heyy girl i dont know if you have written something similar but i have a request: it's harry and y/n just being a very in love couple lovey dovey touchy ect and their kid(s) are grossed out hahaha
Luv this!!!
Mom, Dad, Please Stop!!!!
Pairings: Harry Styles x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Extreme Fluff, Soft Domestic, Humor, Family Love
Word Count: ~4k words
Warnings: Extreme Fluff, secondhand embarrassment because it's Yn and Harry, Harry and Yn acting like cringy mushy parents who love too much, Harry and Yn acting like two teenagers who forgot their parents.
Prompt: Yn and Harry can't keep their hands off each other like two horny teenagers in love and their kids are over it.
◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊
Too peaceful.
Which is usually a sign that something embarrassing is about to happen.
Harry is in the kitchen, humming as he flips pancakes. Yn is leaning against the counter, wearing his hoodie, sipping coffee, smiling at him like he personally invented breakfast.
Their teenage kids — Beth (17) and Milo (15) — sit at the table, half-asleep, scrolling on their phones, unaware of the emotional ambush that’s about to hit them.
Harry turns around with a plate of pancakes and kisses Yn’s cheek.
Then her forehead. Then her nose. Then her mouth. A long one.
A way too long for breakfast one.
Beth looks up. “Oh my god.”
Milo groans. “I’m gonna be sick.”
Harry pulls away from Yn, grinning. “Morning, kiddos.”
Yn giggles. “You two look tired.”
Beth stares at them. “We were fine until you started making out next to the toaster.”
Harry gasps dramatically. “We were not making out.”
“You were inhaling Mom’s face.”
Yn snorts into her coffee.
Milo covers his eyes. “I can’t unsee it.”
Harry shrugs. “You’ll live.”
Harry sits beside Yn, sliding an arm around her waist. Yn leans into him, head on his shoulder. Beth stares. “Do you guys have to sit like that?”
“Like what?” Yn asks innocently.
“Like you’re in a Hallmark movie.”
Harry beams. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Milo pokes at his pancake. “Dad, can you not feed Mom a bite? Please. I’m begging.”
Harry lifts a forkful toward Yn’s mouth. Yn opens her mouth.
Beth slams her hands on the table. “STOP.”
Harry freezes mid-air. “What?”
“You’re doing it again!”
“Doing what?”
“Being gross!”
Yn laughs. “We’re married.”
“Yeah,” Beth says, “but you don’t have to act like it.”
Harry raises a brow. “So we’re supposed to pretend we don’t like each other?”
“Yes,” Milo says. “Exactly.”
Harry kisses Yn’s temple.
Milo screams into his hands.
Later, Harry drives the kids to school. Yn rides shotgun, hand resting on his thigh.
Beth sits in the back, glaring at the road like it personally offended her.
Milo has headphones on but keeps peeking up to make sure his parents aren’t doing anything “gross.”
Harry reaches over and intertwines his fingers with Yn’s.
Beth groans. “Seriously?”
Harry glances in the rearview mirror. “What now?”
“You’re holding hands.”
“We’re married.”
“You’re holding hands in a moving vehicle.”
Yn laughs. “Is that illegal?”
“It should be.”
Harry squeezes Yn’s hand tighter.
Beth throws her head back. “I hate it here.”
Milo pulls off one headphone. “Are they kissing?”
“No,” Beth says. “But they’re thinking about it.”
Harry smirks. “Always.”
Milo slaps his headphone back on. “I’m transferring schools.”
The kids come home to find Harry and Yn on the couch.
Cuddling.
Watching a movie.
Sharing a blanket.
Sharing popcorn.
Sharing oxygen.
Beth drops her backpack. “Nope.”
Harry looks up. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Nope.”
Yn pats the couch. “Come sit.”
“Nope.”
Milo walks in behind her. “Are they— oh my god, they’re spooning.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “We’re not spooning.”
“You’re spoon-adjacent,” Beth says.
Yn giggles. “Is that a thing?”
“It is now,” Milo mutters.
Harry pulls Yn closer just to be annoying.
Beth covers her eyes. “I’m calling Grandma. She needs to know what you two are doing.”
Harry snorts. “She’ll be thrilled we still like each other.”
“She’ll be horrified,” Beth says. “She’ll pray for us.”
That night, the family decides to watch a movie together.
Harry and Yn sit on one end of the couch.
Beth and Milo sit on the other end, as far away as physically possible.
Halfway through the movie, Harry kisses Yn’s cheek.
Beth throws a pillow at them. “STOP.”
Harry blinks. “What?”
“You’re doing it again!”
“We’re literally just sitting here.”
“You’re cuddling.”
“We’re married.”
“You’re cuddling in front of minors.”
Milo nods. “Yeah, it’s basically a crime.”
Yn laughs. “You two are dramatic.”
Harry kisses her again.
Beth screams into a pillow.
Milo stands up. “I’m going to my room. I can’t watch this.”
Harry calls after him, “We’re just holding hands!”
“That’s worse!” Milo yells back.
Later, Yn is washing dishes.
Harry comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist, and kisses her neck.
Yn giggles.
Beth walks in, freezes, and backs out slowly like she just witnessed a murder.
Milo walks in next, sees them, and drops his water bottle. “I’m calling CPS.”
Harry laughs. “For hugging your mother?”
“For whatever that was.”
Yn turns around. “We’re just being affectionate.”
“Be affectionate somewhere else,” Milo says. “Preferably in another country.”
The next morning, Beth and Milo sit their parents down.
Harry and Yn sit on the couch, holding hands.
Beth points at their hands. “See? That. That’s the problem.”
Harry sighs. “We’re literally just sitting.”
“You’re sitting grossly,” Milo says.
Yn bites back a laugh. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Beth says, “that you two are too in love.”
Harry raises a brow. “Is that… bad?”
“Yes,” both kids say in unison.
Harry and Yn exchange a look.
Harry smirks. “You know, when you two were little, you used to beg us to kiss.”
Beth recoils. “Ew.”
Milo gags. “Why would you say that?”
Yn laughs. “You’d cry if we didn’t.”
Beth stands up. “I’m leaving.”
Milo follows. “I’m blocking both of you.”
Harry calls after them, “We love you!”
“STOP SAYING THAT,” Beth yells.
That evening, Harry and Yn are in the kitchen again.
Harry wraps his arms around her from behind.
Yn leans into him.
He kisses her cheek softly. “You know… I kind of love that they think we’re gross.”
Yn smiles. “Means we're doing something right.”
Harry nods. “Means we’re still us.”
She turns around, cupping his face. “Always.”
They kiss.
It’s soft.
Sweet.
Warm.
And then—
Beth walks in.
Drops her phone.
“OH MY GOD.”
Milo walks in behind her.
Sees them.
Screams.
Harry pulls away, laughing. “Kids, relax.”
“You’re traumatizing us,” Beth says.
“You’re ruining our childhood,” Milo adds.
“You’re teenagers,” Yn says.
“Exactly,” Beth says. “Prime trauma years.”
Harry kisses Yn again just to be annoying.
Beth throws a dish towel at them.
Milo covers his eyes.
Harry laughs. “One day, you two will understand.”
Beth shakes her head. “No. Never. I’m never kissing anyone ever again.”
Milo nods. “Same.”
Harry smirks. “We’ll see.”
Yn kisses his cheek.
Beth screams.
Milo runs out of the room.
Harry and Yn laugh until they can’t breathe.
Later that night, Beth texts her best friend:
Beth: My parents were inhaling each other again. I need to move out. I’m serious. Send help.
Milo texts his group chat:
Milo: They were spoon-adjacent on the couch. I’m calling a lawyer. This is emotional distress.
Meanwhile, Harry and Yn sit on the couch, cuddled up, watching a movie, completely unbothered.
Harry kisses her forehead. “Think they’ll ever get over it?”
Yn smiles. “Not a chance.”
Harry grins. “Good.”
She laughs. “You’re evil.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
And somewhere upstairs, Beth and Milo groan in unison.
hiiii can you make a dadrry one shot with this part of the new video we got where he’s playing the piano to his twin toddlers 🥺 thank youuu
It took almost two months to get this out, I'm so sorry @mmithsfreak 😭 hope you like it!
Music Time with Daddy
Warnings: None, just fluff.
Word count: 600ish
A/N: Not proofread
Masterlist I Join My Taglist
It was a sunny afternoon. Harry's wife had gone out to get some groceries after putting their lovely little two year olds to an afternoon nap. Harry was in the home studio, working on a new song for a couple of days now, saying that inspiration had struck him.
He was too immersed in what he was doing to hear the pitter patter of tiny feet and the little hands pushing his studio door open. It was only when a little hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled on it that he noticed them. Little Charlotte and Oliver were up from their nap and had come in, in search of their father. Charlie had a little stuffed bunny clutched tightly against her chest. Her curls were sticking in every which way.
He took off his headphones and picked her up,
“Hi Charlie-girl,” he cooed.
“Why are you up early, hm? Do you wanna sleep for a little more?”
“Daddy,” he heard another little voice from the corner of the room. Oliver was standing near the coffee table, in his hand a paper which was on the table, now crumpled.
“Hi Ollie, c'mere, baby,” he called out to the toddler.
He waddled over to his father with his hands up towards him, expecting to be picked up. With Charlie in one hand, Harry scooped up her brother into the other, settling them in his hold and then pressing little kisses to their chubby cheeks.
“Why are you cheeky munchkins up, hm? Didn't mumma put you down for a nap?”
“No daddy, don't wanna sleep,” Ollie said, raising his finger as if saying no.
Harry chuckled, “okay, okay, no sleep then. Do you wanna listen to a song?”
“Yes daddy,” they replied in unison. Harry couldn't help but smile. There was hardly a day that went by when the twins didn't wander into his studio asking for music, and he secretly loved that they did. Adjusting them on his hips, he walked over to the piano and sat down, and then placed Charlotte on one side and Oliver on the other.
“Ready, bubbies?” he asked, glancing between them.
“Ready,” they shouted. Harry's fingers lowered onto the keys of the piano as he played the first few lines of ‘Mary had a Little Lamb,’ one of the twins' favourites, and within seconds Charlotte was swaying happily, trying to sing along, whereas Oliver watched his father's hands moving swiftly over the keys. After a moment's hesitation, he carefully stretched out one finger and pressed a single white key, the sound cutting through the melody.
Harry looked down at him, feigning surprise before a laugh escaped him.
"Oh, have I got a little pianist helping me now, hm?" he teased, seamlessly weaving the rogue note into the melody instead of stopping.
“Keep going Ollie baby, you're doing well,” he praised the little boy. Oliver giggled and reached for another key and he was far more confident this time. Charlotte, watching all this, dissolved into a round of applause. Harry couldn't stop smiling. Even though the song no longer sounded quite like Mary Had a Little Lamb, he thought it sounded even better this way.
Thank you so much for reading, lovelies! Feedback is very much appreciated. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And if you want to be added to the taglist please lmk.
something with Dadrry and trick or treating? Pleaseeeee
Your wish is my command 🫡 I made him a twin dad too to spice things up
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Warnings- mentions of spiders but it’s pretty fluffy tbh
“M’not sure trick or treating is the safest thing.” Harry had always been a tiny bit of an anxious father but he had never thought he would resort to having his twins dressed as ‘Thing 1 and Thing 2’ all while being strapped into a harnessed leash.
Meave was a runner, though, and with the traffic… neither he nor Y/N had wanted to chance it.
“No, it isn’t. You go to stranger’s houses, knock on doors and ask for candy. Taking candy from strangers is quite literally everything we were taught not to do, but it makes them happy.” Y/N shrugged. She was dressed in her renaissance princess costume… while Harry was a dragon.
‘We’ll save the family matching costumes for when they’re a little older’ had been her claim as to why they weren’t all Dr Seuss characters. Harry was just glad he didn’t have to do face paint, instead doing a onesie type of situation. It was strangely warm outside though, so sweating was not his favorite thing in the world.
“Mumma!” Jack stopped in his tracks, making Meave scowl at him as she was yanked back a little while she tried to keep going. Where she was going in such a hurry, neither of them knew.
“What is it, my love?” Y/N crouched down, adjusting the little fuzzy blue wig on his head. Harry had suggested the spray hair color, and Y/N had suggested he be in charge of getting the blue stains out of every fabric surface in their home- so that had been all it remained.
“It’s scary.” He pointed at the house that had done quite a good job decorating with budding tears in his eyes. Jack had always been a sensitive soul, and scary things were not his cup of tea. Even as young as he was, he was wary of a lot of things. Cautious, Harry liked to say. Not scared.
“It is, isn’t it? I’m a bit frightened too” Harry sighed placing his hand on top of Meave’s blue wigged head. “They did a lovely job decorating, but it’s all pretend.”
To be fair, it was scary. They had strobed lights and fog, motion censored things that were popping out as people walked by, and a weirdly tall skeleton army that nearly rivaled the house in size. How much money did they spend on the oversized nightmare fuel skeletons, Harry had no idea, nor how they stored it. But he imagined being as small as Jack was, with as big of an imagination, it was pure nightmare fuel.
“Dragons aren’t s’pposed to be afraid of anything.” Meave said with a huff. “And Papa isn’t afraid of anything either. S’ppossed to make you feel better.” Ever the spitfire, taking after her mother, she definitely just outed his attempt to make her brother feel better as fake.
“That isn’t true.” Harry laughed. “I’m afraid of a few things. I don’t like being up very high. I’m afraid of falling.” Y/N bit back a cackle considering she knew exactly what time he was thinking of.
On one of their first dates, they’d gone to a museum that had one of the glass floors that overhung the side of the building. He had pretended to be cool, but his knees had shook so much trying to walk out onto it that it had been impossible to fake.
“It’s true.” Y/N sobered her voice, but she knew by the glare on Harry’s face she was going to pay for it later. “He holds onto me very tight when we go to places that are high up. But that’s okay, because he’s the one that takes the spiders outside, isn’t he?” She booped the tip of Jack’s nose.
“Yeah! Papa’s brave.” He sniffed, turning to hug Harry’s leg. “But… but we can skip please?”
“No!” Meave stomped her foot. “No, I wanna. Please?”
As they’d learn to do in parenthood, Y/N and Harry exchanged mental words about it.
‘I’m not going.’
‘Yes you are. You’re the dad. Be brave.’
‘Don’t make me do this, please. You’re the one who likes horror movies’
‘The shows are kicking my ass. Take our daughter and show her it’s not scary either.’
“Fine.” Harry said through gritted teeth, watching Y/N bring triumphantly as she unhooked the kiddie leash from Jack. Truthfully he didn’t need it, he liked to stick to them like glue, but Meave needed to not feel singled out. Such was life as a twin.
“Don’t worry, I’ll record it so you can revisit this later!” Y/N cooed, fishing her phone out of her bag as Jack hung onto her dress.
“We’ll be revisiting this later, alright.” Harry grunted, giving her a look as he mumbled something for Y/N’s ears only while passing her on their way to the scary house. “Your feet won’t be the only thing that hurts later on tonight, little miss.”
if you dont mind, id like to show you something im trying to work on. it'd be very nice if you give it a chance.
it would be very nice to have your reblog in case you dont wanna read it
loving me takes patience
harry is a single dad, he and his daughter Cassandra, or better Cassie, are stuck like glue to each other. Until Harry met another woman, Rebecca, a beautiful and intelligent, and captivating human being. this story is about love, a fresh start, family, and much more
oc! x single dad harry
enjoy your reading
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
*
the one where I…
harry and y/n met under not-so-good circumstances, but if you call it love or destiny is up to you, they just think is bad luck.
they have to be together due to bigger circumstances. this is the story of how tragic and beautiful life can be
A/N: This is my first time writing dadrry, let me know what you think!
WC: 4.4k words
CW: Good ol' fluff and a little bit of angst bc of parental illness and the hospital setting.
Summary: After a medical procedure, Harry and your children visit you in the hospital. You spend some quality time together and reminisce on heartfelt family moments. There's a lot of hand-holding.
The faint smell of antiseptic and strong filter coffee fills the room as the late-afternoon sun peeks through the blinds, striping the off-white walls in bands of muted gold and shadows. The coffee in the paper cup on the windowsill has long been forgotten, as the pollen from the flowers in the vase right beside it now dots the surface of the black liquid.
Harry sits beside the bed, his hand resting in yours, thumb rubbing slowly along your knuckles as you sleepily take a sip of your favourite rooibos tea. You’re more relaxed now than you were earlier that day; your breathing is much steadier and your body is no longer holding onto the fear and anxiety from the last few weeks.
There's a steady hum all around you. It's the high-pitched and steady tone of the machines monitoring that everything is still stable after this morning. After what felt like the longest morning of both yours and Harry's life.
Harry's thumb stills against your knuckles and his gaze drifts past you to the door. His small frown and nervous expression settles into something soft and relieved as he takes in the person lingering in the doorway.
You don't notice the third presence at first, still feeling a bit fuzzy after your procedure.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says quietly.
The gentle tone is one you recognise instantly, causing you to turn your head to the door and smile contentedly. It's your youngest son, shoulders slightly hunched and hands stuffed in the pockets of the brown suede leather jacket his father wore when he was 19, the age your son is now.
Harry carefully watches him nervously look around, unsure whether or not to step fully into the private room. Your youngest has always worn his heart on his sleeve and right now Harry can see the unmistakable worry in the green eyes that mirror his own, despite the careful smile he’s giving you.
“Hey Ant,” Harry gently says with a tired smile. “Come in, you don't have to stand all the way over there.”
With a little more confidence, Anthony moves closer to your bed. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if each footstep may disturb the peace and quiet.
“Dad said you were awake,” he says, looking over to Harry and then to you. “I thought I’d come say hi before you doze off for the night.”
“I'm glad you did,” you reply sleepily. You shift slightly to sit up a little against the pillow and reach out your free hand towards him. “It's good to see you, bug. Did you come straight from class?” You ask.
Anthony (or Ant, as the family affectionately called him, even though he towers over everyone) has been interested in history and ancient cultures ever since Harry gifted him a book on Pompeii after the volcanic eruption for his thirteenth birthday. After following his father around the world on tour during school holidays, Anthony was fascinated by all the places he had seen; each museum, ancient ruin, unfamiliar city and ancient rituals were something for him to marvel at. With Harry’s encouragement and his own ambition to deepen his knowledge, Anthony decided to study archaeology.
He nods silently in response to your question, brown curls bouncing slightly from the movement.
For a moment, none of you speak.
Harry's hand is still in yours, grounding you. It's a sight that Anthony is all too familiar with, having seen his parents hold hands more often than not while growing up. His parents’ hands always manage to find each other in crowded rooms, across dinner tables or in quiet moments just like this. It's become a silent language of reassurance for as long as he can remember - not only between Harry and you, but also him and his sister.
Anthony watches your joined hands for a beat. Something soft settles in his expression as he looks at you and places his hand in your waiting one. His fingers curl around yours and squeeze.
“You feeling okay?” he asks quietly. The question carries more care than those three simple words can ever suggest.
“I feel alright,” you respond. “Bit tired, but alright.”
“That's… good.” Anthony nods, absorbing the information as though it's something fragile he doesn't want to break.
The three of you sit there for a moment, quietly tethered by your hands and the weight of the moment.
A small chuckle breaks the loaded silence as Anthony looks over to the sunflowers perched on the windowsill in a simple glass vase.
“I’m assuming the flowers are from Robin.” He says, nodding towards the fresh flowers that had been placed in your room earlier that day.
You snort softly, “You know your sister. Said the room needed more colour to aid in mum’s recovery. Apparently the white walls are ‘emotionally offensive.’”
Harry shakes his head, fondly reminded of your daughter’s attention to detail when it came to decorating. “Your sister’s been redecorating rooms since she was six. Remember when she rearranged the playroom because of the bad ‘foo shoo’?”
All of you chuckle at the memory of a six-year-old girl mispronouncing the word ‘feng shui’ after hearing it in an old lifestyle TV show.
While the three of you joke about Robin’s fixation on perfect floral arrangements, Anthony’s eyes focus on the bright petals. They seem unapologetically yellow and bright, turned towards the light as they bring a brightness to the sullen atmosphere a hospital room can bring about. Then his gaze drifts back to you and Harry, your hands still linked together. Anthony’s expression softens as he takes in the gesture between two people who are so in love that it seems only natural for some form of physical contact to occur without them realising it.
And suddenly he’s fifteen again, hunched over his Geography textbook at the kitchen counter, his worksheet half-finished.
The kitchen smells faintly of the garlic and ginger from the curry you’d had for lunch, while the soft clanking of plates fills the comfortable silence. You’re standing at the sink, rinsing the cast-iron pan while Harry empties the dishwasher beside you.
It’s late afternoon - that golden hour where the sunlight spills through the window and perfectly catches the flower bouquet on the counter. Anthony’s trying to concentrate on filling out the latitude and longitude lines of different locations, but the quiet rhythm of his parents’ mundane task distracts him.
Just as he looks up, you laugh at something Harry seems to have said under his breath. Your laugh is warm, genuine and slightly high-pitched as your head falls back at your husband’s teasing tone. You shake your head at him and splash a little water in his direction, which he dodges easily, flicking the teatowel in your direction in retaliation.
Harry steps closer to you, briefly resting his head against yours. You don’t move away; instead you instinctively lean into him, still rinsing the pan as if the movements between you two are second nature. As you go to set the heavy pan on the drying rack, Harry’s hand automatically wraps around yours on the handle to help you and he places a small kiss on your temple.
The clean dishes are long forgotten now as Harry’s arm settles around your waist, his thumb absently tracing circles through the fabric of your t-shirt. You continue talking about wonderfully ordinary things: groceries, weekend plans, the neighbour’s dog’s incessant barking. It’s the kind of conversation that doesn’t need to be important for it to mean something.
Anthony’s pencil gently slips from his fingers onto the counter. He tells himself he’s taking a break, but really he’s watching the way the two of you orbit each other with small, practiced gestures. There’s no performance to your interaction, just a steady closeness woven into every movement. Harry leans down to murmur something which makes you smile again and you try to lean even further into him, your shoulder pressing against his.
It looks… easy. Almost effortless, even though Anthony knows that relationships take work. He sees two people who choose each other over and over again, no matter what.
When Harry glances over at his son and catches him staring, he doesn’t say anything or pull away from you. He simply offers a knowing smile with a small twinkle in his eye before he turns back to the now-dry pan; as though Anthony’s been allowed to witness something private and ordinary at all once.
The memory settles warmly in his chest as the kitchen fades and Anthony returns to the present. He returns to the soft light, the steady rhythm of the beeping machines and the sight of your hands still folded together. The tattooed cross on Harry’s hand moves ever so slightly as his thumb continues its absent tracing.
“I remember…” Anthony starts, voice soft and his eyes flickering between your joined hands and faces. “You two have always been like this.”
“What do you mean, Ant?” Harry asks him curiously.
Shrugging, Anthony explains, “Just… close? Not in a big, showy way. Just…” he gestures vaguely towards your hands. “That, you know? All the time, just automatic.”
Harry’s mouth curves upwards in a fond smile. “Automatic.” he repeats, contemplating Ant’s words.
“Yeah, it never felt like effort. Even when things were busy or loud or stressful. I just thought that’s how parents are, you know?” Anthony leans a bit closer to your bed, continuing his confession. “I realised that not everyone has that and I’ve always thought that… if I ever get lucky enough to have something like that, I want it to look like you two in the kitchen. Just choosing each other while doing the dishes.”
The room suddenly feels warm and full from your son’s revelation
“We’re glad you were watching.” Harry teases as you smile at your boy, trying hard not to let a tear roll down your cheek.
“Was hard not to,” Anthony acknowledges. “It always felt… safe. Like no matter what else was going on, the two of you always felt like being in the eye of the storm. Steady and calm.”
Nonchalantly, Harry pretends to brush something out of his eye at Anthony’s kind words. “Well,” he says lightly, “It’s good to know that all those years of domestic dishwashing theatre paid off.”
“Yeah, real award-winning stuff, Dad.”
“We rehearsed,” you murmur sleepily. “Years of serious commitment to the bit.”
There’s a brief silence before Anthony speaks up again.
“So, what happens now?” He briefly looks at the machines and then back at you. “Recovery-wise, I mean.”
You gently squeeze his hand. “Now we rest,” you reassure him with the same calm voice that once soothed scraped knees and anxious stomachs before an important exam. “The worst part is over, so now we take it one day at a time. Let the body do what it knows to do.”
One day at a time.
The words land deep in Harry’s chest and suddenly he’s taken back to a particular moment from many years ago.
The warmth of summer and the smell of freshly cut grass coats the air around you. The garden is alive with the sound of carefree laughter after the school year has come to an end and the children can finally sleep a bit longer in the mornings.
You’re crouched near the flower beds, your hands covered by the dirt-smudged garden gloves. Two small bodies flank yours as you show Anthony and Robin how to hold a sunflower stem without snapping it. All curls and concentration, Anthony frowns at the sunflower larger than his tiny face. Robin is right beside him, determined to pick the one with the brightest petals, narrating her every move as though she were the host of a critically acclaimed gardening show.
“Mummy?”
“Yes, bug?”
“When we planting the tomatoes?” A six-year old Anthony asks.
“In a moment, bug. We just have to finish up the flowers first.” You reassure the child.
“Mummy, can I have a flower for my room, please? They’re marvelous!”
“Of course you can, love.” You say with a laugh, impressed with Robin’s correct usage of the word. She recently took it upon herself to learn as many new words as she could during the summer. She’s gotten off to a good start and you’re curious to see how many new words she’ll retain by the end of the summer holidays.
After a while, the three of you have moved to a different spot in the garden, while four small tomato plants are waiting to be planted. While you’re digging holes deep enough for the plants, your two children patiently let Harry reapply sunscreen to their faces.
“Alright. You ready?” You ask them excitedly.
Harry’s watching the scene of you three kneeled beside the vegetable patch unfold as though it were something sacred, not to be disturbed. You glance up at him from under your floppy hat as he takes in the dirt on your cheek and the pure joy on your face.
“Gentle,” you whisper as you guide their tiny hands around the fragile roots.
Once the tomatoes have been planted, Anthony innocently asks: “Will we have tomatoes tomorrow, Mummy?”
“Not yet, bug. We have to wait a little while. Take it one day at a time. That’s how things grow.”
This is it, Harry thinks as a certainty settles deep in his bones. This messy, sun-soaked moment, this is the life.
“What are you smiling about? You look like you’re about to burst into song.” You joke, pushing the brim of your hat up a bit.
He shakes his head and takes a step closer to you. “Just… taking it all in,” he says softly. “Feels like everytime I blink, they grow another three centimetres.”
Glancing over at the two children occupied with placing the name tags in the soil, your expression softens.
“Then don’t blink,” you murmur. “Stay right here with us.”
His hand reaches for your shoulder as he pulls you closer to him. You lean in without thinking and smile to yourself, enjoying the quiet moment. The thunder of small, determined feet on the lawn and an excited squeal catch your attention.
“Mummy, mummy! Look!”
Robin barrels towards you with a daisy pinched between her thumb and index finger. She stops in front of you and Harry, breathless with triumph as she holds out the small flower to you.
“It’s for you,” she declares. “For showing us how to plant the tomatoes.”
You beam at her as though she’s just handed you a bar of solid gold.
“Oh wow! Thank you so much, my angel.” You say, gratefully accepting the small stem. “I’ll put it right here, so I don’t lose it.”
Harry and Robin watch you tuck the flower behind your ear, dirt-smudged glove and all. “Do I look prettier now?” You ask as you strike a pose, causing Harry and the children to laugh.
The garden feels louder and brighter, full of the chaotic sounds associated with childhood. As the sun sets, Harry realises that this is love. It’s not always the grand moments or gestures that people write songs about. It’s sunflower petals stuck to sweaty cheeks, it’s dirt under fingernails.
It’s you saying, one day at a time.
The golden hue of that summer sunset fades as the hospital room returns in its place. The sunlight that has fallen through the blinds is starting to disappear, making the room feel a little cooler. Outside the room, there’s a hum of footsteps and muffled announcements calling specific doctors to another unit.
Harry blinks, grounding himself in the feel of your hand still wrapped in his.
One day at a time.
Anthony notices the slight change in the air before either of you says anything. He watches Harry with the same quiet attentiveness he always had and looks at your joined hands again before directing his gaze at his father.
“You went somewhere,” he says knowingly.
“Yeah,” Harry admits, a huffy laugh escaping his mouth as he shakes his head. “I was thinking of that summer when you and your sister helped your mum plant those tomatoes. You had asked if they would grow overnight.”
Anthony’s face scrunches in embarrassment. “Seems like waiting was never really my strength.”
“No, it wasn’t.” You reminisce, voice thick with sleep and fondness as you think back to when you didn’t have to reach up to hug your youngest. “You used to stand over those plants almost every day waiting for the first tomatoes to come in.”
“As if to say, ‘Grow faster, I’m watching you.’” Harry adds.
“Well, in my defence, you made it sound like magic! You put a few seeds in the dirt and suddenly you’re making pasta sauce with tomatoes from the garden. It was a miracle we managed to harvest at least a few tomatoes.”
“That was because you tried to water them three times a day, Ant.”
“It was dedication, Dad.” Anthony rolls his eyes at his father’s comment.
“It was drowning, bug.” You counter gently.
“Hey-”
“And yet, they survived. Much like your houseplants now, right?” Harry interrupts, trying to keep the atmosphere light.
“Low blow, Dad.” Anthony says, pretending to be deeply offended.
“Knock, knock!” A bright and familiar voice says from the door.
Robin bursts into the room like a summer breeze with her tote bag slung over her shoulder, curls slightly windblown and eyes immediately finding yours.
“You’re still awake, good. I brought you your favourite-”
She’s distracted by the flowers on the windowsill.
“Oh good, they’re still upright. I was worried Ant would have knocked them over by now.”
“I’ve been sitting still for the last twenty minutes, Robin.” Anthony scoffs, lightly rolling his eyes.
“Statistically suspicious for you to sit still for so long,” she replies, crossing the room towards your bed. She leans down carefully to press a gentle kiss to your cheek and softly hums. “Hi. You look good. How are you feeling now?”
“I feel alright,” you tell her as she takes a step back from the bed. “Bit tired.”
Robin nods, resting her elbow on her brother’s shoulder as she stands next to him. “Thought as much. You okay with us staying a bit before visiting hours are over?”
“Of course, angel. You all being here is necessary for my recovery, Doctor’s orders.” You grin at your daughter.
“Perfect. Oh, before I forget…” Robin moves towards her tote bag on the overbed table at the foot of the bed and starts to rummage through it, “I brought you those dried mango strips you like… and…” She continues to dig through the organised chaos. “A new word puzzle book to help pass the time and keep your brain sharp while you're stuck in here.”
“Oh, thank you, angel.”
Robin beams as she places the items within reach. “My pleasure. And before you ask Dad, I made sure that the snacks were okay for Mum to eat.”
Freeing his hand from yours, Harry raises both his hands in an act of surrender. “I'm sure you know what you're doing, bub.”
As you fall into easy conversation with your children, Harry takes in the scene unfolding in front of him - you flipping through the puzzle book, Anthony perched on the edge of the plastic chair, also interested in the puzzles and Robin unpacking enough recovery snacks to last at least two months.
The room feels full. Not with fear or with uncertainty anymore, but with the familiar noise of love and being present. Harry lets himself sit in it, in this bright and ordinary love; it’s the kind of medicine that doesn’t come in a pill bottle.
“That’s not really necessary, is it Rob?” Anthony notes as he watches his sister attempting to rearrange the snacks in an aesthetically pleasing way.
“Presentation matters, Anthony.” Robin rolls her eyes, staying focused on the colourful packages.
“This reminds me of how you reorganised the spice rack.”
Robin straightens, immediately defensive. “It needed a system.”
“It had a system,” Anthony argues back.
“A chaotic system, yes,” she shoots back. “Alphabetical order makes sense.”
“It only makes sense when you put the labels back on the jars. We had to smell-test everything for the better part of a week. Remember the chicken?" Anthony shudders at the memory of eating a chicken breast that was seasoned with cinnamon instead of coriander.
Robin flings a serviette in Anthony’s direction, missing him entirely. “Excuse you-”
“Hey, behave. Both of you.” Harry quietly warns his children, trying to keep the peace for the benefit of your recovery.
Robin looks down with slight indignation, but it slowly melts into a soft grin. Anthony looks unbearably smug for half a second before he cracks, laughter slipping out despite wanting to take his father’s words seriously. The mock battle between the two dissolves into the easy kind of quiet only siblings can fall into after years of affectionate teasing.
As you watch them with a tired fondness, you reach out to stroke Harry’s shoulder lovingly. “That cinnamon chicken was… memorable. I don’t think we’ll ever forget that dinner.” Your voice is soft yet amused.
This time, it’s Harry who can’t help but laugh as he shakes his head. “I mean, we survived the ‘Great Spice Incident’ despite the label mix-up; that’s what matters. Most importantly, we lived to tell the tale."
“Ugh, you’re all so dramatic,” Robin groans, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “It was one unlabeled jar.”
“It was several unlabeled jars.” Anthony corrects immediately.
“No risk, no fun, right?” Robin winks, trying to put a positive spin on the mishap. “Where’s your sense of adventure, brother bear?”
The sound of your children’s bickering feels almost comforting rather than disruptive. It reminds you of when they were half the size they are now, legs swinging from the dining table chairs as they argued about meaningless things. It feels steady and familiar, replacing the tension from earlier.
The hour stretches on as the four of you fall into easy conversation.
*
Outside the window, the light shifts as the evening air has settled in. The orange hue from the streetlights falls through the glass and onto the floor. No one has the heart to say it out loud, but the awareness that visiting hours are coming to an end settles in. Anthony glances at the wall clock before looking back at you. His expression softens.
“We should probably let you rest, get settled in for the night.” He says quietly.
Robin nods, her tone gentler now. “Yeah, we don’t want to overstay our welcome on day one.”
“You could never,” you murmur and softly stroke your daughter’s hand. Your index finger catches on Harry’s rose ring he gifted her on her 18th birthday. “But I understand. Will you be back tomorrow?”
“Of course we will. Promise.” Robin whispers into your ear as she leans in carefully to wrap one arm around you in a hug that’s warm and lingering without disturbing any of the wires.
Next is Anthony, who sweetly pecks you on the cheek, “Get some sleep, okay. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Anthony leans in carefully, wrapping you in a hug that’s warm and lingering without jostling you. “Get some sleep, yeah? We’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Alright. Thank you for coming,” you reply softly.
Harry takes the time to embrace each child, somewhat reluctant to let go. He makes sure to whisper his sincere thanks, leaving a peck on Robin’s temple and gently patting Anthony’s back. “Love you,” he adds, chest a little tight as he tries to hold onto his emotions.
“We love you,” Anthony says from the doorway.
“Very much,” Robin adds. “See you tomorrow.”
With soft footsteps and one last smile, they slip out into the hallway. The door closes behind them with a quiet click and the echo of their warmth and laughter settles in the air.
Harry leans back into the chair next to your bed. He holds your hand in both of his and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The rhythmic beeping of the machines fades into the background as Harry’s thumb traces lazy circles against your hand again. He’s not entirely aware he’s doing it, yet you say nothing, as it may be something that soothes him after all the uncertainty of the day. You watch the movement for a moment and feel the steady reassurance his thumb seems to imprint into your skin.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The hum of the corridor fades into the background, replaced by the soft rhythm of your breathing and the distant murmur of evening settling into the building.
“They’re good,” you murmur.
He smiles down at your joined hands. “They are,” he agrees, a quiet pride in his voice. “They’ve got their mum’s heart.”
“And their dad’s good looks,” you tease.
“Yeah, yeah.” Harry relents. A small, tired laugh escapes him and settles into the space between you. He lifts his gaze to you, his eyes soft and filled with relief, saying I’m here.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been as afraid as I was this morning.” He admits quietly.
“Ditto.” You reply softly, squeezing his hand. “But now the worst part is over and we take it one day at a time.”
Harry leans in to kiss you gently on your forehead, before leaning his forehead against your own. “One day at a time,” he echoes.
The evening sky continues to darken and the room grows softer. You feel the familiar pull of sleep settle in as your eyes start to fall closed, Harry’s comforting presence beside you as he watches you fall asleep. The last thing you remember is the steady warmth of your husband’s hand in yours, anchoring you as it always has.
Outside, the night sky settles over the city.
Inside, your hand rests in Harry’s like it has a thousand times before.
It’s not always the grand gestures and public declarations, but the gentle certainty of you choosing each other in the small, ordinary moments. Through the noise and the quiet of life, through the years in which things have bloomed and withered and bloomed again. There is a steady knowledge between you that whatever grows next will be met with the same words as everything else has.
summary: The cold gel, the quiet room, Harry’s hand in yours — the first glimpse at your baby is nothing more than a blurry blob, but somehow, it’s everything.
April 2022
The clinic is quiet, save for the hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of papers behind the reception desk. You’re seated in a chair that’s slightly too stiff, your hands resting over your belly, and Harry hasn’t stopped fidgeting since you checked in. He’s hovering, like always lately — a hand on your back, a whispered “you okay?” every few minutes, constantly offering to get you water or anything really.
You glance at him and smile. “Haz, I’m fine.”
He blinks, like he didn’t realize he was doing it again. “Right. Sorry. Just—nervous, I guess.”
“For me?”
“For us.” His hand finds yours, fingers threading together. “I just want everything to be perfect. I want you to be okay, and…” He trails off, eyes dropping briefly to your midsection. It’s still early. There’s no visible bump yet, but somehow, he looks at you like you’re already glowing.
Before you can reply, a nurse calls your name, and Harry springs up like he’s been launched from his seat. You try not to laugh.
The exam room smells sterile, but the lights are soft, and the doctor has a kind face. She explains what’s going to happen—how the ultrasound works, what you might see. You nod along, barely catching all the words, heart fluttering wildly in your chest. Harry stands near the head of the bed, just beside you, close enough that you can feel the tremble in his hand as he strokes your hair back.
When the doctor lifts your shirt and squeezes the cool gel onto your stomach, you let out a quiet laugh. “Cold,” you mumble.
Harry winces. “That looked freezing. Poor baby.”
“You mean me or the actual baby?”
“Both.”
You glance at him, and he’s already grinning, nerves melting into something softer.
Then the screen lights up.
At first, it’s hard to tell what’s what — just some shifting grays and shadows — but the doctor moves the wand, and suddenly, there it is. A tiny bean. A flicker in the middle of the blob.
“That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says gently, pointing at the steady blip. “Right there.”
Your breath catches. The room goes still. And then the sound fills the space — a rhythmic, fast whooshing that doesn’t even sound real.
Harry makes a sound you’ve never heard before. Somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. He brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your fingers, then rests them against his cheek.
“Oh,” he says, voice thick. “That’s our baby.”
You nod, too choked up to speak. A tear slips down your temple, and Harry catches it with his thumb before it can disappear into your hair.
“It’s really happening,” you whisper.
Harry leans down, pressing his forehead gently to yours. “Yeah. It is.”
The doctor continues pointing things out on the screen — where the head will be, the curve of the back — but you’re only half-listening. You’re watching Harry. The wonder in his eyes. The way he keeps stealing glances at the monitor like he’s afraid to blink and miss something.
After the doctor finishes, she hands you a printed image — a blurry, perfect little bean — and leaves you two alone for a moment.
Harry sits beside you, the image between his fingers, reverent like it’s a priceless painting. “I know they said it’s too early to tell anything yet,” he says softly, “but I swear this blob already has your nose.”
You giggle, wiping at your cheeks.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss your stomach, still slick and shining. “Hi, bubba,” he murmurs, resting his hand gently over you. “I’m your dad. And I’m already so, so in love with you.”
Your heart swells, overflowing with something fierce and tender. Looking at him, you know: whatever comes next, you’ll figure it out together. This is exactly how it’s meant to be.
—The End—
a/n’s: the next couple of fics are all gonna be about the pregnancy 🥹 I’m sorry I just loveeee these fics.
Plot: You text Harry that you were left unsatisfied last night and he makes damn sure that doesn't happen again.
The flat was too quiet without him. It always was.
Harry had only been home for one night before jetting off again, the weight of his suitcase wheels rolling out the front door still echoing in my chest. I hated that part the sudden hollow left in our bed, the pillow beside mine cooling far too quickly. But last night had been… distracting. He’d made sure of that.
Still, as I curled on the sofa in one of his hoodies, phone in hand, a wicked thought crept into my mind. He’d been smug when he left this morning, kissing me until I laughed and swatting my bum as he called over his shoulder, “Behave while I’m gone, Mrs Styles.”
Behave.
As if I’d ever.
My thumbs moved over the screen before I had time to reconsider.
Me: Just letting you know I’m not satisfied with last night’s service. I didn’t finish.
It only took a minute before his reply lit up my phone.
Harry: Excuse me?
I grinned, tucking my legs up under me.
Me: Yeah… can I speak to the customer complaints department please?
There was a pause. Long enough that I could imagine him somewhere in a lounge, curls tied back, jaw tight, thumb hovering over his phone.
Harry: Baby, we both know you finished. Twice.
I bit back a laugh.
Me: Mmm… are you sure? Because I seem to recall otherwise.
His reply came fast.
Harry: You’re playing the wrong game with me today, baby.
A shiver ran down my spine, delicious and sharp.
Me: I like games.
Three little dots blinked, disappeared, blinked again. When his message finally came through, my breath caught.
Harry: You won’t like the consequences. You’ll be begging me to stop before I’m finished with you.
Heat bloomed low in my stomach. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed back.
Me: So dramatic. All I asked for was a customer service number.
Harry: Cheeky little thing. I should put you over my knee for that.
I pulled his hoodie tighter around me, laughing softly at the screen while my body reacted in ways I couldn’t ignore.
Me: You’re all talk. You’re not even here.
The reply nearly made me drop the phone.
Harry: I’ll fly home tomorrow morning. You’ll regret sending these texts, baby.
My heart slammed against my ribs. He wouldn’t. Would he?
Me: You wouldn’t dare. You’ve got meetings.
Harry: Meetings can wait. Can’t have my wife unsatisfied.
The rest of the day dragged, my imagination running wild with what tomorrow might bring. When his car finally pulled up outside mid-morning, I swear I forgot how to breathe.
The moment Harry stepped through the door, suitcase abandoned by the entry, I knew I’d made a mistake.
His eyes were dark, fixed on me like prey, and his voice was low, dangerous.
“Y’know, Mrs Styles,” he drawled, shrugging off his coat, “when you play games, you ought to know the rules. And the rules are simple don’t start what you can’t finish.”
I swallowed hard, trying for innocence. “It was just a joke.”
He smirked, slow and sharp. “Was it? Because all I heard was ‘I didn’t finish’. And baby, I take customer complaints very seriously.”
He stalked towards me, each step deliberate. My back hit the wall, his body pressing into mine, one hand braced beside my head.
“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he murmured, tilting my chin up with his free hand. “Let’s see if I can put it to better use.”
My pulse thundered as he kissed me, not sweet but consuming, teeth grazing, tongue demanding. His hand slipped to my throat, not squeezing, just holding reminding me who was in control.
When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, eyes burning into me.
“On your knees,” he said softly.
My body moved before my mind caught up, sinking to the floor, my breath uneven. He watched with satisfaction, thumb brushing my cheek as he pushed a curl behind his ear.
“That’s better,” he whispered. “Now, let’s see how sorry you really are.”
I reached for him, fingers working at his belt, and the sound he made a low groan from deep in his chest sent heat rushing through me. I took my time, deliberately slow, knowing it would wind him tighter.
“Careful,” he warned, voice rough. “Push me too far, and you’ll regret it.”
I looked up through my lashes, feigning innocence. “What if that’s what I want?”
His jaw flexed. “Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The next moments blurred into heat and taste and sound. His hand tangled in my hair, guiding me, his breath uneven as he muttered curses under his breath. The praise that slipped through (“good girl,” “just like that”) was enough to unravel me.
When he pulled me back suddenly, I gasped, lips swollen, chest heaving. He cupped my face, tilting it up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“You think you’re done?” he asked, voice low. “We’re only getting started.”
He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me towards the bedroom. My body clung to him instinctively, my laughter breaking through nerves.
“Harry”
“Shh,” he said, kissing me fiercely as he laid me on the bed. “Remember what I said in those texts? That you’d be begging?”
His fingers traced down my side, skimming under the hem of my shirt, teasing.
“I meant it.”
The anticipation was unbearable, every touch calculated to torment me kisses trailing my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone, hands mapping every inch of skin with a maddening patience. By the time his mouth moved lower, I was trembling, clutching at the sheets.
He held my thighs apart firmly, eyes flicking up to meet mine before leaning down, and I nearly cried from the relief of his mouth on me. Every flick of his tongue, every hum of satisfaction, had me spiralling higher, his grip unrelenting when I tried to wriggle.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice muffled against me. “You asked for this, baby. You don’t get to run from it now.”
My protests dissolved into gasps and moans, the tension inside me winding tighter and tighter until I shattered, crying out his name.
When he finally pulled back, lips glistening, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked.
“Customer complaint resolved?” he asked.
I could barely form words, breathless and flushed. “You’re insufferable.”
He leaned down, kissing me deeply, letting me taste myself on his lips.
“Not yet,” he murmured against my mouth. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
And with that, the rest of the day blurred into heat, laughter, whispered threats and promises, until every complaint I’d teased him with was long forgotten replaced by the knowledge that when Harry said I’d regret playing with him, he hadn’t been joking.
Harry Styles- Halloween With The Styles Family Pt1
Synopsis- YN met Harry while filming Dunkirk and although both their lives have been a whirlwind so has their romance. They started dating in 2017 and got married in 2023, 2 years after having their daughter Eve.
“Dat one daddy” Eve points to one of many costumes Harry had out “mamma can be da good witch and I can be da doggy”
Eve recently has been obsessed with The Wizard Of Oz after watching the original since her mum is Glinda in the new Wicked movie.
“Perfect. Speaking of where is mamma?” Harry asks putting the costume on his shared bed with his wife
“I fink outside”
“Planting more flowers?” Harry raises a brow at his now three year old
“Errr mamma said not to tell you so no” she smiles at her dad. Harry smiles shaking his head
“She loves her plants doesn’t she?” Harry takes his daughters hand and guides her downstairs and out the door to see his wife knelt down with a plant in one hand and trowel in the other, humming a familiar tune of ‘Golden’
“Mamma!!!” Eve shouts running over to her mum “I told daddy I wasn’t allowed to tell him what you were doing in da garden, but..” she now whispers in her mums ear “I fink he’s got super powers. He knew what you were doing”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I think he has super powers too, you know why?”
“Why?” Eve cocks her head to the side with a small frown
“Because I can do this” Harry lifts his daughter up as if she were a feather and spins her round. If the neighbours were out all they would be able to hear was the laughter of the little girl
“Ok ok put her down before you break something” YN laughs standing up and wiping the dirt on her trousers. Harry stops spinning round and places Eve back on her feet “now, have you decided what your going to be for Halloween?” YN asks the youngster
“Yep. Daddy is going to be Dorofy, I’m da doggy and your da pretty witch”
“Sounds perfect, but I’m not sure I have a Glinda costume”
“Can’t you wear da one on telly?”
“No baby, it wasn’t mine”
“You borrowed it?”
“Exactly”
“We have 2 days, I’m sure we can find a dress can’t we Evie?” Harry picks his daughter up and places her on his hip
“Yes!” she claps excitedly “daddy can we go and watch Wizz of Oz?”
“Course we can princess. Why don’t you go turn the telly on while I try and get your mother inside and away from the flowers?” Harry puts Eve down and the couple watch her skip in. Harry places an arm around YN’s shoulders and places a kiss on her temple “how did I get so lucky?”
“I pretty sure I’m the lucky one. I have a beautiful daughter, an extremely handsome husband and another perfect bundle on the way” YN places a hand on her very small bump
“Mamma! Daddy! Hurry!”
“We better hurry up” Harry tells his wife
“You get the popcorn started while I wash up” the couple make their way into the house. YN makes a start up the stairs when she remembers “oh don’t forget…”
“The caramel ice cream. I know”
“I love you”
“I love you more”
“Mamma, daddy it’s going to start wifout you” Eves voice come through from the living room making Harry and YN chuckle before they make a move, not wanting to make their impatient daughter any more impatient.
