slow down you crazy child youre so ambitious for a juvenile but then if youre so smart tell me why are you still so afraid? where's the fire what's the hurry about? you'd better cool it off before you burn it out you've got so much to do and only so many hours in a day hey but you know that when the truth is told that you can get what you want or you can just get old youre gonna kick off before you even get halfway through when will you realize vienna waits for you? slow down youre doing fine you can't be everything you wanna be before your time although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight tonight too bad but it's the life you lead youre so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need though you can see when youre wrong you know you can't always see when you're right you've got your passion you've got your pride but don't you know that only fools are satisfied? dream on but don't imagine they'll all come true when will you realize vienna waits for you? slow down you crazy child and take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while it's alright you can afford to lose a day or two when will you realize vienna waits for you? and you know that when the truth is told that you can get what you want or you could just get old youre gonna kick off before you even get halfway through why don't you realize vienna waits for you? when will you realize vienna waits for you?
this isn’t about hating her this is about recognizing there will always be a small part of me a little hurt and a little scared and it’s my job to care for that part in the way she needed at the time
The one in which there's a sex club, Greek stage names, the exploration of boundaries, an open house, a pair of dress shoes, and two sides of the same coin.
TDIAG things | TDIAG asks | NSFW ALPHABET | TDIAG extras | THE MAIN MASTERLIST
CHAPTER 1
The pilot episode feat. a gangbang
When Harry was twenty two, if a dangerously overconfident, time-hopping doppelgänger had pulled up in a freaky, rubber balaclava ('listen, mate' — hand on the shoulder and everything, like the reenactment of a cliché, time-honored rite of passage), and told him that in the very near future, his Friday nights would be indefinitely spent wearing a Greek moniker in the form of a fetishized allusion, that he’d be garbed by a latex mask to protect the sacred, fragile veil of secrecy—
Well. He'd probably get a head start for padded walls and a straight jacket. Consider he was doing himself a favor with that one.
But if he were told the same thing at twenty three, he'd probably choose to overlook the minor detail of reality imploding and sit back in his armchair, swirling his whiskey with excitement. Twenty three was an eventful year. He’d started casually enjoying whiskey after a long workday (honestly, a palate milestone in and of itself) and became enlightened on the fine art of tactically-applied suffering (and with it, gained a whole new appreciation for high-quality restraints). Because sometimes, a well-placed bruise and bliss just happened to go hand-in-hand.
A/N: Slowly reworking this one but. IT’S officially BACK ON WATTPAD
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.
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.
an old drunk man told me to enjoy my life and have fun because I’m only 24 and I have so many years and so much life ahead of me and then he went “and you know what? in ten years when you’re 34 you’ll still be young and have your whole life ahead of you” and it was really comforting to me
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