#dadrry

“I usually try,” I tell her, leaning against the dresser like I’m not feeling my pulse in my throat.

“No,” she corrects, and I swear she got that razor-sharp certainty from me. “You have to look like this.” She lifts her chin, widens her eyes to an exaggerated seriousness, and gives me a slow nod like she’s granting me permission to exist. You bite your lip, shoulders shaking with a laugh you’re trying to keep gentle. Lily notices, brightening because laughter is the closest thing to applause she’s ever needed.

“And you have to wave,” she continues, raising her hand and doing what I can only describe as a queen’s wave. Tiny wrist, precise little movement, as if she’s been practicing it in a mirror.

I glance at you. “Been watching telly again, have we?”

Lily points at me like she’s caught me being stupid. “No. I’m teaching you.”

“Right,” I say solemnly. “Thank you. Could’ve been a disaster otherwise.”

“It would be,” she agrees earnestly, then slides off the bed and plants herself right in front of me, looking up. “Don’t be scared.”

It lands in my chest like a soft punch. I swallow. “I’m not scared.”

Lily narrows her eyes in a way that’s pure you, pure observation. “Your mouth is doing the thing.”

“My mouth?” I repeat, because it’s easier than admitting anything.

“You do this.” She presses her lips together, then pulls one side in a little. It’s an alarmingly accurate impression. “When you’re think-y.”

You stand, smoothing Lily’s dress. Simple, neat, not fussy. You didn’t want her to look like a prop. You wanted her to look like herself. “Your dad’s just concentrating, love.”

Lily immediately brightens again, satisfied with the explanation like it’s a sticker you’ve given her. “Okay. Then concentrate on me and mummy, Daddy. Because we’re the important ones.”

I laugh, breathy. “Are you?”

“Yes.” She turns to you, as if to include you in the briefing. “Mummy, we have to stand where Daddy can see us. If we stand behind someone tall, it will be bad.”

You nod seriously. “Got it.”

“And Mummy has to hold my hand. But not too tight. Because I have to wave.”

“Not too tight,” you repeat, gentle.

Lily looks at you, then at me, like she’s checking we’re both taking notes. “And after Daddy sings, everyone claps and then we go home.”

I tilt my head. “Is that the order?”

“That’s the order.” She pats my leg, affectionate and firm. “Also, Daddy, don’t forget your words.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

She leans in as if she’s sharing a secret. “If you do, just sing different ones.”

It’s so simple, so full of faith, I feel something in my ribs loosen. The room is still noisy, hairbrushes, zips, the muted hum of phones and schedules and someone outside the door, but Lily’s logic makes it all feel like play. You cross the room and rest your hand on my arm, thumb brushing there, grounding. It’s a small touch. It always is. You’ve never needed to anchor me by force. “You’re alright,” you say softly, not a question.

I look at you and the words I want to say pile up behind my teeth. That I haven’t done this in so long that the shape of it feels wrong. That the thought of standing under lights again makes my skin prickle. That I’m confident, yes, and I know how to be Harry Styles in a suit, but I’ve been Harry-at-home in socks and it’s been good. Instead, I do what I always do with you. I tell the truth, just smaller. “I’m alright,” I say. “Just feels like the first day of school.”

You smile, a quiet, knowing thing. “You’ve done first days before.”

“I’ve done them,” I agree. “But I didn’t use to have my whole heart waiting at the side of the playground.”

Lily interrupts by tugging my sleeve. “Daddy, can I see the stripey pyjama?”

I look down at her, baffled. “The what?”

She points at my suit hanging on the wardrobe door, black with thin white pinstripes. “That. It looks like a stripey pyjama.”

“It’s a suit,” I tell her, failing to hide my amusement.

“A stripey pyjama suit,” she decides. Then, beaming, she adds, “You will look like you’re going to a wedding.”

I glance at you, brows lifting, smug grin. “Been there.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Don’t start.”

Lily’s face scrunches like she’s thinking hard. “Is the Brit Awards for you?”

I pause, because I’ve never had to explain an awards ceremony to someone who still thinks the moon follows our car at night. “It’s, uhm, kind of for everyone. Lots of people are there. They’re celebrating music.”

She nods like she understands. “So they’re celebrating you?”

I laugh, caught. “Not just me.”

“But you’re going to sing,” she insists. “So they have to watch you. Because you’re the singer.”

“You’re my singer,” she corrects, as if that’s the only category worth noting. “And I’m going to watch you. So you have to look at me.”

You lean down, kissing the top of her head. “You can’t distract him while he’s on stage.”

Lily gasps, offended. “I’m not distracting. I’m supporting.”

I look at you and feel warmth spread through me, because yes, that is exactly what she’s doing. Supporting like it’s a job, like it’s a responsibility she’s proud of.

There’s a knock at the door. Time. The part where real life presses in and the room’s little bubble has to stretch around it. You pick up your keys. Lily, already ready, bounces on the balls of her feet. “We go now?”

“We go now,” you confirm.

My chest feels heavy, unexpectedly. Not because you’re leaving. Because you’re going without me. Because I’m about to step out alone into something I used to do like breathing, and it suddenly feels like I’m walking away from the only air I’ve been using. I crouch in front of Lily, level with her, and she immediately cups my cheeks in both hands. Her palms are warm, soft, unapologetic. “Daddy,” she says, like I’m a small child and she’s the parent. “Wave properly.”

“Properly,” I repeat, smiling.

“And smile,” she adds. “Not your think-y smile. Your nice smile.”

“My nice smile.”

“Yes.”

I kiss her forehead. “I’ll do my best.”

You come closer, and I stand. There’s a second where we’re just looking at each other,years compressed into a glance. The quiet work of loving someone in a way that makes them braver. You reach up, caressing my cheek. “You’ve got this.”

I lean down, press my lips to yours. Not long. Not for show. For me. For you. For us. When I pull back, you’re looking at me like you always do, like you’re not waiting for me to be someone else, like you already know who I am. “See you in there,” you say.

Lily waves at me immediately, both arms now, excessive. “BYE DADDY! DON’T FORGET ME!”

I laugh, hand over my heart. “Never.”

You take her hand and lead her out, Lily still chattering about where you’re going to stand and how you have to make sure Daddy sees you, and the door clicks shut behind you.

The room goes quieter. Not empty. Just quieter. I stare at the closed door for a beat too long, then exhale and roll my shoulders back like I’m putting on armour.

Alright, then. First day of school. Let's go.

The car the Brits sent is nicer than it needs to be, of course. Dark windows. Clean leather. The driver polite in that professional, invisible way. There’s something about sitting in the backseat that makes it feel more official, like my body can’t pretend I’m just heading out to dinner. Manchester is dark outside, soft, damp, familiar in a way that makes me feel thirteen and fifty at the same time. We pull up near the Co-op Live, and the closer we get, the more the sound begins to seep through the glass: shouting, cheering, the constant flash-pop-pop of cameras like distant fireworks. It’s been a while since I’ve heard my name like that. Harry! Harry! Harry! It hits a nerve I’d forgotten I had. My stomach flips once, then steadies. You can do this, I tell myself. You’ve done this before. But I haven’t done this with Lily being in the same room.

The car door opens. Cool air rushes in. A handler says something. My feet touch the ground. And the noise becomes a wall. The carpet stretches ahead, lights strung above like a sky made of bulbs, gleaming white against the dark. Fans pressed behind barriers on one side. Phones up like a field of small moons. Press clustered in their designated zones, their cameras angled like weapons. Everything moves fast around me, but time inside my body slows down like syrup. I step forward, smile already in place—trained and practiced. My hand lifts automatically, a wave to the general crowd. My shoulders square. The suit sits well, stripey pyjama or not. I can do this version of me. I know how.

Then something sharp and tiny cuts through the noise. “DADDY!” It’s not my name. It’s a claim.

For a second my brain doesn’t believe it. My eyes keep scanning the crowd, skimming faces, trying to locate it. Another shout, higher this time, like joy physically can’t be contained. “DADDYYYY! HARRYYYY!”

My entire body turns before I decide to. And there you are. You’re at the barrier, just far enough back that you’re not in the thick of it, but close enough that Lily can see everything. You’ve got your arms around her waist, holding her steady while she bounces like a firecracker in your arms. Lily’s eyes are huge, shining, her mouth open in a grin so wide it makes her cheeks round. When she sees me look, she makes a sound that isn’t a word, just pure thrilled noise, and throws her arms up like she’s signalling a plane. My chest does something odd, like it’s been held in a fist and suddenly released.

The screaming crowd blurs. The lights above soften. The carpet under my feet becomes irrelevant. There’s only Lily, waving both hands like she’s trying to scoop the whole world towards her. Only you, watching me with that quiet steadiness, amused and proud all at once. I lift my hand again, but this wave is different. Slower. Smaller. Not for the cameras. Not for the strangers. For her. For you. Lily squeals—actually squeals—and her whole body shudders with it. She points at me urgently, turning her head to the strangers beside her as if to inform them of something they should’ve already known. “That’s my Daddy! That’s him!”

The people around you look at her, then up at me, and their faces melt into those soft expressions adults get when something is unexpectedly tender in a place that’s usually all sharp angles and flashbulbs.

I can feel cameras turning towards you. The tiniest shift in the press line. But you don’t flinch. You just keep Lily’s body against yours, letting her bounce, letting her have her moment. And I think, suddenly, with strange clarity, that this is what I’ve been afraid of. Not the attention. The part where the private version of my life becomes visible. Because once people see the soft thing, they want to take it.

But then Lily catches my eye again and does her serious queen-wave like she taught me, solemn and precise, and I absolutely cannot find it in myself to care. I smile properly. Nice smile. The think-y tightness in my mouth dissolves. I nod at her, just a little, like I’m accepting her instructions. Lily’s face lights up even more, as if she’s proud I’m following her plan. I turn back toward the carpet and start walking again, but my heart is no longer lodged in my throat. It’s with you. At the barrier. In Lily’s waving hands.

As I move forward, fans shout my name, reaching out. I wave, I nod, I do the thing. I stop where I’m supposed to stop, pose where I’m supposed to pose. The lights flash. But every few steps, my eyes tug back to you like a magnet. And Lily is still there, still bouncing, still telling anyone who’ll listen that I am hers. “Daddy’s going to sing,” she announces loudly, chin high. “He’s the singer.”

Someone laughs kindly. “He is.”

“He waved at me,” she adds, very pleased, as if she’s personally approved me. “Because I’m his girl.”

“You are,” you say, and I see the way you press a kiss to her hair, the way your eyes flick up to me when you think I won’t notice, like you’re checking I’m alright. I am. I am, because you’re there.

I reach the section of carpet where the photographers are clustered. This part is always the strangest; standing in front of a row of lenses, being asked to turn, to look left, to look right, to give them something they can sell. I do it. I can do it in my sleep.

“Harry! Up here!”

“Harry, smile!”

“Harry, one more!”

I smile. I turn. I angle my body. And then I hear Lily again, clearer now because the photographers’ shouts leave gaps. “Daddy!” she calls, like she’s reminding me not to forget my job. “Look at me!”

I shouldn’t. Not really. This is the part where you keep your focus on the press. The part where you don’t break the rhythm. The part where you don’t offer anyone evidence that you can be pulled off course. But Lily isn’t “anyone.” I glance over, quick, and catch her eyes. She beams like I’ve handed her an award and her hand shoots up into another wild wave.

A photographer notices my gaze and follows it. The line of cameras subtly shifts. For a second, a flicker of instinctive protectiveness rises in me—sharp, old, immediate. Then I look at you. You’re still holding Lily, watching me, your posture calm. Your face says: We’re okay. We’re here. We’re not breakable. And the protectiveness turns into something warmer. A thought I wasn’t expecting: This isn’t the life I had before. This is better.

I turn back to the cameras and finish the poses. I give them what they want, my face, my suit, my return. I’m polite. I’m present. I’m professional. But inside, something has shifted. I used to measure moments like this by how loud the crowd was, how many flashes popped, how many headlines I might make. Now the only measurement that matters is whether Lily saw me wave.

Backstage is a different kind of chaos. People move with purpose, clipboards and headsets and last-minute adjustments. My band’s already gathered, faces I’ve known so long they feel like parts of my own history. We’ve been through everything together. When they grin at me, it’s not the public smile, it’s the private kind. “You ready?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah,” I say, and it’s half true.

My dancers stretch nearby, rolling shoulders, shaking out limbs. Someone hands me a bottle of water. Another person checks my mic pack. And under all of it is that familiar, vibrating pre-show feeling, adrenaline that lives in the bones. It’s been two and a half years. I’ve played with the idea of returning in my mind so many times it started to feel imaginary. Like a past life. Like something I’d dreamed. Now I’m standing in it. My hands flex. I shake them out, trying to keep them loose.

“Your first time back and you’re opening the Brits,” Mitch says, half joking, half impressed.

“Piece of cake,” I reply, because I know how to sound like I’m not about to step into a roaring sea.

But my heart is thudding like it wants out. I lean against a wall for a second and close my eyes. I listen to the muffled sound of the arena beyond, thousands of people settling, the buzz like electricity. Then my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see your name. A photo. You’ve sent a selfie of you and Lily standing at the back of the pit area with my mum. Anne is smiling into the camera, warm and proud, Lily perched beside her like a little queen, waving at the lens. Lily’s grin is huge. Her cheeks are flushed. She looks like she’s holding excitement in her whole body, like she might float. You’re behind her, one hand on her shoulder, your eyes crinkled with a smile that makes my heart so full.

Underneath, you’ve typed:

We’re here. We can see the stage. Lily’s doing her supportive job very loudly.

I laugh under my breath, and the tightness in my throat eases. I zoom in on Lily’s face, on the bright certainty in her expression. She thinks I’m doing this for her. In a way, she’s not wrong.

I type back quickly:

Tell her I’ll wave properly. Love you.

Then, because I can’t help myself:

Also tell her my suit is not a stripey pyjama.

A reply comes almost immediately:

Too late. She’s already told Anne. Anne agrees.

I chuckle, shaking my head. My mum. Traitor.

One of my musicians claps me gently on the shoulder. “Five minutes.”

“Right,” I murmur, slipping my phone away. I breathe in. I think of Lily’s hands flapping like wings. I think of your thumb rubbing my arm. I think of my mum’s proud eyes. And suddenly the arena doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like a room full of people I’m about to share something with, carefully, on purpose.

The stage manager gives the signal. “Places!”

I step into position on the stairs. The lights dim. The crowd roars, a sound that rises up through the floor like a wave. It slams into me and I almost stagger with it, not physically, but inside, because I remember. My body remembers what it’s like to be held up by sound.

I lift my chin and the first notes of Aperture begin. And then I’m moving. The stage lights are blinding at first, white, hot, like stepping into the sun. For a split second, I can’t see beyond them. There’s only brightness and noise and the pulse of the music under my feet. Then my eyes adjust. And the arena comes into focus like a photograph developing. I take the mic, and my voice slides into the first line like it’s been waiting for this. The beat hits. My body moves with it, automatic, familiar, like muscle memory returning home. My dancers fall into formation. My band is steady in front of me, a spine I trust. I sing and it doesn’t feel like being exposed. It feels like being opened.

Aperture. The word itself has been sitting in my head for months, the idea of letting light in again without letting it burn you. Letting yourself be seen without losing yourself.

I scan the crowd, not looking for cameras, not looking for approval, looking for you. And then I see you. Back of the pit area, just like the photo. Mum beside you, her hands clasped under her chin, beaming like she’s watching her son in a school play. Lily in front of you, on her toes, arms already up.

When Lily catches my eye, she loses her mind. She starts dancing, full-body, absolutely unselfconscious. Her little hands are in the air, fingers spread, waving like she’s trying to conduct the music. She’s shouting something, probably my name, probably “Daddy,” probably both. I can’t hear it over the sound of my in-ears, but I can see it. Joy, pure and unfiltered.

I feel my mouth crack into a real smile, not the one I give the cameras. I give her a tiny wave mid-lyric, quick, subtle, like a secret. Lily’s entire face lights up like I’ve turned her on. You laugh, head tipping back, and even from here I can feel the warmth of it. The nerves that have been living in my chest since this morning unravel, thread by thread. Because there you are. Because the thing I’m most afraid of losing is now in the crowd. It’s right there, waving back.

I sing the chorus, and the people sing with me, and it’s huge, it’s loud, it’s everything it used to be. But now there’s a smaller, steadier thing underneath it all. A little girl dancing like the world is safe. A woman looking at me like I’m already enough.

I finish the song with my lungs burning and my heart full. The last note fades. The crowd erupts in standing ovations. I take a breath, hand on my chest for a second, feeling all of it. Then a quick, breathy Thank you and I step back as the lights shift, moving me offstage into darkness again. The cheers follow, muffled but still there, vibrating through the walls.

Back in the backstage hall, people clap me on the back, hands grabbing my shoulders, laughing, shouting “You did it!” like we’re all kids again, like we’ve just pulled off something impossible. My band surrounds me, grinning. I hug them, quick and tight, because I can’t help it. I thank my dancers, palms to their shoulders, murmuring “You were brilliant,” because they were. Because everyone was. Because it all held.

And then, through the bustle, through the noise and voices and footsteps, I hear it. High and clear and furious with love. "DADDYYYY!”

My head snaps up. Lily comes barreling down the hall like a tiny comet, hair slightly messy now, cheeks flushed, eyes shining like she’s carrying a secret sun inside her. “Whoa—” I start, and then she hits me, arms wrapping around my legs with surprising strength.

I bend down immediately, scooping her up, and she clings to me like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all night. “Daddy!” she squeals into my neck. “You did it! You sang! You danced! You waved at me!”

“I did,” I laugh, voice rough, because something in my throat is tight again. “I waved properly.”

“You did wave properly,” she agrees with the gravity of a professional reviewer. Then she pulls back just enough to look at my face, hands on my cheeks like earlier. “But next time, wave longer.”

I burst out laughing, forehead pressing to hers. “Next time I’ll wave longer.”

Behind her, you appear, smiling so wide it makes my chest ache all over again. Mum is with you, eyes shining like she’s trying not to cry. She steps forward and kisses my cheek gently. “You did so well,” she says, voice thick with pride. “I’m so proud of you, love.”

I kiss her cheek back, quick. “Thanks, Mum.” She pats my face like I’m fifteen and back from my first gig in return.

Then I look at you. You step closer, and Lily immediately twists in my arms to look at you too, like she’s making sure you’re witnessing everything. Like you’re part of the ceremony. You reach up, fingers brushing my jaw, and your touch is the same as it was in the hotel, quiet, steady, real. “I’m proud of you,” you say softly. “You looked so happy.”

I swallow and nod. “I was.”

Lily interrupts, because of course she does. “Mummy, did you see? Everyone clapped so much. So I think Daddy is good at it.”

“I saw,” you tell her, smiling. “He’s very good at it.”

Lily nods, satisfied. Then she turns back to me, serious again. “Daddy, are you famous?”

I blink, caught off guard, then glance at you as if you might rescue me. You just tilt your head, amused, letting me handle it. “I… I suppose,” I say carefully.

Lily considers this for a moment, then says, “Okay. But you’re famous because you’re my Daddy.”

I kiss her cheek, then her other cheek, until she giggles and squirms. “That’s the best reason I’ve ever heard.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, satisfied. “Good. Now we go home?”

I laugh softly. “Yeah. We go home.”

You thread your hand into mine like it belongs there—which it does—and mum moves in on my other side, still smiling, still glowing. Lily sits on my hip, one arm around my neck, waving at absolutely no one now because she’s still in wave-mode.

As we walk toward the back exit together, away from the lights and the noise, I look down at you and feel something settle in my bones. It’s not relief, exactly. It’s alignment. This is who I am. This is the life I chose. This is the thing I protect, the thing I return to, the thing that makes the rest of it make sense.

Lily yawns dramatically into my shoulder, then murmurs, “Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Your stripey pyjama was very good.”

You snort, and mum laughs outright, and Lily smiles sleepily like she’s pleased with herself. I press my lips to her hair, then look ahead at the dark doorway that leads out into the night. And I know it with a certainty that feels like breathing: I came back for the music but stayed for a small hand waving like it could hold the whole world.

Taglist: @lizsogolden @harrysredshortshorts @avensgreenvans @maudie-duan @carolinaastyles @sparklejumpropequeen1113 @pops234 @lomlcamy

Harry’s normally all energy—singing nonsense songs while getting dressed, stealing pieces of your breakfast, pulling you around the room because he can’t stand still for more than thirty seconds.

But today feels… different.

You noticed it the moment you woke up.

The empty space beside you.

At first, still half asleep, you assumed he’d gone to the bathroom. But then you heard the shower running. And running. And running.

Long enough that you’d rolled over to check the clock.

Long enough that you’d started wondering if something was wrong.

Now, sitting opposite you against the pillows, Harry looks freshly showered and fully dressed despite it barely being morning. Damp curls fall messily around his forehead, and the sleeves of his black hoodie cover most of his hands as he fiddles absentmindedly with the rings on his fingers.

He looks gorgeous.

He always does.

But something’s off.

You can tell by the way his knee keeps bouncing beneath the duvet. By how he keeps staring out toward the city instead of eating. By the fact he’s barely touched his coffee, which honestly might be the biggest warning sign of all.

“Babe,” you say softly, lifting an eyebrow. “You’ve been awake since sunrise and all you’ve eaten is half a strawberry.”

Harry glances down at the plate.

“One and a half strawberries,” he corrects quietly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t get smart with me.”

That gets the faintest smile out of him, small and fleeting, but it disappears almost immediately.

Silence settles between you again.

Not awkward.

Just… heavy.

Today is the first show of the Together Together Tour.

His firs tour in almost three years.

Usually he’s excited for opening night. Nervous, yes—but in an electric way. The kind that makes him restless and playful all at once.

This feels different.

You shift closer across the bed until your leg brushes his.

“Hey,” you murmur, reaching for his hand. “Talk to me.”

Harry lets your fingers intertwine with his instantly, like he needs the contact more than he realised. His thumb rubs slowly across your knuckles while he stares down at your joined hands.

Then he sighs softly.

“I dunno,” he admits after a moment. “Feels different this time.”

Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your intertwined hands for a moment longer, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your skin.

You don’t rush him.

You’ve learned over the years that when Harry’s mind gets loud, silence is sometimes the only thing that gets him talking.

Finally, he exhales softly through his nose, shoulders sinking slightly.

“It’s been a long time,” he says quietly.

You tilt your head. “Since touring?”

He nods.

“Nearly three years.” A humourless little laugh leaves him. “Which sounds ridiculous considering I used to live on stage.”

Your fingers squeeze his gently.

“You still do.”

He shakes his head a little at that, curls falling into his eyes.

“No, but seriously,” he murmurs. “Back then it all felt… automatic. Like I knew exactly what I was doing every night.”

He pauses, jaw tightening briefly. “And now it feels like everyone’s expecting this massive thing and I keep thinking—what if I walk out there and I can’t do it anymore?”

Your heart aches a little hearing the uncertainty in his voice.

Harry Styles—the man who can command an entire stadium with one smile—is sitting in front of you doubting himself.

You shift closer until you’re properly beside him now, your breakfast long forgotten. One of your hands moves up to brush curls back from his forehead, fingertips lingering against his temple.

“Harry,” you say softly. “You know that’s not true.”

His eyes finally meet yours then, vulnerable in a way only a handful of people ever get to see.

“I know logically,” he admits. “But it’s different actually standing there again. People bought tickets. They’ve waited all this time and—” he swallows slightly, “—what if I disappoint them?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“You won’t.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you continue before he can.

“Do you know what people love most about your shows?”

He gives you a look. “The songs, hopefully.”

You can’t help smiling a little.

“Yes, obviously. But it’s you, Harry.” Your hand rests against his cheek now, warm from the sunlight pouring through the windows. “It’s the way you make every single person in that stadium feel important. Like they matter. Like they’re safe with you for two hours.”

His gaze softens slightly.

“You could forget every lyric tonight and they’d still adore you.”

“That’s reassuring,” he mutters dryly.

You laugh quietly, relieved when the corner of his mouth twitches again.

“I mean it,” you whisper. “You haven’t toured in a while, sure. But you haven’t lost any part of yourself. If anything…”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye gently. “You’re better now. Happier. More grounded.”

Harry watches you carefully, like he’s trying to decide whether to believe you.

Then, quieter this time, he admits, “I think I’m scared I won’t feel the same up there anymore.”

That one catches you slightly off guard.

Your expression softens instantly.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You move without thinking, climbing fully into his lap beneath the duvet, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He lets out a small surprised breath before immediately pulling you closer, burying his face against your neck like he needs the comfort.

“You know,” you murmur into his curls, “it’s okay if it feels different.”

His hands settle at your waist.

“People change. You’ve changed. That doesn’t mean it’ll be worse.”

He stays quiet, listening.

“You’re not the same person you were back then. And honestly?” You pull back just enough to look at him properly. “That’s a good thing.”

Harry’s eyes search yours carefully.

“You think?”

“I know.”

For the first time all morning, his shoulders seem to relax properly.

Just slightly.

Enough that some of the tension leaves his face.

“You always know what to say,” he murmurs.

You grin softly. “It’s part of my charm.”

A real laugh escapes him then—small, sleepy, but genuine—and finally, finally, it sounds like your Harry again.

The laugh lingers between you both for a moment, soft and warm in the golden morning light.

Harry’s arms stay wrapped securely around your waist, fingertips absentmindedly tracing patterns against the fabric of the hoodie you stole from him weeks ago and never gave back. His forehead rests against yours now, eyes closed briefly like he’s letting himself breathe properly for the first time all morning.

You brush your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck gently.

“And anyway,” you murmur, quieter this time, “if you get nervous tonight…”

Harry opens his eyes again, watching you carefully.

“Just look for me.”

His brows pull together slightly.

“You’ll probably barely even be able to see me.”

“You always find me.”

That earns the faintest smile from him because it’s true.

No matter how massive the stadium is. No matter how blinding the lights get. Somehow, Harry always finds you in the crowd.

You lean back slightly in his lap before gesturing toward the small cot positioned near the end of the hotel bed.

Inside, your son sleeps peacefully beneath a tiny cream blanket, completely unaware that his father is currently spiralling about performing in front of thousands of people in a few hours.

Freshly one year old.

Tiny curls sticking up everywhere.

One chubby hand curled near his cheek.

“He’ll be there too,” you whisper.

Harry’s entire expression changes the second he looks over at him.

Everything softens.

The tension in his shoulders eases completely as his eyes settle on your sleeping little boy, and suddenly the huge stadiums and pressure and expectations don’t seem quite so heavy anymore.

You feel his grip on your waist tighten slightly.

Then he looks back at you.

Really looks at you.

At your sleepy face, your messy hair, the hoodie slipping off one shoulder, the way you’re sitting in his lap trying to piece him back together before the biggest night of the year.

And the fondness in his expression is almost overwhelming.

His hand comes up slowly to cradle your cheek.

“And that,” he says quietly, thumb brushing across your skin, “is exactly why I married you.”

You can’t help smiling softly. “Oh yeah?”

Harry nods once, eyes flicking briefly between you and the cot again.

“Because when I look at you both…” His voice lowers slightly, thick with emotion he’s trying not to show too much of. “I’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

Your heart physically aches at the sincerity in his voice.

For a second neither of you say anything.

The city buzzes quietly outside the windows, sunlight flooding the suite while your little boy sleeps peacefully only a few feet away, and Harry keeps looking at you like you’ve hung every star in the sky yourself.

Then, softly, you grin and whisper—

“You’re getting emotional before breakfast again.”

Harry lets out a quiet laugh, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours once more.

messages.

so many messages.

you squint, trying to make sense of it.

your friend. another friend. someone you barely talk to anymore. even a number you don’t recognize.

your stomach twists.

you sit up slightly, the movement shifting harry behind you. his arm tightens immediately, like his body reacts before his mind does.

“mm,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know,” you say quietly, scrolling through the notifications.

have you seen this?

call me.

are you okay?

what the hell???

your chest tightens.

you open one.

a link.

instagram.

you hesitate for a second, like you already know this isn’t going to be good.

then you tap it.

the page loads.

and there it is.

a post from deuxmoi.

a blurry photo. grainy, taken from too far away. you recognize the street immediately. it’s near your place. you remember that day, the way the air felt, the way harry insisted on walking instead of taking the car because you said you needed fresh air.

your hand moves instinctively to your stomach now, even though you already know what the photo shows.

you. and him.

his hand resting there.

the soft curve that isn’t so easy to hide anymore.

your breath catches.

the caption is worse.

speculation. guesses. anonymous “sources.” people connecting dots that were never meant to be public yet.

you feel sick.

“what is it?” harry asks again, more awake now. he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand still on you, grounding.

you don’t answer right away.

you just turn the phone toward him.

he blinks, eyes adjusting, then focuses.

you watch it happen.

the moment he understands.

his entire expression changes.

sleep disappears instantly, replaced by something sharp, something protective, something that makes your chest ache for a completely different reason.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

he sits up fully now, taking the phone from your hand, scrolling through the post, the comments, the replies.

they’re already everywhere.

people zooming in. analyzing. speculating like it’s a game.

like it’s not your life.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, even though you don’t know why you’re apologizing.

his head snaps toward you immediately.

“hey,” he says, firm but soft at the same time. “no. don’t— don’t do that.”

he reaches for you, pulling you closer without hesitation, his hand coming up to cup your face.

“this isn’t your fault,” he says, looking right at you, making sure you hear him. “not even a little bit.”

your eyes sting.

“we were careful,” you say quietly. “we tried—”

“i know,” he cuts in gently. “i know, love.”

he presses his forehead against yours for a second, grounding both of you.

“people are just…” he exhales, frustrated. “they don’t care. they see something and they run with it.”

you look down, your hand still resting on your stomach.

this was supposed to be yours.

yours and his.

not… this.

not like this.

“we didn’t even get to tell anyone properly,” you murmur.

his grip tightens slightly, like that hits him too.

“we will,” he says, softer now. “we still can. this doesn’t take that away from us.”

but it feels like it does.

just a little.

you can see it in his face too. the disappointment. the frustration. not at you. never at you.

at the situation.

at the fact that something so personal got turned into something public without your consent.

his phone starts buzzing now too.

he doesn’t even look at it.

he just tosses it onto the bed beside him like it’s irrelevant.

“ignore it,” he says. “all of it.”

you huff out a small, humorless laugh. “easy for you to say.”

he shakes his head immediately. “no, it’s not.”

there’s a pause.

then, quieter—

“i just don’t want you to feel like this moment’s been stolen from you.”

your chest tightens.

because that’s exactly how it feels.

he notices.

of course he does.

he always does.

his hand moves down from your face, settling over yours on your stomach, fingers intertwining with yours.

gentle. careful. like he’s holding something fragile.

“hey,” he murmurs. “look at me.”

you do.

“this is still ours,” he says, steady. “no post, no random person with a camera gets to change that.”

you swallow.

“it doesn’t feel like it,” you admit.

his expression softens, something almost aching in it.

“then we’ll take it back,” he says.

you blink. “how?”

he smiles slightly, but it’s not his usual playful one. it’s softer. more certain.

“we do it our way,” he says. “on our time. not because they forced it.”

you watch him, trying to understand.

he shifts, reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing his phone again.

you tense slightly, but he shakes his head.

“not for them,” he says, already unlocking it. “for us.”

he opens his camera.

“come here,” he murmurs.

you hesitate.

you’re not dressed. your hair’s a mess. you feel… exposed in a way that has nothing to do with how you look.

he sees it immediately.

“you’re perfect,” he says, like it’s obvious. like it’s not even a question.

your heart stutters.

“harry—”

“just for me, then,” he adds, softer. “we're not posting anything. i just want… this.”

you look at him for a long moment.

then, slowly, you shift closer.

he smiles, small and warm, like you just gave him something important.

he angles the camera, pulling you into his side, his arm wrapping around you, his hand settling over your stomach again, instinctively.

you lean into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

for a second, neither of you says anything.

it’s quiet.

just you. and him.

and this.

he snaps the picture.

then another.

and another.

each one soft. unposed. real.

he lowers the phone, looking at the screen for a moment, then at you.

“see?” he murmurs. “this is what matters.”

you glance at the photos.

they’re… beautiful.

not in a polished, perfect way.

in a real way.

in a this is your life way.

your chest tightens again, but softer this time.

“i hate them,” you admit quietly. “for taking this from us.”

his jaw tightens slightly.

“yeah,” he says. “me too.”

he leans down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your temple.

“but they don’t get you,” he adds. “they don’t get this.”

his hand moves slightly, thumb brushing over yours.

“and they don’t get to be part of it.”

you close your eyes for a second, leaning into him.

he stays there with you.

doesn’t rush you.

doesn’t try to fix it too quickly.

just… stays.

after a while, he shifts again, reaching for your phone this time.

you tense.

“what are you doing?”

“trust me,” he says.

you watch as he opens your camera, not instagram, not anything public.

just the camera.

he flips it, then hands it back to you.

“your turn,” he says.

you frown slightly. “what?”

“take one,” he says. “of me.”

you blink.

“why?”

he shrugs, but there’s something soft in his eyes.

“because you should have this too.”

your chest aches.

you lift the phone slowly, framing him.

he doesn’t pose.

just sits there, hair messy, eyes still a little tired, one hand resting over yours on your stomach.

present.

here.

yours.

you take the picture.

and something about it feels… grounding.

real.

you lower the phone.

“we’ll tell them when we’re ready,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “friends, family. properly.”

you nod.

“and the rest?” you ask.

he exhales, glancing at his buzzing phone again, then back at you.

“they can wait.”

you study him.

the way he hasn’t let go of you once.

the way his attention hasn’t drifted, not even for a second.

the way he looks at you like this is the most important thing in his life.

because it is.

you shift slightly, pressing closer to him.

“you’re not mad?” you ask, softer now.

he frowns immediately. “at you?”

you shrug a little.

he shakes his head, almost incredulous.

“never,” he says.

then, quieter—

“i’m just… sorry i can’t shield you from all of it.”

your throat tightens.

“you are,” you say. “right now.”

he stills for a second, like that hits him.

then his expression softens again.

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“always will,” he murmurs.

and for the first time since you saw the post—

it feels a little less like something was taken from you.

You knew that dating Harry also meant dating the little girl who came with him. Ema. A three-year-old copy of her father, with the same piercing green eyes, chubby cheeks, and a head full of messy chestnut curls. Overflowing with stubborn frowns and quiet watchfulness, she made you feel like you were being tested from the moment you met her. And honestly? You couldn’t really blame her. If you could, you’d try to keep Harry only to yourself too.

Harry was fiercely protective over his daughter, his little treasure, as he called her, along with a million other nicknames that made your heart skip a beat every time.

You didn’t know much about her mother. He had only mentioned her briefly, once or twice, and not wanting to pry, you let it slide. After all, it wasn’t your place to ask. Maybe in time.

When Ema happened, Harry hadn’t been ready for fatherhood. He thought kids would come at least 5 years later, maybe more, not at the age of 30. His whole life was work and business, not babies. Some days he still felt like a teenager himself! Life had thrown a lot at him early on, but he took it all, even if it meant shedding a few tears along the way. And yet, he couldn’t have been happier. His little sunshine turned his mostly stereotypical life upside down. Turned him upside down.

Gone were the nights of wine, replaced with baby formula, 70s rock music changed into lullabies, nonfiction books were swapped for picture books and his polished suits got shoved in the back of the wardrobe in favour of plain shirts (that he had to change multiples times a day anyway, because he and his daughter were messy people).

At first, Harry stayed at home with his little girl until she was old enough for kindergarten. He was wealthy enough to afford this luxury, choosing to watch Ema grow every day. But he was a businessman at heart, and even on paternity leave, he couldn’t help himself. A contract here, a quick visit to his office there, until his assistant had to kick him out after “just a few minutes” turned into an hour, with Ema playing between stacks of important documents.

After Ema celebrated her third birthday and started visiting kindergarten more regularly, without any fussing in the mornings and sleeping for the whole time after lunch, Harry started feeling the creeping of loneliness. He knew Ema needed to play with other kids and socialize, to learn and experience things on her own without his helping hand. But it didn’t stop him from missing her terribly and squeezing her little body tightly in his arms each time he came to pick her up after work. ”You’re silly, daddy!” She laughed loudly every time.

One interview for a world-famous magazine about Harry’s huge impact was at the start of you and him. Three hours of talking turned into exchanged numbers and whispered promises of a date, filled just the night after. Who would have thought that a journalist with an ordinary life could mesmerise a successful man who could’ve had any other woman?

The bond of trust between you two formed almost instantly. He was consumed by you. One look and he was a goner. There was no need to put an effort in perfect makeup and flawless curls, he had already fallen in love with you on day one. The girl with a big coffee stain on her shirt, hair messier than a bird’s nest and not even a hint of mascara because she’d been running late.

Harry was desperate for your first date. That much was certain. There was something so beautiful about you, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that he had to discover, to claim. He wanted you so badly, his heart ached with it. He made a reservation at the finest restaurant in the city, making sure it would be just the two of you in the whole place. He brought you a huge bouquet of flowers, with a small note ’their beauty smells like you’. He remembered the afternoon you were leaving his office and he smelled your perfume as he kissed your cheek goodbye and your sweet flowery scent hit him hard.

No other woman had caught him the way you did. And oh boy, he was all in. He tossed aside every rational thought that should’ve held him back for his sake and Ema’s. Because the thought of life without you in the picture felt impossible. He didn’t want to flip through photo albums years from now and not see your pretty face there. Call him crazy, but he was determined to have you. He needed you.

Your smile lit up the whole room, even during the inner storm. The effortless elegance that seemed to follow you everywhere you went, the kindness that felt almost unreal every time you spoke. It was all too much. You were it for him. And he didn't even need to know you, because somehow, he already did. Maybe it was the absence of woman's presence, the hormones messing with him, or the longing for love, for giving Ema a mother figure, and himself a wife. But in the end, did it really matter what the reason was? He knew he wanted you, and that was enough.

By the second date, you understood how delicate the relationship you were in the process of building was. It was also the first time Harry told you about Ema, because in his words, “I didn’t want to scare you off, you are too precious to lose”. And it made you fall for him even harder. He treated you like a goddess you in his eyes were. All soft touches and sweet words, he could never settle for less.

After you started seeing each other more regularly, he became truly obsessed with you. His generosity was intensive as if he was trying to fill every corner of your life with reminders of him. A surprise delivery of flowers here, perfumes there, a lovely set of lingerie in the burgundy colour you mentioned just once in front of him delivered right to your apartment.

When you made your relationship official, he bought you the golden necklace you eyed for so long in the small jewellery shop near your block, and made you cry so hard for the first time in front of him.

“I swear you are crazy, Harry,” You sobbed into his suit-covered shoulder, staining it slightly with your tears mixed with mascara.

“Only crazy for my girl,” Harry murmured softly as he kissed your hair, making you cry even more in response. You’ve never felt this loved before.

Yet after all this time, you still hadn’t met the reason of his restless nights, the bright mornings and toys he nursed in his leather briefcase to work. You knew Ema only from photos he shared with you and all the stories that made him smile widely every time he talked about her.

One evening, when he invited you to stay for a night, you finally decided to ask him the question that’s been gnawing on your mind for a while. “Does Ema know about me?”

She was staying with his sister Gemma for the weekend so he could have some alone time with you that wasn't just a few hours per week you usually found on each other given your busy jobs and Harry’s family situation.

The question came unexpectedly. You were snuggled on the big velvet couch under the shield of a fuzzy blanket in each other’s arms, a romantic comedy playing on the TV, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

Harry, caught mid-sip of his red wine, froze. “I umh… well, I’ve mentioned you a few times. I’ve shown her your pictures, tried to hint at us. But you know how she is…”

Ema was daddy’s girl. And he belonged to her only. He was her sun, her moon, and the only person allowed to tie her shoes. She was a little girl. She didn’t understand the world yet, but the idea of sharing Harry’s lap, hugs, or his attention with another woman was a foreign concept he feared would end in a heartbreak.

“You know I respect your boundaries as a parent, Harry. I do,” You sat up straighter next to him, pulling away from the warmth of his chest to look him in the eye. “But shouldn’t she know about me? We’ve been dating for 6 months,”

“I know. I know, baby. She should know.” Harry sighed and tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you back in his side immediately. Your closeness comforted him in a way he couldn’t explain and he buried his face in the crook of your neck to soothe his nerves. “I’m gonna tell her. I promise. I need you in our lives.”

The soft peck on your lips that followed made you blush as well as his words. At this point, you were used to his heartfelt confessions and affectionate touches but it always brought flush to your cheeks and made butterflies fly wildly in your stomach.

But not everything went as Harry planned. It went completely the other way. He wanted to ease Ema into the big change slowly. Having another person around was a serious thing he didn’t want to take lightly. But his job made it’s significant presence in the worst moment.

Harry was in his office, the skyline of London sprawling behind the floor to ceiling windows. He was packing his briefcase, done for the day. A small smile played on his lips as he thought about his daughter he was about to pick up from the kindergarten, excited to see her again, when his assistant, Veronica, stormed in the room.

“Patrick Stevenson is here!” She panted, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe.

The echo of the name made Harry stop in his tracks. Stevenson was a businessman of similar power as Harry’s. He was a titan, not really a rival but a best friend neither. His signature on a contract could mean the best deal of the century as well as an amazing partnership between the two men. Harry had been chasing this meeting for months.

“What? But he didn’t have a scheduled meeting, did he?” Harry slowly set a stack of documents back down on the wooden table, sparing Veronica a confused look.

“No, no, came unannounced. He’s waiting in the conference room right now.” Veronica shook her head a few times and stepped further into Harry’s office, closing the door behind her so no one could overhear them.

“Fuck but I have to pick up Ema! The kindergarten closes in- 30 minutes…” He sighed when he noticed the little hand on the clock by the door slowly reaching number four and ran a hand over his face in frustration. He promised Ema to be on time since she was staying there longer than usual and he knew too well how his little girl was. All pouts and hiccups when she missed him a little bit more.

“I could pick her-” Veronica started, but Harry’s sharp voice cut her off before she could even finish a thought. He hated prioritizing work over his daughter.

“No, I need you here with me. I- just give me five minutes, okay? Go get him water, or wine, or whatever he wants…” He waved at her dismissively and waited until she disappeared before he picked up his phone, his fingers flying quickly across the screen. His mom lived three hours away, there was no way she could pick Ema up, and his sister had a swimming lesson with her daughter. There was only one last option.

“Hey, baby, are you free right now? It's an emergency,” Harry rushed out as he paced around his office anxiously, the rhythmic thud of his polished shoes echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

“Harry, what’s going on? Is everything okay? Is Ema alright?” The worry in your voice clear as day, making Harry’s chest tighten with guilt.

“We’re okay. Sort of. You remember the Stevenson guy I was talking about the other day? He just appeared here. For a meeting. And you know how good this deal could be for us but- I can’t pick up Ema from kindergarten.” He sunk into the leather chair, rubbing a hand over his stubbled cheeks in distress.

“Oh I can pick her up. It’s no problem. She knows how I look right? I don’t want her to panic or something,” You sprung from your chair so fast you almost tripped over your feet and threw a hoodie on. Ema’s kindergarten wasn’t far away from your apartment and Harry’s office. You walked around the place often even before you started dating Harry, always admiring the garden and playgrounds.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. She knows you’re my girl,” Harry let out a sigh, a mixture of relief and sadness swirling in his gut, “I’m sorry this is how you’re gonna meet her, I really wanted it to be more special, not rushed and hectic,”

“It’s not your fault, Harry,” You murmured in the reassuring tone that always got to Harry, soothing every single worry that was left in his head and tension in his body, “I’m happy I can help. Now go make the deal, yeah? I’ve got her,”

“Yeah,” He laughed quietly at the encouragement, “Come to mine office after you pick her up. I know I’m saying this all the time, but you’re an angel, my love. Thank you,”

It didn’t take you long before you were standing in the doorway of Ema’s kindergarten. The building looked like it was made in the last century, but was freshly renovated. You were surprised Ema wasn’t in the top-notch place with a silver spoon in her mouth but rather normal surroundings. Ema’s education was really important to Harry and just because he had the privilege of a wealthy life, he didn’t want to raise a spoiled brat. He wanted her grounded, not crying every time she didn’t get everything she wanted.

“Hello, I’m here for Ema Styles,” You smiled brightly at the teacher. She looked about the same age as you, and she greeted you excitedly.

“Oh yes! Mr. Styles called ahead. Ema is already waiting on you!” She pointed at the small table where she was sitting, clutching a crayon in her small fist, finishing her drawing. “ Ema your- you can go home finally!”

The call of her name got Ema’s attention and she looked up from the paper, her pigtails bobbing slightly when she looked up at you. Her expression was blank, her green eyes unreadable. She didn’t smile or cry. Without saying anything, she got up and started getting dressed all by herself.

“Hello,” She said to you quietly when you stepped out onto the London pavement. She had a purple sweater on, partially hiding her light pink dress, and pink ballet flats, the picture she drew in her hand. Harry loved to dress her up like a proper princess. “Made this for daddy,”

“That’s beautiful, Em! Daddy’s gonna love it. Puts it in a frame and on a wall for sure!” You crouched down to her eye level and looked at the paper. The drawing was a chaotic mess of lines and circles in bright colours, but you could make out two stick figures holding hands, resembling the picture of her and Harry.

You walked mostly in silence to Harry’s office. You tried to have a conversation with her, asked her various questions from “What did you have for lunch?” to “What is your favourite animal?” but her answers were short, barely any. It’s been ages since you took care of a child. You couldn’t mess this up!

The skyscraper where Harry’s office was stood right in front of you just over the street, it’s top hidden somewhere between the clouds. “C’mon Ema, we’re almost here!” You took her small hand in yours when you reached the crosswalk, the evening rush hour at its peak.

But Ema didn’t like this. In the split of a second she pulled at your hand and bit down on the flesh of your wrist.

“Ema! Ouch!” You gasped, pulling your hand away to check the mark. The half moons of her teeth cut deep in your skin, some of them drawing blood. Ema didn't look sorry at all. She looked defiant, her lower lip trembling as she clutched her drawing tighter.

You didn’t dare to scold her, nor touch her. Your hand throbbed in pain for the rest of the walk and the ride in the elevator, a painful reminder of her territorial love for her father.

“There are my girls!” Harry walked in his office with a wide, yet slightly tired smile about an hour later, his tie loosened at the collar. You were sitting in the leather armchair that was probably more expensive than your whole kitchen, watching Ema play on the couch with the toys she had there.

“Daddy!” She shrieked, running into his open arms. Harry caught her mid-air, spinning her around as she erupted into peals of delighted laughter. The cold, silent child from the walk was gone, replaced by a radiant, giggly girl.

“Hey, my darling,” He murmured, kissing her forehead before walking over to you. He tucked Ema under one arm and used the other to pull you into a brief but firm kiss. “Thank you so much, baby... Was she a good girl?”

“Mhm, yeah she was,” You lied at his question and tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie to hide the mark Ema imprinted on you from Harry, forcing a small smile instead. “I should probably get going, though. I still have to finish some articles and umh, I can see someone missed you a lot,”

“You don’t want to grab dinner with us? I wanted to celebrate the deal with both of you!” Harry pouted at you, his thumb grazing your cheek. He could see you weren’t completely at ease, but he didn’t want to push it. After the few months of dating, he knew your body language like the back of his hand as well as every sign of your uneasiness.

“Would love to, but I really can’t. Call me later?” You got up on your feet and gently rubbed his arm, hoping he would let it go.

“Okay,… text me when you get home then,” He pulled you in another kiss that lasted just a few moments before Ema decided to disturb you with an insistent tugs at Harry’s shirt, clearly wanting attention again, making you pull away with a sad smile.

Not having sex with Harry was torturing yet a respectful and delicate thing at the same time. Even though he was head over heels for you, he was taking this part of your relationship very seriously, though his hands and eyes slipped more than once. During your steamy makeouts, he gripped on your waist a little more tightly, or even let his hands wander underneath your shirt. When you were straddling his lap, he buckled his hips to meet yours, creating some friction. And a few times he even gripped on your breasts, which made you giggle. He loved to mark your skin, dig his fingers in your flesh, cling to you until you had to pull him off. You didn’t have many chances to do something more, but when you did, it had you ruined.

It took Harry many relentless attempts before you finally found the courage and agreed on staying over again, for the first time with Ema under the same roof, especially after her angry bite he still didn’t know about. He bought the excuse within the first second and smothered your hand in soothing kisses, living in the reality your friend’s dog attacked you.

You had a ‘family’ dinner first. Harry was the one who talked most of the time but neither of you seemed to mind. He was in his element. He told animated stories about his work, adjusted just slightly so Ema could understand it too, and enjoyed spending the evening with people he loved the most.

After that, Harry was quick to usher Ema in bed. He didn’t want to neglect her but he was so excited about you he couldn’t contain himself. He pulled her dress over her head quickly, making her curls bounce around her face as he searched for her pyjamas with unicorns.

“Daddy,” She squirmed in her bed from the sudden cold and wrapped her arms around her body to warm herself.

“I’m coming, sweetheart! Adorable unicorns for an adorable girl!” He huffed out a laugh and kneeled back in front of her on the floor, helping her dress up. He knew all too well she was clever to do it all herself but he wanted to save some time.

“Read me?” She pouted when he tugged the little pair of leggings on her wiggly legs and smoothed the wrinkled fabric with his palm.

“A story?” He let out a sigh, but smiled immediately, not wanting to look annoyed with her.

“Mhm. From grandma,” Ema crawled over her bed to hand Harry the book her grandma, Anne, wrote. She fell in love with it immediately after Anne read it to her for the first time, and ever since then Ema demanded it from Harry.

“Okay, but just one chapter, yes?” Harry took the book from her and ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Now get under the covers, bug, so I can start,”

To Harry’s luck, she was out like a light by the third page and with a good night kiss to her forehead and a whisper of “I love you”, he turned the moon shaped lamp on her bedside table off and closed the door of her room with a quiet thud.

You were just getting out of the ensuite bathroom, your body wrapped in a fuzzy towel Harry got warmed up on the radiator for you, steam followed you out of the door as you patted your hair dry.

The shelves in the shower were full of fancy sounding bottles bought just for you to make you feel at home, or like a princess given the expensive brands from Dior to other French and Italian names you've never heard before and could only dream about with your paycheque. In Harry’s eyes, it was the bare minute he could do for you.

Your body smelled like orange blossom, creamy vanilla and cedar. A mix you found made Harry feral.

Suddenly a solid weight pressed against you from behind, strong tattooed arms sneaked around your middle and held you in a firm grip against his chest. “Did you have a nice shower, love?”

“Mhm” You hummed with a soft smile he couldn’t see, and slowly turned around in his arms so you could see him. “Really nice,”

“You used the body wash I bought you, didn’t ya? You smell,” Harry buried his nose in the crook of your neck and took a long whiff, basking in the smell of your freshly washed body. “Divine. Delicious even. So good for me.”

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as he pulled you up in the air, making you squeal and kick your legs. “Harry! Ema is right down the hall!”

“So responsible,” He moaned in your skin and set you down on the king sized bed, his body hovering over yours in no time, his knees parting your legs. He trailed kisses all over your neck and jaw before he settled on your lips, kissing you deeply.

“Yeah, that’s why you should keep little Harry in your oh-“ You whimpered in his mouth when you felt his bulge press against your thigh, excitement obviously proud in his sweatpants.

“Baby,” Harry huffed like a child that couldn’t have his lolly and tightened his grip around your waist in protest, not wanting to let you go, preferably ever. “Please. We’ll just have to be quiet,”

“What’s got into you?” You grinned at his eagerness. You’ve never seen him this giddy. His fingers shook and little moans escaped his lips with every grind of his hips against yours. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, the stubble stung your palms pleasingly as you turned his head to look at you.

“I don’t know. You- you just smell so nice! And I’ve been thinking a lot about this, us, and we’ve been together for so long… I want to move our relationship on another level,” Harry murmured, his voice taking on almost a shy tone.

You haven’t done more than cunnilingus, fingering or blowjobs. Harry was very strict about sex. He knew the birth controls nowadays were very effective and with minimal chances of getting pregnant, but he needed the assurance of your relationship. It was a living hell for him and his cock, he couldn’t count the number of times he jerked off to the images of you, but he didn’t want to risk unplanned pregnancy too.

“Yeah?” Your cheeks turned red at his confession, “Are you sure? You know I don’t mind doing just the other things, we don’t have to have sex,”

“No, no, no,” He shook his head abruptly and covered your hand on his cheeks with his own, keeping it in its place. “I want to make love to you,”

You leaned forward and pecked the corner of his mouth softly before focusing on the centre of his lips and kissed him deeply, trying to communicate the love and care your heart held for him.

“Is that a yes?” He nuzzled his nose in your cheek and pressed a few kisses behind.

“But we really have to be quiet. I don’t want to traumatise Ema on our first time,” Your hands slowly moved over his broad chest and under the hem of his worn out shirt, tracing his abs with your pointer finger before you tugged his shirt over his head and threw it somewhere on the floor..

“I’m so lucky,” Harry sat down on his shins only to take a look at you sprawled underneath him, your body hidden just under the fuzzy material of the towel. “Such a beautiful girl and all mine,”

He toyed with the edge of the towel before tugging at it lightly, unwrapping you like a gift on a Christmas Day. Your nipples perked up at the hit of cold air, goosebumps appearing on your skin immediately.

“Oh and look at those tits,” Harry groaned and dived in without even checking with you. He needed his mouth on your skin like oxygen for breathing. He wrapped his lips around your nipple and started sucking as he palmed on your other breast.

You wrapped your legs around his middle, digging your heels in his lower back, keeping him as close as possible. Your back arched from the mattress at the feeling of his tongue on your sensitive bud and you let out a quiet moan.

“Daddy?” The small, tiny voice from the doorway was like a bucket of ice water.

“Fuck,” Harry cursed under his breath and rested his forehead against your shoulder to contain himself.

He was so excited about spending the night with you in a new way. Not just with his head between your legs, but also with his cock filling you up to the brim. It’s been more than three years since he had sex.

You scrambled up under Harry and immediately wrapped the towel back around your body, your face flaming hot, as you hid yourself from the innocent eyes of the little girl.

“Hey, bug. What’s wrong?” He sighed and pulled away from you when he was sure you were decently covered.

“Can’t sleep,” Ema stuck out her bottom lip, pouting at Harry with the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. It wasn’t something new for her. She had a few sleepless nights and craved the warmth and comfort of her dad from time to time. Just like tonight.

“Oh baby,” Harry stood up from the bed and obtrusively tugged at the fabric of his sweatpants around his crotch, trying to hide the tent a group of scouts could camp under, before he crouched in front of her.

You used this moment to change into something and took Harry’s discarded shirt from the floor and put it on, accompanying it with a pair of fresh panties.

The steamy night was officially over. You didn’t mind Ema staying with the two of you. At the end of the day she was still Harry’s daughter and the most important little human, but deep down you feared her, as if you had to be on your toes any time you were in her presence.

“Get in the bed then, you can sleep with us tonight, yeah?” He encouraged her softly with a gentle rub on her shoulder and stood back up, making his way to you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I will make it up to you. A weekend, just the two of us, this little monster at my mum’s or sister’s,” Harry pecked your lips, his hands cradling your face gently. “Now get in the bed too so we can cuddle,”

You moved to the edge of the mattress to give her space, letting Ema take up the whole middle Ema, but she didn’t want your generosity. As she climbed in, her small foot lashed out, a deliberate, sharp kick landing right in your stomach, making you cry out in pain.

“Oi, little girl! What was that?!” Harry’s voice raised to the tone you only heard him use in work, but never with his daughter. He rounded the bed quickly, his expression stern.

“We don’t kick other’s, it could really hurt them. This wasn’t nice from you. And here I was thinking you could get extra cuddles tonight, but I’m not really sure you deserve them now when I saw this.” He shook his head disapprovingly and rested his hand gently on her back.

“Sorry, daddy,” Ema whispered, her gaze dropping to her lap.

“No, sweets. Don’t be sorry to me. Why did you do that?” Harry brushed a few messy locks from his daughter’s forehead as he held her close to his side with his free hand. He had a frown on his lips and his brows were furrowed, a clear disappointment by what his daughter did to you was written all over his face. Ema never acted like this. She was always a sweet and kind girl, just like Harry raised her. This behaviour didn't make any sense to him.

Ema only shook her head in an answer and wrapped her chubby arms around Harry’s torso, burying her face in his bare chest. He looked up from his daughter back at you with confused expression, not really sure how to deal with the situation on his hands, and only subconsciously tightened his grip around her small tired body and pressed her closer in his side in an attempt to soothe both of them.

“Remember what we said, darling? That we treat each other with kindness and respect? If you don’t want to talk about it right now, okay, it’s past your bedtime anyway... But we are gonna have a big talk tomorrow. I won’t let this slide. Can we agree on that, sweetheart?”

You watched Harry handle this unusual situation with grace and calm mind, his patience not flinching at all, not even for a split of a second. And you slowly started to realise that maybe you were the cause of Ema’s behaviour.

Every single bone in your body screamed ’leave!’ at you. You were stuck in your thoughts and Harry’s bed, unable to do anything. Staying made you feel bad because of Ema but leaving would hurt Harry.

In no time, Ema’s body grew limp against him and quiet snores were escaping her lips, signalling she was soundly asleep again. You watched the situation that normally made you coo with a heavy heart, knowing this all was your fault.

“I have a hard on,” Harry mouthed when he was sure his daughter was out like a light, and stuck his bottom lip out enough to pout at you.

The corners of your mouth quirked up slightly at the reassuring revelation that Harry wasn’t mad at you, but the clear opposite. You let out a quiet chuckle at the irony and looked down in your lap, your cheeks turning a tint red.

“Come here,” He laid back in the silky pillows with Ema half sprawled over his bare chest and made a grabby hand, pulling you in his free side. His strong tattooed arm sneaked around your shoulders and cradled you close to him, his lips found the crown of your head and pressed a kiss there. He could tell you were a little thrown off by Ema and wanted to soothe your worries. “I’m so sorry, baby”

“It’s okay,” You let out a long sigh and nuzzled in the croak of his neck, hiding under his chin. You still felt a shooting pain in your stomach, sure there would be a big bruise, but tried to overcome it. You had a perfect view on Ema, her face lacking the anger and envy she held against you a few minutes ago. It almost made you tear up. You wanted this little girl to love you just as much as you already loved her.

“It is not okay. She can’t hurt my girlfriend. That is forbidden in my book.” Harry huffed. It was obvious in his tone how upset he was, even though he tried to hide it for both yours and Ema’s sake.

“I swear she’d never kicked anyone. She’s always been a good girl.” He added, now much more quietly, as if he had to convince you.

“I’m not mad at her, Harry,” You mumbled against the skin of his neck in reassurance, but maybe the words were meant more for you than him.

“She’ll come around, I promise…” The words were determined, but you could hear a hint of uncertainty somewhere between the syllables. Harry took your hand in his gently, your fingers soft against his rough ones, and covered Ema’s curled fist that’s been resting in the middle of his chest with it. “She’s gonna love you before we both know it.”

The talk came right after breakfast. You were planning on leaving as soon as you could after opening your eyes, not wanting to make Ema even more upset, but Harry insisted on your presence and the apology Ema had to give you.

“So,” Harry started after all tummies were full and the dishes were cleaned up. “What are you gonna tell me about last night, Ema?”

The three of you were sitting together in the living room on an L-shaped couch, you by Harry’s side, his grip around your waist tight enough to prevent you from pulling away, and Ema across from you. This was the first time Harry had to have such a talk with his daughter. His hands were sweating a bit and his knee was shaking as he was thinking about how to approach this situation.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” She mumbled with a quiet sigh and looked down at Mr. Snuggles, her plush bunny you gave her, in her lap.

“Sweetheart,” He tutted at her apology, “Why did you kick her? You know this isn’t nice. I’m very disappointed.”

Ema stayed quiet, her gaze focused only on her bunny, not daring to look up and show her tears filled eyes. Harry didn’t pressure her to talk, he knew he had to give her little mind some space.

“You like her more,” Ema whispered finally.

The quiet confession broke Harry’s heart. He knew jealousy could play a part here, but not in that significant amount.

“Ema…” Harry murmured her name sadly, his arm tightening subconsciously around you at the revelation. “I love you both so much, and you both make me so damn happy, bug. And it doesn’t mean I love one of you more or less.”

You watched the quiet exchange with bated breath and guilt creeping up your back. The last thing you wanted was to have Ema feel like this about you.

“Come closer, gimme a snuggle, darling,” He reached out his free hand to her and patiently waited until she crawled over and hid in his chest.

“I want her to live with us someday, be a proper family,” Both of yours and Ema’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Harry’s words, not expecting this in the slightest, but he didn’t seem to care or notice and only cradled Ema closer. “Wouldn’t you want that too? Be a big happy family?”

“Like Olivia’s family?”

“Yeah,” Harry let out a small laugh at her question about her friend from kindergarten she spent a few afternoons with, “We could have a mommy too, you know, like Olivia has,”

“Do you love me, daddy?” She asked in a small voice, her lips quivering with tears she was trying to fight.

“I love you so so so so so much, Ema. You’re my sweet girl, my little treasure,” He murmured in her curls, still untamed and messy just like his own. “Remember this, okay? I’m gonna love you forever,”

“Does she love me?” Ema peeked up at you. Her eyes were glassy and lips dropped in the most heart breaking pout that would make you give this girl the whole world. Harry followed her gaze and turned his head himself, watching you with a hopeful expression.

“I love you too, Ema.” You said softly, as if a louder tone could startle her, and hesitantly reached up to cup her cheek. “I don’t want to make you sad, sweetheart. And I don’t want to take your daddy from you. But he makes me happy too, just like you. Maybe we could share him?”

The almost silly offer lingered in the air filled with nothing but quiet sighs and your breathing for a few moments. Harry’s eyes were moving between you and his daughter as if he was watching a tennis match, not wanting to miss a single emotion and reaction from either of you. And then finally, Ema nodded.

“Okay,” She took the peace offering with a small nod and covered your hand with her smaller one on her cheek.

“One more thing Ems,” Harry gave her little body a squeeze. The main point of this conversation still unfulfilled.

“I am sorry for kicking you,” Ema whispered with a sad pout.

“Thank you, Ema. I forgive you.” You said and ran your fingers through her hair, tugging a loose strand behind her ear.

There’s a calming silence that takes over the room as soon as Harry exits out of his third out of five scheduled radio interviews of the morning. His eyes close as he takes his headphones out of his ears so he can lean back and get comfortable on his plush green couch for a brief moment before he has to get ready for the next one. He lets out a soft sigh, his hands clasped together as they rest on his lower stomach that’s covered by a cozy brown long sleeved shirt with a bright teal collar that you bought him ages ago while out shopping at a thrift store. Just as he’s about to sit up and go over his notes for the next interview his ears perk up at the faint sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, when be cracks an eye open to check the time on his laptop he lets a small smile appear on his face because he knows exactly who it is that’s tiptoeing down the hall towards him.

When he hears the doorknob start to let out the high pitched squeak it always does when it gets turned in a slow cautious manner he closes his eyes and keeps his head resting against the back of the couch so it will appear as if he’s dozed off and is enjoying a little early morning nap. He listens as the door gets pushed open resulting in a small creak from the floorboards when the person quietly shuffles inside, he fights off a grin when he hears a soft humming sound followed by the rustling of a box getting placed on the floor. He peeks one eye open just to be met with the curious gaze of his very sleepy looking three year old daughter, he lets out a dramatic yawn as he opens his other eye and sits up making her smile as a sweet little giggle slips past her lips while she takes a step towards where he’s sitting on the couch. He watches her eyes bounce around from him over to his laptop that’s sitting on the small side table and then back over to him before looking down at his mismatch sock covered feet and as soon as she does that Harry knows exactly what her next steps are going to be.

He gets comfortable as she quickly turns around to grab a very familiar looking box off the floor near the door before walking over and plopping right down at his feet, the spot she usually always ends up in when she comes to keep him company while he’s in his office. He smiles as she dumps out the pieces to the unicorn puzzle that her aunt Gemma got her for Christmas just a few weeks ago that she’s been obsessed with and has completed more times than he can count. She doesn’t say anything as he reaches down and runs a hand through her hair that’s still a bit of a mess due to more than likely having just woken up, she lets out a small little huff as she starts to flip all the pieces over so she can see them properly and it makes a chuckle escape him as he takes in her appearance.

She’s still in her pink and white polka dotted pajamas and her feet are covered by her favorite pair of cozy socks that are rainbow with little hearts all over them. Harry knows by the fact she hasn’t said anything to him but just given him a smile and a giggle that she’s not fully awake yet, because much like you his little girl prefers slow quiet mornings that allow her to gradually find her energy and eventually find something to chat with him about. He glances over at the time on the bottom corner of his laptop screen and then looks back down at his little girl who is quietly and contently working away at her puzzle, he debates for a moment if he should call for you to come get her before his next interview starts. He currently only has two left, these radio interviews being the only reason he’s not still tucked up in bed with you waiting for the little girl who is currently sitting at his feet to come in and wiggle her way in-between the two of you like she does most mornings.

“Lovey can you do daddy a favor?” His voice is soft and gentle causing her to look up at him over her shoulder with a look that he swears is one she stole directly from you, with the small quirk of her brow and slight purse of her lips that all but tell him to continue and ask whatever it is he wants to ask so she can get back to more important things such as her puzzle. “Can you be really quiet while I talk to a few people?” He knows she won’t be a bother, especially since she’s still in the process of waking up but still wants to ask so she’ll have a slight understanding of what it is he’s doing when he suddenly starts talking to a computer screen.

“Mhhm.” She hums quietly in response before looking away from him causing him to let out a breathy laugh as he grabs the cord to his headphones and places them in his ears, he gives the little girl one more glance before opening the browser on his laptop so he’s ready to answer the next video chat.

You roll over and let out a low humph when you’re met with nothing but cold sheets, when you open your eyes your mouth turns downwards into a small pout at the sight of Harry’s side of the bed being empty, already knowing he’s across the house tucked away in his office for some interviews. But then your eyes catch the time displayed in bright red block numbers on his god awful looking vintage alarm clock that you couldn’t talk him out of buying almost two years ago, and you feel a small bubble of worry begin to grow in your chest at the suddenly very obvious lack of a gangly limbed little curly haired girl with bright green eyes that usually has her face smooshed into Harry’s pillow and a leg haphazardly tossed over your hip.

You quickly get out of bed and slip your feet into the slippers Harry always seems to make sure are right next to your bed and walk towards the bedroom door. As you poke your head out you look down the hall and when you see her door is ajar you know that means one of two things have happened, Harry left it open after he went to check on her before going to his office or she woke up earlier than usual and instead of going into your bedroom and getting comfortable next to you she went to find Harry after seeing he wasn’t in bed.

Part of you already knows the odds of finding her still peacefully asleep in her bed with her stuffed frog tightly clutched to her chest when you push open her door are very slim, but you go check anyway just to be sure before heading down to Harry’s office. When you find her bed empty and the one eyed frog safely tucked under the covers you let out a laugh as you close her door and start making your way into the kitchen so you can start a pot of coffee on the way to his office. Harry’s voice softly flows into the kitchen as you pour water into the coffee maker, you try to make out what he’s saying but all it sounds like is a low mumbling of words followed by the warm honey rumble of his laughter.

“Oh crap.” You whisper as his voice reminds you that he’s currently in the middle of an interview in the same room that your daughter also happens to be in. You press the start button on the coffee maker before rushing down the hall until you’re standing in the doorway of his office, you place a hand over your mouth to hold back the audible awe you want to let out at the sight in front of you.

Harry is sitting on the couch with his headphones in and a dimpled grin on his face as he focuses on his laptop screen, and at his feet is your little girl with the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrates on putting the last few pieces of her unicorn puzzle together. You lean against the doorframe watching in silence as he lets out a laugh and shakes his head at something the interviewer said, your eyes find his left hand that’s mindlessly tapping the top of his thigh and you know that’s his usual sign that he’s getting antsy for things to wrap up. When your eyes drift back down to your daughter you feel the familiar tingle of anxiousness start to trickle up your spine as you watch her little fingers put the last piece of her puzzle in its rightful place, normally this wouldn’t have you so on edge but you know that anytime your smiley little girl finishes a puzzle Harry is the first one she wants to tell and usually she does that by calling out for him in a loud and bubbly voice.

But before you can step in and even try to distract her from announcing the completion of her puzzle you swear time starts moving faster and everything happens in a blur. Harry removes one of his headphones letting it droop down the side of his neck, not realizing it’s the one with the microphone attached to it that he uses to speak to his interviewer now allowing whoever is on the other end of his video chat to hear everything that’s going on in his cozy little home office. He also has no clue the little girl at his feet has finished her puzzle, at least not until he feels a soft but noticeable tug on the bottom of his jeans causing his eyes to quickly look away from the man on his laptop screen and down at his daughter who has a proud grin on her face.

“Daddy look! I did it!” Your eyes go wide as her soft excitement filled voice fills the otherwise quiet room, Harry can’t do much but offer her a smile in return but you know by the slight nervousness of the laugh he lets out when his eyes go back to his screen that whoever he’s in the middle of chatting with heard all four words your daughter just said.

“Oh uh that was-” his eyes find yours and you know what he’s silently asking you when he raises a brow and lifts up one shoulder in a shrug. The two of you haven’t shared your little family with the world yet, having been able to keep your pregnancy and personal life relatively private during Harry’s three year break but with his new album and tour coming up you both knew it was only a matter of time before people found out so you just give him a little nod as you take a step into the room. “That was my daughter she wanted to tell me she finished her puzzle.” He says with a proud father type of smile that has your heart melting as you walk over to your daughter who gives you a big grin when she notices your presence.

“Yeah yeah I know s’a bit of a shock right? But uhm she’s-she’s three.” You look over at him as you hold out your hands so you can help the little girl up to her feet, he gives you a small wink making you roll your eyes before he goes back to focusing on his interview. “Sorry wasn’t winking at you…I mean unless you want the wink to be for you? You can have it if you’d like I don’t mind.” You let out a quiet laugh as your daughter grabs yours hands and lets you pull her up to her feet, you smile when she wraps her arms around your middle and snuggles her face into your lower tummy. Harry’s eyes glance over just as you lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head, the tender moment making his heart feel as if it’s going to melt causing him to have to lightly clear his throat before he says anything else so his voice doesn’t give his emotions away.

“Oh yeah she looks exactly like my wife but with my eyes and a bit of my curls-oh uh we’ve been married for almost four years now-yes yeah that’s her-that’s my better half.” He says with a laugh as he leans in to get a look at a photo the interviewer is holding up on his phone of the two of you holding hands and laughing while at a coffee shop during his love on tour days. “It’s been great yeah-I uh really loved getting to focus on just trying to be the best husband and father over the last few years.” You smile at his words as your daughter looks up at you with the same glimmer in her eyes that Harry always gets when he’s excited to ask you something he more than likely already knows the answer you’re going to give him.

“Mommy can we have pancakes for breakfast?” Her voice is a little above a whisper and you can’t help but purse your lips and raise a brow as if you’re really having to think her question over before answering.

“Very excited to have everyone hear what I’ve been working on-yes and for the tour it’s gonna be fun I’m ready to get back to it-yeah yeah they’ll be there for sure.” Harry lifts a finger up to tell you to give him just one moment when you look over at him. “Of course yes it’s always a pleasure talking with you-have a good day! Bye!” Harry waves at his screen with a smile before it goes black and he’s tugging his other headphone out of his ear and closing his laptop.

“Daddy can we have pancakes?” You laugh as your daughter unwraps herself from around you and rushes over to climb in Harry’s lap. “Please?” She adds with the most dramatic pout you’ve ever seen that you know she probably learned from her uncle Niall.

“I think that sounds like a lovely idea.” He tells her with a smile as he looks over at you. “Mommy makes the best pancakes doesn’t she lovey?” You roll your eyes as you place a hand on your hip.

“Fine we can have pancakes but I’ll need some assistance.” This has her little face lighting up as she clumsily climbs out of Harry’s lap making him laugh as the two of you watch her run out of the room and off towards the kitchen.

“So how are you feeling about all this?” He asks as he gets up from his spot on the couch, you just give him a shrug as his hands find your hips. “I still can’t believe we’ve managed to keep this a secret for so long.” He says as your hands rest on his chest while his thumbs rub little circles over the soft material of your night shorts.

“I mean no one really cares about you when you’re unemployed Harry.” You tease making him roll his eyes. “It feels a little weird because I know everyone is just going to want more details about her and us but I’m glad it happened like this and not because someone snapped a photo of the three of us at the airport or something.” Harry just nods as he leans down so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m excited for her to get to see you perform-I think she’s gonna be even more obsessed with you than she already is.”

“You don’t think it’ll be hard on her? Not having me around and available all the time like she’s used to?” You can hear the hint of concern in his voice and it has you reaching up and cupping his face in your hands forcing him to look you in the eyes.

“It’s going to be an adjustment but we’ll make it work-she’s going to love traveling and watching you sing and dance on stage it’s going to be fun okay?”

“I’ve always imagined myself getting to take my family on tour with me one day and now that it’s happening I’m just worried it’ll be too much.”

“I’m sure there’s going to be moments where it’ll be a little overwhelming and chaotic but we’ll get through it.” You tell him in your usual gentle reassuring tone that has him relaxing as you pull his face closer to yours so you can place a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I’ve got a change of dress in the bag.” Y/N knew better than to go without a change of clothes in this new era of her wanting to feed herself. Disastrous mess was inevitable with a baby and any sort of food. “It’s important for her development for her to figure it out. She’s having fun!”

“I know she is, my heart.” Harry murmured, looking to the ruined sundress. It was a cute outfit, pink heart dress paired with the pink crochet hat over her little curly pigtails, but he knew as soon as her eating was over she was going to get fussy about being sticky and messy.

Harry hated the feeling in most cases too, so he could relate.

“Besides, your mum is going to have at least three new outfits when we get over there after.” Y/N turned to her baby with a big smile. “Isn’t that right, darling? Nana loves to spoil you, hm? All those cute little dresses she gets you, multiple daily outfit changes are the only way we’ll get through the all.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, picking his fork back up. “You’ve got a point. She sent me a photo of a miniature shirt with ducklings on it yesterday, so I’m going to bet on there being at least 4 outfits. That’s just what she’s sent me so far.” His mum had an obsession with buying her granddaughter outfits and he loved it. There was only a short period of time to do it as she grew and if he thought about how fast it was happening he would cry, so he pushed that side.

“Silly Nana. Your wardrobe is already exploding.” Y/N laughed, taking a sip of her mimosa, sans the alcohol. When Harry tried to tell her once that it was just orange juice, she’d simply flipped him off.

She squealed, hitting her little fist on the plastic tray and sent a bit of strawberry onto the main table and Harry’s arm, seemingly agreeing with her mum.

“I do love it, though. It’s fun to play dress up with her. I’m afraid next time we leave her with her she’ll come back with the entire Baby Gap, but I fear our child has your affinity for clothing. It’s like a minefield in our closet, she takes after you.” Harry teased his wife because their own closet was a mess of Y/N’s rotation of aesthetics.

“Like mummy, like baby.” She preened, lifting her glass to her lips. “And Daddy won’t complain if he wants more babies, will he? No, he won’t.” She reached out to tickle their daughter’s little foot, which had somehow lost its sock. “And he’s been talking about more babies since you were born, so I think he’s going to reconsider.”

“I’m not complaining!” He clarified, blinking rapidly. “M’not!” The man wanted more babies, and he knew what was good for him.

Liked by harrystyles, lewishamilton and 2,785,924 others

yourinstagram the most perfect few days

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user1 in love with your dress in that first picture

zoeisabellakravitz ❤ liked by yourinstagram !

user2 baby B in the apples is so cute

user3 wait does she have more kids???

->user4 no i think that's lewis' nephew and niece lol ->user5 ohhhh i thought lewis and her had a kid or something ->user6 nah her and lewis are prob dating but no they dont have a kid lol

user7 ugh love u

user8 prettiest girl

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Liked by user1, user2 and 2,785,924 others

enews Zoe Kravitz's who has been recently linked to musician Harry Styles has been causing some commotion after she was caught saying Styles has a daughter.

“It’s been a busy with the press and premieres but being able to go home to my boyfriend and his daug- family is really nice. It’s something to look forward to.”

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user1 if this is true i'd be so embarrassed to have been the one to leak this

user2 it’s insane they haven’t been together a full year and she leaked that he has a CHILD?!?!?!!!

->user3 ik it probably wasn’t her intention but it’s still a bit funny 😭

user4 the options are fairly limited when it comes to woman he's hung out with that ended up pregnant so i give it an hour before we find out who he had a baby with

user5 ain't no way he has a kid and his fans didn't find out

user6 she'll never do another live interview again

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enews Harry Styles seen leaving Y/n L/n's London house after speculation of them having a daughter together. Styles' current girlfriend Zoe Kravitz accidently revealed he has a daughter while boasting about the singer.

None of the parties involved have chosen to comment.

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user1 so he DOES have a 2 year old daughter wth???

user2 okayyyy this is conformation

user3 kudos to them for it not being known for two years

user4 how did he keep this secret for 2 years

user5 bare minimum but glad he's present!

user6 no clue how they were able to keep it unknown for such a long time

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Liked by harrystyles, lewishamilton and 5,835,468 others

yourinstagram <3 !!!

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user1 so stunning mama

user2 glad y'all can walk around with out being papped ❤

->user3 This!! hope it stays this way, they deserve privacy

user4 harry and little B in the last slide 😭❤

user5 such a cute family oh em gee

user6 LEWISSSS!!

user7 her coat, my heart ❤

user8 harry and lewis... living my dream

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Liked by harrystyles, lewishamilton and 3,468,925 others

vogue Y/n L/n talks about becoming a mother, the struggle of shielding her daughter from the limelight and speaks on the recent news of the father of her only child.

L/n when asked about keeping her daughter from being in the public eye "From the second she was born I knew that it was going to be a struggle to shield her from prying eyes but I try my best."

She also spoke about the father of her child who was recently revealed to be Harry Styles "He is the most constant person I've met. If im struggling or our girl is he's always there. We never have to worry about him showing up, we were together for a short period of time and didn't plan on having a baby but it was the best decision I think either of us made. As she says 'he's the best as tea parties' and I wouldn't change that for the world."

L/n also wanted to make it known that she holds no negative feelings towards Zoe Kravitz after she revealed Styles' was a father "Zoe is such a sweetheart and everyone that knows her knows that she didn't mean to reveal that about us. It was going to be public one day and it just happened a little soon than we planned and that's okay!"

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user1 bout to be the most famous nepo baby

user2 harry having tea parties with B seems like the cutes visual

user3 beautiful picture of y/n!

user4 awwe they seem like they all have so much love for each other

user5 harry and lewis in the likes is so cute, they're a little family!!

user6 dad harry seems like such a sweetheart

user7 so happy they're all so close even if they're not together

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✎…… hard time finding a face claim, not a fan of HB but her and zoe are friends so it made sense 🤷‍♀️

added lewis to the story because why not 😭