once a day isn’t considered all the time?”

“No that’s just called being consistent.”

“Right.” Harry says with a light chuckle as he brings his other hand up to gently cup your face. “I really thought I was done with the whole making you cry thing.” He whispers making your heart feel like it’s on the verge of sinking down to the pit of your stomach as you watch the corners of Harry’s mouth turn downward in a barely noticeable frown.

“I don’t think you’ll ever be done with that because sometimes I cry when I look at you and you’re holding a baby sock in your hand or when you’re standing in front of one of their cribs I just-I think I’m a cryer.” You admit trying to lighten the mood and when you see Harry’s lips curve upwards into a small smile you know it’s worked.

“Can’t wait to see how often you cry once the twins are actually here.”

“Oh god I’m going to be a mess.”

“That’ll make two of us then.” Before you can say anything Harry leans in and places his lips on yours in a sweet kiss that has your eyes closing and your hands reaching over to grab the soft material of his worn out t shirt he wore to the gym.

“No pineapple.” You mumble as he pulls away making him laugh as he watches you slowly open your eyes and release your hold on his shirt.

“Okay. One pineapple free juice coming right up.” You smile as he steals another quick peck before letting go of your face and standing up. “Let’s try to make this the last time you cry today okay?”

“Okay.” You say with a sigh as you run a hand over your bump as Harry heads off to the kitchen to begin making your juice.

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been nervous for a first date before, or at least not the kind of nervous that he is now that’s making him chew on his bottom lip as he paces the length of your hallway outside your bedroom while he waits for you to finish getting ready. He feels as if he could actually pass out from the brutal weight the anticipation of hearing the door open has created in his chest. Harry can honestly say he’s never felt anything like this before and he knows it’s because this isn’t just any first date.

This is his first date with you.

The first of what he hopes is many and possibly the very beginning of a new chapter for the two of you and he doesn’t just mean it as a new chapter because in a few short months the two of you will officially be welcoming two children into the world together, but a new chapter as in a the two of you starting a relationship together. He knows the timing could be better seeing as navigating a new relationship while also about to bring two new lives into the world is going to be hard but Harry has learned that most things worth having and keeping often require hard work and he’s more than willing to put the effort in if you are.

“Dude your vibes are fucking with the energy we have going on so I’m gonna need you to chill the hell out.” Harry is swiftly dropped back into the present moment as the sound of Ethan’s voice coming from behind him hits his ears. When Harry turns around he isn’t at all surprised to see Ethan standing in the doorway of your bedroom with Paris securely tucked up in his arms, and for a moment Harry swears the look on the orange cat’s face perfectly matches the glare Ethan is currently giving him.

“I am chill.” Ethan lets out a scoff as Harry straightens up a bit and runs a hand through his hair as Ethan gives his outfit a brief once over making Harry feel only mildly self conscious in his black slacks and light pink button up shirt he has tucked in with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows letting one of your favorite tattoos to make fun of him about, the mermaid on his forearm to be completely visible.

“You don’t even know the definition of chill.” Harry rolls his eyes as your bestfriend brushes past him, Paris moving in his hold so he can still stare at Harry as Ethan turns to go into the living room. “But at least you look decent.” Ethan says over his shoulder loud enough for Harry to hear.

“Thank-”

“Jesus Harry what are you doing here? Besides trying to give me a heart attack.” Your words come out in a rush as you open your bedroom door just to see Harry standing not even two feet away, with his head turned towards the end of the hallway.

“I’m sorry I-” The rest of his sentence gets lost when he turns to face you, his eyes landing on the pink and white floral dress you’re wearing that perfectly matches the pink of his shirt before slowly moving upwards to your face until he’s looking you in your eyes.

“You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Harry smiles when he sees your cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “But really what are you doing here?”

“We have a date.” He answers with a raise of his eyebrow as he reaches his hand out for you to take. “Or did you forget? I know pregnancy has been making your mind a bit foggy.” You send him a glare as he slides his fingers between yours, when he shoots you a playful wink in return you have to hold back the smile that wants to take over your face.

“I meant why are you inside my apartment? Aren’t you supposed to knock on the door and bring me flowers or something?”

“I got you flowers they’re in a vase in the kitchen and well-I can go outside and knock on the door if that’s what you’d like?”

“I would like that.” Your answer doesn’t shock Harry at all, seeing as the more he gets to know you the more he realizes that deep down you’re just as much of a romantic as he is. So he just gives your hand a little squeeze before he lets it go but before he turns to head down the hallway he leans in and places a quick kiss to your lips.

“Sorry couldn’t help myself.” You let out a small giggle as he pulls away and heads off down the hall and soon you hear your front door open and then softly close letting you know he left your apartment. When you walk into the living room Ethan is sitting on the loveseat with Paris in his lap but as soon as his green eyes land on you he’s quick to jump down with one graceful leap and walk over to you so he can stand at your feet.

“Hi Paris.” You smile down at him as he rubs his head against your ankles. “I’m going out tonight okay? Remember the man with all the weird drawings on his arms? The one who you used to bite with the big dumb green eyes that’s here all the time now? Well it’s with him.” You tell him making him pause his movements of rubbing himself all over your feet so he can look up at you. “I know he should’ve asked you first but it was a spur of the moment thing.” You add making Paris sit up and walk over to the sofa so he can jump on it and climb onto the armrest you’re standing next to, you smile when he starts to purr as he does his best to get as close to you as he can without falling. “Don’t worry I’ll always love you the most.” You whisper as you reach over so you can give his chin a good scratch.

“Are you sure you have a date? Because I’m almost positive Mr. Big dumb green eyes just left?”

“He’s coming back to knock.”

“I’m assuming you mean on the door because well-he’s already knocked you up.” You look away from Paris so you can turn your head and give Ethan a hard glare making him laugh as he gives you a casual shrug. “Oh never mind he knocked on the door that one time he was dru-” Ethan gets cut off by the sound of a knock on your front door, when you make a move to walk towards it he simply shoots you a look as he gets up from the loveseat to walk around the coffee table so he can scoop Paris into his arms.

“Be nice.” You warn Ethan who is walking towards your front door, when all his does is send you playful smile over his shoulder you know Harry is in for it.

“If you’re selling something we aren’t interested unless it’s Girl Scout cookies but-you’re a little old to be a Girl Scout.” Harry gives Ethan a pointed look as he leans against your doorframe with Paris in his arms who once again Harry swears is glaring at him.

“Not selling anything just here to pick up my date for the evening.”

“Oh she’s your date for the evening? So it’s a one night thing then? Not shocking seeing as that seems to be your style.”

“Well we have to start somewhere don’t we? I can’t exactly say I’m here to pick up the girl I’d like to date for the rest of my life now can I? Because that’s a little presumptuous isn’t it? This date could end horribly and she could never want to see me again.”

“Presumptuous? That’s a big word for a popstar.” Harry lets out a laugh as Ethan steps to the side. “Come on in. We have some rules to discuss.” Ethan adds as Harry walks by him and into your living room.

“Hi love.” Harry grins as he gives you a small wave once he sees you standing in the living room adding some chapstick to your purse.

“Hi Harry.” You smile back at him but before you can walk over to him Ethan stands in front of him with Paris still in his arms.

“Now you’ll have her back at a respectable time okay? She’s pregnant and gets tired. No making her cry or I’ll be forced to used my sixth grade karate skills on you oh and this is the most important one.” Harry looks Ethan in the eyes as he lists off the rules, giving him a nod to let him know he’s listening. “You better pay for everything.” At that Harry has to hold back a laugh as he just reaches over and gives Ethan’s shoulder a pat.

“I think I can manage all of that.” He answers and then his eyes dart down to Paris who is looking up at him with his big green eyes. “Thank you for letting me take your mom on a date.” Paris doesn’t do anything when Harry’s hand goes from Ethan’s shoulder and softly lands on his back giving him a few pets.

“Really Paris? We are supposed to be a united front and you’re purring at him?” Ethan huffs as Harry drops his hand to his side, you laugh making Ethan roll his eyes as he moves out of Harry’s way so he can now make his way around the coffee table to you.

“Ready to go?” Harry asks with a reach of his hand once he’s close enough to you. You just smile and nod as you sling your purse strap over your shoulder. “Have I already told you how stunning you look tonight?” Ethan has to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he walks into your kitchen allowing the two of you some privacy.

“Stunning? No but you did mention something about me looking gorgeous.” You answer making Harry chuckle as he leads you to the front door.

“And what about me? You haven’t mentioned anything about how I look.”

“I’m sorry does the narcissist need his hourly compliment?”

“He does.” Harry jokes as you lock your front door because you don’t trust Ethan to lock it for you. “Actually I think I’m owed a few since you didn’t even tell me I smelled good this morning and I wore that cologne you like and everything.”

“Oh well in that case you look really good and-” Harry bites the inside of his cheek as you turn and reach up on your tiptoes so you can take a small sniff of his neck while waiting for the elevator at the end of the hallway. “You smell great.”

“Thank you I feel so much better now.” You just roll your eyes as the two of you step into the elevator, Harry is quick to place a hand on your lower back as he reaches over to press the lobby button. “Now I’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the evening knowing you think I look and smell good.”

“Care to share what you have in store for the rest of the evening?”

“Not really but I’ll tell you that our first stop is dinner.”

“Oh perfect I’m starving.”

The moment you stepped into the cozy little Italian restaurant that Harry picked for the two of you to have dinner at you knew it wasn’t going to go as well and he hoped. Not even the romantic dim lighting, soft music playing in the background and the candles on the tables could save it as you feel a tickle in your nose making it scrunch a bit as Harry gently maneuvers you to the side allowing him to rest his arm around your waist while the hostess goes to check on the table.

You let Harry guide you around a few tables before stopping in front of a small candle lit table tucked in the back with a reserved sign in the middle of it. But as you’re about to sit down in the chair Harry is pulling out for you a waiter with a tray full of people’s entrees rushes by and that’s when it hits you, the smell of something that instantly has your stomach doing flips and not the good kind.

“Oh no.” Harry quirks an eyebrow as the hushed words tumble from your mouth as you all but fall into your chair.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soothing but you don’t look at him as he takes his seat across from you so you don’t see him given the hostess a polite smile so she can go back to the front and help other guests, all you do is look down at empty plate in front of you and focus on taking some deep breaths.

“Something smells.”

“Smells? Like bad or-”

“Bad-really really.” Harry watches you swallow thickly as you slowly look up from the plate and across the table at him. “Bad.” You explain and before he can even try to form a follow up question you bring a hand up to your face to try to gracefully cover your mouth and nose from whatever it is you smell that’s causing you such a reaction.

“Right. Okay.” Harry looks around as if magically something will give him a sign that will tell him what to do but then he feels it, a gentle kick to his shin that makes him turn his head to look at you.

“It’s broccoli.” Is all you say before recovering your mouth and nose with your hand while Harry just nods quickly knowing that for some reason you and anything remotely close to broccoli haven’t gotten along the whole duration of your pregnancy so far, so he doesn’t even think twice before uttering his next sentence.

“We can leave.” Your eyes are as wide as golf balls and starting to get that glassy effect to them and your face has a little dusting of pink splotches to your cheeks that lets him know you’re either about to cry or get sick and he honestly isn’t in the mood to experience either of those options so he quickly stands up and walks over to your seat so he can pull it out allowing you plenty of room to stand up.

Harry has a firm hand on your lower back as he ushers you towards the front of the restaurant, giving some small smiles and polite head nods to a few people having dinner that look up and have shocked expressions when they see him walking by. When the two of you are back in front of the hostess stand you don’t stop, you continue to walk outside so you can get some fresh air while Harry pauses to explain he will no longer be needing the table.

“Sorry but she’s uhm-yeah we won’t be needing the table but thank you so much and uh we-we will be back another time.” His words are mumbled and rushed as he struggles to come up with some form of apology as he hands the girl a hefty tip in hopes it’ll ease the blow of the two of you leaving not even ten minutes after arriving. He doesn’t stand around to wait for a reply, his mind being elsewhere as he walks out the door and he feels himself let out a sigh of relief when he finds you standing there with a hand on your chest and the other on your bump.

“I’m so sorry Harry I didn’t-”

“It’s okay.” You feel his hands on your shoulders, the warmth of them making you start to relax the tiniest bit as you look up at him. “Next time I’ll just book out the whole place so you don’t have to worry about odd smells.”

“God sometimes I forget how rich you are.” You mumble making Harry laugh as your hands fall to your sides. You let out a small huff as you feel Harry’s hands travel from your shoulders down to your elbows and when they finally land on your wrists you feel a lump begin to form in your throat.

“Now now none of this.” You can’t help but sniffle as Harry’s hands give your wrists a few gentle squeezes as his eyes roam over your face that are giving him the very obvious signs that you’re a few moments away from a break down. “Didn’t we agree to no more tears today?”

“No we said we’d try and-and I can’t help it I’m-”

“Hungry?”

“Yes.” You don’t feel embarrassed by how quickly you answer because there’s no point in trying to hide things like this from Harry, after all this is the same man who has seen you on the verge of tears over juice.

“How does pizza sound? That’s never given you issues before.”

“It gives me acid reflux but that’s an issue for tomorrow or well really an issue for when I’m trying to sleep later tonight.”

“So is-is that a yes or-”

“Yes Harry.” You say with a smile as Harry quirks an eyebrow at you. “Pizza sounds good.” You answer before you try to reach up on your tip toes to place a kiss to his cheek but in true Harry fashion he’s quick to turn his head making your lips land on his in what’s a rare public display of affection. The realization of what he just did hits him as soon as you pull away and for a moment Harry thinks he’s done something horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-”

“Shouldn’t have what? Kissed your extremely pregnant date on the sidewalk outside of a restaurant that smells like broccoli?” The playfulness of your voice makes Harry relax a bit.

“The broccoli smell is only a you thing sweetheart.” He corrects as he drops your hands so he can turn around and to his surprise you’re quick to wrap your hand around his arm so he can walk the two of you back to his car, a surprise he did just to prove to you once and for all he does in fact drive himself places when he wants. “It smelled like lemons with a hint of mint to me.” He tells you as he reaches over and places a hand over yours that’s securely wrapped around his arm.

At the mention of how the restaurant smells you can’t help but scrunch up your nose and make a face of disgust making Harry laugh as he opens the passenger side door to his car. Once you’re comfortable and buckled in you look up at him as he’s about to close the door, his green eyes are staring into yours and you nearly forget what you were going to say as all your mind can focus on is how truly handsome he is. And as if he knows what’s happening he gives you his signature smirk as he hands you your purse.

“Maybe to be safe I’ll wait in the car while you get the pizza?”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Obviously it’s a good idea.” You place your purse on the center console before looking back over at Harry who is shaking his head. “I’m the one who thought of it.”

“And people say I’m the narcissist?”

“Yeah people as in you and your therapist.”

“God you’re quick.”

“I’m also hungry so please get in the car.”

“Right. Sorry.” You have to laugh as Harry rushes to close your door and run around the front of the car so he can quickly get into the driver’s seat. “Having a good time so far?”

“Oh yeah this is so going to be a story for them when they’re older.” You tease as you place your hands on your bump giving it a few rubs. “Maybe it’ll be a cautionary tale of why you shouldn’t wait till someone is seven months pregnant to ask them on a date?”

“I refuse for you to use our first date as a cautionary tale.”

“You refuse? That’s funny considering I don’t need your permission to tell my kids a story.”

“Well of course you don’t need my permission but you make us sound like some afterschool special.”

“Fine what if it’s more like a story about how even though two people argue-”

“Bicker. We don’t argue.” Harry quickly corrects you as he reaches over and places a hand on your knee all while never taking his eyes off the road.

“We don’t?”

“Well not anymore at least.”

“If you say so Mr. Popular.”

“Ignore her children. Your mommy is just a bit cranky because she’s hungry.” You roll your eyes as Harry turns to look at you while at a stoplight but when his hand moves from your knee to the top of your bump you can’t help but smile and place a hand over his.

“Shut up.” Harry has to hold back a laugh as you look up at the marque in front of the cinema and read what movie he is taking you to see. Having just stuffed yourself on pizza you feel less cranky and now as you look back at Harry all you feel can only be described as pure joy.

Now there’s a few things Harry is good at outside of the music world and one of them is paying attention to the little things, so he noticed the worn out copy of a certain book on your nightstand and the way your work station is always littered with classic and newer romance novel quotes written on sticky notes he has no doubt were written by you whenever you stumbled across one you liked. So when he saw an opportunity to let you see the twentieth anniversary edition of the film adaptation of the same book on your nightstand he couldn’t let it pass him by and that’s why you’re currently standing in front of him with a shocked expression on your face.

“I’m going to get to see the hand flex on the big screen? Really?”

“If it’s in Pride and Prejudice then yes you’ll get to see it on the big screen.”

“Are you joking?” Harry shrugs as you grab his hand and practically drag him into the theater. “Harry you don’t know about the hand flex? It’s-it’s legendary people literally have it tattooed on them it’s that important.”

“A hand flex? Like this?” Harry brings his free hand out and flexes it making you roll your eyes at his sad attempt of the iconic hand flex.

“No it’s nothing like that. Have you never seen this movie before?”

“Oh come on I know Matthew is a national treasure but it can’t be that different than what I just did and no I’ve uhm never seen it.”

“Did you just call Mr. Darcy Matthew? Like you’re friends or something?” You question deciding to ignore the fact Harry somehow has never seen the classic film as he just keeps walking towards the theater number printed on the tickets he has in his back pocket.

“I mean friends is a stretch but we’ve met a-”

“You-you’ve met Mr. Darcy?” You stop walking making Harry look back at you over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Uhm well yeah? I guess so?”

“But you don’t even know about the hand flex.” You mumble as you just stare at him and Harry gives you an apologetic look along with a squeeze of your hand.

“That just means I’ll need you with me next time I run into him then.”

“Oh god I can’t meet him he’s-”

“Love you’re more than worthy of meeting Mr. Hand Flex. Now come on.” You let out a huff as Harry goes back to showing you to the theater and when you walk in you feel your eyes get that familiar sting to them when you see two seats in the middle have a stack of blankets and a pillow on them.

“Is this for us?” You ask as Harry lets go of your hand so you can look around and that’s when you notice the snacks and of course a bottle of water next to the stack of blankets.

“I might’ve messed up on not booking the whole restaurant but I figured you’d want to enjoy this with just the two of us so you’re not too embarrassed when you start to ugly cry.”

“I don’t ugly cry.”

“That’s true you’re a beautiful cryer.” He admits as he stands at the bottom of the stairs so he can walk behind you with his hand out ready to catch you if needed seeing as he knows how clumsy you can be at times.

“I’m so excited for you to see the hand flex.” Harry laughs as you snuggle down into the seat with a blanket tossed over your lap. He takes his seat next to you and doesn’t waste anytime before he lifts the armrest that’s blocking him from being able to wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull you into his side.

“It better be good or I’m demanding a refund.”

“How did you even know I would like this? I never told you about my Pride and Prejudice obsession.”

“Oh I saw the copy of it on your nightstand and it looks well loved and then there’s all the little quotes at your desk at work and-”

“You saw my quote collection?” You ask as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder as he clings as close to you as he possible can in the seats.

“I did.” He answers as he fixes the blanket over your lap making sure you’re nice and cozy. “It’s quite an impressive collection.” He adds making you laugh and roll your eyes.

“Did you see the one near my monitor? It’s on a pink sticky note.” Harry purses his lips as he tries to imagine the note in question but his mind comes up blank. You turn your head to look up at him after a few moments of silence and when he looks down at you he smiles when he finds you already looking at him with a silly little grin on your face.

“What’s that one say?”

“If you get lost in the light it’s okay I can see in the dark.” Harry lets out a muffled scoff as you recite lyrics to a song he knows very well that was written by someone he is close friends with.

“You really can’t go one day without bringing up Niall bloody Horan to me huh?” He mumbles making you laugh as you reach over and grab his free hand and drag it over to your lap.

“Sorry but I mean it’s such a good one.”

“It’s alright.” And before you can say anything in response the lights start to dim and the screen turns on making you let out a squeal of excitement as you nuzzle into Harry’s side.

“You’re gonna love it.” You whisper as the beginning credits start to play.

Harry is only sort of panicking as he rubs his hand up and down your back as you rest your cheek on his chest and let out a few sniffles. He doesn’t know why the universe has decided to make tonight go so wrong, he figured the smell thing at the restaurant was a one off due to your pregnancy but when the movie theater lost power right before the scene you had been so excited to see he couldn’t deny that there must be a greater force at work. Your reaction to what was happening was slightly delayed and Harry was secretly grateful for that because it gave him time to safely escort you out of the theater and into the lobby where it seemed everything was working just fine, finding out it was just an isolated outage that turned off the theater you two were in and the one right next to it.

“It was about to happen.” Harry just nods as your voice is muffled by the napkin you’re using to control the tears streaming down your face, given to you by a polite worker when she saw how distraught you were coming out of the theater. “We-we didn’t get to see it.”

“I know love but you heard the man we can come back this weekend and see it.”

“That’s so far away.” You whine making Harry have to hold back a chuckle because even with tears streaming down your cheeks and your nose all sniffly you still look as adorable as ever when having a little tantrum.

“It’s in two days.” His voice is soft and comforting as he leans down to press his lips to the top of your head. “We can manage waiting two days if it means getting to see Mr. Darcy and his hand thing.”

“Hand flex.” You snap as you look up at Harry with watery eyes. “But fine I’ll wait two days.” You tell him and he gives you a small smile as one of his hands comes up to rest on your cheek.

“Tell me the truth has this been the worst first date you’ve been on?”

“No.” You answer honestly. “I’ve been on plenty of horrible first dates.”

“Okay well that didn’t make me feel better it actually just makes me a little-mad.”

“Mad? Or do you mean jealous?”

“Both. I’m mad that people have taken you on shitty dates but also jealous that other people have gotten to date you at all.” You let out a small laugh as Harry’s brows pinch together as he deals with the complex feelings going through him at the moment.

“Want to go beat them up? I can give you names and addresses.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He jokes as you wrap your arms around his middle. “Can I ask you something?” You just give him the best nod you can without removing your head from his chest. “Do you think you’ll ever really forgive me for all the shitty things I’ve said and done to you?” Harry feels his nerves begin to make his tummy get an uneasy feeling as you take a moment to think of your answer.

“I already have.” You answer making him let out a sigh of relief because that surprising wasn’t the response he was thinking you’d give him. “As long as you’re willing to try and make this work then so am I because I don’t want to go through the rest of my life wondering what would’ve happened if we just gave it a shot and went back to being the two people who hit it off really well at a karaoke bar.” You explain as you lift your head up so you can look at him and for once it’s Harry who has the watery eyes and pink nose as he tries his best to keep his emotions under control.

“I want to make this work.”

“Okay. Then we will make it work but I just need to know something.”

“What is it?”

“You’re not just trying to make us work out because I’m having your babies right? Because that’s not-”

“No.” Harry says cutting you off before he sniffles and clears his throat. “I want this to work because you are the most annoyingly adorable person I’ve ever met and even though you’re sort of in love with my best mate I can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else. You tell me the truth even if I don’t want to hear it and you get joy out of such little things like a new set of sheets for the bed-”

“Those sheets were so soft you would’ve cried about them too if you slept on ones that felt like sandpaper before hand.”

“They are very soft and I’m glad you love them.” He says with a smile as you continue to stare up at him. “I love how you use big words to insult me and I just want to be the one that makes you feel as treasured and loved as the leading men make their romantic counterparts feel in those books you read all day.”

“You want to be my Mr. Darcy?”

“Well let me see how the film ends and then I’ll decide if I want to be him or not because he seems like a bit of a dick right now if I’m being honest.”

“That sort of sounds very similar to someone I know. Started off being rude and uninterested but then ends up madly in love.”

“Madly in love? It’s only our first date love. If you’re wanting a confession of that magnitude you’ll have to wait at least until the fourth or fifth.” You laugh and playfully roll your eyes at him making him smile and it’s only a few minutes later that Harry is walking you back to his car.

“Fancy doing this again?” He asks once he gets you situated in the passenger seat, you let out a sigh as you place your hands on top of your bump before looking up at him where he’s knelt down fixing the strap of your shoe that came undone.

“Yeah. I’d do this again but you’ve got some work to do to top this because-I mean this is one they write books about.”

“A book of cautionary tales?” He teases as he stands up and rests a hand on the side of the door so he can lean in towards you.

“You’re cute.” You blurt out making Harry let out a chuckle as you bring your hands up to cup the sides of his face.

“And you’re beautiful.” He counters with a smile as he closes the small gap between his lips and yours capturing them in a sweet kiss that leaves you with a silly grin on your face when he pulls away so he can close your door and take you home.

“Harry Styles seen out for the first time with baby momma since announcing the-”

“Why are you reading this out loud?” You asks cutting Ethan off as the two of you get comfortable on the couch just in time for your weekly routine of watching The Voice.

“Because it says you two looked extra loved up and-ew I didn’t ever need to see what you two looked like while kissing-god I’m going to have nightmares.” You roll your eyes as he scrolls through the gossip site’s report on the date you and Harry went on the night before.

“Do I look okay in the photos? Be honest. I was a hot mess most of the night and not-” A loud knock has the two of you turning your heads to look in the direction of your front door.

“Your house. Your door.” Ethan says as he goes back to reading while you just reach over and give his arm a hard smack as you wiggle to the edge of the couch so you can get up as gracefully as possible given how big your belly is now. When you get to the front door you don’t bother looking through the peephole, instead you just unlock it and fling it open and who you see on the other side looks just as shocked as you do when your eyes meet.

“Thank fuck you’re still here I was scared I’d missed ya.” Niall’s voice is full of relief as he places a hand on his chest and lets out a deep sigh.

“You-you’re Ni-Niall Horan.”

“Yeah we’ve met before remember?” You just nod as Niall stands there with a confused expression on his face. “Uh Harry said I needed to rush over because you were about to go off to a breathing class or s’mthin and he didn’t want ya goin alone.”

“Breathing class? Uhm I-”

“Why does it sound like Niall-holy fucking shit it’s Niall Horan.” Ethan’s voice makes Niall look around you and give the man standing behind you with the wide eyes and open mouth a small wave.

“You must be Ethan.” Niall says with a laugh making you very aware that he is the only one who is acting any kind of normal at the moment and you can’t help but feel your cheeks get warm when Niall’s blue eyes once again find yours.

“Oh my god Niall Horan knows my name.” Ethan mutters to himself with a small squeal that Niall either didn’t hear or wants to ignore because all he does is place his hands on his hips and raise an eyebrow at you.

“So no breathing class then? H just sent me here for no reason?”

“Uhm well we-we watch The Voice on Thursday’s so maybe that’s why he sent you? As an apology?”

“Apology? What’d the asshole do now?”

“He took her on the worst first date in the history of dates.” Ethan answers for you making you shoot him a glare over your shoulder while Niall leans his head back and laughs his signature loud laugh that has Ethan giggling to himself as well.

“Oh I gotta hear this.” You just step to the side and let Niall into your apartment and when you close the door Ethan is staring at you with wide eyes.

“He’s so pretty.” He whispers.

“I told you. So much prettier than on TV.”

“You two mind if I crash your evening? I cleared my whole night for this breathing class bullshit.” You and Ethan quickly turn and walk towards the living room and nod at Niall making him smile as he sits down in the middle of your sofa. He pats the spot to his left while looking at you with a grin on his face. “Come on an tell me everything about this horrible date.”

[kahluamystery97]

I love this story so much.

Worth the Fight: It’s Just Cake

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language, small-ish argument, pregnancy symptoms, one moment of slight jealousy and one tiny injury that sends Harry spiraling.

A/N: I spent a sold 36 hours debating on the outcome of this update and this just seemed to make the most sense so enjoy and sorry for any tears, hopefully they are happy ones?👀✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes @mads3502 @tpwkdpr @unfuckwitablenarry @itscoucouharry @latedirectionerera @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cumuluscranium @donutsandpalmtrees

Summary: You see Harry three days in a row and you get a cake delivered ✨

“This one’s soft.” Harry just nods as he places a hand in on his hip while you give the pillow in front of you a good squeeze. “And very squishy.” You add and Harry doesn’t bother even responding because you’ve said the exact same thing about all the pregnancy pillows you’ve touched during the fifteen minutes the two of you have been in the store. So instead he just leans his back against the shelf and runs his hand through his hair while you move on to the next pillow that he’s sure will also be soft and squishy.

You look at the pillow in front of you and let out a sigh because you don’t really want one and you don’t think you need one right now but Harry swears your lack of support on your back and bump is why you’ve been having issues sleeping. Resulting in the two of you standing on the aisle that has all the pillows that help with sleep and breastfeeding in the boutique down the street from your work on your day off, the same one he saw you and Ethan in a few weeks ago. But instead of offering you his opinion on which pillow to get he’s been oddly quiet, keeping a safe distance from you and you wonder if he’s the one having issues sleeping due to his late nights with the girl Ethan told you he was seen with just last week.

“I read that one’s good.” You turn your head at the sound of his voice, it’s quiet and lower than normal as he points to the pillow currently in your hand. “Gives you back and belly support and it’s not massive like the others are and you already said it’s soft-”

“And squishy.”

“Yeah. So I say give that one a try and see how you like it? And if you hate it we return it and get another one.” He offers before he pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

You just look back at the cream colored pillow in your hand and give it one more squeeze before deciding it’ll do and you’ll give it a try. When go to pull the pillow off the shelf you don’t even give it one tug before Harry’s ring clad hands are grabbing it for you and pulling it off the shelf in one quick movement. You can’t help but notice how effortlessly he tosses it into the cart you have next to you and you have to remind yourself it’s just a pillow not a heavy sack of potatoes when a small blush begins creeping onto your cheeks. You want to smack a hand over your face when you catch yourself staring at his arms that are being shown off by his tank top, something you’re extremely used to seeing him in since he normally stops by your apartment in the mornings after a run of before he’s due at the gym. But for some reason you feel like his black tank top and questionably short maroon running shorts are a bit more distracting today than usual.

“Did you hear me?” You jump slightly as Harry’s voice snaps you out of your daze making your eyes instantly connect with his instead of where they were just fixated on the muscles in his arm flexing as he grips the handle of the cart so he can push it for you.

“Sorry what-what did you say?” Harry looks at you with concern etched on his face as he gives you a quick once over. Your cheeks are red and your eyes have this glazed over appearance to them and you have a hand clutching at the pendant at the end of the chain you wear everyday while the other one is resting on your bump.

“Are you feeling okay?” He questions with a furrow in his brows as he notices the way you swallow thickly while briefly letting your eyes dart to his hand that’s wrapped around the handle of the cart.

“Uhm yes I’m totally fine why do you ask?” You ask as you do your best to appear as normal as possible, running a hand through your hair after you clear your throat and blink a few times before meeting his eyes once more so you can offer him a small smile. Acting as if he didn’t just catch you staring at his hand that has his signature initial rings snuggly tucked up against the knuckles of his pinky and ring finger.

“You just look a bit out of sorts that’s all.” He says making you let out a very forced laugh as you give him a shrug.

“I could say the same thing about you.” Harry raises a brow as you motion to his outfit causing him to look down to check himself out but when he doesn’t see anything out of place he looks back over at you just to find you’ve turned away from him and have begun walking down the aisle a few steps ahead of him.

“You’re sort of worrying-”

“I’m fine Harry really just got a bit of a hot flash that’s all.”

“A hot flash?” He doesn’t remember you telling him about hot flashes before so he feels a little confused as he pushes the cart a safe distance behind you so he doesn’t accidentally hit your ankles when you suddenly stop to look at something.

“Yeah a hot flash. I’ve had a few randomly but-oh look at these.” You try your best to distract him from your flustered state with a pair of tiny newborn sized socks. You grab them off the shelf and hold them in your hand as you turn to face him. “Look how small they are.” You mumble as you look down at them and run your thumb over the soft material.

“Do they need socks right out of the womb?” Harry asks as out of pure curiosity since he’s only seen babies in socks when they out of the house or in posed photos on people’s social media accounts.

“I think so because it’s nice and warm in here.” You tell him as you place a hand on your bump while the other holds the tiny socks out to him so he can get a better look at them. “So you want to try to make them all warm and cozy once they are out.” Harry just nods as he looks at the tiny pair of socks that fit in the palm of his hand and when you take a glance at him you can’t help but smile as he takes a moment to try to imagine one of the twins being big enough to wear the socks while also being tiny enough to fit both their feet in his hand.

“How can something be so small but also big at the same time?” It’s a thought he doesn’t mean to voice out loud but then again he doesn’t mind letting you hear his inner thoughts because you just take a step towards him so you can look at his hand that looks even larger than it normally does as it easily fits both socks in it.

“Considering right now they are only the size of bananas everything kinda seems big.” You begin to explain while Harry just stares at the socks. “But then when they actually get to wear the socks their feet will look so tiny in them.”

“Bananas? So you’re about-”

“Twenty weeks.”

“Which means we can-”

“Yup.” You finish for him since you already know what he’s going to ask. Harry stares at you as your hands fall to your bump while you rub your lips together as the two of you silently take a moment to sit with the knowledge that at your appointment with Dr. Andrews tomorrow you’ll be able to find out the genders of the babies you’re carrying.

“So did you-”

“Are you seeing someone?” Harry feels his body go stiff at your question that you all but shout at him as you begin to rub your bump, something you tend to do when trying to calm yourself down. You watch as the pair of socks fall out of Harry’s hand as he blinks at you a few times while opening and shutting his mouth as if he doesn’t know what to say and his mind and body are at odds with one another making him look like he’s struggling to make sense of what’s happening around him.

“I uhm don’t-what what exactly do you-uh I’m not no-no no I’m uhm not see-seeing anyone.” The way he fumbles through his answer makes you raise an eyebrow at him while he quickly bends down to pick up the dropped pair of socks so he can just toss them into the cart and worry about if you actually wanted to buy them later at the checkout since he’ll already have to argue with you about letting him pay for everything anyway.

“So the girl you were seen with in the green dress isn’t anyone?” You have no clue why you’re asking him these questions in the middle of a baby boutique but you’ve spent the past few nights wondering about it so you figure you might as well get it over with and see what he has to say for himself.

You continue to rub soothing circles over your bump as Harry stands there trying to figure out who exactly you’re referring to because his mind has all of a sudden become void of anyone he’s hung out with recently that wasn’t you or his mother. But when for the life of him he can’t recall anyone wearing a green dress he just lifts a shoulder up in a casual shrug and shakes his head.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about?” You let out a sigh as you roll your eyes, not at all shocked his memory is messing with him because that seems to happen anytime he meets a girl and has a decent time with them on a night out.

“Figures you can’t remember the girl you walked out of a club with the night you told me you had plans with your mom and that’s why you couldn’t come help me hang the curtains in the nursery.” Harry grips the handle of the cart with both hands as if it’s the only thing capable of keeping him steady as he’s hit the with memory of the night you’re referring to. “Must’ve been quite a night then.” It’s the casual tone of your voice that has Harry worried because it doesn’t at all match the look you’re giving him.

You’re eyes are slightly narrowed in a glare but there’s something hidden behind the glare that he can’t quite put a finger on, but he has a feeling it’s something along the lines of hurt or jealousy but he doesn’t see why’d you be jealous so he leans more towards you being hurt over the fact you think he lied to you.

“I did have plans with my mom we had dinner together.” He explains as you look away from him and towards the pregnancy pillow sitting in the cart. “And that girl she’s just a friend who needed a ride home-”

“And she couldn’t call an uber? She had to call you?” You know you sound like an untrusting girlfriend but you just blame your hormones making you feel as if he’s still keeping something from you.

“I was just trying to be a good friend. She doesn’t know a lot of people here she’s from New York and-”

“It honestly doesn’t matter I just don’t like feeling like I’ve been lied to that’s all.” You state deciding you don’t really want to hear anything else about the girl in the green dress. Harry gives you a small nod when you finally look back up at him, he doesn’t know why the idea of you thinking he lied to you makes his heart drop a bit.

“I understand and I’m sorry.” He doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for but it just seems like something he needs to do in the moment, and honestly it’s something he’s becoming an expert at doing considering how many times he’s said those exact words since meeting you. “I hope you know I’d never lie to you. I may be an asshole but I’m not a liar.” You playfully roll your eyes as you look at him with a quirked brow.

“You don’t lie? Harry you told me I looked good in black and red polka dots last week.”

“And you did? You looked like a lady bug with your black leggings and polka dotted cardigan.”

“I looked like a bug? Bugs aren’t cute.”

“Lady bugs are cute.” You try to ignore the way your heart flutters at his roundabout way of calling you cute so you just let out a chuckle before turning around and heading down the aisle. “Besides there’s a clear difference between lying and just telling you something so you don’t get your feelings hurt.”

“So you’re saying I didn’t look good you just didn’t want to make me upset?” Harry wishes Niall was here to give him a smack upside the head as you pause and look at him over your shoulder. He rushes to shake his head no and push the cart further down the aisle towards where you’re standing near the end of it.

“No of course you looked cute-I mean good you looked good.” You place a hand over your mouth to stop your laugh from being heard throughout the store while Harry just glares at you as he realizes the trap he just walked into. “You’re in a mood today Cranky. Let’s hurry up and get this pillow so you can go take a nap.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself but a nap isn’t going to fix it but you know what might?” Harry doesn’t even have to think before he’s answering your question.

“A green juice with no carrots and extra apples?” The smile you give him makes his insides feel all warm and he has to stop himself from laughing at how you’re already licking your lips at the thought of your current favorite juice recipe.

“Exactly.”

“Can I ask who uh told you about me being out the other night?” He asks as you turn to go down another aisle, he has a strong feeling he knows who gave you the information but he just wants to hear it from your lips.

“Ethan.” Your voice sounds like you’re distracted and when Harry looks up he sees why, you’re standing there wrapped up in a fuzzy robe that’s about two sizes too big for you with a grin on your face as you let out a sigh of content. “I’d be able to snuggle both of them at the same time in this.” Harry watches in amusement as you grab two stuffed animals off the shelf in front of you next to the hanging robes and act out what it would be like holding two babies at the same time cuddled in the robe.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Oh you’re just mad I don’t want to snuggle you in this thing.” You snap making Harry have to look away when your eyes meet his, his cheeks and the back of his neck getting hot as he struggles to keep a stupid smile off his face.

“Didn’t you just have a hot flash? Should you even be wearing that right now?” He asks with a hint of worry in his voice making you roll your eyes as you put the stuffed animals in the cart so you can shrug off the fuzzy robe.

“Next time someone tells me how fun you are I’m going to tell them to have a baby or two with you and they’ll really see just how fun you can be.”

“Forgive me for caring about your wellbeing.”

“I don’t think I can because I really liked that robe.” Your eyes are a little big and your bottom lip is poked out a bit as your head tilts to the side giving the robe one last look as you hang it back up. Harry just lets out an annoyed sigh as you make your way down the aisle, an obvious stomp in your steps making him roll his eyes at your dramatics.

“Yeah you need a nap.” Is all he says as he grabs the hanger with the robe on it and tosses it in the cart on his way down the aisle where you’ve stopped to look at a set of onesies.

You can feel the anticipation building in the room as you and Harry stare at the white envelope sitting on your kitchen table. Having picked you up for your appointment before work he also took it upon himself to walk you back to your apartment where you informed him Dr. Andrews had given you the results of the gender scan you had done during the appointment since at the time neither of you felt ready to know quite yet or more so you just didn’t feel like crying in front of your doctor, again. But suddenly the idea of knowing if you’re carrying two boys or two girls or maybe one of each feels like something you desperately need and want to know so you asked Harry to stay a bit before running off to do whatever it is he does during the day.

“Will you open it?” You ask as you still stare at the envelope with the name Styles written on it while rubbing your hands over the soft material of the t shirt that’s currently covering your bump.

“Me?”

“No Harry the ghost standing behind you.”

“But this is a big deal I’m-I’m not properly dressed for-”

“Properly dressed? Harry you’re not opening the envelope that tells someone they just won a Grammy.”

“Well yeah this is way more important.” He states as he runs a hand through his hair before he turns his attention to you and he almost jumps back a bit when he sees how intensely you’re already staring at him. You don’t give him time to ask if you’re okay before you’re turning and heading into your kitchen for your water bottle you accidentally left on the counter due to rushing down to meet Harry in the parking lot so he wouldn’t be able to tell you that you were going to make the two of you late for your appointment when he helped you get into his passenger seat.

“You’ve done gender reveals before so just act like this is one of the times a fan asked you to read it on stage or something.” Harry rolls his eyes as his hands land on his hips while turning to look at you as you take a sip of water.

“This is different than opening a fan’s envelope this one is for my- sorry our babies so it’s a bit more intense.” You let out a sigh as you place your water bottle back on the counter and if Harry wasn’t on the verge of an anxiety attack he’d probably take a moment to appreciate how adorable you look when you’re throwing a tiny fit about not getting your way.

It’s something he’s witnessed a few times during his morning juice visits, the long exasperated sighs that come with a hand on the hip and a glare to whatever view of his head you have at the time. But what really gets him is when you sometimes rub your bump and lean down so you can whisper to it things about how he’s being a big meanie or something equally as silly and untrue. He imagines this is something you’ve always done, throw tiny fits when things aren’t going your way or you feel out of control and he can only assume your pregnancy hormones are just exasperating those emotions making you have at least one tiny tantrum a day.

“Would you open it if you weren’t in jeans and a t shirt?” Harry’s glare answers your question. “I mean you’re the one who said you aren’t properly dressed so I’m just asking if you’d open it dressed in a Gucci suit or is it just you don’t want to open it?”

“I mean of course I want to open it but I’m-I’m nervous. And I don’t even know why? It’s just a bloody envelope.” He mumbles and you get it, you understand how he’s feeling because it’s exactly why you can’t bring yourself to open it.

“Maybe someone else should open it for us?” You suggest making Harry rub his lips together as his eyes dart back to the envelope that’s now just mocking him as it sits there unbothered and unopened on your table. “Oh what about your mom? She could open it for us!” Harry looks over at you as you take a few steps so you’re back to standing next to him, your eyes glued on the envelope.

“You’d be okay with her knowing before us?” He feels the corners of his mouth pull up into a smile when you just shrug and nod your head.

“Of course and she’ll probably figure out a way to tell us that’s super cute and not just some words stuffed inside an envelope.” He can’t argue with you about that since he knows that exactly what his mother will do. He watches you reach over and grab the envelope and hold it out for him. “So just give it to her and let her do the rest. Only if she wants to though don’t make her feel forced to do this Harry or I’ll be very upset.” Your voice lets him know you’re not kidding about not forcing his mom into anything and he just has to laugh at you trying to be threatening while twenty weeks pregnant.

“Trust me she’ll be thrilled to be the one to tell us.” He informs you making you feel a little better about the whole thing once he gently takes the envelope from you so he can carefully place it in his back pocket. “Do you need anything before I go?” You just shake your head with a smile before he begins to turn and head towards your front door.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Harry pauses as he reaches your front door and slowly turns around and raises a brow while looking down at the floor as he tries to think of his plans for tomorrow.

“I can come over if you need me-”

“You still haven’t hung up the curtains in the their nursery.”

“Oh shit that’s right.” He feels his face get hot as he realizes how long it’s been since he told you he’d do that for you. “Then yeah I’ll uhm see you tomorrow.” You give him a smile as he turns back towards the door so he can reach for the doorknob.

“Have a good day.” You half shout over your shoulder as you turn to head down the hallway to your room so you can start getting ready for work. Harry quickly lets go of the doorknob and lets out a sigh as he looks over his shoulder, of course you forgot he can’t lock the door when he leaves because he doesn’t have a key.

“You have to come-” He stops talking when he hears you muttering what sounds like some sort of curse word from the hallway making him chuckle and shake his head as he waits for you to reappear.

“Lock the door.” You finish for him with a groan as you walk back into the living room towards the front door where Harry is standing with a playful smirk on his face. “Sorry one day I’ll remember.” You reassure him but it doesn’t do much as he just rolls his eyes before opening your door and stepping out into the hallway.

“Have a good day at work and let me know how the pillow works tonight because if you still hate it we can return it tomorrow.” You just nod as Harry stands in your hallway just outside your door, the place you thought he’d be staying the whole duration of your pregnancy but to your surprise, his knowledge of how to make green juice and actively trying to do better has earned him access to the inside of your apartment.

“Have a good day Harry.” You say with a smile that he returns before he watches you close your door, waiting a few moments to make sure he hears the locking sound before he turns to head towards the elevator.

“Nice to see you’ve been promoted from hallway dad to inside the apartment dad.” Harry instantly feels a strong bubbling of annoyance in the pit of his chest as Ethan steps out of his front door just as Harry walks by.

“What’s your problem?” Harry asks as he stops heading towards the end of the hall and turns around so he can face your neighbor who also happens to be one of your bestfriends.

“What’s my problem? I think the real question is what’s your problem Harry?”

“I don’t have one but you seem to have this weird thing with me that makes you unable to stop yourself from being an asshole.”

“I mean you’d know all about being an asshole wouldn’t you?” Harry wants to wipe the smug looking smirk off his face but he knows that wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do because you’d hear it and come out and be upset and he also is very aware of who he is and can only image the issues he’d face if the press found out he hit someone in a random apartment complex’s hallway. So instead Harry goes for the jugular in a different way, one he knows will pack more of a punch than if he used his fists.

“You know Ethan for someone who claims to be such a good friend to her,” Harry motions towards your front door making Ethan quirk a brow at him as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You sure did cause some damage with the information you chose to share with her about me being seen with someone last week.” Ethan’s jaw clenches as he takes a step forward, his eyes set in a harsh glare aimed directly at Harry.

“You wanna know why I told her about you and the tacky green dress girl?” Harry ignores the comment about his friend’s dress and just shrugs as Ethan takes another step towards him, his hands now at his sides and his eyes still set in a glare. “Because she shouldn’t have to find out that sort of thing from a magazine cover or someone texting her the photos. I wanted her to find out from someone who cares about her who would be there to help her deal with the emotions that the knowledge of you going out and living your pretty boy pop star life while she feels unable to go out and do things because she’s pregnant would stir up.” Ethan’s voice is harsh as he stands right in front of Harry, staring right into his eyes.

“And guess what the only question is that she asked me after she told me some bullshit about how you’re allowed to be seen with whoever you want because you’re single.” Harry swallows as Ethan rolls his eyes when he talks about the excuse you gave him prior to asking him about the girl Harry was seen with.

“What did she ask you?” He has a feeling whatever Ethan is about to tell him is going to make him upset he just isn’t sure which type, anger or sadness.

“Was she pretty.” The harshness of Ethan’s voice is gone and Harry swears he almost sounds as if he’s holding back his emotions as he lets out a dark chuckle and shakes his head. “She wanted to know if the fucking girl you were seen with was pretty. What does that tell you Harry? Huh? What does that mean to you?”

“I don’t-I don’t know what it means.” There’s a thousand thoughts swirling around Harry’s head as Ethan looks at the floor and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down before looking at Harry again.

“Let me fill you in on something pretty boy.” Ethan reaches over and places a hand on top of Harry’s shoulder only making him slightly nervous. “Just because you can’t remember the night you met doesn’t mean she can’t. She remembers meeting someone she thought liked her enough to give her his number and a promise of a call the next day. She remembers that same person telling her how much he liked her and couldn’t wait to see her again. And she also remembers the feeling of being ghosted by that same fucking guy but as fate would have it she has to end up being the one to text him to tell him she’s pregnant and here’s the real kick in the ass Harry you’re going to love this part.” Harry knows for a fact he isn’t going to like the next part because he knows what’s coming, he knows exactly what Ethan is going to say and he feels his heart drop to his feet.

“She remembers the feeling of him telling her he doesn’t remember meeting her. The guy she thought was so amazing and everything she’s looking for in someone she’d like to be with doesn’t fucking remember meeting her. So now she’s stuck feeling all these weird emotions because she really liked you Harry like really liked you and now you’re her baby daddy who sometimes is an asshole and is sometimes a nice guy that just doesn’t remember anything about her.” Ethan ends his rant with a not so soft pat to Harry’s shoulder before he takes a step to the side so he can go around Harry and head to the elevator.

“So next time you think I’m the asshole who doesn’t care about her remember I’m the one who’s been here for her since she came home drunk and on cloud nine the night you two met.” He adds from a few steps behind Harry, who can’t seem to get his feet to work as he stays standing in the exact same spot. Ethan takes his silence as a sign that maybe Harry is doing some deep thinking into how he hasn’t really thought about how you must feel dealing with him during all of this, and that’s just what Ethan wants, he wants Harry to realize how deeply effected you are by not only his words but his actions as well.

“Fuck.” Harry says with a groan as he runs both hands through his hair giving it a slight tug as he closes his eyes and does his best to get ahold of himself. When he opens his eyes he runs a hand over his face and turns to head towards the stairwell, deciding he doesn’t want to risk having to share an extremely awkward elevator ride with Ethan down to the lobby.

The only thing keeping Harry together is the envelope securely tucked into his back pocket and the fact he’s on his way to see his mom who although she can be meddlesome always has an open ear to listen to his problems and offer whatever advice she can. And in this case he knows what she’s going to say because it’s what she’s been saying to him since she found out he’s been going to your house every other day, he likes you and needs to just acknowledge it and either act upon it or move on. But for some reason he just never thinks he’s ready for either option so Harry just keeps doing what he’s doing, helping you with whatever you’ll allow him to and visiting you in the mornings so he can make your juice and get caught up on how you’re feeling. As he walks towards his car once he makes it down to the lobby and into the parking lot something inside of him switches letting him know he can’t keep going on like this, he needs to sit and think about his feelings towards you because clearly he’s hurting you and that’s the last thing he wants to do since he’s promised himself he’s done being an asshole.

“That’s not level.”

“What? Yes it is I have a level in my hand and it’s saying it’s perfect.”

“Then the level is lying to you because that rod is very much not level.”

“It’s lying to me? Really?” You cross your arms over your chest as you stand next to one of the cribs while Harry takes a few steps back so he can look at the curtain rod he just finished hanging above the window. He furrows his brows as he bites down on his bottom lip while his hands rest on his hips as he realizes the rod is hanging down a bit lower on the left side. “It’s not level.” He states followed by an annoyed sigh as he steps up on the step stool so he can undo the left side.

“Tell me when it’s level then will you?” He asks over his shoulder making you just nod as you take a small step backwards. He raises the rod up a tiny bit and when you don’t say anything he raises it up just a bit more causing you to squint your eyes as you try your hardest to tell if it’s level or not.

“I think that’s good.”

“You think?”

“It’s perfect. Totally level.” You correct yourself making him let out a huff before he secures the rod to the wall. Harry is stepping down off the step stool when he hears it, the faint sound of you saying “ouch” followed by a painful type of hissing noise.

Before you can even register what’s happening you feel Harry’s hands on you, turning you around from where you’re leaning over one of the cribs to grab the curtains for him to place on the rod he just put up. His hands are soft but his hold on your arms is firm but not too firm that you feel like he’s squeezing you as his wide panic stricken eyes quickly roam all over your face before he steps back only enough so he can look for any obvious source of pain or an injury of any kind. Once you realize what’s happening you decide to end his search and hold out your hand that has a few very small cuts on the knuckles of your index and middle finger where they somehow got caught between the crib and the zipper of your zip up hoodie when bending over resulting in the zipper scratching up your knuckles the tiniest bit.

“Does this happen a lot?” You can tell by his voice that Harry is panicking as he takes your hand in both of his so he can examine the damage done to your knuckles.

“Does what happen a lot?”

“Getting hurt on things like cribs and zippers?” He asks with furrowed brows as he ever so gently runs a thumb over your knuckles, just above the scrapes so he can see if they need anything other than just a bandaid.

“I mean I’m a little clumsy sometimes but no-”

“Clumsy? As in you fall a lot and run into things?”

“First off that’s not the definition of clumsy it actually means awkward in movement or in handling things or to do something without skill or elegance and difficult to handle.” Harry has to fight the urge to roll his eyes but instead he just focuses on how small your hand looks in his while he looks at the cuts on your knuckles that are already starting to form little bruises around them. “So when I tell you I’m clumsy it doesn’t mean I fall a lot it means I drop things every now and then.” You explain with a huff as you look down at your hand that Harry is examining as if it’s a priceless jewel that’s not to be handled with anything other than feather light touches and the occasional gentle rub of his thumb.

“So you don’t fall a lot then?” He asks while dropping one of his hands from yours so he can turn around and lead you out of the nursery. You don’t bother trying to fight him so you let out a sigh as you just let him lead you by the hand out of the room and down the hallway.

“Not really no.” You answer once the two of you are in the kitchen. Harry just nods as he pulls out a chair for you to sit in at the kitchen table, to his surprise you sit down without a word or a huff and he silently thanks you for letting him fuss over you with a small smile before he turns to head towards your small medicine cabinet you have next to your fridge.

“But what if you do fall one day and no one is here?”

“Uhm then I just get up and go on with my day? What kind of fall are-”

“I don’t like you being here alone when something could happen at anytime and I’m fifteen-twenty minutes away.” You feel your eyes go wide as Harry finally finds the box of Disney themed bandaids, pulling out one with Belle on it and finding it very fitting since you have a deep love of books as well.

“Harry I’ve lived alone for a very long time and been just fine.”

“Okay well that was before-”

“Before what?”

“You got pregnant with my twins.” His words make you sit back in the chair and blink a few times as he runs the hand that’s not holding your princess bandaid over his face. “I think I’m allowed to worry about you being alone a lot when you’re walking around with-with my whole world inside of your belly. Because what if next time something happens it’s not just a little cut on your hand? What if it’s serious and I can’t get here in time to help you?” Out of instinct you place your hands on top of your bump as he tells you exactly why this little scrape on your knuckles has caused such an intense reaction.

“I worry about you and just want to know you’re safe that’s all.” You feel a lump start to form in your throat as he lets out a shaky breath before he turns to look at you.

“I understand.” Your voice is strained as you try to swallow down the emotions that want so desperately to start bubbling over. “I just don’t know how to help you not be so worried.” You tell him truthfully, because at the moment you have no clue how to help ease his anxiety about you being alone if something happens.

“I take it you don’t fancy the idea of just moving-” A sudden knock makes both of your heads turn towards the front door. Harry takes the interruption to really think about what he was about to say to you, asking how you felt about moving in with him, even if he didn’t quite mean it as seriously as you might’ve taken it he was still only a few seconds away from letting the words fall from his mouth and that takes him by more of a surprise than the knock that stopped it from happening.

“Are you expecting someone?” Your voice takes him out of his brief moment of deep thought as you look away from the door and towards him with a raised brow.

“Me? This isn’t my house why would I be expecting someone?” You just shrug as you make a move to get up but are quickly stopped by Harry standing in front of you holding out the bandaid he picked, making a small smile appear on your face when you see it’s Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

“I’m not expecting anyone.” You state as you raise your hand for him so he can place the bandage on your scraped knuckles before turning and heading for your front door so he can answer it for you. He imagines whoever it is that’s expecting you will be quite shocked to find him on the other side of the door but that’s an issue he will deal with once he has to.

“Check the peephole before you open it Harry it could be a weirdo.” You call out to him as he gets closer to the front door causing him to roll his eyes before he leans in and looks out the tiny peephole on your door.

“There’s no one out there so maybe it was just a delivery?” You raise an eyebrow as you lean over a bit so you have a direct line of sight to your front door allowing you to watch Harry open it to reveal a white box with a pink and blue bow tied around it. “It’s a cake.” He says as he bends down to carefully pick up the box so he can bring it inside.

“A cake? I didn’t order a cake.” You begin to go through your memory of the last few days as Harry kicks your front door closed with his foot before walking back towards you in the kitchen with the box in his hands. “Did I order a cake in my sleep? No. No way I- I haven’t done that in months.” You mumble to yourself making Harry send you a questioning glance as he places the cake down on the table in front of you.

“You’ve ordered a cake in your sleep before?”

“Oh has Mr. Popular never ordered something while half asleep? I highly doubt that.” You tease as Harry reaches for the card that’s taped to the top of the box before sitting down in the chair next to you.

“It’s from my mom.” He says in a very confused voice but as he goes to read the rest of the card he sees your fingers grab the top of it yanking it out of his hands.

“God have some manners this is my cake so it’s my card so let me read it.”

“Uh it said to the lovely parents to be making it our cake and our card.”

“Why would she send a cake for both of us to my apartment?”

“Because she knows I was planning on hanging the curtains for you today.” He answers as he begins to undo the bow, careful not to ruin it because he has a feeling you’re going to want to keep it for sentimental reasons. While you read over the card he opens the box and as soon as he sees what’s written on the cake he feels his stomach do a weird flip.

“All it says is-Harry? What’s-”

“This isn’t just a cake.”

“What do you mean it’s not-oh my god.” Your words turn into a whisper as Harry turns the box towards you so you can read what the top of the cake says. His eyes watch your reaction closely as you bring the hand that’s not clutching the card up to cover your mouth.

“It says we’re having twins with three little dots at the end so that-” Harry swallows before he looks at the cake that you’re still staring at with wide eyes as your hand goes from covering your mouth up to your forehead as you begin to breathe a little heavier. “That means it’s going to tell us what we are having.” He finishes with a heavy sigh.

“Okay this is fine we will just act like it’s a normal cake and honestly this is great because at the end of the day we get to have cake and who doesn’t like cake?” Harry just goes along with your anxious rambling as you begin to fan yourself with the card while he stands up from his seat so he can carefully take the cake out of the box and place it down on the table.

“I’m gonna go grab uhm plates and a-a knife.” You don’t even bother nodding as you stare at the cake in front of you that somehow holds the answer to an extremely important question while Harry stumbles his way into your kitchen on the hunt for two plates and a knife. “Okay so how do you want to do this?” He asks once he’s back sitting next to you.

“Uh maybe I’ll cut it with my eyes closed and-”

“You want me to let you hold a knife with your eyes closed? After you already had to get a bandaid not even ten minutes ago?”

“Okay then just cut it a piece and put it on a plate.” You answer as you stop fanning yourself and place the card on the table next to the cake so you can reach over and hand Harry the knife.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this kind of anxiety before, and he knows it’s just the anticipation of finally finding out what you’re carrying but he can’t help how shaky his hand is as he holds the knife over the cake. He shoots you a look and when you just nod at him as you chew on your bottom lip he takes a deep breath and cuts into the cake. You feel like time moves in slow motion as Harry cuts a piece and puts it on the plate in front of you, both of you stare at it for a solid minute before you can process what exactly you’re looking at.

“That’s pink.” He whispers as you let out a sniffle while you nod your head.

“And blue.” You feel your eyes begin to burn as you look at the piece of white cake that’s been dyed blue for two layers and pink for the other two with a thin layer of vanilla icing in between each layer.

“A boy and-and a girl? We’re having a boy and a girl.” Harry’s voice is watery as he finally looks away from the cake and over to you and when your eyes meet it’s as if the flood gates open and the tears begin to roll down your face.

Before you can even make sense of what you’re doing you fling your arms around Harry and pull him into an awkwardly angled hug, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he wraps his arms around you in return. He tries to hold his emotions together but as soon as he feels you give him a squeeze he can’t help but let a few tears slip past his waterline. When you pull away a few moments later you grab Harry’s hands and place them on your bump, letting your hands loosely grip his wrists.

“Edward and Nora.” The grin that spreads across Harry’s face as you say the names the two of you agreed on last week makes your heart want to explode as you place your hands over his.

“Hello Edward James and Nora Anne Styles I’m-I’m your dad and I can’t wait to meet you.” He says with a smile as he leans down so he’s closer to your bump making a whole new wave of tears want to flow down your cheeks but you do your best to blink them away.

“I hope they have your eyes.”

“Yeah? Even though they’re big and dumb?”

“More importantly they’re green.” Harry laughs at your response as he rubs his thumbs over the soft material of your shirt that’s covering your bump. “Oh god where’s Paris? I need to tell him he’s going to have a brother and a sister.” You begin to look around the kitchen for any signs of the orange cat trying not to feel overwhelmed by how good and normal it feels having Harry rub and talk to your bump.

“I’ll go find him.” Harry says with a smile as he gives your bump one last gentle rub before you lift your hands off of his allowing him to get up from his seat. You give him a smile when he looks at you one more time before heading down the hallway to check your bedroom, but the moment he’s out of sight you let out a deep breath and try to get a firm grip on your emotions not wanting to let this moment cause you to slip into a dangerous line of thinking. The type that ends with you starting to envision Harry around all the time, doting on you like he did earlier with the bandaid and just being as normal as a couple the two of you could be. But you know for that to ever happen he’d have to actually have some sort of feelings for you and as far as you know he just sees you as someone who’s having his babies that he now can tolerate being around.

“Holy shit.” Harry mumbles as he runs a hand through his hair and takes a seat at the end of your bed. He takes a minute to think about everything that’s just happened in the last five minutes. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he finally starts to come to some sort of conclusion about how he feels about you. His moment of peace is short lived as he hears a bell jingle and soon feels the softness of fur rubbing at his ankles. “Can you keep a secret?” He asks the orange cat as he looks up at him from where he’s sitting next to Harry’s right ankle, his favorite one to snack on Harry has learned. When Paris just tilts his head Harry does something risky and bends down and gently picks him up but to his surprise Paris just nuzzles his head into the crook of Harry’s neck and starts purring.

“I think I have a crush on your mom.” He whispers to Paris who doesn’t do anything besides purr a little louder as Harry smiles and stands up so he can bring him to you. “Don’t tell her okay?” He adds in a hushed voice and when Paris just moves his head a bit to get comfortable Harry feels like he has finally done it, he has earned the trust of your very picky and very protective cat and takes that as a good sign that he’s made the right decision in acknowledging his feelings about you, now all he has to do is figure out how to tell you.

[kahluamystery97]

Omgg I would love to see different times dadrry gets protective !! Like I can so see him being one of those dads that set boundaries the first time the baby is being introduced to family. He’d be like “no kissing on the face, no taking her away from mom without asking her first and wash your hands before holding her” etc etc. Or him getting defensive when people start to pity him when they find out he’s having a third girl and he gets annoyed and defends his girls 😭😭

Also ofc need to say your dadrry series is the best thing ever I still have tumblr solely to read your writing ☺️☺️

PROTECTOR

——

Pacific loons wailed hauntingly near the shoreline as you sat in the patio's swing chair, listening to the sundry sounds of nature. The oceanic view was a calm presence, one that often lulled you into a hypnotic trance with the endless ebb of waves and the horizon's dying light. Above the railing, brass wind chimes produced a plinking melody in the wind. The atmosphere of home engulfed you like a warm hug.

It was a moment of serenity while Harry went on a grocery run with the girls. He had offered to take the after work, and it was sweet of him to give you time to decompress after parenting alone all day. Plus, it got them out of the house. You would usually be able to take them somewhere for fresh air and fun sights to see, but pregnancy fatigue prevented any hopes of traveling past the front door.

A month had elapsed since you surprised Harry with the news of a third baby. Two weeks since you both had found out it was a girl. In that time, life had coasted by blissfully between the routine of working part-time, daycare drop-off and pick-up, and bonding with your little family over the weekend.

As much as you cherished the hustle and bustle, it was necessary to prioritize personal time. Sometimes it came in the form of sinking into a hot bath, venturing to the beach with a novel, or catching up on much-needed sleep. Today, it consisted of feeling the breeze pass through your hair and appreciating the beauty of southern California.

It would be easy to fall asleep out here. The crashing waves, birdsong, and rustling trees were a lullaby. But you knew the moment you closed your eyes, you would miss the last streaks of the sunset, with its delicate wisps and golden clouds. So you shifted slightly to wake your limbs that were becoming jelly-like, and as you did, the blanket previously draped across your collarbones pooled into your lap. You stared down at it, smiling. The bedroom's storage ottoman held approximately a dozen different blankets, all with some sort of sentimental value attached to them. The crocheted quilt your first daughter had come home from the hospital with; the heated one with Mom embroidered on it; the oversized fleece one Harry liked to specifically use for cuddling either you or his girls.

The one you had chosen for your peaceful patio time was a ragged, faded patchwork quilt that Harry had kept (possibly stole) from the walk-up apartment you lived in together nearly eight years ago. It had watched your love for him grow beyond your wildest dreams. Had seen moments of rib-aching laughter, frustrated tears, pain and passion, and a commitment that would always withstand rough waters. Neither of you had wanted to part with that blanket, so now it stayed in a special place in the home that had once been a far-fetched fantasy.

As your fingers plucked loose threads from the fabric, you felt your phone vibrate with an incoming call. It was hidden somewhere under the thick blanket, and after a moment of searching, you picked it up and looked at the screen. It was Harry, made evident by his contact photo—a family picture on the Temescal Canyon Trail, your youngest strapped to your chest in a carrier and Harry carrying your oldest on his shoulders. A generous elderly couple had offered to take it, with the stunning backdrop of the expansive coastline. You especially loved the picture because it showed off Harry's legs in his athletic shorts, all long and tanned.

"Hey," you answered, assuming he was calling from the grocery store. He often did with ideas for meals or questions about kiddie snacks. Sometimes he'd ask what desserts you were craving, and then he'd spoil you by bringing home more than you could even fathom eating.

"Hi, baby," he said, sounding winded. "Can you unlock the door for me? Both girls are out like a light in my arms."

"Oh!" you said, not expecting him back so soon. Nature's hypnosis made you lose track of time. "Okay, I'll be right there."

"Thank you. I'd hang up, but my phone is balancing rather precariously on my shoulder."

You laughed and hung up for him, then untangled yourself from the cozy confines of the swing chair before heading inside. You were careful to hop over the dolls and picture books and blocks scattered across the living room carpet.

When you reached the front door and opened it slowly, your heart melted. Harry stood there holding one daughter on each hip, their little bodies slumped against him as they slept. You could tell your youngest was in a deep sleep. Your eldest, though, was definitely pretending so she could be carried inside like a princess. The sunset's pink light peeked into the garage and softened Harry's handsome features ethereally. Who else could look this good after grocery shopping?

"We're home," he whispered, and those two simple words filled your heart with an unspeakable amount of happiness.

"I'll help put stuff away," you replied quietly, taking his phone to relieve him from his uncomfortable position. "You go tuck the girls in." It was nearing their bedtime anyway, so better to take advantage of a smooth transition.

Harry smiled with that attentive look on his face, then bent to tenderly kiss the sweet spot on your neck. "You're glowing," he murmured in your ear, then walked past you, leaving your cheeks flushing like a besotted teenager.

Once the groceries were put away and the kids were down for the night, you and Harry went to relax in the bedroom. The sky was now devoid of color with stars twinkling faintly, and the full moon spilled its light through the bay window.

You were already in your pajamas, collapsing onto the comforter, when Harry asked, "How was your day?" He shut the closet light off, dressed in just a T-shirt and black boxers. There were those legs again, the lean muscles a feast for your eyes.

"Mellow," you said. "We stayed inside mostly. Morning sickness has been kicking my ass."

"Good thing you didn't have to work today."

You nodded. That was the nice part about working part-time and partially from home—it allowed for the freedom to be with the kids more often. You didn't mind taking them to daycare, especially since it was imperative for socialization, but it lessened your anxiety when you had them under your supervision. It was a suitable balance.

"Did everyone behave at the store?" you asked, sliding your socks off under the sheets.

"Yeah. No tantrums." Harry raised his eyebrows proudly, and you both shared an air-five. "They seemed knackered. Slept all the way home."

"I tried my best to tire them out."

"Well, you succeeded," he said appreciatively, then joined you in bed, stretching his limbs. You were so thankful for his diligence. To work ten hours and then parent to take some responsibility off your plate was admired more than you could ever put into words.

Harry reached his hand over to the nightstand to resume the book he'd been engrossed in recently but paused and turned to you instead. "Can I gossip with you?" he asked.

You quirked your brows. "What happened?"

He breathed deeply and stared into the distance. "So, I was in the cereal aisle, right?"

You laughed while cuddling up to him. "This is juicy so far."

"It's not even gossip, really," he said. "Just something that irked me."

"Please continue."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and painted a picture of the scene. "I had the girls sitting in the shopping cart, and an old lady nearby started fawning over them. Which is fine, because they're adorable. Anyway, she started asking a bunch of questions. How old they are, what their personalities are like. Somehow I accidentally let it slip that we have a third one on the way, and I know we're telling our families next week, but I got caught up in the conversation and—"

"You're so bad at keeping secrets," you interrupted with a good-natured groan.

Harry kissed your forehead apologetically. "The worst. So, the lady had the audacity to act all surprised that I was going to be a father of three girls. Gave me a face like she pitied me. And then guess what she said..."

"I assume something mildly offensive," you replied.

"She goes, 'I bet you were hoping for a boy. To bring some balance to your home.'"

You scoffed and said, "More like chaos. What did she even mean by that?"

He shook his head, equally puzzled. "I don't know, but I just said, 'I'm very happy with my life,' then grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs and went on with my day."

You frowned. "Why do some people think having daughters is such a burden?" It was mind-boggling. They had taught you so much and would continue to as they grew and spread their wings. It was your purpose to shape them into resilient, kind, and empathetic women. What a beautiful honor anyone would be lucky to experience.

"I'll never understand," Harry mused, locking eyes with you. "It's the most..." He trailed off with an emotional smile, and you stroked his cheek, letting him take his time. It wasn't often you or he could speak so rawly about the life you'd created together. "It's just the best feeling imaginable, you know? I can't describe it. All I know is that I wouldn't want it any other way."

You softly kissed him, feeling the sincerity of his words in the way he gracefully slipped his tongue past yours. With your palm still cradling his cheek, you halted his kisses using your thumb to say, "You're this family's heartbeat."

His lustful green eyes opened, his pupils dilating as if absorbing your admission. "If I'm the heartbeat, then you're the lungs."

"Sweet-talker," you teased.

"You started this love fest."

After a stretch of comfortable silence, Harry settled his hand on your small bump, a warm and knowing touch. "Please don't think I'm waiting on a son," he said.

You snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I know more than anyone else how much you wanted daughters. You told me during our first date."

"I did?"

"We talked each other's ears off that night about our futures. The universe must have been listening." The conversation was burned into your brain. In that dim oceanside restaurant, you had known he was a keeper.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, kissing all over your stomach, leaving no skin unmarked by his gentle lips. He then rested his head in your lap. "I can't wait to meet her."

You hummed. "Have you ever thought about what she'll be like?"

"A combination of all four of us."

A ghost of a smile spread on your lips. "We're going to have our hands full then."

"I'm ready."

"I know you are," you said while playing with his hair. "That's why I chose you."

He was a protector, down to the fibers of his being. You didn't have to be in the room for him to remind the world of his devotion to being your husband. To being a father. He laid it all bare, and you could only hope that it would be passed down to your daughters like an heirloom blanket.

——

[kahluamystery97]

Love how doting Dadrry is.

Can you make a blurb focusing on the second baby? I don't know something like her needing a moment with Harry or her getting sick

IN SICKNESS & IN HEALTH

——

"Open your mouth, honey."

You obeyed, and Harry gently slid an oral thermometer under your tongue. When you closed your lips around it, the metal tip provided a coolness that briefly offset the fever blazing through your immune system. Frankly, you didn't need an official temperature check to recognize you were fighting a viral infection, but Harry had insisted every aspect of you be monitored closely. He was currently whisking around the bedroom, ensuring you were being doted on like a princess. In your febrile state, where surreal thoughts flowed freely, you wondered if he'd been a doctor in one of his past lives. Those large, veined hands in skin-tight exam gloves. Manspreading on a swivel stool while listening intently to a patient's concerns. Diligent, respectful touches during routine checkups. Was it deranged to be jealous of the faceless people in your fever-induced fantasy? Maybe. All you knew was that it heated your body even more.

A bout of rigors had roused you in the middle of the night, which left you violently shivering in Harry's embrace. While semi-conscious, you had thought nothing of it. Hours later, after miraculously falling asleep in a cocoon of two thick blankets plus a heated one, you had awoken in a pool of sweat with a fever on the horizon. Now, in the early morning darkness, there was no choice but to try to break it. You had plenty of fluids nearby, comfy pillows for your heavy limbs, and a husband who was at your beck and call. And best of all, the sleep-aid medication you had taken earlier was working wonderfully.

After a silent minute of Harry staring at you sympathetically with his knuckles pressed against your unusually warm forehead, the thermometer beeped. He took it out, and when he read the result, a frown appeared on his lips.

"Am I dying?" you asked hoarsely, your eyelids drooping shut. Every part of you felt weak with exhaustion. The sinus pressure was a sucker punch whenever you moved your head.

"One hundred point seven degrees. Not good." Harry sighed and quickly left the bedroom on a mission to cure your symptoms. You laughed a little, which turned into a wheezy cough. The only real cure was rest and hydration, so you were curious what his magical remedy could consist of.

Distantly, you heard sounds in the kitchen. Cupboards shutting and utensils clinking. Was he making something? Your illness diminished any appetite for breakfast. Granted, it was five in the morning, not the typical time you ate.

The girls were still sleeping, and in the intimate shadows before dawn, when only you and Harry were awake, it felt like the old days. Back when you'd kiss him goodbye in his one-room apartment before he left for work earlier than any man had a right to do. Young, scraping by, and smitten with each other. He'd shown you what infatuation felt like. In those otherwise minor moments, you'd seen glimpses of the promising years ahead. A man who'd be devoted to healing your wounds during every tribulation life presented. A gentle presence, full of pure intentions, tender love, and perceptiveness. And all of it had translated beautifully into marriage and fatherhood.

You drifted off with sweet thoughts prancing around your mind. An hour later, Harry returned. The subtle scent of ginger and garlic lured you back into consciousness. By the foot of the bed, he held a bowl of soup, and you sniffled while sitting up. A dizzying rush of blood pulsed against your skull.

"I want you to eat this and drink an entire glass of water before sleeping," Harry ordered, rounding the bed to your side. He set the bowl on the nightstand, steam wispily wafting up toward the amber lamplight. You decided not to tell him you already indulged in a snooze.

"Copy that, Dr. Styles," you said. Soup for breakfast? Sure, why not?

He met your gaze, unhumored. "I'm serious. The ginger will hopefully soothe your throat. There's lemon juice in it for some vitamin C. Red lentils for a protein boost. Let me know if it isn't savory enough."

You smiled to yourself, knowing he thrived off refining his culinary creations until they were nothing short of excellence. "I'm sure it's perfect. Thank you."

"It might be too hot to eat yet," he said, fluffing the pillow beside you and pulling the comforter further up your legs. "Can I get you anything else? Where's your cold compress?"

"Why are you so worried?" you asked. "You've seen me sick dozens of times."

He placed his hands on his hips, maybe as a way to stop himself from fidgeting. "Doesn't mean I like it. In fact, I hate it."

"It could be worse." You shrugged, thinking of all the times you had held a puke bucket. If you had one thing to feel good about right now, it was that you didn't have food poisoning. Hallelujah.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, the curly ends sticking up among his natural bedhead. "I'm wondering if one of the girls passed it on to you."

"Probably," you murmured. "All kids are germ magnets." Your eldest was currently getting over a cold. No fever, thankfully, just the sniffles and a wet cough that made you wince every time you heard it.

"I should check on them," he said, seeming hesitant to leave you. He gestured to the nightstand. "By the time I get back, I want half that water gone and three spoonfuls of soup in your belly. Okay?"

"Wow, you're a no-nonsense doctor." You picked up the bowl of soup, its warmth spreading across your palms. It smelled deliciously herby. "Mmm, and a very talented chef. Have you ever thought about becoming one?"

Fondly, Harry shook his head with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're strangely vivacious for a woman bedridden with a fever."

"Maybe I just like it when you dote on me," you said candidly. It was often outwardly shown through his actions, like today when he cooked soup from scratch for you and kept track of your symptoms, but his subtle attentiveness was your favorite. As a husband, it was how he would lead you through a crowded room, his hand tightly grasping yours to ensure you never strayed far. How he would carve out time for conversations together, whether they were ones of reminiscence, ones revolving around the future, or ones of harmless banter. How he would touch you with purpose, making you feel safe, adored, and most of all, like the most important person in the world. In public and at home with no one watching. He had chosen you in this life, and you reaped the benefits of his devotion every day.

"Just fulfilling my marriage vows," Harry replied, grabbing the baby monitor and turning to leave. You smiled, set the soup back in its place, and sunk into the mattress, feeling the strong urge to sleep the day away. It would take too much energy to lift a spoon or glass to your mouth, so you disregarded Harry's sensible advice and closed your eyes against the rising sun.

——

Harry took slow steps down the hallway while typing a note on his phone that reminded him what time he had checked your temperature and the unfortunate result of 100.7 degrees. You'd been right about him witnessing you under the weather on many occasions before—from the flu to hangovers to stomach bugs to pregnancy nausea—but it still pained him to see you weak and lethargic. He was doing everything he could to nurse you back to health as soon as possible.

A sound coming from the baby monitor wedged under his armpit stopped him dead in his tracks. He heard a couple of coos, followed by the buildup to a piercing cry that made his heart drop. They weren't the usual cries that his six-month-old baby girl woke him up with. And considering it was still before six a.m., the time she commonly needed a feeding, something was amiss.

Rushing to her nursery, Harry's mind went to the worst-case scenario. Had she escaped her crib? Was there a chance she had hurt herself? It had been nerve-wracking enough transitioning her from sleeping in a bedside bassinet to her own room. Harry feared not being right next to her during the night, but the positive was that it allowed for a smoother bedtime routine—both girls in their separate rooms, away from noise and other distractions. His mantra to help him sleep at night was, They're safe, they're safe, they're safe.

When Harry reached her crib after turning on the ceiling light, he was relieved to see her still there, looking mostly the same as the last instance he checked on her a few hours ago. This time, though, her face was screwed up as she wailed at full volume. She was communicating a need he wasn't sure of yet, and while he prided himself immensely on being able to translate her cries and swoop in with a remedy within seconds, this one was foreign. It alarmed him.

"What's the matter, my love?" He picked her up, and instantly, the answer became clear. The damp spot on her sheets. Her skin warm and clammy to the touch. Her refusal to breastfeed at her usual schedule yesterday. "Oh, no."

He had hoped the infection wouldn't be contagious and spread to everyone in the family. But, like you'd said, kids attracted germs from just about anywhere and anything.

"Please don't tell me you have a fever," Harry whispered, cupping her head and pacing around the room helplessly. "I can't handle all of my girls being sick."

She continued crying, and Harry pinched his eyes shut as he mentally went through a list of how to reliably bring her fever down. The first step was to take her pajamas off—the precious fleece onesie with snowflakes that he'd bought for the winter season. He set her on the changing table and undid the snap fasteners until she was left in only her diaper. The fever was apparent in the way she was flushed from head to toe.

"Let's ask Mommy what to do," Harry murmured to himself. He didn't want to proceed with any remedies without your consent, so he placed his daughter back in his arms and walked out to the hallway. "We'll make it better, I promise."

Unsurprisingly, you were already halfway to where he was, no doubt having heard her crying lasting longer than normal. You looked dog-tired, but the motherly instinct you possessed always overpowered it. "What's going on?" you rasped.

"I think she might have what you have. She sweat through the sheets and is burning up."

Your expression transformed into guilt as you slumped against the wall. "Great."

Harry came closer, bending to meet your eyes. "Hey," he said softly, "don't blame yourself. It's hard to avoid."

"I know, but... I really tried to be careful." You sighed, stroking his daughter's back. "I washed my hands before I touched her. Bathed her twice a day."

"You did everything right, baby," he assured. "She has a tiny immune system that's still developing, so it doesn't take much to catch a bug."

When you didn't respond, he said, "Let me take care of her. You should be in bed resting. Did you do what I asked?"

"No, I fell asleep," you muttered with a rueful wince.

Harry couldn't bear to be disappointed when you looked so miserable. "It's okay." His baby girl released another cry, and he pivoted to the serious matter at hand. "I was going to take her temperature."

You sniffled and rubbed at your forehead, which was probably aching with pressure. "If her temperature is higher than one hundred, we need to call the doctor. For now, open a window and feed her a bottle. If that doesn't cool her down, let me know and we'll try giving her some Tylenol."

Harry nodded. A part of him knew all of this information by heart, but he always sought your advice in these urgent moments. As the old saying went—mother knows best.

He kissed your cheek while gently squeezing your wrist in gratitude, not caring if he got sick—it was inevitable at this point. "Water and soup, please. Then rest."

"I promise."

Heading to the kitchen with a fussy, feverish baby wriggling in his arms, Harry opened the patio door to let the crisp January breeze in. The first streaks of light were brightening the space little by little. He got to work by taking a bottle of breast milk out of the refrigerator. He took her outside on the porch, positioning her in the crook of his arm to feed. To his relief, she latched onto the nipple and began drinking. She recently learned how to hold the bottle by herself, so Harry used the opportunity to get the ear thermometer from the bathroom.

Back outside, he took her temperature on the wicker patio chair. After a few seconds, it gave him a reading of 99.3, which thankfully meant no doctor visit today. Harry could breathe a little easier as he slowly rocked her in his arms, observing her behavior. The milk seemed to help hydrate her and alleviate her distressed cries. Her skin was still warm, and he felt like natural remedies only worked to a certain degree. He planned to give her a dose of medicine before her next nap. It would cure what he couldn't.

Once the bottle was half empty, Harry stepped back inside and closed the door behind him. He was working up a sweat with all this running around the house, but he enjoyed tending to everyone's needs.

He returned to the bedroom. The sunrise's soft glow shed over your frame curled up under the comforter, and he could see that you were awake. Looking at the nightstand, he smiled when he noticed a good portion of your soup and water gone.

"I think she'll be all right," he said quietly, setting the empty baby bottle on the dresser and sitting beside you on the mattress. His daughter whined, but for now, her shrieks were no more. "Just a low-grade fever. We'll keep an eye on it."

You nodded and whispered, "Thank you for everything."

Harry didn't say anything in response. He didn't have to, because this was what a family did—take care of each other in sickness and in health. And he had vowed to do it for a lifetime.

——

[kahluamystery97]

Oh God. Harry is a disaster but I love it so much!

Worth The Fight: Good Hands

Masterlist: Here

CW: language, pregnancy things, jealousy, angsty bits and some light arguing.

A/N: This one is heavy-ish but has some light hearted moments so be prepared for some angsty bits but I’d say this is a very big step in a direction for them, is it the right direction? Only time will tell👀✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca

Summary: You decide to do some shopping for the twins while Harry decides he needs to apologize to you even if you’re not ready to hear it✨

You smile at the woman working by the door as you enter the small boutique that’s just down the street from the library you work at, you look around and suddenly feel extremely overwhelmed by the amount of baby things surrounding you. Being nearly thirteen weeks you finally decide that it’s okay to just take a look at things, seeing as you still don’t know if you’re carrying two boys, two girls or one of each you find yourself not exactly sure where to start. You look over and smile when you see a small section of onesies with animals all over them, you adjust your bag on your shoulder as you head over towards the table they are folded and laid out on.

“Oh the peaches will love those.” Ethan’s voice comes from behind you making you laugh as you feel a hand on your shoulder. “How’s my favorite produce dealer doing today? Have you eaten all the cookies my mom sent yet because I need the tin back.” You roll your eyes at the playful nickname he came up with for you ever since you started sharing the size of the twins with him as they grow each week, getting a kick out of the way all your apps are always referring to their sizes as vegetables or fruits.

“They aren’t quite peaches yet they have about four days till then so they are still lemons.” You explain as you rest a hand on your bump while looking at the little outfits on the table in front of you. “But I’m good just feeling tired today and uh no not yet there’s like fifty cookies in that tin Ethan and I may be pregnant but sweets don’t sit well with me right now.” You answer as the hand on your shoulder grabs the strap to your bag and without hesitation you let him take your purse and sling it over his shoulder making you let out a small sigh of relief once the weight of your bag is gone.

“She said they were what she liked when she was pregnant with me but that was also during Christmas time so that’s why they are pretty much all holiday themed.”

“That explains all the gingerbread men.”

“Exactly. So the peaches-”

“Lemons.”

“I mean come on they are pretty much a crossover between lemons and peaches right now so like leaches? Or is that-”

“Do not call my babies leaches Ethan.”

“Right sorry that was rude let’s just go back to looking at the cute and soft onesies okay?” He says in a slight panic not wanting to make you upset in the middle of a baby boutique having already made you accidentally cry in line at the bakery down the street from your apartment when he mentioned how good the blueberry muffins looked, forgetting all about your current aversion to the fruit ever since you tried a blueberry jam that didn’t sit well with you.

“You think the animals are cute? Or they have these.” You lift up a set of onesies that are white with gray and yellow polka dots on them so he can take a look from his spot behind you. “Is the gray and yellow too overdone?” You question as Ethan places a hand on each of your shoulders and gives them a nice rub making you relax as you look at the onesies in your hand.

“Yellow and gray is a classic color combination you can’t go wrong with it.” You let out a hum of agreement as he releases his grip on one of your shoulders so he can reach around you ever so slightly and grab the set with the animals on it. “But these are cute as shit.” He says with a smile as he looks down and sees you still holding the polka doted set.

“I could get both? Right?” Ethan just nods as you look at him with a quirked brow almost as if you’re seeking his approval.

“Excellent idea.” Is all he says before he takes the polka dotted set from your hands and holds it in the same one of his that has the animal set it. You smile as you feel him lean down and place a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m going to go look at all the weird baby gadgets.” He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before he turns and heads off towards the back of the store with the two sets of onesies in his hand and your purse slung over his shoulder.

Harry is chewing on his bottom lip as he walks down the street towards the library you work at, wondering if he’s doing the right thing coming to see you at work again when you haven’t reached out to him since the lunch at his mother’s house. He doesn’t want to make it a habit to just show up at your work when you refuse to speak to him or he can’t get ahold of you but right now he feels like this is the only way he can guarantee he will be able to talk to you. It’s been over two weeks and he just wants to get some things off his chest and maybe see if the two of you can start over and try to get to know each other a bit so the arguing can come to a stop or at the very least can be toned down. It’s not like he’s expecting the two of you to be bestfriends or anything, he just wants to be able to have normal conversations with you that don’t end with you in tears or annoyed with him.

He runs a hand through his hair and he feels as if the wind gets knocked out of him when he turns to his left and looks in the window of a store, he has to push his sunglasses into his hair so he can make sure he’s seeing things clearly and that the dark lenses weren’t causing him to mistake the person for someone else but the moment his eyes see the smile on the woman’s face he knows exactly who it is. You’re standing in front of a table of baby clothes but before he can even register that you’re looking at clothes for the twins, he quickly notices you’re not alone and all Harry can do is stand there and watch the scene unfold in front of him. He watches your neighbor stand behind you and place both of his hands on your shoulders and Harry feels his brows furrow as his eyes narrow into a glare at the way you seem to relax at his touch.

It’s then that Harry takes in the bag that’s slung over the man’s shoulder, it’s the godawful thing you call a purse and he doesn’t understand why he’s the one with it over his shoulder instead of you. Of all the times he’s been around you that bag is always over your shoulder and you’re either fighting with it to find something or trying to keep it in place making him assume you have a thing about keeping your bag with you. He feels his mouth drop into a frown as it dawns on him that maybe it’s not so much you like to keep it on you at all times, it’s just that Harry hasn’t ever tried or offered to take it from you minus when he snatched it from you in your hallway when you told him you didn’t want him to come inside.

Harry feels the all too familiar simmering of jealousy begin to bubble deep inside him as he realizes that to anyone passing by the two of you would seem like a normal couple shopping for baby things in this cute little boutique that just so happens to be a few minutes away from your work. They would have no clue that the babies the two of you are looking at onesies for are actually his, that the man currently making you smile is nothing more than just your neighbor you’re friends with or at least that’s all Harry thinks he is to you, a friend. That changes the moment he watches the man place a kiss to the top of your head, a very soft display of affection that has Harry’s hands clenching into fists at his sides because why is another man that he doesn’t even know the name of not only baby clothes shopping with you but also touching and now kissing on you in public while he can’t even manage to get you to want talk to him.

Harry decides he’s seen enough as he turns and heads back in the direction of his car that’s parked in some over priced daily parking garage because he was in too much of a rush to call for his driver and also because a part of him wanted to prove to you that he can in fact drive himself places when he needs or wants to. He slides his sunglasses back down so they cover his eyes, allowing his emotions to be somewhat hidden from the strangers passing him on the sidewalk while he reaches into his back pocket for his phone. His first instinct is to call his mom and talk through this with her, why seeing you out with someone else buying things for the twins is making him feel this way but he shakes his head as he scrolls past her contact because he has a feeling he knows what she’s going to say and he doesn’t exactly want to have that conversation right now. So he scrolls down to the name that he knows won’t ask questions and hopefully in a few hours Harry will forget all about what he saw in the window of that little shop and he’ll be able to try again tomorrow on telling you sorry.

“Hey H you finally have time for a round?” Harry laughs at how excited Niall sounds on the other end of the phone as he enters the main level of the parking garage his car is in.

“I do but uh not the kinda round you’re thinking of.” Harry says with a sigh and in true Niall fashion he just laughs and tells Harry to pick the pub and he’ll see him soon before hanging up.

“Oh fuck this hallway is so long-wait what floor is this?” Harry squints as he exits the elevator and when he sees the number five on the plaque on the wall he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god.” He mumbles as he turns and heads down the hallway, half tempted to put his sunglasses back on due to the obnoxiously bright lights coming from the ceiling that while doing a good job at helping him see where he’s going and which apartment he’s walking by, are also intensifying the throbbing in the back of his head.

When he reaches the doors he’s looking for he closes his eyes just for a brief moment because keeping them closed for too long makes him a little dizzy. As soon as he opens them he raises a hand to knock, not caring about the fact it’s near three in the morning because to Harry it’s a new day and he has things he needs to tell you. He stands there and rests a hand on your doorframe as he waits for you to answer, when he doesn’t even hear the sound of you moving around on the other side of the door he knocks two more times because unlike the last time he was here knocking on your door he knows you’re home having seen your sad little car in the parking lot when his driver pulled into the complex.

“I know you’re home you’ve-you’ve got to be home.” He mumbles with a sigh as he turns so his back is resting against your door, before he can even stop himself he feels his body sliding down it until his bottom is hitting the floor and his legs are stretched out in front of him.

“I’m-I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” His voice is strained as he tries to get comfortable resting against your door, finally deciding to put his sunglasses back on in an effort to help slow down the throbbing that’s making its way from the back of his head towards his temples. He rests his head against your door with a groan as he tries to gather his thoughts so he can try to explain to you why he’s been acting the way he has ever since you told him you were pregnant.

You have to close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get your emotions under control as you stand on the other side of the door that you now know is being used at a backrest for a slightly drunk Harry. You didn’t need to look through the peephole to know it was him, you knew by the first set of knocks and the mumbled voice that you could hear from your bedroom that it was Harry because he’s the only person that would ever bother you at this hour unless it was an emergency but even then normally people just call or text you, not show up at your door. You place a hand on your bump that’s covered by your nightshirt and give it a soothing rub as you stand there, deciding that even though you’re not ready to see him you’ll let him sit there and get whatever it is he needs to say off his chest so he can go home.

“I shouldn’t have left you that day-uhm during the exam.” He says as he looks up towards the ceiling. You swallow the lump that’s already forming in your throat, as being woken up abruptly and now hearing him apologize start to make a mess of your emotions that have already been kind of all over the place recently.

“I’m sorry I keep saying the wrong things and-and hurting you s’not what I want ya know? To hurt you.” Harry sniffles and lets out a sarcastic sounding scoff at his own words as you look down at your ankles and smile at Paris who has taken an almost protective stance, standing between you and the door. “S’hard to believe I know but fuck-you’re just so relaxed all the time n’it freaked or-really it freaks me out a bit.” He admits making you roll your eyes while he runs both hands through his hair.

“But my uhm therapist says s’a control thing an that’s why I lash out at you.” You quirk an eyebrow at the mention of his therapist, feeling a bit shocked he’s spoken to anyone besides Anne about the two of you.

“Because you-you have all the control here and have since day one like you-even when you told me you were pregnant you just I don’t know? You had it all figured out already? You were having a baby with or without me while I was fumbling around and panicking and deep down I uh know that you-you don’t need me and that’s sort of uhm my thing? I need to be needed I’m a bit of a narcissist and-and you just don’t need me like- at all and I mean that’s-that’s fine or I’m learning to uhm be fine with it.” You feel your heart drop at how sincere he sounds as he speaks between little sniffles, you know his emotions are getting the best of him when it’s quiet for a moment minus a watery sigh and then you have to close your eyes and fight back the tears that want to spill over as you hear his voice sound so desperate as it comes through your door.

“But I need you Cranky I need-I need you because I need them so just-just tell me what to do and I’ll do it okay?” Harry lets a few tears roll down his face as he practically begs you to just tell him what to do to make this situation right.

“Please.” He whispers in a last ditch effort to get you to talk to him. You let out a deep breath before you reach out and unlock your door and turn the knob so you can open it. Harry feels his heart begin to beat quicker and before he can even register that you’re really opening the door and willing to see him and possibly talk to him he finds himself laying flat on his back looking up at you from the floor, the shots he took with Niall a few hours ago making his reflexes slower than normal not giving him time to move from his sitting position with his back resting on your door before you swung it open.

“Hi Harry.” You say with a small smile as you look down at him, Harry just smiles as he reaches for the sunglasses still covering his eyes quickly pulling them off so he can get a better look at you.

“Cranky you’ve-wow.” You raise an eyebrow at him suddenly feeling a little self concious as his eyes go a bit wide as he takes in how much bigger your bump looks, especially from the angle he’s currently getting from his spot on the floor. “Lemons still right? Peaches in four-no wait now three days?” He asks and you just nod as you place both hands on your bump while he takes his time getting up, feeling a bit dizzy due to looking up from his back for too long.

“Do you mind uhm staying in-”

“Yeah yeah that’s fine I uh-I’m sorry for waking you up.” He says when you motion towards the hallway once he’s up and standing, already knowing what you’re asking of him, and he will happily stand in the hallway while the two of you talk because he’s just happy you actually opened the door. You open your mouth to say something but then you hear the jingling of a bell and both you and Harry look down and find Paris rubbing his head on Harry’s shin and you have to hold back a laugh as Harry’s eyes widen in fear.

“Oh god Paris please don’t-oh fuck god damnit that hurts.” Paris just purrs and rubs the same ankle he just took a bite of before he turns and heads back into your apartment, strutting off towards the kitchen as if he’s proud of himself for what he’s just done. “I deserved that.” Harry mumbles making you just shrug as he runs a hand over his face.

“So Mr. Popular is a narcissist huh? I never would’ve guessed.” Harry feels his cheeks get hot at your teasing words. He sniffles a bit and rubs the tip of his nose with the knuckle of his index finger while giving you a small shrug because he’s not sure what to say. “I appreciate you coming here to apologize Harry but uhm I also know you’re a little-”

“I’m not that drunk-m’tipsy at best and I swear I’d say the same things sober.”

“I believe you but it’s just everything can sort of seem a bit more emotional and heavy when said at three in the morning outside an apartment door after too many whiskey sours.”

“Who talks like that? Honestly you-you spend too much time surrounded by books.”

“Harry-”

“I’m sorry that was rude.” He lets out a sigh as he looks down at his feet. “I don’t know why I do this? Why I can’t help myself sometimes I just-you’re so easy to argue with?” You rub your lips together to hold off the smile that wants to form because he looks so distraught standing there with a hand in his hair and another on his hip as he tries to make sense of his need to just bicker with you as if it’s all his fault and you don’t also enjoy how easy it is to rile him up.

“You’re fairly easy to set off and I seem to know exactly how to do it.” Harry lifts his head to look at you as you start to speak. “We both enjoy a bit of back and forth but sometimes Harry you just say things that are very hurtful and very hard to take back.” You explain as you look down at your hands that are on your bump, trying not to think about some of the things he’s said to you in the past that have made you upset.

“I know and I’m-I’m working on that.”

“With your therapist?” You ask as you look up at him and he just nods making you feel that there might actually be a some hope that the two of you will be able to figure this whole communication thing out. “So are you really ready to be apart of this then?” Harry takes a very small step towards you just so he can reach a hand out, you look at it questioningly for a moment before you give in and place one of your hands in his.

“I don’t want to be outside the window.” He says as he gives your hand a squeeze, you look at him with a slightly confused expression because you’re not entirely sure what he means by that but you don’t want to ruin the moment so you just let him continue. “I want to be the one inside with you looking at baby stuff and holding your god awful fucking bag and-”

“Well well well if it isn’t Mr. Asshole himself.” Ethan’s voice coming from down the hall makes Harry’s eyes go wide as he drops your hand while you turn and look at your neighbor who you know is just getting home from work. “I see you’re really living up to that nickname since you have her up out of bed at this ungodly hour.” You roll your eyes at him as Harry turns so he’s facing Ethan who is now only a few steps away from the two of you.

“It’s Mr. Popular not-”

“Aren’t assholes usually popular? So it’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s nowhere near the same and-who even are you? Besides the guy who feeds her cat on Fridays?”

“I’m Ethan her neighbor but also the friend who picked her up from your mom’s house crying a week and a half ago.” Harry’s face goes pale as he realizes your neighbor is the one who came and got you from lunch, you watch Ethan take a step so he’s standing in front of his door facing Harry as he swings his key ring around his index finger a few times.

“Oh and I’m the guy who she calls when she needs something because unlike you Mr. Gucci sunglasses even though it’s dark outside-” Ethan takes his time eyeballing Harry’s attire before he continues. “I’m a source of comfort for her and those little peaches. I’m also right across the hall so I’m always available.” You feel the tension in the air as Ethan glares at Harry who is glaring right back but with a clenched jaw and a hand balled into a fist at his side.

“Those little peaches? You mean lemons?”

“Really? That’s-that’s what you got out of that?”

“I mean I think it shows that you might be the comforting neighbor.” You begin to chew on your bottom lip as Ethan crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at the slightly tipsy man in front of him. “But clearly I’m their dad because I actually know how big they are.” You can’t help but chuckle at how proud Harry looks when he says the word dad while Ethan just rolls his eyes making you move to the side a bit from your spot behind Harry so Ethan can see you allowing you to give him a warning type glare.

“Oh so now you’re ready to be a dad huh? Well good. I’m glad because honestly picking out baby shit isn’t really a good look for me.”

“Either is holding her purse-that thing looks hideous on you.”

“I mean it’s a hideous bag-wait what? When have you ever seen me with her purse?”

“Today or uh technically yesterday? In that shop near her uhm work.” Harry admits shyly and that’s when it all clicks, his mentioning of the window and looking at baby things, it’s because he saw you and Ethan at the boutique. You close your eyes and run a hand over your face as a long sigh escapes you making both men turn their heads to look at you.

“Is that why you got drunk and came knocking at my door?” Harry swallows hard as he all of a sudden feels a wave of nervousness wash over him because he doesn’t want his answer to ruin the slight progress that’s been made while standing outside your door this morning.

“Uh well-yes that’s sort of the reason why I met Niall-”

“Niall? Niall Horan? Is he here?” Harry turns to look at Ethan with a quirked brow as your neighbor looks up and down the hallway for any signs of the Irish popstar.

“Uh no he’s at home.” He answers making Ethan let out a huff while Harry turns his attention back to you. “But the whole reason I even saw you two was because uhm well because I was on my way to the library to see you. I just needed to talk to you and tell you how sorry-”

“You can’t just show up at my work whenever you want because you need to talk to me Harry especially when you know how it went the last time we even saw each other that’s just-that’s not okay.” Harry just nods because he already knew that, before he even got in his car to drive to your work to see you he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea but he had to do something and that was the only thing that he could think of.

“I know I won’t do it again.”

“Wait you saw us at that boutique and that’s why you went and got drunk on a Wednesday?” Ethan’s voice takes Harry’s attention away from you and you watch Ethan place his keys in his back pocket before putting his hands on his hips.

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“What I’m implying? Dude I’m not implying shit. Just admit it you got jealous-”

“Jealous? Jealous of what? Of you? Yeah right State Farm.” You take a step around Harry so you can be ready to stop the two of them from getting any closer to each other when you see Harry take a step towards Ethan.

“State Farm? That’s cute and honestly it’s true because I am a good neighbor but do you see these?” Harry’s brows furrow as Ethan wiggles his fingers a few inches away from Harry’s face. “I am clearly Allstate because she is very much in good hands.” You roll your eyes at the two of them as you cross your arms over your chest not believing the conversation they are having in front of you.

“What does he mean by that? You’re in good hands? Have you-you been in his hands?” Ethan has to bring a hand up to cover his mouth to hide his laugh as Harry quickly turns to look at you with frantic eyes while he runs a hand through his hair. You let out a sigh and glare at Ethan who is quick to turn around and face his door so he can unlock it.

“What? No we aren’t-”

“I’m sorry it’s not uhm it’s not uh-not my business I’m sorry.” Harry fumbles over his words as he begins to turn taking a few steps backwards towards the elevators as his mouth drops to a frown and you feel the corners of your own mouth fall a bit at how hurt he looks. “It’s fine really I uhm I gotta go.” You want to tell him to stop and just let you explain your friendship with Ethan but Harry doesn’t give you a chance because before you can even open your mouth he’s turning around so his back is facing you and he’s three steps away from you. But you know you can’t let him leave like this so you let out a huff and take a step towards him and call his name.

He pauses and looks over his shoulder as his name falls from your mouth. “Tell Nick I said hello?” He gives you a small smile and nods as you mention his driver who is waiting for him in the parking lot down stairs.

“Yeah I’ll uh I’ll do that.” You smile and before he turns to head towards the elevators you see a very familiar glint appear in his eyes as the corners of his mouth curl up in a smirk. “Goodnight Cranky.”

“You mean good morning Mr. Popular.” You correct making him laugh and shake his head as he turns and continues down the hallway because of course you just have to correct him because of course you just have to be right.

“Oh he totally thinks we are fucking.” Ethan says with a laugh as he stretches his neck a bit just in time to see Harry step into the elevator. As soon as he’s out of sight you turn and give Ethan a smack to the chest making him let out a pitiful sounding groan. “So violent in front of the children.”

“Don’t be so crude. He at least thinks something is happening here and we both know it’s not.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

“Uh yeah Ethan it actually might? He came here after getting drunk all because he saw us shopping together.”

“Yeah well I say let him suffer a bit and think we are doing something scandalous and then when he’s maybe stopped being an absolute douchebag for more than a day you can tell him the truth.”

“God you just love drama don’t you?”

“I’m a young bisexual man my whole life is drama.” He teases as you stand in your doorway with a hand on your bump and the other resting on your doorframe. “But honesty him showing up here is like-”

“A big deal. I know.” You finish for him, the two of you stare at each other for a moment before Ethan takes the few steps between his door and yours and places a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“Everything is gonna be fine.” He reassures you before he opens his apartment door. You give him a smile when he looks at you over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams Cranky.” He jokes making you roll your eyes as he closes his door.

You can’t help but make a sour face at the sound of your nickname coming from someone else’s mouth besides Harry’s. Not liking how it sounds without his accent and deep tone of voice and how slowly it slips out of his mouth making it sound all the more condescending which is oddly something you enjoy about the way he says it. You turn and walk through your open door and let out a long sigh after you close it, you head back towards your bedroom and smile when you see Paris curled into a ball at the foot of the bed.

“Oh Paris.” You mumble as you climb back into bed making the cat instantly lift his head up and stretch his front paws out at the disturbance. “What just happened?” You ask as you stare at the ceiling trying to make sense of the events that just took place in your hallway, but as the minutes tick by and you find yourself falling asleep you decide you can try to decipher and dig deeper into all of that later because right now all you want to do is go back to sleep and momentarily forget that the man you’re having kids with knocked on your door a three in the morning just to leave in a frantic hurry forty five minutes later.

Harry feels as if he’s a mixed bag of emotions as he steps into the elevator, the first one being confusion because he’s not even sure why he cares if you and your overly friendly neighbor are more than friends because it’s not as if Harry has any sort of claim on you minus the fact he’s the father of the two lemon sized babies you’re carrying. He’s even gone as far as telling you he doesn’t like you enough to care about anyone you find remotely attractive but that brings him to the next emotion, jealousy. Harry has always been the jealous type, that’s just part of his personality but this is something different because he feels as if he could punch a wall at just the memory of seeing Ethan kiss the top of your head and holding your shoulders in such a way that would have people assume he’s your partner of some sort. The most powerful emotion swirling around in Harry’s body though is regret, he regrets walking away and not letting you explain things but he just couldn’t risk having to listen to you tell him you’re in love with Ethan or that you two have only gotten so close because Harry has made you turn to him for comfort and reassurance due to how horrible he’s treated you. He doesn’t think he would be able to stand knowing that it’s his own fault that you ended up in the arms of someone else, not that he wants you in his own arms either because he doesn’t, or at least that’s what he’s telling himself.

“I could go back? Let her tell me-no no that would be dumb.” He argues with himself as he presses the button for the lobby. “Why do I even care? Do I even care? No. No I don’t.” He lets out a frustrated groan as he paces the length of the small elevator while debating with himself. “Exactly. I don’t care. She can be with whoever she wants. That’s fine.”

“I don’t care.” He mumbles as the door opens to the lobby of your apartment complex. He runs a hand over his face as he steps out and heads for the parking lot. He looks around and sees Nick is parked towards the back of the lot, he mentally pats himself on the back for picking a time of day that not a lot of people are out and about so Harry doesn’t have to worry too much about being seen as he walks towards the black suv.

“How’d it go?” Nick asks once Harry is in the backseat of the car. He raises an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder when hears Harry lets out a long sad sigh.

“Next time I ask you to drive me here past midnight tell me no.” Harry instructs as he slides his sunglasses on and turns to look out the window. Nick just nods before he turns and faces the front so he can start the car and take Harry home.

[kahluamystery97]

Dadrry is everything. What sweet snippets of this family.

MEMORY LANE

— flashback from the dad harry universe! please reblog and leave feedback 🌊

——

A gloomy sky greeted Harry's vision when he awoke from an accidental midafternoon nap. The inside of his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and a numbness tingled through his nerves. Usually, he had downtime scheduled to perfection, so he was confused about how he had slipped into unconsciousness so easily. It could have been courtesy of the lunch he devoured that was packed with carbs and sodium because, honestly, preparing three healthy meals a day was impossible with parenting at the forefront of his mind.

Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and slowly sat up on the couch. He surveyed the living room, finding it empty of you and his children's presence. Huh. He distinctly remembered lying down with a comforting weight on his chest in the form of his one-month-old baby girl. You'd been watching a show on TV. Apparently, he had drifted off for a solid hour. Maybe it was the lack of sunshine or the abundance of time at home that came with paternity leave, but he wasn't complaining. At this phase in his life, any sleep at all was considered a luxury.

He wandered around aimlessly, yawning and scuffing the slippers covering his feet across the hardwood floor. The patio door was dotted with droplets from the rainstorm earlier. Further in the distance, the waves were rough and choppy. It was ideal weather for staying inside.

After chugging a bottle of water, he began searching for signs of you. He assumed both kids were down for a nap since it was so quiet. Sleep when the baby sleeps had been the best parenting advice he ever received. He hoped you were taking advantage of it too.

The sounds of tape ripping and pages rustling led Harry to the home office. The ceramic table lamp cast a mellow and intimate spotlight on you sitting cross-legged on the mahogany desk, piecing together a scrapbook of some sort. Dozens of pictures were splayed on the surface, along with special keepsakes from the day his second baby girl was born—her tiny inked footprint imprinted on cardstock, sonograms spanning over several months, and written notes from you and Harry detailing milestones from your pregnancy and the newborn stage.

He thought you looked so pretty in these moments, caught unaware and completely immersed in something. Your eyes darted all around the memories in front of you, and he could see the creative gears of your mind turning. Your teeth bit into the plushness of your bottom lip. Call him crazy, but motherhood enhanced your features in an almost bewitching way. While pregnancy had blessed you with a heavenly glow and curves as sensational as a sculptor's muse, the maternal maturity that complemented your face and body was even more attractive. You possessed a natural gracefulness in the way you cared for the kids. Gentle with their needs, patient with their outbursts, and playful to the perfect degree. You had it down to a science.

"Hi, my artsy angel," Harry said, walking toward you. He tilted his head as he rounded the desk, observing the pictures you picked out. They were all printed memories from the digital camera he owned. Memories from the past year, dating back to the day he had found out he was going to be a dad for the second time.

"Hey." You taped a sonogram onto the first floral-patterned page—it looked like week eight when she was just a blob that captured his heart instantly. "How was your nap?"

"Didn't even realize I dozed off," he said. "Are the girls sleeping?"

"Yeah. I know you toss and turn in your sleep, so I took your little snugglebug away." You ruffled his unkempt hair. "Sorry."

"Smart thinking." He rubbed your shoulder, smiling down at you. "I see you're keeping busy."

Sighing, you leaned into his touch and said, "I tried taking a nap too, but I had an itch to get started on her book."

"Looks nice so far," he said, impressed with the creativity that motherhood had sparked in you. "Shall I leave you be?"

You shifted over a few inches and patted the space next to your bent legs. "Stay for a second. I need your input."

Harry obeyed, sitting on the desk. The office hadn't been used much since you became a stay-at-home mom. And he only really used it to pay bills, file taxes, or complete other incredibly boring paperwork. It was a relief to see you filling the space with much more interesting things.

"So, I was debating if we should write something for her since she turns one month old today," you said. "Maybe make it a habit. It was hard to keep up with the first baby, but I think we could stay on top of it this time."

"Let's do it," he replied eagerly. You grabbed his chin and guided it over for a slow, sweet kiss, then flipped to a thick page in the middle. He slid the book onto his lap, peered at the page he was supposed to lend his inferior handwriting to, and barked out a laugh. There was a photograph already taped down, and his heart swelled when he saw that it was from earlier today. He took in every part of it. Him lying on the couch with his baby girl curled up on his chest; his hands protectively covering her head and back; his mouth slightly parted as he slept like a baby himself. Absolute serenity.

"I think it encapsulates the one-month milestone pretty well. Tired all the time," you said, handing him a ballpoint pen. Even if exhaustion was present on your face, your eyes still lit up with a fondness for your family.

Harry kissed behind your ear, then held your gaze. "It's perfect," he whispered before pressing the black ink onto the paper. His hand moved freely from left to right, narrating the past four weeks in his mind and with each significant word.

You've been in our lives for an entire month already. Time is flying by! It feels like only yesterday you were clinging to me for the first time, changing my life once again. We feel so lucky to witness you slowly start to become aware of your surroundings. You keep us captivated.

One Month Milestones: You've been opening your eyes more often. We won't know the true color of them for a while—Mommy thinks they'll be green like mine (lucky you). You like looking at your mommy a lot, by the way. I can't blame you. She's beautiful, isn't she?

You love sleeping, which is a terrific thing. That picture just about sums up most of our days with you. When you are awake, you're a smiler. Your big sister and I do some silly things to make that adorable little smile come out. Dance moves, goofy faces, ridiculous voices—you name it. I can't wait until you start laughing. There's no better sound in the world.

You despise tummy time. It's kind of hilarious. Your sister likes to join you to make it less awful, but you just cry even more. It's a work in progress. Maybe we'll try it on the beach instead of the carpet. I have a feeling you'll love being by the water.

You're growing inch by inch. I think it might be the hardest part of parenthood. Soon enough, before I can even begin to appreciate this stage in your life, you'll be running around the house, carrying a personality and sense of adventure. I won't be able to keep up—figuratively and literally—but I promise I will cherish every moment with you and devote my life to being a person you can rely on.

Above all, I love you more and more each day.

~ Dad

There was a chart underneath where he could add traits that the baby shared with each parent. With a deep breath, he continued writing.

Dad's Traits: Loves to smile, cuddler, easily entertained, big appetite, likes to stare at Mom for long periods of time

Mom's Traits: Loves to sleep, endearing, perceptive, cute nose, stole my heart from the very beginning

Lastly, Harry drew another row below and wrote Sister's Traits: So irresistibly sweet and adorable that Dad can't handle it.

You rested your chin on his shoulder as he finished. "I don't think I'll be able to beat that."

"Just write what you feel," he said, setting the pen down. He flexed his hand. "Did you need anything else?"

"No," you answered quietly, staring at him like you hadn't expected several sentimental paragraphs to pour from him. "Thank you. I'm going to work on the book a bit more, and then we can... I don't know. What do parents do when they're not needed?"

Harry squeezed your thigh. "Sleep while the babies sleep. I could use another nap."

"Right. I'll meet you under the covers in half an hour."

"It's a date." He pecked your lips and murmured, "I love you."

You slapped his butt as he stood up and made his exit. "Love you."

Harry left the office and traveled down the hall, stopping at the closed door of his eldest daughter's bedroom. He gently cracked it open, hearing the white noise machine whirring. The lights were off, and the linen curtains were closed halfway, engulfing the space in a subtle, peaceful darkness that was prime for a long nap. However, she lay awake on her bed, faintly lit by the ladybug-shaped nightlight plugged into the nearby wall socket. Her body was covered by the pink Sherpa blanket his mother had given him as a baby shower present.

"What are you doing up, sweet pea?" Harry asked, sitting on the floor beside her bed. It was low enough that he was at eye level with her face.

"Not sleepy," she mumbled.

"No?" This was her daily nap time, and she was very accustomed to it. It was odd for her to reject it. He scrunched his nose and tapped his chin. "Hmm, let me guess why that is. Did you... have too much sugar?"

She giggled, her slightly crooked teeth showing. "Nuh-uh."

"Did you... watch too much Oswald?

"No!"

"Well, I give up!" he said dramatically. "Tell me."

She went silent and fidgeted with the blanket. When Harry swept his hand over her wispy hair in gentle encouragement, she finally spoke up. "Mommy's ignoring me."

He frowned, not expecting you to be the culprit. "What do you mean?"

"She goed into the room I'm not allowed in."

"Oh," he replied, still confused. "She's working on your sister's baby book."

A pout formed on her lips. "She does stuff for her more than me."

"That's not true," he said, tone soft yet firm.

"Then why is she always with Sissy?"

Harry exhaled, mentally calculating which answer would be most understood by a toddler who was used to being the sole focus for three years. He had to remember that she was adjusting to this new reality too. "Because," he said, "Sissy needs extra attention."

"Why?"

"She's tiny and new to the world," he explained. "She can't do certain things by herself."

His daughter crossed her arms stubbornly. "I'm tiny."

He laughed. "Yes, but you know how to feed yourself and speak like a big girl. It's not quite the same."

He was beginning to grasp the roots of her attitude. He didn't believe there was jealousy at play. She just seemed to not comprehend why there was a sudden shift in attention distribution. It was rational for a toddler's way of thinking.

"Is she... your favorite?" she asked shyly, reaching her short arm out. Her fingers grazed the tip of his nose. He pretended to bite down on them, then captured her hand in his and kissed all five of her fingers.

"There are no favorites in this household," he said sincerely. "Mommy and Daddy have to help your sister more frequently. It doesn't mean we're leaving you out, lovebug. She just requires a different set of needs than you."

She hummed, processing his clarification. He hoped it was good enough because it hurt to hear that she was feeling overlooked.

"We did this with you too," Harry added.

"How come I don't remember?"

"That's normal. None of us do at that age." He rested his elbow beside her head. "When you were only a few days old, we barely got any sleep. We were up all night with you, trying to figure out what you needed. Even when it was hard to understand your cries, we listened and comforted you because those moments of one-on-one time were super important. It's what we're doing now with your sister. Does that make sense?"

She gave a small nod and whispered, "Yeah."

He smiled. "So, when we're giving her our full attention, I want you to think about why that's happening. It's not because we're ignoring you. It's not because we love you any less. Okay?"

"Okay." She sat up and reached for him, and he wrapped her tight in his embrace. "I like it when you and Mommy give me attention."

He briefly tickled her armpit, making her giggle infectiously. "Oh, I know. You're just like me." He stood up, realizing he'd now need to entertain a very wide-awake toddler. "Do you want to see your baby book?"

"Yes! I wanna see, please."

Harry flicked on the light switch and walked over to her closet. On the top shelf, there was memorabilia from the past three years of her life. Books, toys, and clothes she had grown out of, as well as drawings and crafts she made that couldn't fit on the fridge. He reached up and grabbed the thick baby book, then brought it over to the bed. He situated his daughter on his lap and opened the book to the first page. Immediately, his chest ached with nostalgia. He hadn't taken this trip down memory lane in so long.

The first photograph was of you three months pregnant, lying on the beach and glowing under the sunshine. You were squinting at the camera with a shy smile. In your bikini, your small baby bump was loud and proud. It had been a time of quiet excitement, knowing the secretive stage of being pregnant would come to an end soon. Harry had been eager to finally document you getting bigger each month. He had probably taken a hundred photos that day. Even kept a tiny duplicate in his wallet.

"What did I write under this picture?" Harry asked, throwing a quick impromptu vocabulary test at his daughter.

She slowly sounded out the letters. "Pre-tty... pretty ma-ma."

"Good girl. Pretty mama." Especially in that photo. His neck warmed just looking at it.

She nodded in agreement. Harry continued flipping through the pages, explaining the memory behind each photograph and reading the corresponding writing you and he had provided.

A picture of you eight months pregnant, standing in the shallow ocean water with your arms spread wide, was the day he'd found out you were carrying a girl.

~ Daddy knew it was a girl all along. Claims he noticed my sweet cravings and "moodiness," which are supposed to indicate that someone's having a girl. You were the size of a jicama that day. Every week of my pregnancy, your dad bought the fruit or vegetable you were the size of. He's a goofball. It was our first time trying a jicama... not too bad!

A picture of you nearly a week past your due date, standing by the front door looking miserable in his T-shirt and a long stretchy skirt, was taken mere minutes after your water had broken.

~ Mommy almost walked out the door with no pants on. She was annoyed that I was taking pictures (look at that scowl). This night was unexpected. I say you decided to come because I fed your mom spicy noodles. She says you were finally ready to meet us. Either way, I think my life officially began when you arrived.

A picture of you in the hospital bed, four hours into labor with elastic straps over your belly and a less-than-flattering medical gown on. Your smile was forced. The picture taped beside it was one you had taken, which was of Harry impatiently sitting on a birthing ball. 

~ Daddy couldn't sit still. I think he was more anxious than me. He nearly passed out when I was injected with an epidural but was somehow completely fine with a front-row seat to watching you be born. He was right there with me, being the supportive man I fell in love with. I'll never forget the look on his face when he heard your first cry. Pure wonderment.

A picture of Harry standing by the hospital window, the California sunrise a glorious view. He was staring at his baby girl in his arms, practicing skin-to-skin contact. So tiny, yet so life-altering. He hadn't known you were capturing the moment, too enthralled with every noise and movement she made.

~ Our first morning with you. We had croissants and coffee and watched the sunrise. We were so, so happy. And tired. The nurse said you were exceptionally healthy. Nine pounds, seven ounces (and three stitches for Mom—ouch). Twenty-two inches. Squirmy and full of life. Couldn't wait to bring our little lovebug home.

A picture of his daughter on her first birthday, frosting smeared on her lips and hands. The purple party hat was slipping off her head. It'd been impossible to get her to look at the camera when dessert was in front of her.

~ Twelve months with our angel. We spent your special day on the beach. You walked into Mommy's arms all on your own, and it made us cry. Later, Daddy baked you a yummy cake from scratch. You made a mess, but we didn't care because look at that big grin on your face. You're growing up so fast and becoming your own person every day. It's a joy to love you eternally. You're our biggest love.

By the time Harry reached the last picture in the book, his daughter was asleep on his lap, her head slumped against him. Each page held precious memories so dear to him, so it was no surprise that tears welled up in his eyes. It was hard to believe this was his life. So harmonious and enriching. It came with its obvious challenges, but every moment was timeless. Every moment mattered.

When he glanced up, he saw you standing in the doorway with the digital camera cradled against your chest. With a tender smile meant just for him, you said, "We made something beautiful."

The significance of all the years he'd shared with you was heavy in his gaze. "We did," he replied, emotion rasping his voice.

The only sounds in the room were his daughter's steady breathing and the distant waves crashing outside. You crouched beside him, and he pressed his lips to your head, soaking in the beauty of the family you both are building. With a final glance at the photograph of the first morning you both spent as new parents, Harry placed the baby book on the nightstand, deciding to keep it out since it'd be a pleasant bedtime story for tonight.

He tucked his daughter in and shut off the lights, then followed you into the bedroom. The sheets were crumpled from the morning, and Harry got cozy under them, the fabric still holding warmth. You found your way into his embrace, and a pang shot through his heart, because this moment, despite it happening thousands of times before, was just as poignant. Nowadays, this rare type of alone time was almost sacred—the hecticness of parenthood, where he was needed around the clock, melted away when it was just you and him together.

Peace sent him to sleep within minutes.

——

[kahluamystery97]

Boys are so stupid 🤦‍♀️ I love this story.

Worth The Fight: Swoon Worthy

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language, pregnancy things, minor anxiety, jealousy and per usual a bit of arguing and angsty bits.

A/N: I’m so glad y’all are enjoying this story! It makes me so happy, now don’t be mad okay? It’s gonna be fine just hold on a bit longer I swear Harry is getting it together. Also this chapter is a mix of texts and a one shot yall will have to tell me how you like it?

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy

Summary: You meet Anne and have a super tiny casual run in with someone else and Harry says some a lot of things that he shouldn’t✨

You smile at Nick when he opens the door for you and helps you out of the car, you adjust your purse strap on your shoulder as you look around and notice you’re outside the front gate of a house and not a restaurant. You feel your brows pinch together as you reach into your bag to grab your phone so you can call Harry to make sure you’re at the correct place because why would you be meeting his mom for lunch at some random house and not a restaurant? But before you can find your phone the sound of the gate opening up makes you lift your head just in time to see Harry making his way towards you.

“Harry this is someone’s house.” He just laughs as he gives a nod and a wave to Nick who is still standing behind you.

“You’re so observant. Can’t get anything past you huh?” You roll your eyes as Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Come on you’re already late let’s not keep her waiting any longer.” He says with a smirk that you instantly want to smack off his face as he stands to the side allowing you to walk in front of him.

“Is this your-”

“No it’s not my house it’s my mom’s.” He informs you as the two of you walk up the driveway. “As much as I adore my mother I am a bit too grown for her to be crashing in my guest room when she visits and she likes to spend a good amount of time here so this just made the most sense.” He adds as the two of you make it to the bottom step of her porch.

“It’s lovely.” You tell him with a smile as you look at the exterior of the house, Harry watches you look around for a moment before he walks up the three steps to the front door leaving you near the bottom step looking at a rose bush his mother’s has planted in her flower beds.

“Oh I forgot to mention-” Just as you look up from the rose bush you see the front door open behind him and you feel as if everything after that happens in slow motion. You watch Harry turn and smile at the man who walks out of the door, he quickly gives him a hug and you think you hear something about seeing each other soon but you’re not really sure because right after that you find yourself staring into a very familiar pair of blue eyes as the man stands at the top of the steps and is looking down at you with a warm smile.

“Hello.” His accent is thicker in person than it is when you hear it coming from the television in your living room when you, your neighbor and Paris watch The Voice. He gives you a wave as he makes his way down the steps. “You alight love?” He asks with a hint of concern when he notices you haven’t said anything or moved from your spot in front of the rose bush.

“Uhm hi-you’re uh-uhm hi.” You don’t know if what came out of your mouth were actual words or not but either way it earns you a small chuckle as he reaches a hand out and gently places it on your arm.

“Hi. Lovely to meet you.” He says with a smile before he drops his hand from your arm and you find yourself reaching for the spot he just touched as he turns his head to look at Harry over his shoulder.

“See ya H! Text me about a round next week.” And with that he gives you one more glance and a little nod before he makes his way down the driveway towards the gate. You find yourself turning around and watching him leave and it’s as if he can feel your eyes on him because right before he walks through the gate he looks back and gives you another wave and a smile causing a dreamy sounding sigh to escape you as you just stare in the direction that he walked off in.

Harry watches the whole interaction with a clenched jaw and a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, he’s not sure what it is because never in all the years he’s known his band mate has he ever felt this way while watching him simply meet someone for the first time. He’s watched people practically throw themselves at the man and yet he finds himself more bothered by the way your eyes lit up at and how your cheeks got all pink with just a little greeting and a smile from his Irish friend and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Do you need a moment?” Harry’s voice snaps you back to reality as you turn and face the front of the house. He has his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at you with a raised brow.

“That-that was Niall Horan.” Your voice is still a little shaky from the shock of seeing him up close and personal as you point down the driveway towards the gate Niall left through. “He’s so pretty.” You mumble as you look at the spot on your arm that he touched while Harry rolls his eyes and lets out a scoff.

“Really?”

“What? He is.”

“I’m not arguing with you about that I’m just seeing if you’re done swooning over one of my best mates or do you need a few more minutes to wipe the drool off your chin?” You just send him a glare as you make your way up the steps. You know you could’ve handled meeting him a bit better but you weren’t at all prepared and you’re extremely emotional so honestly Harry is lucky you didn’t start crying the moment your eyes met with Niall’s piercing blue ones because they are truly just that pretty in person, the tv doesn’t do them justice at all.

“I wasn’t swooning you don’t even know what that word means.” You state as you make it up the last step and adjust your purse strap making Harry want to let out a groan due to his personal hatred for the black hole you call a purse you lug around everywhere.

“Yes I do it means to swoon.”

“Are you serious? That’s what you think swooning means? To swoon?”

“It doesn’t matter what it means I just know that’s what you were doing with Niall when you got all heart eyes and just stood there with your mouth hung open.”

“My mouth was not hung open don’t be rude.”

“Then-then the sigh when he left? What the hell was that about?”

“It wasn’t a sigh I was just breathing.”

“Oh please I’ve never heard you breathe like that before.”

“That’s because I’ve never swooned over you.” Harry feels his eyes narrow as his hands clench into fits at his sides as you just cross your arms over your chest and stare at him. It’s then that it hits you what’s going on and you feel your brows pinch together as you give Harry a questioning look. “Harry Styles are you jealous of Niall right now?” You watch him shake his head as a deep and almost dark chuckle escapes him.

“Why would I be jealous of Niall? I don’t even really like you enough to be jealous of anyone you find swoon worthy.” Harry regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, he doesn’t know why he said them because he knows they aren’t true. He does like you, how much and to what extent he’s not quite sure but at least enough to feel a small bubbling of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he saw you gawking at Niall right in front of him.

“Right. Can we go inside now?” You drop your arms from your chest so you can adjust your purse strap as you look away from Harry and towards the front door. Harry lets out a sigh as he runs a hand over his face, he mentally scolds himself for letting his emotions get the best of him and making him to say things that make you practically deflate right before his eyes.

“I’m so-”

“What exactly have you told her about us?” Harry rubs his lips together when you cut off his attempt at an apology and he knows he’s going to just have to add it to the list of things he has to eventually say sorry for whenever you’re finally ready and willing to hear them.

He opens the door and stands to the side allowing you to go in first and when you give him a small close lipped smile as you walk by he catches your eyes for a brief moment and he feels his chest tighten at how exhausted you look. It’s not the kind of exhausted in the sense you could fall asleep at any moment but the kind that shows you’re just emotionally drained and he knows it’s his fault. His words have managed to take the sparkle and light he saw in your eyes earlier when you arrived and were looking at his mother’s rose bushes, leaving behind only a dull glimmer.

It doesn’t help that he knows you’re putting on a brave face because you’re about to meet his mother, something you repeatedly told him you weren’t ready for and instead of listening and trying to work out a better time he just ignored you because for him it’s almost easier to argue and bicker with you than it is to try to talk and come to reasonable conclusions about things. And the thing is Harry just doesn’t know how to stop himself sometimes before he’s saying something stupid and leaving you to deal with the emotional aftermath. Much like he’s doing now as he watches you swallow down your emotions, readying yourself for the task at hand before you look at him over your shoulder with a quirked brow as you stare at him from his mother’s entryway.

“Harry?” You saying his name brings him back to the moment, he’s quick to walk into the house with a playful smile on his face acting like he didn’t just say something extremely hurtful to you a few moments ago as he takes a few steps so he’s standing next to you.

“Oh you know just that we are madly in love and I’m planning on proposing on your birthday which-that’s not today right? Because I’m not prepared at all I don’t have a ring or anything.” He can tell you’re not in the mood for his jokes by the way you just let out a sigh but before he can say anything you just stand up a bit straighter and turn your head so you can look him right in the eyes and that’s how he knows you’re about to say something that’s going to probably hurt his feelings.

“Don’t bother with a ring. I’d never marry someone I don’t swoon over.” You say it so casually but Harry knows there’s an undertone of seriousness to your words, you wouldn’t marry someone like him is what you’re saying and he can’t blame you because right now he doesn’t even think he likes himself very much let alone thinks he’s anywhere close to being marriage material.

“Yeah you deserve a swoon worthy husband.”

“I know I do.”

“I told her the truth.” Harry says finally really answering your original question as he leads you further into the house. “So she knows everything.” He adds as he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re following behind him, you pause and give him a wide eyed stare as your hand reaches out and grabs his elbow keeping him from taking another step.

“You told her everything?” You ask in a whispered tone making Harry have to hold back a chuckle as he sees panic begin to set in as the thought of his mother knowing all the details of the two of you’s relationship hits you.

“I mean I might have spared her a few minor details about how we actually made the twins but other than that yeah she-she knows everything.” You let out a sigh as you release his elbow and Harry then does something that shocks the both of you, he places his hand on your lower back and in an almost comforting gesture you feel his thumb rub against the fabric of your shirt as he gently guides you into his mother’s living room. “Just relax. She’s going to love you.” Is the last thing you hear him say and before you can even fully react to it you hear the sound of a sliding door opening.

“Oh my goodness.” Harry grins as his mom walks into the living room from her backyard, he takes a step to the side letting his hand fall from your back so he can give you and his mom some room to say hello. “You are just lovely.” You feel your cheeks get warm as Harry’s mom walks over to you with her hands out. “I’m Anne.” You introduce yourself to her with a smile. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this I’m sorry if you ran into Niall on the way in. He just needed some-”

“Oh yeah we ran into him alright.” You turn your head to send Harry a warning glare as Anne grabs your hands giving them a reassuring squeeze while Harry ignores your threatening looks and heads off towards the kitchen.

“He’s always been a bit dramatic so you’ll have to get used to that I’m afraid.” Anne explains as she watches your eyes linger on the back of Harry’s worn out band t shirt before he disappears into the kitchen.

“So it’s not just me that brings this out of him? That’s good to know because I was beginning to think I had something wrong with me that just made him act a little wacky.” You say with a sigh of relief making her laugh as she lets go of your hands and subtly eyes your outfit, you feel embarrassed for a moment wondering if maybe she’ll think you didn’t find this to be an occasion worth dressing up for but then you see her eyes land on your small bump and a grin takes over her features and you instantly see where Harry gets his smile from.

“Come on love.” She reaches for one of your hands before turning around and heading towards the sliding glass door. “Let me show you what I’ve got for you and let me know if anything sets you off okay? I know how smells can be a bit rough during all this.” Harry stands in the kitchen and watches the two of you make your way outside, his mom places your bag down on a chair by the back door before she escorts you outside to the table he helped her set up before you arrived.

“Harry said you’ve been craving jams on toast so I thought this would be a safe thing to start with and he also said you like carrots?” You can only nod as you stare at the table in front of you that has a few plates full of pieces of toast cut up into cute shapes all with different types of jams spread on top of them while one plate has a mixture of vegetables on it with a dip in the middle.

“I do yes-I like carrots and this is wonderful thank you.” Anne smiles as you take a seat at the table, she sits down in the chair next to you and hands you a plate full of the toast and jam so you can have an easier time reaching it. The two of you snack on some toast and vegetables and talk about your work and how long she’s going to be visiting California before a comfortable silence overtakes the table for a few moments.

“I just want you to know that he told me what he did.” Her voice is gentle not wanting to ruin the mood surrounding the two of you as she looks at you with soft kind eyes, you swallow the lump you feel forming in your throat as your hands fall to your lap. “There’s nothing I can say that will undo that kind of damage but I hope you know that I’m so thankful you’re still letting him be apart of this even after-well after all that.” You look away from her and down at the plate in front of you as you feel your eyes start to get watery.

“I’ll always let him to be apart of this for as long as he wants to be apart of this no matter how I may feel about him.” Anne reaches over and places a hand over yours that are resting on your lap and gives them a soft pat.

“I know he comes across as a bit of a uhm well-a bit of an ass but he does seem to care that he upsets you because he’s never called me quite as distraught as he was that night you didn’t let him inside your apartment.” You simply shrug in response as you lift your head and look at the end of the table where you notice a tea pot and some cups.

“That was a rough not for all of us it seems.” You inform her as you place a hand on your bump as you reach for the tea pot but before you can actually grab it you see a very familiar hand with a cross tattoo between the thumb and index finger grab the handle.

“I can do it.” Harry’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it before making you blink up at him as he pours some tea into a cup. “You’re not going to want to watch this next part mom. It’s going to upset you.” He warns as he grabs a jar from next to the pot, Anne just playfully rolls her eyes as she watches her son open the jar and reach for a spoon.

“Is that-”

“Peppermint tea and honey? Yes. Is it killing me to make it for you? Yes but I know you like it and it helps with uh-”

“Nausea.” You finish for him resulting in a small nod and what you think is a hint of a smile as he gently places the teacup in front of you.

“Is that enough honey? I don’t know uhm how-how much you like in your uh tea.” Harry asks all of a sudden feeling very unsure of himself as if it just dawned on him that the amount of honey you take in your tea is just one of the many things he doesn’t know about you. You pick up the teacup and bring it up to your nose and take a sniff and Anne covers her mouth to hide her giggle at the way your nose scrunches up and you very quickly place the cup back down on the table.

“Still smells minty.” You explain as Harry raises a brow at you when you don’t answer his question right away.

“Well yeah it’s peppermint tea.”

“Yeah but I don’t like peppermint tea that’s why I add honey.”

“You-you don’t like peppermint tea?”

“Not really.”

“You’ve been ruining a perfectly respectable tea with honey and you don’t even like it?”

“Perfectly respectable? What kind of tea do you think isn’t respectable?”

“I don’t like lavender tea. Now really why do you drink something you don’t even like? There are so many other nausea remedies you know that right?”

“I’m aware but this one is easy and it tastes fine when I add a lot of honey.” Harry just stares at you as you reach for the jar of honey with the spoon still in it, you hear him let out a huff as he grabs it for you and places another heaping spoonful into your teacup.

“How does this even help with your tummy if it’s just basically honey and hot water?” He asks as he places the honey back near the teapot before he takes a seat in the empty chair next to you.

“Don’t know and I really don’t care because it works so I don’t question it.” Anne sits back in her chair as she watches the two of you go back and forth over the way you prefer your tea and she has to fight back a smile as she notices the way the two of you stare at each other during the whole exchange. Neither of you break eye contact unless it’s when you reach for something but even then Harry is quick to grab it for you, probably not even aware of what he’s doing but subconsciously wanting to do things for you so he has to take advantage of the opportunities when he can, such as spooning extra honey into your teacup while in the middle of a silly argument.

“So love you’re what? Eleven weeks now?” You turn your attention away from Harry to look at Anne who is looking at you with a warm smile. You nod and take a little sip of your tea and smile when it tastes just like it usually does when you make it or maybe a bit better if you’re being honest. “Have you told anyone yet?” She asks and you hear Harry shift in his seat next to you as he rests his hands in his lap and something tells you that if you were to look over your shoulder at him he’d be messing with his rings.

“Uhm not yet I was waiting till I went a little over twelve weeks or so just to be safe.” You explain as you place your teacup back on the table, she just smiles and nods as you reach for a piece of toast with raspberry jam spread all over it. “I also didn’t know how you uh would want to do that? Like announce it.” You look over at Harry as you speak and he lets out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair while leaning back into the chair.

“I honestly don’t know if I’m going to.” Harry states just as you take a bite out of your toast, he watches your eyebrows furrow as you try to take in what he just told you.

“What do you mean?” You ask once you finish chewing the bite in your mouth.

“I’m going to go check on the cake.” Anne says excusing herself as she stands up from the table, she gives Harry a look that you miss before she walks inside and the moment the sliding door closes Harry lets out a groan and runs both hands over his face as his head rests on the back of his chair.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now.” You roll your eyes at his attempt to change the conversation, but this might as well be discussed now rather than later when you’re even more pregnant and hormonal which just means you’ll be easier to set off on a crying fit.

“Just tell me what you mean by that Harry. You don’t know if you’re going to announce the fact you’re going to be a dad? People will find out eventually you know that right?”

“I don’t know if I want to announce the circumstances in which made me a dad. If I say I’m about to be a dad then they’ll expect an engagement announcement or some photos of me and some hidden girlfriend or something and that’s not the case with us is it?” You feel the lump return to your throat at his harsh tone making the tip of your nose turn pink as you look away from him and down at your lap while you sniffle.

“Once I announce I have a set of twins on the way and they see us together they’ll know very quickly that we are just two people who hooked up one night and ended up here.” Harry adds as he stands up from his seat and gestures to the two of you with his arms, completely ignoring the way you aren’t looking at him and the way your cheeks are now a bit blotchy and your breathing is shaky, all the clear signs that would tell him you’re crying if he would just stop talking and look at you.

“I always thought I’d be having kids with someone that I loved not someone that I just shared a few too many tequila shots with.” His hands are in his hair tugging at his roots as he closes his eyes and tries to take a few deep breathes so he can calm down, not really sure if it’s the topic itself that has made him so upset or if it’s a lingering side effect from his small bout of jealousy earlier and it’s just now rearing its ugly head.

“Harry Edward Styles.” His mom’s voice coming from behind him makes his eyes snap open as he turns around just in time to see you walk around her and through the back door and into the house. He raises a brow as he turns his head to your seat over his shoulder and sure enough it’s empty, he hadn’t even noticed you left the table.

“I uh-I’ll be right back.” Anne just shakes her head as she crosses his arms over her chest and blocks the door from him when he takes a few quick steps towards it.

“No you’ll go sit down and wait for me to get back.” He just nods and lowers his head before he turns around and goes back to his seat at the table. Anne lets out a sad sigh as she turns around and heads inside to find you.

“It’s okay. We aren’t doing this here. Wait till you get home. It’ll be fine.” Anne feels her heart shatter a little as she hears you mumbling to yourself in the entryway, where she finds you with your bag over your shoulder and your phone clutched in your hand while a steady stream of tears make their way down your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry love.” Her voice is like a warm hug engulfing you as she appears in the entryway, you look at her and before you can say anything she is wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you in for a gentle hug. “Do whatever you need to do for yourself okay? I promise he will respect whatever boundaries you need to set.” She reassures you as she gives you a small squeeze while your arms wrap around her to return the hug.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to stay longer.” You mumble between sniffles as Anne pulls away and she just brushes it off as she places a hand on your shoulder.

“Next time it’ll just be us.” She says with a smile as your phone goes off letting you know your ride is almost there. “Let me know if you need anything okay?” You just nod as she leans in for one more quick hug before she opens the front door for you, she stands there and watches you walk down the driveway and to the gate and she waves when you turn to and look at her before walking through the gate. It’s not until she sees the car you get in the passenger seat of drive off that she turns around and goes back inside.

Harry is chewing on his bottom lip while he waits for his mom to return to the backyard, he keeps replaying the last five minutes over and over in his head and he can’t believe he let himself get so caught up in his little tangent that he didn’t even notice you got up and left the table. He feels horrible because he doesn’t even know why he got so worked up over something so stupid. Because Harry knows he is going to have to tell the world he’s going to be a dad eventually, and he would much rather be the one to do it than to have a photo leaked of him with you leaving Dr. Andrews’s office or out shopping for baby things once the time comes for that. He wants it be something well thought out and personal not some rushed, shot from across the street, horrible angled pap photo that the both of you hate that ends up being how the world finds out about the Styles twins in the making.

His main thing is he just doesn’t want to deal with the questions of who you are because he doesn’t know how to answer them, because who even are you to him right now? Besides the obvious answer being the one doing all the hard work and carrying his children, the one he can’t seem to just have a normal conversation with, but also someone he clearly liked enough to give his actual personal number to and thought was cute enough to ask to have a mid night out romp in the bathroom with. For a moment Harry wishes the two of you could be those people again, the ones who met in that karaoke bar and were just having fun and enjoying each others company, before all the pregnancy chaos happened and he potentially ruined everything. Because something deep inside of him knows that if he just took the time to get to know you and stopped getting in his own way, he’d probably really like you and that kind of terrifies him.

“You are going to ensure that girl has a peaceful and smooth pregnancy from here on out do you understand me young man?” Anne’s stern voice makes Harry sit up straighter and knocks him out of his thoughts as he turns to give her all his attention as she stands at the end of the table with a disappointed look on her face.

“Yes ma’am.”

“You have such a way with words Harry and it’s a blessing as well as a curse because sometimes you just say the most hurtful things.” Harry swallows hard as his mom lets out a sigh and places a hand on her hip.

“I love you and you know I want to support you but I will not allow you to talk to her like that. You need to get your head out of your ass and treat her with a little respect or else you’re going to end up watching your babies be brought into this world over a phone because she won’t want you anywhere near her and that means not being in the delivery room and you’ll never forgive yourself if that’s how it ends up Harry.” He just nods as he feels his eyes begin to burn with unshed tears he can’t seem to blink away at the thought of you being so over him that you don’t even want him in the delivery room, something he would have no choice but to agree to.

“I keep-keep fucking it up.” He admits as he sniffles making Anne take a step over to him so she can place her hands on the tops of his shoulders over the chair. “I don’t know why I just-just keep hurting her.”

“Just give her some time and maybe while you’re doing that you should give your therapist a call?” She suggests as a few tears slip past Harry’s closed eyes as he just nods.

“Okay.” Anne smiles at his agreement and leans down and places a kiss to the top of his head before she gives his shoulders a nice squeeze.

“It’ll be okay Harry you just have to do better starting now.” She tells him before she lets go of his shoulders and heads back inside once again leaving Harry alone at the table in her backyard. He opens his eyes and wipes away the few stray tears that try to make their way down his cheeks, his head turns and his eyes land on your teacup and before he can stop himself he reaches over and grabs it so he can take a sip out of it.

“Still disgusting.” He mumbles to himself as he scrunches his nose while he places it back down on the table before he grabs a piece of toast off your plate. “That’s not bad though.” He says after he takes a bite out of a a piece with your favorite raspberry jam on it.

He sniffles a bit as he leans back in his chair to get comfortable with the toast in one hand and his phone in the other. He lets out a huff as he scrolls through his contacts until he finds his therapists’s number, figuring there no time like the present, ready to put his therapist’s whole “I’m here for you anytime” to the test as he hits the call icon while he takes another bite of your current pregnancy craving. All while trying not to think about what kind of emotional state you’re currently in all due to his irrational and hurtful outbursts because if he’s feeling this horrible and he’s the one who did the talking he can’t imagine how you must be feeling as the one who had to endure the hurtful words.

“So whose house was that?” Ethan, your neighbor who lives directly across from you asks after a few moments of you sniffling and silently wiping your face to try to rid your cheeks of any wetness due to your tears while stopped at a red light.

“Anne’s.” Is all you can manage to say before you feel your bottom lip start to tremble as you look down at your purse in your lap. Ethan just nods as he does his best to not let on to the fact he clearly knows you’re having a breakdown in his passenger seat because he also had to help you into that very same seat because your tears had made everything a little blurry by the time he got to the house to pick you up and you were a half step away from tripping on the curb before he caught your elbow.

“I met Niall Horan.” You mumble as the light turns green and Ethan lets out a chuckle as he lightly shakes his head before making his way down the street.

“How many members of One Direction are you currently seeing?” He jokes and that makes you turn to look at him with a raised brow as you rub your hand under your nose, not bothering to try to be polite and look cute in your current teary eyed and snotty state because Ethan has seen you look much worse.

“None.” You answer as you look down at your lap and place a hand over your bump. “But I did let one of them get me pregnant.” Ethan has to stop himself from accidentally slamming on the brakes as you casually let the information fall from your lips deciding that now is as good a time as any to let your neighbor who is also one of your very good friends know why you’ve been so emotional and a bit cranky lately.

“Please god let it be Zayn.” Ethan half whispers to himself making you reach over with your free hand and playfully swat at his arm with a chuckle making him smile at the sound of your laugh even if it is a bit watery and rough.

“It’s not Zayn.” You say with a playful sadness as Ethan pulls into the parking lot of the apartment complex.

“And obviously it’s not Niall if you just met him today.” You just nod as he pulls into his assigned spot and puts his car into park. You stare out the windshield as he turns to look at you, he lets out a sigh as he reaches over and places a hand on your forearm. “Well if it’s who’s been lurking around our hallway then let’s just hope this baby has your brains.”

“You mean babies.” Ethan’s eyes go a little wide but he’s quick to recover and just nods and lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug at the same time as if what you just said is the most normal thing he’s ever heard come out of your mouth.

“Twins?” You just nod as you look over at him and he gives you a smile that makes you feel like crying all over again but for a totally different reason. “Holy shit that’s-that’s amazing.” The excitement and genuine happiness you can feel practically radiating off of Ethan is the reaction you find yourself wishing Harry would’ve had when he found out instead of the one he gave you that ended with you alone in an exam room.

“You think so?” Ethan just nods as he gives your arm a squeeze. “They are the size of limes right now.” You inform him for no reason other than it’s one of the few facts you have to offer at the moment about the two humans growing in your tummy.

“Limes huh? That’s like my favorite fruit and I’m not just saying that because I’m a bartender.” You playfully roll your eyes at him before he just lets you sit in silence with him for a moment.

“I don’t think he likes me.” You whisper but Ethan is close enough that he hears you and you feel his grip on your arm tighten just slightly making you turn to look him in his green eyes that thankfully aren’t as big and dumb as Harry’s. “Like at all and I actually think he might-he might hate me?”

“Want me to kick his ass? He’s got like six or seven years on me so I’m pretty sure I can take him.”

“You may be younger than him but age has nothing to do with being able to beat someone up.”

“I mean come on he’s Harry Styles how much of a punch can the man pack? Besides I’ll let Paris get him in the ankles and I’ll just deck him in his pretty face and it’ll be easy and over with in a few seconds.” You just stare at him for a minute after he’s done explaining his plan of attack and when he lets out a sigh you know it’s one of defeat as he releases his hold on your forearm and runs a hand through his blonde hair.

“Fine because you’re an amazing neighbor and a good friend I won’t hit him. But I make no promises on being nice to him.” You give him a smile before you begin to unbuckle yourself and get out of the car while he takes the keys out of the ignition.

“Thank you Ethan. For everything.” He just smiles and grabs your purse from you before you can even try to put it over your shoulder and slings it over his as the two of you head inside the lobby of the complex.

“You’re welcome.” You lean into him as he tosses his arm over your shoulder while the two of you wait for the elevator. “I know you’re the one who usually drops the older sister advice on me but I just want to say that if he’s gonna act like a douchebag and make you upset like this all the time then fuck him. You don’t need him. You’ll be okay because I’ll make sure of it.” You know he means every word because Ethan isn’t one to just tell you something like this unless he feels he needs to. The two of you step into the elevator and press the number five before you decide to say anything in response.

“So the younger brother wisdom has finally hit you huh? I was wondering when that would happen. Only took two years of living across the hall from each other.” He laughs as he pulls you closer to his side making you smile. “I do appreciate the advice.”

“I just love and respect you too much to see you put up with bullshit from someone who has a god awful naked mermaid on his forearm.” You give Ethan’s chest a smack as the doors open and he lets you walk out first leading the way to your door. “Also you know old lady Sherry is going to fucking freak when she hears her favorite cat lady is having twins.” Ethan adds as the two of you walk by Sherry’s door and you laugh and nod because she does refer to you as a cat lady because she thinks at your age you should be married with babies not living alone with Paris.

“She’s not an old lady Ethan she’s not even in her sixties yet.” You correct him but he just rolls his eyes and brushes you off as the two of you walk up to your doors. You turn to him as he is digging through your bag that’s still over his shoulder, no doubt looking for your keys.

“I’m in my early twenties so I’m sorry everyone over fifty is old.” He teases as he fishes your keys out and hands them to you before he slides your purse off his shoulder and gently places the strap on top of yours making sure it doesn’t fall off. “So tell me what was he-”

“So much prettier in person.” You answer already knowing who he’s referring to and he laughs at how soft your voice goes as the memory of your brief encounter with Niall runs through your head. “The television doesn’t do him justice at all.” You explain since Ethan is the one you watch The Voice with sometimes along with Paris.

“But he looks so pretty on the screen already? How can he possibly be prettier in real life?” He asks with a quirked brow and you just shrug causing the strap of your purse to fall down into the crook of your elbow.

“Well I’m glad something good happened to you today.” You smile as he leans in and wraps his arms around you in a hug.

“Love you Ethan.” He smiles as he pulls away and you turn to unlock your front door.

“Love you too and please tell your little ankle biting boy that I said hello.” You laugh and just nod as you open your door, you turn around to close it and give Ethan a wave as you watch him walk into his own apartment and he waves back before closing his door.

You let out a heavy sigh as you lock the door and drop your bag at your feet. You hear the sound of a bell jingling and soon Paris is purring at your ankles as he rubs his head along your shins making you smile as you bend over and pick him up.

“Uncle Ethan says hello.” Paris just purrs in response as he nuzzles his head against your cheek as you make your way into the living room. “Oh Paris do I have some news for you.” You say with a sigh as you take a seat on your couch and get comfortable with your feet propped up on the coffee table. Paris moves so he’s resting in your lap with his head against your small bump and you bite your bottom lip as you get ready to spill all the events that happened during the few hours you were gone to him, and you’re thankful he isn’t looking at you because you’re not quite sure you could handle looking into his eyes right now since they remind you too much of the big dumb green ones that belong to the man that made you cry just half an hour ago.

[kahluamystery97]

So Christmas is my birthday and this was possibly the best birthday gift a girl could get. It was amazing. Can't wait to reread while I couch rot on Thursday!! It was absolutely lovely. ❤️❤️

On Holiday

Word Count: 1.5K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

***

Christmas looked a little different this year. The smell of cinnamon and pine had been swapped for coconut and salt, and the chill of London was replaced by a warm sea breeze. Any other year, the season would have been crammed with visits to family and friends, tasty food, and Christmas carols, making for long, albeit fulfilling days.  

But after a year at home, Harry had suggested something different. 

“How’d you feel about a tropical Christmas, love,” he’d whispered against Quinn’s hair one night, so softly, she almost didn’t hear him.

The holidays had always been the only time he’d been allowed to slow down and see the people he loved most, soaking in as much as he could in the couple weeks he had. But with his self-imposed break, he’d had plenty of family time this year, he’d argued, which made him feel comfortable skipping out on some of the festivities.  

And that’s how Quinn found herself in the Caribbean on Christmas, making use of the swimsuits she’d purchased during an end of season sale. Harry had taken care of planning every detail, even the smallest most mundane ones. Quinn had obviously fought him on it, never wanting to cede too much control, but she had to admit it was nice to just sit back and enjoy while someone else did the work. 

She’d headed out the beach after breakfast and had quickly dozed off, the crash of the waves and the rustle of the trees lulling her into a peaceful sleep. As she slept, she dreamed that something was tickling her. She twisted trying to move away, but she couldn’t get comfortable and the sensation quickly returned. She sleepily swatted at her skin, only for the sensation to return with a vengeance. Finally, she opened her eyes and saw Harry standing over her, palm leaf in hand, hanging just above the exposed skin of her stomach. 

“Hi,” he said with a mischievous grin. 

“Seriously?”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence. “I missed you.”

“You’ve spent every minute of this trip with me, H,” she laughed. “How can you miss me?” Harry just shrugged. “You’re interrupting my beauty sleep,” Quinn added. 

“You’re always beautiful. Don’t need sleep or anything,” Harry said, motioning for Quinn to scoot over on the plush lounger. She moved to the side, giving Harry enough room to sit down beside her before cuddling in beside him, linking their legs together. 

“You’re just saying that because you want attention. Or sex,” Quinn muttered against his bare chest. He smelled like sunscreen and salt and it was quickly becoming her favorite scent. 

“I mean, I won’t say no to either of those things,” Harry said with a chuckle. “But who’s to say I want anything? Maybe I just want to pay my wife a compliment.” 

His wife. It had been almost two weeks and Quinn didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing those words from her husband. “Well, I’m lucky to have such a wonderful husband,” she replied, craning her neck to place a gentle kiss along Harry’s jaw. She never thought she’d be one of those newlyweds, but she had clearly misjudged herself.

They’d started wedding planning soon after Harry proposed, and while they’d initially assumed they’d have a large wedding (perhaps in Italy?), the more they looked into the actual mechanics of pulling it off, the less enthusiastic they became. 

“I didn’t realize this would be so…involved,” Harry said over dinner one night after they’d spent the day researching venues. “It’s like planning the biggest party of our lives. But less fun. Am I allowed to say it’s not fun?” 

“I know,” Quinn said, slightly relieved she wasn’t the only one who felt overwhelmed. “It’s like we need to have an idea about the guest list to see what venue would work, but then we kind of need to know where we’re going to have it so that we know who would be able to come. And there are so many decisions. Why are linens such a big deal? And then there’s trying to keep everything private. It’s just…” she trailed off. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she said in agreement. 

The next morning, Harry had presented his new plan over coffee. “How would you feel about eloping?”

So that’s what they did. 

They enjoyed the spring and summer and fall soaking up time with family, exploring the city, and enjoying mundane everyday details that aren’t so mundane when you’re on the road for most of the year. They enjoyed being with each other and their families, all while keeping the biggest secret of their lives. And when work started to wind down for Quinn in early December, she cashed in all of her leave, ready for what came next. 

On a rainy Saturday, they texted a couple of their friends and had them meet them at a venue that would not be making The Knot’s list of ideal wedding locations: a nondescript government building. Quinn wore a white jumpsuit she’d purchased earlier in the week, and Harry wore the simplest suit in his closet. An hour later, the papers were signed, and they were officially a married couple. They celebrated their nuptials with pizza and early bedtime, before catching a flight the next morning.  

“So,” Harry said, moving to take Quinn’s hand in his own, bringing her back to the present. “When are we going to tell them?” He stroked the diamond band that now rested on her finger alongside the engagement ring he’d given her just a little over a year ago. She reached for his own wedding band in return, twirling it around his finger, smiling when she caught a glimpse of the small tan line that already formed. 

“Would make for a great New Year’s surprise.”

“It would,” Harry said, smiling softly. “Mum’s going to lose it.” 

“I just hope she’s not mad,” Quinn said. It was the fear that had been nagging at her since they’d made their decision. That by keeping this moment for themselves, they were somehow depriving their family and friends from sharing the memory with them, even though they’d agreed to have a celebration when they’d returned. 

“None of that now,” Harry scolded. “She’s going to be thrilled that we finally made it official. Got my act together and made an honest woman of you.” Quinn shot him a look and he laughed. “You know what I mean. I think everyone’s just going to be so happy. That we did what worked for us. And if they aren’t, well they’re off the guest list for the celebratory dinner.”  

“I’m really glad we did this, Harry,” Quinn said after a moment. “I think it’s everything I wanted.” 

“Signing papers in a water-stained room while a government employee watched?”

“It would have been nice if there was some mold to complete the vision but I’ll take what I can get.” Harry laughed and Quinn waited until he calmed down before continuing. “No, I always wanted it to be you and me. I didn’t need a crowd of people or a dress or a fancy destination, I just needed you there with me. And you were. It was perfect.” 

Harry was silent but Quinn could feel him take a shuddering breath. She knew what those words meant to him. That she wanted him. Not the glitz and the glamour and the money and the attention and all of the other things that came along with being Harry Styles. She just wanted him. Harry. The guy who always ended up on her side of the bed because his side was too far away. The guy that had coffee waiting for her every morning. The guy who would never admit it publicly but loved nothing more than reading the bios of the cats up for adoption at the local cat cafe, always saying he was just looking for one his mother would like. And now he was hers, forever and ever. Even when she had to share him with millions of others. 

“You want another one of those rum things?” Harry asked, sniffling.

“Sure. Are you getting one?”

“Might as well. It’s our honeymoon after all. We only get one of those.” He waggled his eyebrows. ‘It’s our honeymoon’ had become his favorite way to justify anything and everything on the trip. He stood up and Quinn moved to follow him. “No, no,” he chided. “Stay here. I didn’t mean for you to get up.”

“I want to go,” Quinn said, reaching for his hand and leaning into his touch as he pulled her up. “I always want to be with you.” 

“And now you’re stuck with me.” 

“Forever.” 

Harry smiled widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Come on.” He gently tugged Quinn along. “I need to get my wife a drink.” 

***

talk to me! || story inspo

taglist: @rivercran @daydreaming-laur @oh-honey-styles @nevertoooldtodancelikeamaniac @tbslhrry @andwhenshesays @hslllot@luvonstyles @woody32271 @ambee789 @very-berry-harry @last-saturday-night @confusedbansheee @kakaym @daphnesutton @bableliketable @lauloupi@kkrenae @sing-me-a-song-harry @soup-sex-and-sun-salutations @sweetwanderlust05 @deepestsweetsarbiter @kahluamystery97 @thurhomish @honeybluebirds @daydreamingofmatilda @indierockgirrl @be-with-me-so-happily @a-strange-familiar @mleestiles @theekyliepage @b-reads-things @behindmygreyeyes

[kahluamystery97]

Top tier banter. Very sexy end.

𝐓𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 (𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭)

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬’ 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ (piv) oral (f!receiving), softrry, drunkrry, needy!h, alcohol, fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 8k (I GOT CARRIED AWAY)

❏ before anyone anons me i made the gif 😧 and thank u for the request anon !! this was so fun to write :) i hope it met ur expectations

masterlist

harry was in the kitchen, holding a wine glass half-filled with straight tequila, his pinky finger looped over the rim like it was fine champagne. YN stood next to him, one hand on his arm, steadying herself—or maybe steadying him.

"you're a liability, you know that?" she giggled, her words slurring just enough to make him grin.

"me?" he huffed, leaning into her slightly, his drink sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the glass. "'m the liability? you've been clingin' to me all night, petal, can't walk straight without me."

she smacked his arm lightly, laughing. "it's 'cause you keep givin' me tequila! this is your fault."

he tilted his head, his eyes squinting like he was genuinely considering this. then he shrugged, nonchalant, dimples flashing. "s'pose you're right. but i reckon you love me for it, yeah?”

"love you despite it," she corrected, but she was smiling, her fingers curling into the sleeve of his shirt.

the flat was warm, soft yellow light spilling over cluttered corners and half-empty glasses, the air thick with laughter. it was the kind of late evening that felt like the exact middle of spring—windows cracked open, a cool breeze sneaking in, ruffling the edges of the curtains. someone had put on a playlist an hour ago, though the music had long since melted into the background, now just a hum beneath the chatter. the small group, crowded into the cozy living room, was exactly the right size to make the space feel alive but not cramped.

their flat always smelled faintly of cedarwood and something clean, though tonight it carried undertones of tequila and lime. he’d insisted on tequila because, as he explained with a wide grin and an unconvincing shrug, “s’just easier that way, innit?” no one really argued, though mitch had given a (poorly executed) rick sanchez imitation as a counter, something that harry didn’t quite understand, leaving him to furrow his eyebrows and dart his eyes around as he mulled it over, mumbling, “why are y’speaking like that? i don’t get it.”

now, hours later, harry was sprawled in the corner of the couch, long legs stretched out, a glass balanced precariously on his knee.

“i swear—i’m swearin’ right now—this is the last one.” he mumbled, lifting his glass as though making a toast. his speech was just a little slurred, the tips of his curls sticking to his temples. YN, perched beside him, nudged his side with her elbow, laughing.

“you said that half an hour ago, baby.” she teased, leaning closer to steal a sip from his glass. his free hand immediately looped around her waist, pulling her snug against his side.

“’s different this time,” he insisted, his voice dipping low, mock serious. “i mean it now. promise.”

“oh, you’re so convincing.” she smiled, her fingers absently running along the seam of his shirt, her touch light and familiar.

on the other side of the coffee table, mitch snorted, tipping his head back against the edge of the sofa. his hair, always a little unruly, had fallen out of whatever loose tie it had been in earlier. sarah, seated on the floor beside him with her legs crossed, nudged him in the ribs.

“you’re not much better,” she pointed out, gesturing to the glass in his hand.

“oi, don’t start,” he shot back, lifting a hand in mock defense.

the back-and-forth had been going on like this for the better part of the evening—easy, unfiltered, slightly nonsensical. everyone was comfortably slouched, shoulders loose, cheeks warm, the kind of drunk that makes the room feel like it’s spinning just the tiniest bit, but not enough to care.

harry had been stealing glances at YN all night, grinning at the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, her cheeks flushed from a combination of alcohol and the warmth of the room. she caught him staring at one point and poked his chest, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

“what are you looking at?”

“you.” he shrugged simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, blinking at her as if she was blurry and needed to come into focus.

YN rolled her eyes, though her smile gave her away. she parted her lips to speak, though harry cut her off before she could bother.

"you're all–” he gestured vaguely at her face, his voice lilting like he hadn't figured out the rest of the sentence yet. "and i'm–" another aimless wave of his hand, this time at himself.

"you're what?" she asked, tilting her head, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh.

harry leaned closer, his knee brushing hers. his curls had started to flatten at his temples, damp from the heat of the room, and his cheeks were flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “i’m in love.” his words were slightly sing-song, punctuated by the tilt of his head.

the room dissolved into chaos not long after, though no one could say for certain what triggered it. maybe it was the tequila. maybe it was just the kind of energy that builds when a group of close friends is together in one place, everyone feeding off the same shared sense of silliness.

“right,” mitch announced suddenly, sitting up straight and nearly spilling his drink in the process. “i bet—” he paused, frowning in concentration as though piecing the words together took effort. “i bet i could do more push-ups than you.”

he blinked, the challenge taking a moment to register. then his brows lifted, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“you’re jokin’, right?”

“nah, m’serious.” he leaned forward, setting his glass on the table with a decisive thunk.

“you’re both idiots.” sarah breathed, though she was already pulling her phone out, clearly ready to document whatever was about to happen.

YN groaned, burying her face in her hands. “please don’t encourage them.”

“what, you don’t believe in me?” harry asked, feigning hurt as he turned to look at her.

“you’ve had, like, seven shots of tequila, h.”

he held up a finger. “six. maybe five and a half.”

she looked at him, tongue in cheek, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “not helping your case.”

in the end, there was no stopping it. mitch had already shifted to his knees, clearing a space in front of the coffee table. harry followed suit, swaying slightly as he stood and then immediately dropping down to the floor.

“’s not fair, though,” harry slurred as YN slid a pillow beneath his fists. “i’ve got longer arms. more distance t’cover.”

“what kind of logic is that?” sarah asked, laughing.

“solid–“ hiccup “–solid logic.” he muttered, lowering himself into position.

for the first few push-ups, they were evenly matched. mitch, whose hair kept falling in his face, managed to hold his form pretty well, his elbows bending at clean angles. harry, despite the tequila, seemed entirely unbothered, his movements smooth and steady.

“oh, this is ridiculous,” YN mumbled, though she was grinning now, leaning forward with her chin resting in her palm.

“keep count.” mitch grunted, while sarah angled her phone to get both of them in the frame.

“seven,” YN called, her voice louder over the sound of their laughter.

“eight,” sarah chimed in.

“nine,” she smiled, though by this point, mitch was visibly struggling. his arms trembled, his breaths coming out in quick puffs, his hair falling into his mouth. harry, on the other hand, was still going strong, his movements punctuated by muttered comments.

“easy.” push. “light work.” push–hiccup. “this one’s for you, petal.” he added, shooting a quick wink at his girlfriend.

“oh my god.”

“thirteen,” sarah announced, though she sounded doubtful as mitch wobbled dangerously, his arms nearly giving out.

"how's he doin' that?" sarah asked, watching harry like he was some kind of anomaly.

harry started to strain just a bit, "core strength, love.”

"core strength my ass," mitch shot back, collapsing flat onto the floor. "he's built like a fuckin' slinky. bounces back."

YN laughed so hard she snorted, and harry immediately glanced up, his expression melting into something soft and dopey the second he saw her.

“i’m—i’m done.” mitch declared, already rolling over onto his back.

harry sat back on his knees, raising his fists in mock triumph. “and the crowd goes wild,” he said, grinning up at YN.

“you’re arrogant.” she sighed, though she reached for his wrist, tugging him back onto the couch beside her.

“what can i say,” harry mumbled, settling against her. “m’good at everything.”

the evening wound down slowly after that, the energy softening into something quieter, sleepier. sarah scrolled through the video on her phone, narrating bits of it for everyone’s amusement.

“look at mitch,” she said, laughing. “he looks like he’s dying.”

“i was dying,” mitch muttered from the floor, his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes.

YN reached for harry’s hand, threading her fingers through his, her voice low and teasing.

“are you proud of yourself?”

“very.” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.

and for a while, no one said much of anything. the playlist had shifted to something softer, the kind of music you hum along to without thinking. the tv, still on in the background, flickered faintly, casting shadows across the room. harry’s arm rested around YN’s shoulders, his eyes fluttered closed, his thumb drawing slow circles against her skin.

mitch was still on the floor, sprawled out like a martyr, while sarah waved her phone in his direction, wobbling as she stood.

"y'done, jesus christ?" she asked, her words swimming together in a way that made her laugh at herself. "need any help, or you reckon you'll just ascend back t'heaven on your own?"

“ha fuckin’ ha," mitch mumbled, lifting one hand in a weak attempt at a rude gesture. "perfectly fine, thank you."

"you're not," sarah replied, flopping onto the arm of the sofa. she nearly slid off, catching herself with a giggle before poking YN with her foot. "and neither's your fella."

YN glanced sideways at harry, who was leaning so far into her that she might as well have been holding him upright. his nose was tucked against her temple, and he was humming something under his breath—a soft, disjointed melody that might've been a song or might've been nothing at all.

"all good," he muttered, his words smudged around the edges. "better'n mitch, anyway."

"low bar.”

he opened one eye, a mischievous glint sparking through his drowsy expression as he glanced at mitch, then back toward YN. "m in love with you, y'know," he breathed, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

"we know.” mitch groaned from the floor.

"no, but like–” he pushed himself up slightly, though his movements were clumsy, his balance swaying like a tree in the wind. "like, really in love. like, proper. s’serious.”

“oh yeah?” she asked, though her hands flew to her cheeks, trying to cover the pink that bloomed there.

he reached out, his fingers fumbling to gently tug her hands away from her face. "don't hide from me," he pouted, his voice soft and warm. "can't handle it when you hide."

sarah made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, shaking her head as she leaned over to prod mitch with her foot. "we need to leave before he gets worse," she said.

"worse? how can he get worse?" he replied, his voice muffled from where he was still sprawled on the rug.

harry didn't seem to notice them. he was focused entirely on YN, his gaze heavy and unflinching as he settled his head into her lap.

"you're so pretty," he hummed, his words slow and drawn out like he was tasting them for the first time. "have i told you that tonight?"

"a couple of times.”

"doesn't feel like enough.” he frowned, his fingers brushing against her knee like he was grounding himself in her. "you're... you're unreal. sometimes i look at you and i can't believe—" he trailed off, shaking his head like words weren't enough.

"he's gonna make me cry.” sarah whispered, half-laughing as she leaned into mitch's shoulder.

"you'll get used to it.” YN rolled her eyes, though she was still smiling.

harry frowned deeper, looking up at her. "don't roll your eyes at me. 'm being serious."

"oh, i know you are, dork.” she grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

his eyes fluttered shut at the touch, a small, pleased sound escaping his lips.

"if i don't call an uber now, i'm never getting out of here.” sarah said suddenly, sitting up and reaching for her phone.

"why would you wanna leave?" harry asked, turning his head to squint at her. "you're comfy. stay."

"gotta leave before this turns into a whole bloody soft-core," mitch muttered, finally pushing himself into a sitting position.

harry’s eyes narrowed in slight confusion, his lips parting as he whispered the word soft-core in different tones over and over as if it might click.

mitch let out a noise that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "you’ll get it eventually, mate.”

sarah stood, brushing off her jeans as she looked down at YN. "you gonna be alright with him?"

she glanced at her boyfriend, who was still nestled into her lap, mulling mitch’s response still. "he's harmless," she shrugged. "just annoying when he's drunk–”

harry interrupted with a sharp clap of his hands that turned into a point in mitch’s direction, shoulders shaking in slurred, squeaky laughter. “s-soft–core porno!” he giggled, his cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled. “that was a good one. this guy.”

mitch rolled his eyes, waving harry’s laughter off before he looked at YN. “have fun with this fool in the morning.”

"love you.” he mumbled immediately, moving his hand to give her thigh an exaggerated squeeze.

"yeah, yeah.” she laughed as she pried his hand off her.

"alright, we're off," sarah announced, grabbing mitch's arm and pulling him to his feet.

"safe travels! love you guys!” harry called weakly, his words slurring together as he waved at them from where he lay.

YN walked them to the door, leaning against the frame as they stepped out into the hallway.

"text me when you're home.” she insisted, earning a nod from sarah.

when she turned back into the flat, harry was sitting upright on the couch, his legs tucked under him like a kid waiting to be told a bedtime story.

he pouted slightly, "you left me.”

“and you lived!” she smiled, as if she was astonished. “my boy’s a survivor.”

"barely.” he groaned, flopping dramatically back against the cushions.

YN crossed the room and plopped down beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. "you're so much worse than usual tonight."

"can't help it," he shrugged, his head tipping to rest on her shoulder. "you bring it out in me."

"oh, so this is my fault now?" she teased, her hand sliding into his hair again.

he only hummed an, “mhm,” before he tried to push himself closer toward her.

"stay here forever," he mumbled.

"i already live here," she reminded him.

"no, like—forever," he insisted, his fingers brushing hers where they rested on the couch. "promise you won't leave me. not ever."

YN turned her head to look at him, her heart twisting at the vulnerable expression on his face. “baby, where's this coming from?"

he shrugged, looking down at their hands. "just love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"i'm not going anywhere.”

"promise?"

"promise.” she whispered, leaning forward to press her forehead to his.

his breath hitched, and for a moment, they just stayed like that, the quiet settling around them like a blanket.

"alright," he breathed finally, his voice shaky but lighter now. "but you have to keep scratching my head or i'll revoke your girlfriend privileges."

the flat felt too quiet now that mitch and sarah were gone, the absence of their voices leaving only the faint buzz of the tv and the occasional sound of cars splashing through puddles outside. the mess of empty bottles and glasses scattered across the coffee table didn't seem to matter. nothing did, really. just him. just her.

harry's lips found hers eventually, and god, it was all so drunk and messy. the kind of kiss where his mouth didn't quite find the right angle, and she ended up laughing against him, her hands pushing gently at his chest.

"you're so bad at this," she teased, her words soft and slurred, her face warm with the alcohol coursing through her.

he pulled back just enough to look at her, his brows furrowing dramatically, lips parted in mock-offense. "bad at this? me?"

"yeah," she said, biting back another laugh. “you're awful. terrible. completely hopeless."

"hopeless?" he repeated, his accent thicker, vowels stretching and tangling together. his hands slid down her back, settling on her hips with a grip that was just firm enough to make her breath hitch. "you're sittin' with me, kissin' me, tellin' me i'm hopeless. 's'not very nice, is it?"

"maybe you deserve it.” she grinned, her forehead leaning against his.

he made a low, disbelieving sound in his throat, but his lips were twitching, caught somewhere between outrage and affection. "you're trouble, you are. absolute trouble."

"and you love it."

"fuckin' right, i do," he said, smiling as his hands tugged her hips forward slightly, pulling her more firmly into his lap.

the movement had her tumbling into him, her face pressed against his neck as they both laughed, a breathless, bubbling kind of laughter that only made her feel warmer. his breath tickled her ear as he spoke again, voice soft but tinged with that familiar teasing edge.

"bet i'm not that bad at it," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her ear.

"you are, though," she insisted, but her voice was quieter now, a little unsteady.

"mm, don't think so," he hummed, his mouth trailing clumsily down her neck, his stubble rough against her skin. "reckon you'd've gone t’bed by now if i was, wouldn't you?"

her fingers slid into his hair, tugging lightly at the curls at the nape of his neck. "reckon i'm too drunk to leave," she teased, but the way her voice caught on the last word betrayed her.

"nah," he said, one hand drifting under the hem of her shirt, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. "you're drunk, but not that drunk. you like me too much."

"you're so full of yourself," she whispered, laughing again, but it came out breathier this time, her body leaning into his touch without thinking.

he hummed, his thumb tracing slow circles over her side. "but y'don't seem t'mind."

she didn't. not one bit.

his lips found hers again, slower this time, a little steadier despite the alcohol making his movements clumsy. he kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like they weren't surrounded by a sea of half-empty glasses and the faint smell of tequila.

things felt hazy, lazier, punctuated by quiet giggles and the occasional whispered comment that sent them both into fits of laughter. his hands were warm and wandering, slipping under her shirt, tracing the curve of her waist, sliding up her back.

"you're gonna get me all tangled," she muttered when his hand accidentally caught the hem of her bra, tugging it sideways.

"oops," he said, grinning sheepishly, his fingers clumsily fixing it. "sorry, petal. too drunk f’precision, aren't i?"

"you're too drunk for a lot of things," she teased, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"uh-uh," he murmured, his hands settling on her hips again, adjusting them roughly, sloppily as he shifted her back to rest against the cushions. "not for this. not for you."

her chest tightened at the way he said it, his voice soft and so full of affection that it made her feel like the center of the universe.

the couch creaked under their combined weight, and harry was leaning too far into her, half on top of her, his body slumped and heavy in that jellied, boneless way. his mouth was pressed to her neck, leaving messy kisses between murmured half-thoughts, most of which didn't even make sense. '…m’tellin' you," he mumbled, his lips brushing against her skin. "you're too beautiful for your own good. s'gonna be a problem f’me."

"a problem?" she repeated, laughing breathlessly as her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, trying to steady him. "harry, you're literally falling over."

"no m’not," he insisted, though his weight shifted again, and his elbow slipped off the armrest. he caught himself just in time, his hand landing somewhere between the cushion and her thigh.

"you are!" she laughed a bit harder now, her body shaking with it.

he looked at her, all wide, glassy green eyes and flushed cheeks, his hair a mess of curls that kept falling into his face. "i’m not," he said again, grinning in that slow, drunk way that made her heart trip over itself.

then, as if to prove his point, he leaned in closer, nudging her chin with his nose before kissing her again, clumsily and so, so sweet.

"har–” she started, but she barely got the word out before his knee slipped, and suddenly he was gone, tumbling sideways off the couch.

it happened so fast she didn't even have time to grab him. one second, he was on her, warm and heavy and everywhere, and the next, he was on the floor in a heap of gangly limbs and laughter.

"jesus,” she gasped, leaning over the edge of the couch to look at him.

but harry wasn't upset. not even a little bit. he was lying on his back, laughing so hard his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving with it.

she covered her face with her hands, though she couldn't stop laughing either. "you okay?"

"all good.” he said through his laughter, his voice a little high-pitched from how breathless he was.

he rolled onto his side, one hand braced on the floor, the other wiping at his face as he grinned up at her. "just... miscalculated. s'all."

"think that’s an understatement, baby.” she shook her head as she sat up on the cushions, still giggling.

“see?” he pushed himself up to his knees with a dramatic groan, "you’re too gorgeous for me t'function right now."

she watched him, her laughter softening into a fond smile as he sat back on his heels, looking up at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

his hands, big and clumsy but warm, found her knees, gently pushing them apart as he shifted closer, his breath still unsteady from laughing.

"harry,” she murmured, a little breathless now, her voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a warning.

he shushed her, his fingers brushing up her thighs, just barely slipping under the hem of her shorts. "just…lemme,”

"lemme what?" she asked, though her body was already responding to him, her knees falling wider apart.

he grinned, tilting his head to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh. "taste you," he slurred, his voice low and warm and so full of affection that it made her toes curl. "s’been all i can think about."

her tummy flipped, and she bit her lip, her fingers curling into the edge of the couch cushion. "you’re too drunk for this."

he shook his head, pressing another kiss to her thigh, this one a little higher. "no, m’not. i’m exactly drunk enough. look–” he gestured vaguely at himself, nearly losing his balance before catching himself on her leg. "perfectly steady."

she couldn't help it—she laughed, her head tipping back against the couch as she looked down at him.

his hands slid farther up her legs, feather-light and teasing, enough to make a heat pool between her thighs, harry gazing up at her through his eyelashes.

she tried to say something, but the words got caught in her throat as he leaned forward, his face so close now, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. the heat of him, the desperation in his touch, sent a shiver racing up her spine.

"baby–” she breathed, her voice softer now, less sure.

his eyes were hazy but so full of love it made her chest ache. "please," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, something that sounded dangerously close to a whimper. "lemme taste it, yeah? promise i’ll be good."

her breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could do was nod, her hands trembling slightly as they moved to his hair.

"yeah, petal?” he asked, his grin widening, and the sheer joy in his expression made her heart feel like it was going to burst.

“yeah.”

his hands were unsteady, but they were so careful, so sure of their purpose as they slid further up her thighs, the soft cotton of her shorts bunching under his fingertips. he was still grinning like an idiot, lips hovering just above her skin, his curls brushing against her as he peppered sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her leg. "you're so soft," he mumbled, voice muffled against her thigh, his words sticky with alcohol and affection.

"it feels good.” she whispered back, her hands carding through his curls, tugging gently when his teeth scraped just a little too hard.

"you love me?” he asked, turning his head to rest his cheek against her, blinking up at her like a puppy who'd just been caught making a mess.

her fingers stilled in his hair as he looked up at her, all wide, glassy green eyes and flushed cheeks, his lips parted slightly as he waited for her answer. she bit her bottom lip, feeling the words catch in her throat as she stared down at him.

"you already know i do.” she murmured, her voice soft and shaky, her hands sliding down to cup his face. her thumbs brushed over his cheeks, his skin warm beneath her touch.

"say it, though," he slurred, a little whiny now, his lips forming into a slight pout.

"i love you, h.” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm, and his expression softened immediately, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his face into her palm.

"love you too," he muttered, almost too quiet for her to hear, though his words were followed by a sloppy kiss to the inside of her wrist, his lips warm and soft against her skin.

and then, without missing a beat, his mouth was back on her thigh, moving higher with a desperation that had her legs trembling.

"smell so fuckin' good," he muttered, his voice muffled against her skin. his hands slid up to the waistband of her shorts, fumbling slightly as he tugged at the fabric. "need these off, petal. lemme see you."

her breath caught in her throat, her cheeks flushing as she lifted her hips slightly, helping him ease the shorts down her legs. his hands were uncoordinated, tugging too hard at one side and almost making her laugh, but the intensity in his expression stopped her. he was looking at her like she was something sacred, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he pushed the shorts off and tossed them aside.

"you're s’beautiful," he said, his words slurring together as his hands settled on her thighs again, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there. "you know that? d'you even know?"

"you're drunk.”

"no such thing," he muttered, shaking his head as he leaned in, his lips brushing over her panties. "could be fuckin' blackout and i'd still want you more than anything. always want you, YN."

she couldn't help it—she whimpered, the sound surprising even herself as her fingers slid into his hair again, tugging gently to pull him closer.

he looked up at her with that soft, pleading expression that made her heart stutter. "gonna let me?”

her voice caught in her throat, and all she could do was nod, her fingers tightening in his curls as he grinned, his dimples flashing even in his drunken haze.

"that's m’girl," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her hip before hooking his fingers under the waistband of her panties and sliding them down.

the cool air made her shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth, the way he pressed soft, deliberate kisses to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, working his way higher.

he let out a breathy laugh as he settled between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady. "smell like heaven. taste like it too, i bet."

she whimpered, her head tipping back against the couch as his tongue flicked out, the first slow, teasing stroke making her whole body jolt.

he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, and she couldn't hold back the moan that spilled from her lips, loud and unrestrained.

"that's it," he sighed, his voice muffled as his tongue moved against her clit, his hands tightening on her thighs. "that's m’good girl. so sweet for me."

his words were slurred and incoherent, broken up by the way he licked and sucked at her pussy like she was spilling honey, like he couldn't get enough.

her hands clutched at his hair, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as her legs trembled on either side of his head.

his tongue swirled and flattened against her until her hips bucked more than once, a shaking mess in his hands as he pulled her closer to his mouth—so close he could drown in her (not that he’d mind).

“fuck–” she moaned, a shaky exhale leaving her lips as he dipped lower, his tongue flicking against her hole, sloppy and eager.

he hummed against her, the sound low and rough and completely unselfconscious, like he couldn't help but lose himself in her. "could stay here forever," he muttered, his lips moving against her like a prayer. "live here. die here. s'worth it."

his hands gripped her thighs tighter as she let out the lightest giggle from his words, pulling her closer, spreading her wider. he kissed her deeper, his tongue sliding into her, slow and deliberate and so desperate it made her chest ache.

her breath hitched, her legs trembling on either side of his head, and he groaned like she was the best thing he'd ever tasted, like he couldn't get enough. "god, you're so good," he slurred, his voice unsteady as he pulled back just enough to look up at her, his lips slick and swollen. "so, so good, YN. d'you even know? fuckin' perfect, petal. can't believe you're mine."

the rest of his words melted into incoherent sounds, soft groans and murmured praise that blended with her own breathy moans as he delved back in to lap at her, circling her clit like it was the only thing that mattered.

her head tipped back, her body arching into his touch as he dragged her closer and closer to the edge, his movements clumsy but so desperate, so full of love that it made her chest ache.

when she came, it was sudden and all-consuming, her body shaking as she cried out, her moans spilling into the quiet room like music. harry didn't stop, his hands holding her steady as his tongue worked her through it, his own groans muffled against her as though he was enjoying every second as much as she was.

when her body finally stilled, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, he pressed one last soft kiss to her inner thigh before leaning back, his face flushed and glistening, his grin wide and satisfied.

harry shifted up the couch with all the determination of a man who was too drunk to move properly but too stubborn to let that stop him. his arms framed either side of her, his body hovering as best he could, though it was more of a slow collapse than anything elegant. he grunted softly as he settled his weight, pressing her deeper into the cushions, their bodies flush in a way that made both of them shiver despite the warmth of the room.

she let out a quiet laugh, breathless against the way his curls brushed against her face, sticking to his damp forehead. he huffed at the sound, lips tugging into a sloppy grin before pressing them clumsily to hers. the kiss was slow and sweet at first-warm and gentle, his mouth barely brushing against hers like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

but then she shifted slightly beneath him, her fingers curling into his sides, and it was like something broke loose in him. the kiss deepened, messy and urgent, all soft gasps and the taste of tequila lingering on his lips. he kissed her like he was starved for it, as if every second that passed without her mouth on his was unbearable.

his hands roamed her body as if he didn't know where to settle, tugging at her waist, smoothing over her thighs, curling under her back like he needed to feel every part of her. his hips pressed against hers instinctively, and he groaned into her mouth, the sound loud and unfiltered as he broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead falling to hers.

harry looked down at her, his eyes blown wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly. he tried to push himself up further, but his movements were clumsy, his arms wobbling under his own weight. she couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped her lips, and he scrunched his face into a dramatic pout, shaking his head slightly like a sleepy puppy.

his hands fumbled at the hem of his jeans, tugging once before stopping completely, his shoulders sagging. he groaned softly, his head dropping to her shoulder with an audible thud.

"bloody things," he mumbled against her skin, though the words were barely coherent.

she smiled softly to herself, her hands sliding up his back, her fingers brushing over the waistband where he'd given up.

gently, she nudged at his hips, wordlessly guiding him upward until he sat back on his knees, his hands resting heavily against her thighs for balance. his breathing was heavy, his cheeks flushed pink, his curls damp against his forehead.

there was a quiet kind of helplessness in the way he looked at her then—needy and desperate, his lips parted, his brows furrowed slightly like he couldn't figure out how to do this on his own. she didn't make him ask.

her hands moved to the button of his jeans, quick but careful as she popped it open. he let out a soft, shaky exhale as she tugged the zipper down, his body trembling just slightly under her touch. the denim caught on his hips as she tried to push it down, and harry huffed again, adjusting his weight clumsily to help her pull the fabric free.

"lift," she murmured softly, and he obeyed without hesitation, planting his hands firmly on either side of her hips and raising his body just enough to let her drag the jeans down.

he collapsed back onto his knees with a relieved groan as the fabric pooled around his legs, his head tipping back, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon. she reached for the waistband of his boxers next, her movements slower this time, deliberate, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of his hips as she slid the fabric down.

his breath hitched at the contact, and he swayed slightly, his hands curling into the cushions beside her for balance. for a moment, he just stared down at her, his expression soft and hazy and so full of need that it made her stomach flip.

"there," she whispered softly, her hands moving to rest against his thighs, steadying him.

harry blinked slowly, his eyes dragging over her face as if he were seeing her for the first time. then, without a word, he leaned back down, his body pressing hers into the cushions again as his lips found hers.

the kiss was desperate now, sloppier than before, their teeth bumping together as they both tried to breathe and laugh through it. his hands slid beneath her, wrapping around her back like he was holding her in place, his chest pressing firmly to hers with every ragged breath.

he just rocked against her instinctively, his movements uncoordinated but eager, drawing a quiet gasp from her lips. harry groaned softly in response, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as he muttered something incoherent.

his body was heavy against hers, his warmth and weight overwhelming, but there was something grounding in the way he held her, in the quiet hum of his breathing against her neck. she threaded her fingers into his hair, stroking softly at the curls, and he shivered, his hips pressing closer against hers with a whimper that he didn't bother trying to hold back.

"feel so good," he murmured, his voice muffled and thick, each word dripping with need. "fuckin—love you. need–need to be inside.”

her chest ached at the way he said it, so raw and honest, and she pulled him closer, their bodies tangling together in the dim light of the flat. harry kissed her again, his hands curling around her waist, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him steady.

he was desperate and clumsy, but god, he was hers. every part of him, hers.

harry moved in desperation, his body heavy and warm against hers as he lined himself up, his forehead pressing to hers. his breathing was ragged, sharp exhales mingling with hers, their chests rising and falling in time. every movement he made was tinged with an uncoordinated eagerness, like he couldn't bear to wait any longer.

he pushed in slowly at first, a groan catching in his throat as he sank into her dripping cunt, his hands gripping at her waist, rough and unsteady.

her body arched instinctively beneath him, her breath hitching as the stretch of his cock pulled a quiet gasp from her lips.

he froze for a moment, his chest pressed to hers, his arms trembling just slightly from the effort of holding himself up. it was like the sensation alone had shattered him, that raw, shaky pause where the world stopped and all that was left was her.

a shaky exhale escaped him, his lips brushing against her cheek as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. he groaned low and drawn-out, the sound muffled against her skin, his grip on her hips tightening as though he was trying to catch his breath.

he started to move, slow and unsteady, his hips rocking forward with a rhythm that was anything but precise—clumsy and needy but so full of need it didn't matter. every thrust drove him deeper into her velvety walls, his body trembling with the effort, soft curses slipping from his lips as he moved.

his weight pressed her further into the cushions, the creak of the couch mixing with the faint, unrestrained sounds escaping them both—her breathless moans, his whiny, broken groans, sounds neither of them were capable of stifling. everything felt louder in the quiet of the flat, the slow slap of skin against skin, the occasional sharp intake of breath when he hit just the right spot.

her hands slid up his back, her nails scraping lightly against his skin, and harry's body jolted in response, his thrusts faltering. he let out a choked whimper, his face still buried in her neck, his lips pressing sloppy kisses against her skin between ragged breaths.

"fuck," he groaned into her ear, though the word wasn't clear, his voice so shaky and low it dissolved into nothing.

he shifted slightly, adjusting his angle, and the next thrust pulled a gasp from her lips—a sharp rut right against the spongy spot where she felt him the most.

her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him closer, and harry groaned again, his movements growing rougher, needier.

his arms shook where they braced against the cushions, his entire body trembling from the effort as he picked up his pace, the steady slap of his hips against hers becoming louder, more insistent. there was no rhythm to it, no finesse—just harry losing himself in her, fucking into her like he'd come undone, like his body couldn't stop itself from chasing the feeling of her pussy wrapped around him.

his curls brushed against her cheeks, damp with sweat, his breath hot and uneven as he nuzzled into her neck. the sounds he made were broken now—small, helpless whines and whimpers escaping him between harsh, ragged breaths.

her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging softly, and his whole body stuttered in response, his hips driving forward with a sharp snap that had her gasping, her voice loud and unrestrained. the sound pulled another whine from him, his hands slipping from her hips to drag up her sides, his thumbs stroking over the curve of her waist, up toward the swell of her tits, the sensitive bud that tightened with his touch.

the couch creaked with every frantic movement, the room filled with the echo of their ragged breaths and soft cries. harry's body never stilled, his thrusts erratic and desperate, his chest pressed tightly to hers their sweat-slicked skin sticking together.

his body tensed as he started to lose control, his pace faltering, his movements turning jerky and uneven. his arms gave out then, and he collapsed on top of her, his forehead pressing against her shoulder as his hips snapped into her, over and over, his entire body trembling.

her breath caught, her back arching as the pressure built between them, everything else blurring into the background—nothing but the feeling of his cock, the sound of him, the weight of him.

and then she felt him shudder, a broken groan ripping from his throat as he buried himself deep, the twitch of his length as he spilt himself inside her, his entire body going rigid. he trembled against her, his hands clutching at her waist as though holding on for dear life, his voice dissolving into breathless whimpers against her neck.

harry didn't pull away, didn't move. he stayed draped over her, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his face still buried in her neck. his hands smoothed over her sides, shaking slightly as he traced soft, lazy patterns against her skin, grounding himself in the warmth of her.

the silence settled over them slowly, the only sound left in the room their breathing, loud and uneven as they both came down. harry pressed a kiss to her shoulder-soft, tender, nothing like the desperation from moments before.

"fuck," he mumbled finally, his voice hoarse and muffled. "m’addicted to your pussy. swear it."

she let out a soft, breathless laugh, her hands still tangled in his hair as she scratched lightly at his scalp. his whole body relaxed at the motion, a quiet, contented sigh escaping him as he melted further into her.

they stayed tangled together on the couch for a while, the quiet hum of the flat settling around them, their breathing slowly evening out. harry didn’t move much—just shifted enough to nuzzle his face further into her neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses to her skin like he couldn’t quite help himself. her fingers carded through his hair, slow and steady, the repetitive motion lulling him into a contented daze.

“you comfortable there?” she murmured, her voice soft, muffled slightly by the way her cheek pressed against the curls at his temple.

“mmh,” he hummed, the sound low and heavy. “too comfortable. can’t move.”

“i’m not carrying you to bed,” she teased, her lips curving into a tired smile.

he let out a quiet groan, a sound so dramatic it made her laugh softly, her body shaking beneath him. he lifted his head slowly, resting his chin against her chest as he blinked up at her, his green eyes sleepy and glassy.

“‘s not fair, you’re too pretty,” he mumbled, grinning softly. “don’t wanna leave you here.”

“stuck with me either way, baby.” she whispered, brushing his curls back from his face, her fingers lingering at his temple.

his smile softened at that, his eyes fluttering shut briefly as he leaned into her touch. then, with an exaggerated sigh, he pushed himself up, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

“alright,” he said, though his voice was still thick with sleep and leftover drunkenness. “bedtime. c’mere.”

before she could protest, his arms were already curling around her, one under her knees and the other cradling her back as he lifted her off the couch.

“harry—” she gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. “you’re gonna drop me.”

he scoffed at that, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip, pulling her closer against him. “m’gonna pretend i didn’t hear that.”

she sighed into him, letting her cheek rest against the crook of his shoulder as he carried her across the room, his bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. her fingers slid into his hair again, stroking gently, and he let out a quiet, pleased hum at the sensation.

he moved slowly, carefully, his steps deliberate despite the weight of the tequila still sitting in his veins. he was headed toward the bedroom, but as he passed the kitchen, something caught his eye.

a glass—half full of tequila, a lone lime slice floating lazily in the liquid.

harry paused mid-step, his arms tightening around YN to keep her secure as he turned his head, squinting at the glass like it had personally called his name.

“oh, for god’s sake,” she muttered, though her voice was warm and amused, her fingers still playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

harry ignored her, shifting her weight slightly to free one hand, his arm still wrapped firmly around her waist. with the other, he reached for the glass, his movements slow and exaggerated, like he was performing a high-stakes maneuver.

“i can’t believe you,” she said, her laughter muffled by his shoulder.

“can’t leave it there,” he replied, lifting the glass to his lips and draining it in one go. the tequila burned down his throat, and he winced slightly, his face scrunching up before he set the empty glass back on the counter with a quiet clink.

“all better now?” she teased, tilting her head slightly to glance up at him.

“much.” he grinned widely, bunny teeth and dimples as he adjusted his grip on her again, turning back toward the bedroom.

he carried her the rest of the way, nudging the bedroom door open with his foot before stepping inside. the room was dimly lit by the streetlights filtering through the curtains, casting faint, golden shadows over the rumpled sheets and pillows.

harry eased her down onto the bed, following after her almost immediately, collapsing onto the mattress with a soft groan. she laughed as he pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in her neck again, his legs tangling with hers.

“this is where i’m stayin’,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against her skin.

“good,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head, her fingers brushing through his curls again.

they settled into the bed together, the weight of the night pulling them under like a blanket, warm and heavy and sweet. harry’s breathing slowed, his arms still tight around her as if he was afraid she might slip away in the dark.

“love you,” he murmured, the words barely audible, slurred with sleep.

“love you too,” she whispered back, her voice soft as her eyes fluttered shut, her hand still tangled in his hair.