i need to know what it's be like if styles!reader went out for a girls night and joe invited harry over for a boys night with dalton (now what he can walk and babble a few words)
joe keery x styles!reader
a part of my styles!reader au!
motherhood consumed your entire being and you weren’t complaining at all. yes, it was incredibly time consuming, but the diminishing of your social life wasn’t just because you were busy with dalton. you actually grew to prefer his company.
your friends with kids called you crazy. who’d willingly prefer to hang out with their husband and two year old? who’d pass up the opportunity of a long awaited girls night so they could get their hair pulled by their child instead?
you weren’t aware just how much you needed your family until they were in the palm of your hands.
they were everything you’ve ever wanted and way more. no feeling could compare to those evenings you and joe spent babbling away with dalton.
nonsense was spoken, but it was in a language you understood. a language you didn’t need to learn, one that came naturally.
when dalton requested to facetime one of your friends, who were you to deny him? you beared all 32 teeth as your friend popped up on the screen.
“babe, what happened to you.” emily gasped, concern dripping from her tongue.
you craned your neck to get a look at dalton’s face. there was a red splotch between his mouth and cheek. “oh, we had raspberries a moment ago. dalton loves raspberries, don’t you, love?” you cooed, wiping the splotch away with your thumb.
emily tutted, shaking her head. “no, darling, you.”
you frowned. “what’s wrong with me?”
“you look like you got into a fight with a raccoon.” she said honestly.
“i’m a mum!” you spluttered. that was your excuse for your two pigtails that were already coming undone, strands falling where dalton has relentlessly pulled. it was your excuse for the mystery stain on the shoulder of your shirt, and for the adorably tiny bite mark on your forearm.
“this has gone too far, my love. you’re going out with us tomorrow.” she sighed.
“but friday nights are when joe, dalton, and i have our fort—”
“friday nights are for going out! do you even hear yourself? you’ve literally become a slave to motherhood.”
“i know.” she didn’t, but she pretended to. “i know you love being a mum. you’re a damn great mum too. but you need a break, love. just so you don’t burn yourself out. how does that sound?”
“you’ll go.” joe’s sudden voice made you jump, holding a hand over your heart.
“sorry, baby.” he leaned down to press a kiss on your cheek, then to the top of dalton’s head before giving your friend a polite smile and a wave.
“even joe agrees!” emily said exasperatedly.
“think it’s long overdue.” he chimed, picking dalton up from your lap, earning an enthusiastic squeak. “besides, we need a boys night. don’t we, bug?”
dalton clapped and squealed again before slamming his face into the crook of joe’s neck.
“you like that, bud? what do you think? should we invite uncle harry too? hm?”
dalton shot up, eyes wide and grinning toothlessly. “hazza! hazza!”
“s’all set then.” joe said with a firm nod.
now you really had no excuse not to go.
friday evening came around and you were getting ready. you dreaded every single second of it. you stared blankly at your once go to friday night outfit.
a lacy, black crop top with a neckline split low enough to leave very little to the imagination. you paired it with washed low rise jeans and one of joe’s black leather jackets.
you pulled your hair into a half up half down and gave another blank stare at the mirror.
when joe had told harry about his plan for a boys night with dalton, he knocked on the door bright and early at 8am.
cleared out an entire day’s schedule for his nephew and brother-in-law.
you weren’t alarmed when joe walked in your room without your son resting on his hips. you knew dalton attached himself to your brother the second he stepped foot in the house.
your name fell from joe’s lips in a whisper. an incantation, almost.
“i know.” you grumbled, doing your signature english-teacher-cardigan-pull with his jacket. “don’t look the same anymore.”
your main focus after giving birth wasn’t to lose the weight you gained. in fact, it hadn’t been something that crossed your mind until tonight. you had been perfectly occupied with your little boy to even glance at your deflated body.
“don’t—” he practically choked out, tugging the jacket open again. “don’t.”
“hide.” his throat bobbed, eyes darting all over your figure to take you in. he lifted his hand, grazing the new stretch marks that have taken place on your boobs.
his hands trailed down and rested on your waist, giving a firm squeeze. he smiled to himself as he felt the softness.
“you…” he trailed off, at a loss for words. he met your nervous gaze. “please.”
“sentences, love.” you couldn’t help but tease.
he blinked rapidly, as if he was just thrown back to earth. “you’re so gorgeous. don’t forget me, please.”
you couldn’t help but laugh. “forget you? darling, i wouldn’t be able to forget you even if i tried.”
“you asking or telling me?” you hummed, amused.
“little bit of both?” he grimaced.
you grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. “love you, dork.”
“love you more.” he muttered your name against your lips, hand trailing down your back to squeeze your—
“joe!” you gasped, laughing breathlessly. you slapped his hand away.
joe sighed. “can’t blame a man for trying.”
“em’s gonna be here any minute.” you said quietly, secretly hoping he’d beg you not to go. beg you to stay and spend some quality time with those you love the most.
“have fun today, yeah? dalton and harry are already napping on the couch. we’re all set for the day.”
you shake your head, a soft smile forming on your face. “always sleeping, those two.”
joe brushed your hair to the back of your shoulder, hand resting on your neck.
“are you sure you don’t need to me stay—”
he shook his head. “go. have fun.”
“i’d have more fun with you three.” you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your jacket.
“no you wouldn’t.” he snorted. “tell you what, if you don’t like it and wanna come back home i’ll come pick you up. that sound good?”
you nodded, wiping your palms on the back of your jeans.
a loud ding! coming from your phone broke you two out of your trance.
you cleared your throat. “must be emily.”
“come on.” he held his hand out for you to take and walked you to the door. you stood in front of the couch for a moment, taking in the sight of your brother and your son. you snapped a picture then looked away, tears already forming.
joe immediately grabbed a tissue, dabbing it in the corner of your eye to prevent any tears from falling. “none of that.” he muttered.
your phone started vibrating in your hand.
“well, she’s not patient.” joe raised his eyebrows.
“absolutely not.” you laughed. you kissed joe goodbye then pressed a kiss to harry and dalton’s foreheads, leaving lipstick stains on your three boys.
“okay. bye for real now.” you sighed, squeezing joe’s arm.
your night was nothing short of spectacular. last time you got this drunk was when you were 19 and in college. that felt like a lifetime ago.
joe mentally prepared for endless men grinding up against you in whatever dark and sticky bar you went to. that hadn’t been on your agenda.
even when you were drunk out of your mind, all you could do was think about your boys.
you sat by the bar on a stool, sipping mindlessly on your drink.
a guy slid next to you, ordering a whiskey on the rocks before he turned to you. you subconsciously scrunched your nose up at him—he smelled like an ungodly amount of axe body spray and cinnamon gum.
he tried speaking to you, but you couldn’t feign interest for the life of you. couldn’t even maintain small talk.
your phone screen lit up and you smiled at the sight of your wallpaper—joe and dalton sleeping on the floor of his room after a long day of playing with legos.
now that sparked your interest. that was something you could talk about.
“yes! 26 months.” you tilted your screen at him. “isn’t he just so precious?”
the guy stared off, nodding slowly as if he was thinking of a life-alterin decision. then, he spoke “father’s in the picture, or?…”
you blinked, then pointed at the man your son was sleeping on. “my husband.”
the man let out a loud and exaggerated sigh before chugging the rest of his whiskey and walking away.
“weirdo.” you grumbled to yourself.
“hey,” someone tapped on your shoulder. you twisted on your stool. “couldn’t help but overhear. my daughters 26 months too.”
“oh my god! what’s her name, if you don’t mind me asking?” you rested comfortably against the table. this was a conversation worth your time.
“harriet.” he answered. “after my grandma.”
“i love that! my brothers name is harry after my grandpa. what a coincidence.”
he furrowed his eyebrows at you, almost like he was trying to pinpoint something.
“what about your son? what’s his name?”
“dalton.” you answered immediately, already unlocking your phone and opening your photos app. “d’you wanna see pictures? i have a ton. he was playing with my husbands guitar the other day—oh my god, you just have to see. it was the cutest thing ever.”
you and this guy—who you later learned was called emmitt—spent around half an hour showing each other pictures of your children.
he saw a picture of dalton and joe and you swore you could seen something flicker in his eyes—something like almost-recognition.
when he saw the picture you took earlier today and of dalton and harry painting, it fully clicked. you could tell he put two and two together, but he didn’t say anything.
right now, you were just proud mother showing a proud father pictures of your son. not harry styles’ twin sister, or joe keery’s wife.
“you are not doing this right now.” emily spoke from behind you. “no more mama bear, please.”
she grabbed your hand and pulled you away from emmitt. you gave him an apologetic smile and he shrugged, understanding.
“you are going to dance. and drink. you will get so drunk you’re gonna forget your own name. okay?”
you stumbled out of the bar late at night, giggly and unsteady
the boys had a completely different night.
harry and dalton woke up not long after you left, both sharing the same confused expressions over the lipstick stains on their foreheads.
suddenly, dalton isn’t joe’s carbon copy anymore. those are the styles’ facial expressions through and through.
dalton’s eyebrows furrowed, head turning frantically. “mama?”
“she’ll be back soon, bud.” joe said, setting a bowl of sliced apples in front of him.
“eat up,” harry pointed at the bowl in front of dalton. “then we’ll build the fort.”
“for’!” dalton nodded excitedly.
“fort.” repeated joe, emphasis on the t.
“do not americanize my nephew!” harry gasped dramatically. “you’re right, little man. fort.”
“we gotta stick to an accent.” joe realized. “can’t speak half british half american.”
“british it is then.” harry sighed. “he’s british.”
“you take the styles out of england but not the english out the styles.” harry shrugged. “your words.”
“i think you twisted the lyrics a bit there, man.”
“really?” harry tilted his head in mock confusion. “don’t think i have.”
“oh, no, yeah, you’re right.” joe nodded, a smile he couldn’t fight back already on his face. “i mean, you know my songs better than me anyway, right?”
“for sure!” harry nodded.
dalton’s eyes widened. “song!”
“you wanna sing a song, bud?” joe asked.
harry turned to look at joe, eyebrow raised slightly.
joe shrugged, “what good are we if we’re not his musical slaves?”
joe picked dalton up and carried him to the home studio, sitting in front of the drums while harry sat on a stool with an guitar in hand.
“i want song.” dalton said surely.
“you play song.” joe handed him the drumsticks.
“go on, then!” harry encouraged. “give us something to work with.”
dalton smacked a drumstick experimentally, leading it to fly across the room.
“woah!” harry’s eyes followed the flying stick.
“you’re gonna take someone’s eye out, bud!” joe laughed, catching the drumstick when harry threw it back. “think we should try this one out together, kay?”
“oh-kaaaaay!” dalton nodded.
they eventually built the fort (with dalton doing the watching, harry the judging, and joe the building)
“little bit more to the left.” harry would say, and joe would comply. then, it would be followed by an immediate “half a millimeter to the right.”
“half a millimeter—” joe repeated, immediately standing straight, hands on his hips as he stared at harry.
“uh oh,” harry grinned, turning to look at dalton who was rested on his hip. “think your dad has had enough of us today.”
“dalton didn’t suggest a half millimeter shift, don’t put this on my son.” joe said with a pointed finger.
“you just don’t understand english architecture.” harry waved him off. “dalton and i are on this specific wavelength. we can both see how your weak structure is leaning towards the right. did you think by recreating the leaning tower of pisa you’d connect with our european roots?”
“pizza?” dalton’s eyebrows furrowed, confused at the mention of the food.
“see!” harry tutted, pretending dalton was agreeing with him rather than being a hungry little shit. “we live on the same wavelength.”
“oh, do you?” joe challenged with a tilted eyebrow. “dalton, does this look tilted to you?”
harry swallowed back a laugh. “is it lopsided, love?”
dalton carefully analyzed the fort being shaking his head. “no.”
joe grinned and took dalton out of harry’s grasp, spinning him around. “my son.” he pressed a slobbery kiss to his cheek. “always has my back.”
joe made harry decorate the inside of the fort, since his “english interior designing genes are naturally more sophisticated.”
he really only threw in a handful of blankets and a swarm of pillows.
dalton crawled in followed by harry. joe went to go get his laptop so they could watch a movie, but by the time he found his device, the two of them were fast asleep.
“we’ve gotta get these two checked.” he muttered to himself, joining them in the fort.
you tried to walk back inside your home quietly, you really did.
you stumbled over too many things and giggled far too loudly at yourself one too many times not to grab anyone’s attention. you were just glad it was joe and not dalton, or worse, your brother.
“looks like you had fun.” joe rubbed his eye sleepily, trudging over towards you to place a stabilizing hand on the small of your back.
“i had a fun.” you nodded, words slightly slurred.
“yeah? just the one?” he said, bemused.
“mhm.” you nodded, leaning in too close. “y’so pretty.” you squinted, as if hyperanalyzing his face.
you miraculously missed the blush creeping up on his face.
“couldn’t stop talking about you today.” you sighed, resting your body weight on him as you yanked off your heels.
you hiccuped and your eyes went wide. your cheeks blew up instantly, physically holding back an explosion of laughter.
“let’s get you to bed before you wake harry and dalton up.” he picked you up bridal style and carried you to your shared room.
you giggled, nuzzling your face in his neck. “smell good.”
he brought you to the bathroom and sat you on the sink counter.
he brushed your teeth and did your skincare routine for you, because he knew you’d be livid if you went to bed with bar particles stuck to your face, or woke up with the lingering taste of alcohol on your tongue.
he tugged your sleep shirt over your shoulders and went to grab your pants.
“‘s too hot.” you shook your head, stopping him from pulling the pants over your legs.
“baby, your legs always get cold at night.”
“fine.” he sighed. “but don’t stick your legs between mine when you get cold.”
“bossy even when you’re drunk.” he murmured under his breath.
he shook his head. “love you.”
you grinned, eyes droopy. you held your hands out, signaling for him to carry you to bed, which he gladly did.
he set you on the bed, and the coldness of the mattress cover shot right through you.
you were too stubborn to admit he was right, even when you’re drunk, so you persevered until you fell asleep.
sometime in the middle of the night, you stuck your ice cold feet to joe’s calves.
he grumbled sleepily, pulling you in closer so that your head rested on his chest, and your legs slotted in between his.
