28harryssunflower

[28harryssunflower]

Too young, darling - a mini series: part 5/5

Too young, darling: Part 5

It had been a few weeks since you found out about the pregnancy, and each day brought new excitement - and new anxieties. The morning sickness was starting to settle, but the constant changes in your body were a reminder of just how much your life was about to change.

You couldn’t keep it a secret forever. You had been thinking about how and when to tell your students, and today felt like the right day.

You walked into your classroom, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The chatter died down as soon as you stepped in, your students already noticing something was different about you. Maybe it was the way your smile seemed a little more radiant, or how you were cradling your belly protectively, but there was an unspoken curiosity in the air.

You set your things down on the desk, turning to face them. They were all waiting, their eyes wide, eager for the lesson to begin. But instead of jumping into the material, you cleared your throat.

“I have something I need to tell you all,” you started, your voice a little shakier than you expected. “I’m going to be away for a bit starting in a few months. I’ll still be around for a little while, but there will be some time off soon.”

The room was quiet as they absorbed your words. Some of them started whispering to each other, exchanging curious glances.

You couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at your lips. “And the reason I’ll be away… is because I’m pregnant.”

“Wait, what?!” Lily shouted, jumping up from her seat.

“Are you serious?!” another student gasped, wide-eyed.

You nodded, your heart fluttering at the excitement in their faces. “Yes, I’m pregnant. Harry and I are expecting a baby.”

The room erupted into applause, cheers, and happy gasps. Your students were all smiling, many of them standing up to congratulate you. You were overwhelmed by their joy, but it was impossible not to feel incredibly grateful for the support.

“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” one of your students exclaimed, walking up to you with a wide grin. “You’re going to be such a great mom!”

“Professor Styles, this is the best news!” Lily beamed.

You laughed, nodding. “I’m glad you’re all excited. I’m excited, too, but it’s also a bit nerve-wracking.”

Harry had already talked to a few of your colleagues to make sure they would be able to cover for you when the time came. The thought of stepping away from teaching for a while was a little intimidating, but you knew it was the right decision for your health and the baby.

“I’ll be back, of course,” you added, trying to reassure them. “But for now, I’ll be taking some time to focus on everything. I hope you all understand.”

“Of course, Professor!” they said in unison, their smiles never faltering.

“Congratulations, again,” Lily added, giving you a wink. “But seriously, when’s the baby shower?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t even know yet, but I’ll keep you all posted.”

The lesson was forgotten after that - your students were too busy chatting about your pregnancy, asking questions, and sharing their excitement. You were touched by their warmth and enthusiasm, and it made the transition feel a little easier.

As you watched them celebrate your big news, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Life was moving so fast, but with Harry by your side - and with the support of your students, friends, and family - you knew you’d be okay.

The journey ahead would be challenging, but with the love and excitement surrounding you, you felt more prepared than ever to take it on.

A few weeks had passed since you shared the news with your students, and by now, your little baby bump was starting to show. It was subtle at first, but it was definitely there - enough for your students to start noticing and asking more questions.

That particular day, you had a combined class with Harry’s students and yours, something that didn’t happen too often. It was a special occasion because Harry had asked if he could join you for one of your lectures. He wanted to help out with some of the more historical content, and of course, your students loved the idea.

You were halfway through the lecture when Harry stepped into the room, his usual charm and goofy grin on full display. He waved at everyone, earning a few chuckles.

“What’s going on, Professor Styles?” one of your students teased.

“We’re combining forces today,” Harry said, pulling up a chair next to you. “I’ll just be sitting in - don’t worry, I’m not here to hijack the class.”

“You’re always here to hijack something, Harry,” you joked, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

The class went smoothly, filled with a comfortable rhythm of discussion and questions as you both bounced off each other. But as the lecture came to a close, something unexpected happened.

One of your students stood up, a bright smile on her face.

“Before you two leave for the day,” she said, glancing around at the rest of the class. “We have something for you.”

You blinked in confusion, not understanding what was happening. You looked at Harry, who was just as confused as you.

And then, before you could say anything, a large basket was placed on your desk. It was filled to the brim with baby clothes, baby care products, and a few stuffed animals that you were sure had been picked out with care.

“What… is this?” you whispered, almost in disbelief.

Lily beamed at you. “A little something for you both.”

“Wait, you all…?” Harry started, looking at the students around the room, most of whom were grinning at you.

“It’s from all of us,” Lily explained. “We put it together - some baby essentials. We know you’re going to be amazing parents, and we just wanted to show our support.”

Your heart swelled as you looked at the basket, the gesture so thoughtful and unexpected that it left you speechless for a moment. The students were all smiling at you, their excitement and support shining through.

You could feel your eyes starting to water, your hormones running wild as the emotions of the past few weeks - pregnancy, the excitement, the nervousness - tumbled together in one overwhelming wave.

You blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling, but the sweet gesture was too much.

“Oh my God,” you managed to whisper, laughing through the tears. “This is… this is so kind of you all. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” another student said, giving you a reassuring smile. “We just wanted you to know we’re here for you.”

Harry wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You really didn’t have to do this, but we appreciate it so much.”

Lily grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Of course, Professor. We’re all rooting for you two!”

As you stood there, surrounded by the students’ love and support, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. You looked up at Harry, who was smiling down at you with so much pride in his eyes.

This was all real. You were going to be parents. And the love and support from your students - your family - made everything feel just a little bit easier.

“You’re going to be the best mom,” Harry whispered, his lips brushing your temple as he squeezed your hand.

And in that moment, with your students cheering around you and Harry holding you close, you knew everything would be okay.

The day finally arrived, and after months of anticipation, you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Nora. The moment you held her in your arms, everything shifted. The world outside faded away, and all that mattered was this tiny human you had brought into the world with Harry.

The early days were a blur - nights spent comforting Nora when she cried, days spent trying to figure out how to balance being a new mom with everything else. Your body was recovering, and the overwhelming joy of becoming a mother was tempered by exhaustion, but Harry was always by your side. He stepped into his new role as a father so naturally, constantly surprising you with his tenderness and support.

Life with Nora wasn’t always easy, but it was beautiful. Slowly, you both got into a rhythm, and though there were days when you felt overwhelmed, you couldn’t imagine life any other way. You learned to embrace the mess, the late-night feedings, and the constant change. You were adapting, growing, and getting to know your little girl - who was already showing her own personality.

Nora had dark curls, and her big blue eyes reminded you so much of the ocean. She was a little bundle of joy, and you couldn’t help but smile every time she cooed or reached for your finger.

As the graduation ceremony approached, you found yourself struggling with the idea of being away from your students for so long. You had always been involved, but now, with Nora, your life had shifted dramatically. You didn’t want to miss the event, not just for you but for your students as well.

So, you made a decision - one that would surprise everyone.

You decided to attend the graduation, with Nora in tow. It felt like the right thing to do, to show your students how far you had come since the beginning of the year, and to let them meet the little girl who had become your world.

On the day of the ceremony, you and Harry made sure everything was ready. You dressed Nora in a little white dress with a pink bow on her head and wrapped her in a cozy blanket. You couldn’t help but smile as you held her in your arms, gazing at her little face. She was your everything, and you were so proud of her.

Arriving at the graduation ceremony was a mix of emotions. The campus felt like a familiar world, but now, it was different - more meaningful, because you were sharing it with Harry and Nora.

When you entered the auditorium, your students’ faces lit up when they saw you. They couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw Nora.

“Oh my God, she’s so cute!” Lily exclaimed, rushing over to meet her.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” another student said, her face full of awe.

The students crowded around you, eager to meet your baby. You let them take pictures, and Harry was right there with you, beaming with pride.

“I’m so happy to see you all,” you said, looking around at your students who had grown so much over the months. “I’m going to miss you guys, but I know you’re all going to do great things.”

The ceremony itself was a blur - there were speeches, laughs, and cheers as your students walked across the stage, but what made the day truly special was the time you spent connecting with them afterward.

As the evening wound down, you pulled out your phone and decided to share a little piece of your life with them. You handed your phone to Lily, who eagerly took a picture of you, Harry, and Nora. You added it to your Instagram, then letting your students follow you so you could stay in touch.

After the ceremony, Harry wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close as you watched your students celebrate. “We did it,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “We made it through, together.”

You nodded, your heart full. “It feels like a lifetime ago when we started this journey. But now, we’ve got this little one.” You looked down at Nora, whose big eyes were already following the noise and excitement around her.

The evening was perfect - surrounded by the people you cared about, your students who had become like family, and Harry by your side. You could feel the weight of all that had happened in the past months, but there was no denying that everything was falling into place.

It was a new chapter for you and Harry, for your family. And you couldn’t wait for the future, for the memories you would create as parents and as a team.

[28harryssunflower]

Too young, darling - a mini series: part 4/5

Too young, darling: Part 4

It happened on a quiet evening, one that felt just like any other.

You had both spent the day at work, teasing each other between classes, dealing with students’ endless questions, and grading far too many papers. By the time you got home, you were both exhausted - but in the best way.

Harry had insisted on making dinner, which usually meant an hour of him half-following a recipe while dancing around the kitchen, pulling you in for spontaneous twirls between stirring the pasta. Tonight was no different.

“Y’know,” he mused as he set two plates on the table, “I think my students are genuinely more invested in our relationship than their education.”

You laughed, taking a seat across from him. “I told you the teasing wouldn’t stop.”

He grinned. “One of them actually asked if I was ever gonna ‘make an honest woman out of you.’”

You rolled your eyes. “You did not just say that.”

“I did. And you know what?” He leaned forward, his green eyes sparkling. “Got me thinking.”

You raised a brow. “Thinking about what?”

Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up, reaching into his pocket. Your heart skipped a beat as he took a deep breath, looking a little too nervous for someone who was usually so smooth.

Then, right there in the middle of your dining room, he got down on one knee.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Harry…”

“I was gonna wait,” he admitted, opening a small velvet box to reveal the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. “I had this whole plan - something romantic, maybe at the school’s gala or on some fancy trip - but then I thought… why? Why wait when I already know I want to spend the rest of my life with you?”

You covered your mouth with your hands, tears already welling up in your eyes.

Harry smiled, his voice softer now. “Y/N, you have been my best friend, my biggest supporter, my love, and my home. I don’t want to go another day without making it official - without calling you my fiancée, and eventually, my wife.” He exhaled shakily, his dimples showing as he grinned up at you. “So… what do you say, Professor Y/L/N? Marry me?”

You didn’t even let him finish before nodding frantically. “Yes! Oh my god, yes!”

Harry barely had time to slide the ring onto your finger before you tackled him into a hug, both of you laughing as you clung to each other. He kissed you - soft and slow at first, then deeper, as if sealing the moment in his heart forever.

When you finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Our students are never gonna let us live this down.”

Harry laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. “Let them tease all they want. As long as I get to call you mine forever, I don’t care one bit.”

And with that, your love story - one that had started with teasing, late-night study sessions, and lingering glances across classrooms - became something even more beautiful.

And it didn’t take long for your students to notice.

The moment you walked into your lecture hall that morning, coffee in one hand and lesson plan in the other, a sharp gasp came from the front row.

“Oh my God,” one of your students, Lily, blurted out. “Professor Y/L/N, is that a ring?!”

You froze for a moment, realizing that, yes, your engagement ring was sitting proudly on your finger, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. A hush fell over the class as twenty pairs of eyes zeroed in on your hand.

There was no use in denying it.

With a small smile, you held up your hand. “Alright, yes. Professor Styles proposed last night.”

The room exploded.

“Oh my God, finally!”

“I knew it!”

“You guys are literally the cutest!”

“Wait, wait, wait! How did it happen?! Tell us everything!”

You sighed, setting your books down. “Guys, we have a lecture to get through-“

But they were relentless.

“Come on, Professor,” one student pleaded. “You have to tell us the whole story. You and Professor Styles are, like, our favorite real-life romance novel!”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but smile. “Fine. Fine,” you gave in, leaning against your desk. “I suppose one story wouldn’t hurt.”

The class cheered, and you sighed dramatically before starting.

“Well, it all began when Harry was an annoying 19-year-old flirting with his best friend’s older sister…”

You went through everything - how you used to ruffle his hair and call him a kid when he tried to flirt, how he was relentless with his teasing, and how you’d never really taken him seriously at first. You told them about the heartbreak, how you found out you were pregnant, how Harry had been there through everything - even when you lost the baby.

That part quieted the room.

You hesitated before continuing. “It was… the hardest thing I ever went through. But Harry never left my side. He was just there. Taking care of me, making sure I was eating, holding me when I couldn’t stop crying. And one day, I realized… I loved him.”

The students melted.

A few even wiped away tears as you continued, telling them how you finally made the relationship official, how he started working at the college with you, how your students had relentlessly teased you both about it for months.

“And then,” you said with a grin, “last night, he got down on one knee in our dining room and asked me to marry him.”

The class erupted again.

“Wait, in the dining room? That’s so real of him.”

“Tell me he cried. Please tell me he cried.”

“He so cried,” another student said knowingly.

You laughed. “He definitely teared up.”

It took a solid ten minutes to calm them down enough to actually start the lesson. But every few minutes, you caught them glancing at your ring with dreamy smiles.

And later that day, when Harry passed by your classroom and one of your students yelled, “Professor Styles, we heard about the proposal! 10/10, no notes!”, you watched as his face turned bright red.

Yeah. You were never going to live this down.

It started immediately.

The day after you told your students about the engagement, you walked into class as usual, ready to begin your lecture - only to be greeted by a chorus of voices.

“Good morning, Professor Styles!”

You stopped mid-step, blinking at them. “Excuse me?”

Lily, always the bold one, grinned. “Well, you are going to be Professor Styles soon, right?”

“Technically, yes-“

“Then we’re just getting a head start,” another student added with a smirk.

You sighed, shaking your head with an amused smile. “You lot are ridiculous.”

“So, is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Do what you want.”

They cheered.

The teasing didn’t stop there. In the teacher’s lounge, a few of your colleagues had even started doing it - just to see Harry’s reaction.

One afternoon, as you sat beside him grading papers, one of the history professors walked by and casually said, “Professor Styles, Professor Styles,” nodding at each of you like it was completely normal.

Harry nearly choked on his coffee. “Oh, come on.”

You just laughed. “Might as well get used to it, baby.”

The wedding day was nothing short of perfect.

It was an intimate ceremony - just close friends, family, and a few colleagues. Your dad walked you down the aisle, squeezing your hand before handing you off to Harry, who looked devastated in the best way possible.

His green eyes were glassy, his bottom lip trembling just slightly as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world.

“You look unbelievable,” he whispered, squeezing your hands.

You grinned, trying to hold back your own tears. “You’re gonna make me cry before we even start.”

He smiled through his tears. “We’ll cry together, then.”

And you did.

Vows were exchanged through laughter and happy sobs.

“I fell in love with you when I was 19, and I never stopped,” Harry had said, his voice thick with emotion. “Through everything, I just knew - you were it for me.”

And when you finally said I do, he kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life for it.

Later, at the reception, your students had somehow managed to send a video message - an entire compilation of them cheering, crying, and wishing you both happiness.

Harry groaned when one of them yelled, “Have fun on your honeymoon, Professor and Professor Styles!”

You just kissed his cheek, grinning. “Told you it was never gonna stop.”

Marriage didn’t change everything, but it changed enough.

At work, you and Harry tried to keep things professional - but your students made that nearly impossible.

Every time you passed each other in the hallways, students watched. They’d whisper, giggle, nudge each other, waiting for something to happen.

One day, Harry leaned in to hand you a book, his fingers brushing yours, and you swore you heard someone gasp dramatically from across the hall.

“Oh my God,” you whispered to him. “They’re acting like they’re watching a romance movie.”

Harry smirked. “Should I kiss you for dramatic effect?”

“Don’t you dare.”

At home, things were softer.

You still cooked together - though Harry still couldn’t follow a recipe to save his life. You still spent nights tangled on the couch, grading papers side by side. The only difference now was that when you signed things, you sometimes caught yourself hesitating - adjusting to seeing Styles attached to your name.

Harry loved it.

Every night, as you cuddled up in bed, he’d nuzzle into your neck and whisper, “Still can’t believe you’re my wife.”

And every night, you’d kiss him and whisper back, “Still can’t believe I was your teenage crush.”

Life didn’t change drastically after marriage - it just felt more official, more solid. You were partners in everything now.

At work, at home, in life.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

A few weeks after you and Harry had settled into married life, something unexpected happened.

It was a lazy Saturday morning, the kind where you both stayed in bed far longer than necessary, laughing and talking as you held each other. Harry had a long day ahead of him, but it was still early, so you had no reason to rush.

You had been feeling off the last few days - tired, nauseous in a way that wasn’t quite like your usual pre-period symptoms. At first, you brushed it off as just stress, but the thought wouldn’t leave your mind.

You hadn’t said anything to Harry yet, but after a few more days of the same feeling, you decided it was time to take the test.

And now, here you were, standing in the kitchen, holding the little stick in your hand. You stared at the two lines, the ones that meant what you had been hoping for all this time.

You were pregnant.

A mix of excitement and nervousness washed over you. Your heart raced, your thoughts flooded with memories of the miscarriage. But you didn’t want to let that fear steal this moment. Not this time.

You knew you had to tell Harry. And you wanted to do it in a way that felt special.

You quickly set to work, gathering up a little baby jumper you’d picked out - one that said, “I love my daddy.” It was soft and white, with little blue accents, and it felt like the perfect way to let Harry know. You carefully folded it, placed the pregnancy test next to it, and sealed it in a small gift box.

With your heart pounding, you walked into the living room where Harry was lounging on the couch, his laptop resting on his knees. He looked up when you approached, his eyes softening when he saw the box in your hands.

“What’s this?” he asked, sitting up straight.

“Open it,” you whispered, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

Harry furrowed his brow, sensing your anxious energy. He took the box from you gently, looking at you before slowly peeling off the wrapping. When he opened it and saw the little jumper, he frowned for a moment, clearly not understanding.

But then his eyes landed on the pregnancy test.

And his face instantly lit up.

“Wait,” he said, voice suddenly trembling. “Wait, is this?-“

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you smiled. “We’re going to be parents, Harry.”

For a moment, there was complete silence. Then, Harry set the box down, his hands trembling as he grabbed you and pulled you into the tightest hug.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Are you serious? This is real?”

You nodded, laughing through your tears. “It’s real.”

He kissed the top of your head, holding you so tightly you felt like you could stay there forever. “I can’t believe it,” he said softly. “We’re going to have a baby.”

But as much as you were both ecstatic, there was a shadow of fear.

The miscarriage was still fresh in your minds, and the thought of losing this baby haunted both of you.

“I’m scared tho,” you admitted quietly, your voice cracking. “What if it happens again? What if I lose it again?”

Harry pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands, his expression full of warmth and determination. “You don’t have to be scared,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle. “I’m here, every step of the way. This time is going to be different. We’re going to be careful, we’re going to take things slow, and we’re going to get through this together. I’ll be by your side, always.”

His words washed over you like a comforting balm, and for the first time since you found out, the weight of fear lifted just a little bit.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude and love.

“You’ll never have to,” Harry replied, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together. Always.”

From that moment on, Harry made sure to take extra care of you. He was there for every doctor’s appointment, holding your hand when you felt nervous and reassuring you when you doubted yourself. He took over more of the household chores, made sure you ate enough, and even made you laugh when you were feeling down.

He wouldn’t let you stress.

Every time you started to feel overwhelmed, Harry was there to calm you, reminding you that it wasn’t just you going through this - it was you two, together.

The bond between you grew even stronger during those weeks, and though the fear of the past lingered in the back of your mind, Harry’s unwavering support made it easier to breathe.

You were going to be parents. And this time, you had each other.

[28harryssunflower]

Too young, darling - a mini series: part 3/5

Too young, darling: Part 3

Going back to work felt… strange. It had been weeks since you’d stepped foot in the college, and walking through the familiar halls again sent a wave of emotions through you. There was a time when this place had been your entire world - teaching, helping students, sharing knowledge. And for a while, you weren’t sure you’d ever come back.

But now, here you were.

At first, it was exhausting. Having to be around so many people, pretending everything was normal when, for you, things had been anything but. But slowly, it started to feel good again. You liked being in front of the classroom, liked seeing your students actually understand what you were teaching them. It reminded you of who you were before everything. And it helped that Harry was still your most devoted student - at home, at least.

Every evening, you still sat with him as he worked through his assignments, explaining things when he got stuck. But now, things felt lighter. There was laughter in your study sessions again, teasing banter, stolen kisses when he got a question right. It wasn’t just you helping him anymore - it was something you enjoyed together.

And then there was soccer.

Harry had always been passionate about the sport, but when he made it onto the college team - and was named captain - it was like something ignited in him. You had never seen him so excited about anything before.

From the moment he found out, he couldn’t stop talking about it.

“Baby, listen!” He had burst into your apartment one evening, his face glowing with excitement, his hair still damp from practice. “I got it! I made captain!”

You barely had time to react before he picked you up, spinning you around in a giddy circle. You squealed, laughing as he held you tight.

“Oh my God, Harry!” You cupped his face, grinning up at him. “I’m so proud of you!”

His eyes softened at your words, and he pressed his forehead against yours. “Couldn’t have done it without you, y’know.”

And after that, your life became filled with even more of Harry’s soccer talk. He ranted about practice, about strategies, about how some of his teammates “couldn’t pass a ball to save their bloody lives.” He told you about every game, every goal, every mistake. And you listened to it all - smiling, nodding, asking questions, genuinely interested in every word.

You loved seeing him this happy. You loved how his entire face lit up when he talked about the sport, how he got so passionate that he’d start pacing around the room, using his hands to gesture wildly. And when he’d finally sit down again, catching his breath, you’d just pull him close and kiss him, telling him how proud you were all over again.

Things were falling into place.

You started reconnecting with your family again, spending more time with Jeremy, sitting with your mom and having long conversations like you used to. It was hard at first - facing them after shutting them out for so long. But they didn’t push. They just welcomed you back with open arms, letting you take your time.

And Harry? He had basically moved in without even realizing it.

He was there every morning, every night, every spare moment in between. It got to a point where it was ridiculous - he’d come over, drop his things, and then get annoyed when he had to dig through his bag for his key every time he left.

So, one day, you just handed him a spare key.

He blinked at it in his palm, then looked up at you, his lips parting slightly.

“You might as well have this,” you said, shrugging. “You’re practically living here anyway.”

A slow smile spread across his face before he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. “Guess that makes it official then, huh?”

You hummed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Mm, officially my personal student, my soccer star, and my live-in boyfriend.”

Harry chuckled, tilting your chin up to kiss you properly. “I like the sound of that.”

The day of Harry’s graduation was one of the proudest moments of your life.

You sat in the audience, surrounded by his family, Jeremy, and your own parents, your heart racing as you waited for his name to be called. The ceremony had been dragging on for what felt like hours, but you didn’t care - you were too busy watching him.

Harry looked stunning in his graduation gown, his curls a little more tamed than usual, his dimples appearing every time he turned to talk to one of his classmates. He was excited, a little nervous maybe, but mostly just happy. And you couldn’t stop staring at him, overwhelmed with pride.

“And as the top-performing student in his class, with the highest academic achievement this year, we present Harry Styles!”

The entire room erupted in applause, but none louder than yours.

You jumped to your feet before you could even think about it, cheering for him, clapping so hard your hands stung. Harry walked up to the stage with that signature confident stride of his, shaking hands with the professors as he accepted his diploma.

And then, when he turned to face the crowd, his eyes immediately found yours.

He grinned, holding up his diploma with one hand while pointing directly at you with the other. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as everyone around you chuckled at the obvious gesture.

As he walked back to his seat, he winked at you.

After the ceremony, you barely had time to react before Harry found you outside, wrapping you in the tightest hug.

“You did it!” you squealed against his chest, holding onto him tightly.

Harry laughed, lifting you off the ground for a moment before setting you back down. “Couldn’t have done it without you, love.”

“You’re the best student in your class, Harry. You did that. You worked so hard, and you deserve this so much,” you told him, your voice filled with emotion.

He cupped your face, pressing a long, deep kiss to your lips, not caring about the fact that your families were standing just a few feet away. When he pulled back, his green eyes were shining.

“And you’re the best teacher I’ve ever had,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “In more ways than one.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his curls. “I love you, you know that?”

Harry’s breath hitched for just a second, and then his arms tightened around you. “I love you too, Y/N. More than anything.”

And in that moment, surrounded by family, by celebration, by everything you had both been through - everything felt right.

You never thought you’d see the day when Harry Styles would become a professor - but here he was, standing in the faculty lounge of your college, adjusting the ID badge clipped to his crisp button-up shirt, looking both ridiculously handsome and slightly nervous.

“Can you believe this?” he asked, grinning as he spun his badge between his fingers. “Professor Styles. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

You laughed, stepping closer to fix the slightly crooked badge on his shirt. “It does. And I’m so proud of you, Harry.”

It was true. Watching him grow from a determined student to the best in his class, and now stepping into this new role, made your heart swell with pride. He had worked so hard, pushing himself in ways you had never seen before, and now he was officially a professor - an English and history teacher, a PE instructor, and, of course, the trainer for the college’s soccer team.

“I still think it’s funny how they let me teach history,” Harry mused, crossing his arms. “I mean, I love it, but it’s weird being on this side of the classroom.”

You smirked. “Says the guy who spent hours ranting about how much he loves learning about the past. Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.“

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, maybe I do. But I think my students will probably listen to me more when I’m on the field rather than in a lecture hall.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’ll be amazing at all of it. I just know it.”

Harry’s expression softened as he looked at you, his eyes filled with something warm and unspoken. “You really think so?”

You reached up, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “I know so.”

He exhaled slowly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you closer. “You know… part of why I took this job was because of you.”

Your breath hitched. “Harry-“

“I mean it,” he interrupted gently. “You’re the one who inspired me to love learning. You’re the one who got me through college, who helped me realize I could do this. And now, I get to work beside you every day. That’s the best part of all this.”

Your heart melted right then and there.

You smiled, pressing your forehead against his. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Harry grinned. “You let me flirt with you when I was just some annoying 19-year-old.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, and look where we are now.”

“Exactly.”

He kissed you then, soft and slow, right there in the faculty lounge.

And as you stood there in his arms, knowing you’d get to spend every day working beside the man you loved, you realized - this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Harry stormed into your office, dropping a thick stack of papers onto your desk with a loud thud. He ran a frustrated hand through his curls, his green eyes wide with disbelief.

“You will not believe the absolute nonsense I’ve just read,” he groaned, collapsing into the chair across from you. “I swear, some of these students must’ve written their essays while blindfolded.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, setting down your pen as you leaned forward. “Bad first batch?”

“Bad? Y/N, I just spent the last hour trying to decipher an essay about the French Revolution that somehow mentioned fucking aliens!”

That was it. You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as Harry glared at you. “Welcome to the world of grading, Professor Styles,” you teased, wiping a tear from your eye. “Did you really think all your students were going to be little geniuses?”

“I had hope,” he grumbled, rubbing his temples. “But apparently, that was a mistake.”

You stood up, making your way over to him with a knowing smile. “C’mon, let me see.”

Harry reluctantly handed you one of the papers. As you skimmed through it, you winced. “Okay, yeah… this is painful.”

“Right?!” Harry threw his hands up. “I asked them to analyze Pride and Prejudice, and one of them wrote an entire paragraph about how Mr. Darcy ‘gives off frat boy energy.’”

You snorted. “I mean… they’re not entirely wrong.”

Harry groaned dramatically, slumping in his chair. “How do you do this without losing your mind?”

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his temple before walking over to your desk, grabbing two cups of coffee and the lunch you had packed for him. You placed the coffee in front of him before sitting on the edge of your desk. “You get used to it. And you learn to find the little victories - like the students who do get it. Besides, I’ll help you.”

Harry perked up slightly. “You will?”

“Of course.” You handed him his sandwich, watching as his shoulders visibly relaxed. “We’ll go through the worst ones together, and I’ll help you figure out the best way to give feedback without absolutely crushing their spirits.”

He sighed dramatically but gave you a grateful smile. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably still be ranting to yourself in your office.”

He chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee before reaching for your hand. “I think I like this part of being a professor - the part where I get to complain to my ridiculously smart and beautiful girlfriend.”

You smirked, squeezing his hand. “I hate to break it to you, love, but this is only the beginning. Wait until you get plagiarized essays and students begging for extra credit.”

Harry groaned, resting his head on your lap as you laughed, running your fingers through his curls.

Yeah, he was definitely in for a long semester - but at least he had you to get him through it.

Life with Harry was a perfect blend of chaos and comfort.

During the school day, you both tried to keep things professional - tried being the key word. Harry was a natural in the classroom, and his students adored him, but when you’d pass each other in the halls, he’d always find a way to sneak in a cheeky wink or a lingering glance that made your stomach flutter.

“Professor Styles,” you greeted him one afternoon when you bumped into him in the staff lounge.

He smirked, sipping his coffee. “Professor Y/L/N.”

You shook your head at his teasing tone. “Behave.”

“Can’t make any promises.”

And he didn’t. Every now and then, you’d find a little note on your desk - sometimes a quick “Lunch later?” and other times something ridiculous like “What would Mr. Darcy do?” after a particularly frustrating student essay.

But despite his playfulness, Harry took his job seriously. You saw the way he stayed late to help struggling students, how he went out of his way to make his lessons engaging. And watching him coach the soccer team? That was a whole other level of admiration.

One evening, you stayed behind after classes to watch his practice. He was pacing the field, shouting instructions at the players, his eyes full of determination. He looked so in his element - strong, passionate, and so unbelievably Harry.

When practice ended, he jogged over to you, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, revealing a teasing flash of his toned stomach.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, smirking as he grabbed his water bottle.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re such a show-off.”

“Only for you, love.”

At home, things were softer, slower.

After long days at work, you’d curl up on the couch together, him with a book in one hand and his other arm draped lazily around you. Some nights, he’d be grading papers while you worked on your own lesson plans, your legs tangled together under the coffee table. He’d occasionally groan in frustration, waving a student’s essay at you.

“Y/N, I swear if I have to read one more paragraph about how ‘Shakespeare was lowkey dramatic’.”

You’d just laugh, stealing his pen to correct something on your own papers. “Welcome to academia, baby.”

On nights when neither of you felt like working, Harry would pull you into the kitchen, insisting on cooking together - even though he was terrible at following recipes. You’d end up dancing around the kitchen, flour on your clothes, his hands on your waist as he twirled you around to whatever song was playing.

And in bed, he was the softest version of himself.

He always pulled you close, his arm draped protectively over your waist, pressing sleepy kisses against your shoulder as he mumbled things like, “Love you so much,” and “Dunno how I got so lucky.”

You’d tangle your fingers in his curls, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I think the same thing every day.”

Life with Harry was a perfect balance. Work during the day, love during the night. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It started subtly at first - knowing glances, whispered giggles when you and Harry passed each other in the hallways, students nudging each other when one of you walked into the other’s classroom. You both figured it was only a matter of time before they pieced it together, but neither of you expected them to be this bold about it.

The first time it happened outright was during one of Harry’s English classes.

He was in the middle of explaining the symbolism in The Great Gatsby when one of his students, a cheeky sophomore named Mia, raised her hand with a barely contained smirk.

“Yes, Mia?” Harry asked, raising a brow.

She twirled her pen between her fingers. “So… Professor Y/L/N is your girlfriend, right?”

The entire class erupted. Some students gasped dramatically, others started laughing, and a few even started clapping. Harry blinked, caught completely off guard, his ears instantly turning pink.

“Excuse me?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, come on, Professor Styles,” another student chimed in. “You guys totally are. We see you leaving together all the time, and you bring her coffee like every morning.”

“And the way you look at her?” another girl added. “So obvious.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight back a smile. “Alright, alright. First of all, this-” he gestured between himself and the class, “-is an English lesson, not a soap opera.”

Mia grinned. “So you’re not denying it?”

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… No, I’m not denying it. Professor Y/L/N and I are dating. Happy now?”

The students cheered.

“Oh my God, this is the best thing ever,” someone whispered.

Another student groaned. “Ugh, that’s actually kinda cute.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but laugh at their excitement. “Alright, that’s enough. Back to Gatsby - unless you all suddenly want a pop quiz?”

That shut them up real quick.

But the teasing didn’t stop there.

The next day, you walked into your classroom to find a handmade banner on the whiteboard that read: Professor Y/L/N ❤️ Professor Styles with little doodles of hearts.

You groaned, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, guys?”

Your students just grinned innocently. “We support you, Professor.”

When Harry walked past your classroom and saw it, he stopped in his tracks, grinning widely. He popped his head inside. “Oh, wow. I didn’t know we had fan clubs now.”

You threw a marker at him as your students giggled.

At lunch, Harry sat across from you, smirking as he scrolled through his phone. “One of my students asked me if I was gonna propose soon.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Excuse me?!”

He chuckled. “I told them to focus on their exams before planning my love life.”

You shook your head with a laugh. “This is never gonna end, is it?”

“Probably not,” he said, reaching for your hand. “But I don’t mind. They’re just saying what I already know - I am ridiculously in love with you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart swelled in your chest.

Sure, your students were relentless - but honestly? You didn’t mind it one bit.

[28harryssunflower]

Too young, darling - a mini series: part 2/5

Too young, darling: Part 2

The next time Harry came over, it was later in the evening. You had spent the day trying to distract yourself, but your mind kept returning to the conversation you’d had with Jeremy. You weren’t sure how to navigate everything you were feeling, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized you couldn’t keep avoiding the conversation with Harry. He deserved the truth, just like you deserved to understand where your feelings for him stood.

When he knocked on your door that evening, you felt a knot form in your stomach. You’d been preparing for this moment, trying to figure out how to express what was on your mind, but now that he was here, everything felt so much harder.

You opened the door, and Harry gave you that familiar, soft smile. “Hey, you good?”

You nodded, forcing a smile, but the weight of your thoughts felt too heavy to carry with just a casual answer. “Yeah, actually… I need to talk to you. About everything.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, stepping inside. “Of course. What’s up?”

You led him to your bed, both of you sitting down, the quiet air between you thick with the anticipation of what was to come. You took a deep breath, your heart thudding in your chest.

“Okay, so,” you began, glancing over at him, “I’ve been thinking a lot. About… us. About everything. And I guess I owe you an explanation.” You shifted uncomfortably, feeling vulnerable as the words left your mouth. “Jeremy and I had a talk earlier. He… kind of brought up the fact that you and I have been spending a lot of time together, and he… he thinks there’s more to it.”

Harry looked at you with his usual patience, not interrupting. He was listening closely, the familiar warmth in his eyes making you feel safe despite the nervousness gnawing at you. You took another breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I… I can’t help but feel something more too, Harry. I know you’ve been here for me, and you’ve been amazing. You’ve helped me more than I can even say, and I just… I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. And honestly, I’m kind of scared. You know? I’m not in a good place. I just got out of a relationship, and I’m dealing with this whole pregnancy thing. And I don’t know if it’s fair to drag you into all of that.”

Harry’s face softened, his expression filled with understanding. “Y/N,” he said gently, reaching out to touch your hand. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I get it. I really do.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face, trying to find any sign of hesitation, but all you saw was care. “But, Harry… I’m scared that I’m not ready for this. That I’m not ready for… you. And the age thing, too… You’re 19, and I’m… well, I’m not. I don’t want to be the person who holds you back.”

Harry let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Y/N, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not some kid who doesn’t understand what’s going on. I know things are complicated right now. But that doesn’t mean I’m not here for you, or that I’m not willing to be patient. I want to be here for you. I want to support you, whatever that looks like.”

You bit your lip, still unsure of how to process everything. “But what if it’s not the right time? What if I’m just leaning on you because I need someone, and then when I’m feeling better, it won’t be the same? What if I’m just messing things up?”

Harry squeezed your hand gently. “You’re not messing anything up, Y/N. I’m not expecting anything from you right now. I just want you to know that I care about you. I care about you. Not your circumstances, not your past, not your age. You. And if you’re not ready for something serious, that’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m happy to take things slow, however you need.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and the weight you had been carrying for so long felt like it was starting to lift. His patience, his understanding, it all made you feel like maybe you could allow yourself to feel something for him, even if it scared you.

“But Harry…” You hesitated, your voice trembling slightly. “What if it’s not just about timing? What if you’re just… being kind because you feel sorry for me? I mean, you’re young. You could have anyone. You don’t have to wait around for me to figure it out.”

Harry shook his head firmly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Y/N, I’m not doing this out of pity. I’m doing this because I like you. And I would love to be your boyfriend, but only when the time is right. If you need more time, I’m happy to wait. I’m not in a rush. I just want to be there for you. No pressure.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, something you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. You wiped it away quickly, embarrassed.

“Don’t be sorry,” Harry said immediately, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay to feel everything you’re feeling right now. It’s normal.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling so many things you couldn’t even begin to explain. Harry had a way of making everything feel like it could be okay, like you didn’t have to have everything figured out to be understood.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, almost afraid to speak the words out loud. “I don’t want to be unfair to you.”

“You’re not being unfair,” Harry replied softly. “You’re just being honest. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

There was a long pause as you processed everything, his words sinking in deeper than you expected. You could feel the weight of it all, but you also felt a glimmer of hope. You could take this at your own pace. You didn’t have to rush anything. You could figure it out, piece by piece.

“I’ll take it slow,” you said finally, your voice steadier now. “I don’t know what this could be, but I’ll figure it out. And I’ll let you know when I’m ready. I promise.”

Harry smiled, his eyes warm and filled with understanding. “I’m here, whenever you’re ready, Y/N. No rush.”

And in that moment, you realized that with Harry, you didn’t have to have all the answers. You didn’t have to be perfect. You just had to be you. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

A few weeks had passed since that heartfelt conversation with Harry. You were still figuring things out - your emotions, your situation, and your growing feelings for him. As your pregnancy progressed, you could feel your body changing more every day, and with it, the complexities of your feelings deepened. The physical signs of pregnancy were becoming more noticeable now - your clothes starting to feel tighter around the waist, a small bump beginning to form. There were days when the weight of it all felt overwhelming, but then there were days where you felt a sense of peace, knowing that Harry was there, quietly supporting you.

Harry had continued to be a constant presence in your life, visiting regularly. It wasn’t just that he checked on you or made sure you were okay - he’d become a part of your routine in a way that felt… comforting.

Most afternoons, Harry would come over after his classes, and you’d help him with his college work. He was always so humble about needing help, though you knew he was a smart guy. He had just been struggling with some of the more complex assignments, and you were more than happy to help him sort through them. The process was often simple: you’d explain things, break it down step by step, and he’d listen intently, asking questions when he needed more clarity.

It was during those moments that you began to notice something else: Harry’s growing tenderness toward you. You had no idea how he knew the exact moments when you needed a hand or how his touch seemed to naturally gravitate toward your stomach. Every time he leaned in to listen to something you were explaining, his hand would hover near your bump - sometimes lightly resting on it, sometimes just brushing past it as he adjusted his position.

At first, it was a small gesture, a brief touch here and there, almost like it was instinctual. But over time, it became more frequent. When you’d get into a deeper explanation, Harry would absentmindedly rest his hand on your belly, rubbing it softly in a way that made you feel more grounded.

One afternoon, as you sat beside him on the couch, helping him through another difficult problem, he paused and looked up at you. His eyes softened as he reached out, his fingers lightly grazing your bump.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, like he was carefully considering each word.

You smiled softly, feeling warmth spread through you from the inside. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little tired today.”

Harry nodded, his gaze flicking from your face to your stomach. He brushed his fingers over the small bump that had started to curve out, his touch surprisingly tender. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, but the familiarity of it brought a sense of comfort.

“Is it strange?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Feeling it grow? I mean… all of it.”

You paused, looking down at your belly for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Yeah, a little. Some days it’s hard to keep up with all the changes, you know? But it’s part of it. Part of what’s happening.”

He smiled softly, his hand still resting against your stomach. “I think you’re handling it pretty damn well.”

You laughed quietly, feeling the warmth of his praise seep into your chest. “I’m trying.”

As the days passed, Harry’s gestures continued. Whenever he was around, he’d always find small excuses to touch your bump - his fingers skimming it as he passed by, or his hand resting there as you sat together, talking about everything and nothing. He made it feel like such a natural, easy thing, like the two of you had always been connected in this way.

One night, as you were explaining an especially tricky math concept, Harry gave up on trying to understand it for the hundredth time and just looked at you with that familiar, crooked smile. His hand found its usual place on your stomach, his thumb gently circling over the growing bump.

“You know,” Harry said, his voice thoughtful, “I can’t say I know what it feels like, but I can imagine it’s not always easy. But… you’re pretty amazing for handling it all so well.”

You shrugged, a small laugh escaping your lips as you adjusted your position on the couch. “It doesn’t always feel easy, trust me. But I’m figuring it out.”

There was a moment of silence between you, and you both just sat there, his hand resting on your belly like it belonged there. And in that silence, you felt something shift. It wasn’t just about helping him with schoolwork anymore. There was something deeper - something quietly tender between the two of you that neither of you had to speak out loud. It was a feeling of connection, of understanding, and of care.

You looked over at him, suddenly noticing how close he was sitting, how his hand felt so natural there, as if it had always been meant to rest on your stomach.

“Thank you,” you said softly, the words coming easier now. “For being here for me. For helping. For… just being you.”

Harry turned to face you, a gentle smile curling on his lips. “I’m happy to be here. I’ll always be here, Y/N.”

The warmth in his eyes made your heart flutter, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else - the pregnancy, the uncertainty, the complications. All that mattered was that Harry was right here, beside you. Helping you, touching you with such quiet affection, making you feel like you weren’t alone in this journey.

The quiet moments between you two had become your favorite part of the day. And though you hadn’t yet figured out what the future might look like - how things between you and Harry might evolve - you knew one thing for certain: no matter what happened, you didn’t want to face it without him. His presence, his kindness, his gentle affection… it was something you could never take for granted.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you whispered, the words holding so much more weight than you could ever say aloud.

Harry’s smile softened even further, his thumb making one last, soothing circle on your stomach before he turned back to his work, but you both knew the conversation wasn’t really over. Not yet.

It had started as a dull ache in your belly, something you figured was just a typical pregnancy discomfort. It was manageable at first, something you could ignore while you spent the day with Harry, watching movies and talking. But the pain had gradually worsened over the past few hours, becoming sharper and more intense, and now you could hardly focus on anything. It felt like something wasn’t right, but you brushed it off, convincing yourself it was just another part of this unpredictable journey.

Harry had noticed the way you kept wincing and holding your stomach, but you reassured him each time with a half-hearted smile, trying to hide the worry that was slowly building inside of you.

“You okay?” Harry asked again, his voice laced with concern as he glanced over at you from where he was sitting beside you on the couch.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, trying to sound more convincing than you felt. You shifted slightly, attempting to find a position where the pain wasn’t so sharp. But it wasn’t helping. If anything, it was getting worse.

“You sure?” Harry asked, his tone softer this time. He reached out and gently placed a hand on your knee, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness you’d come to rely on.

You didn’t want to worry him. You’d come so far together, and the last thing you wanted was for him to think there was something seriously wrong. But as the pain twisted more violently in your stomach, you started to feel lightheaded. Your vision blurred, and the world around you felt like it was spinning out of control.

Before you could even respond, everything went black for a split second, and you felt yourself swaying, dizzy.

“Y/N?” Harry’s voice broke through the fog in your head, full of panic. “Y/N, hey, stay with me.”

You blinked, trying to regain some sense of balance, but the pain was overwhelming. It felt like a weight pressing down on your chest, and you couldn’t breathe properly. Your head swam, and you felt like you were about to collapse.

That’s when Harry’s panic turned into action. Without a second thought, he stood up, his hands steadying you as he gently helped you to your feet. “Come on, we’re going to the hospital, okay? I’m not leaving you like this.”

You barely had the strength to protest as he guided you out the door, driving you to the hospital with a sense of urgency. The pain didn’t stop, and you could barely focus on anything beyond it. You could hear Harry’s voice in the background, but his words felt muffled and distant.

When you finally arrived at the hospital, Harry helped you inside, his grip firm on your arm as he kept you steady. You were barely aware of anything going on around you - your mind was consumed with the pain, and a growing sense of dread started to settle in the pit of your stomach.

After what felt like an eternity, you were in an examination room. The doctor had arrived, his face serious but calm, and he began running through a series of checks. You could feel Harry beside you, his hand gripping yours tightly, but your mind felt foggy. You could barely register what was happening.

The doctor didn’t waste any time, and his words hit you like a freight train.

“I’m afraid you’re having a miscarriage.”

The words echoed in your head, over and over, as if they weren’t real. It felt like your world had just crumbled, like your body had betrayed you in the most devastating way.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head in disbelief. “No, that can’t be right. Please… check again. There has to be a mistake. Please…”

The doctor looked at you, his face apologetic but firm. “I’m sorry, but we’ve run all the tests. The ultrasound shows that there’s no heartbeat. I’m afraid you’re losing the baby.”

You couldn’t process it. You couldn’t. You shook your head again, gripping the edge of the examination table as if holding onto reality itself. “No, no, no… there’s got to be something you can do. You need to check again. There has to be something, anything.”

But no matter how much you begged, no matter how much you denied it, the truth was sinking in. And with it came the overwhelming, suffocating grief that began to tear through your chest.

Without warning, you broke down. The tears came rushing out, uncontrollable and painful, as your body shook with the force of your sobs. You barely felt Harry’s arms around you at first, but then he was there, holding you tight, his body a solid anchor in the storm of emotions that had erupted within you.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Harry whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hands gently ran through your hair, trying to comfort you, but you could hear the pain in his voice, too. “I’m so sorry.”

You clung to him with every ounce of strength you had left, burying your face in his chest as the sobs wracked your body. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on you, and you couldn’t breathe. The loss was too much, too overwhelming. The hope you’d carried with you, the excitement, the dream of becoming a mother - it was all slipping away from you, and you didn’t know how to hold on to anything anymore.

But Harry was there. He didn’t let go. He didn’t let you fall.

As you wept in his arms, the world felt like it was falling apart, but at least in that moment, you weren’t alone. Harry’s arms were the only thing keeping you from shattering completely. His presence, his quiet strength, gave you a reason to breathe, even when everything inside you screamed in anguish.

“I’ve got you, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice filled with love, even through the pain. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone. I’m here. Always.”

You clung to him even tighter, feeling the warmth of his promise wrap around you like a lifeline. And though your heart was breaking in ways you never thought possible, you knew one thing for certain: Harry would be there. Even in your darkest moments, he would stay. And for now, that was enough.

It felt like everything was spinning out of control. The pain of losing the baby was too much to handle, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight of guilt and sadness that had settled deep within you. When the news spread to your family, it felt like you were drowning in their well-meaning concern, their voices only adding to the chaos in your mind. You couldn’t talk to anyone the way you could talk to Harry. So, you pulled away from them. You stopped answering calls and texts from everyone except him and sometimes Jeremy. You just couldn’t bring yourself to face the pity in their eyes or the pressure of their expectations.

It was Harry who stayed. It was Harry who came over every day, even when you didn’t ask for him to. He was there, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart. He never pushed you to talk about what happened or to feel better, he just let you be. He didn’t ask for anything in return - except for you to let him take care of you.

It felt like you were living in a haze. The sadness weighed on you, and you found yourself crying into Harry’s shoulder almost every night, unable to stop the tears no matter how hard you tried. You blamed yourself for everything. You kept asking yourself why you hadn’t seen the signs sooner, why you hadn’t taken better care of yourself, why you hadn’t known something was wrong. But Harry didn’t let you hold onto those thoughts for long. He wouldn’t let you punish yourself.

Every night, as you curled up in his arms, he whispered comforting words into your ear, holding you as close as possible, letting you cry until you had no more tears to shed. He never judged you for how much you hurt, for how often you cried. He simply existed, steady and constant, a rock in the middle of your storm.

It wasn’t something either of you talked about, but the unspoken understanding between you grew stronger with each passing day. You didn’t need to say anything to feel safe. You didn’t need to ask for his comfort, because he was already there, just waiting for you to lean into him.

At night, you’d find yourself drifting to sleep with Harry wrapped around you, his arms tight around your waist, his chest against your back. It was like you were already a couple, and yet, there were no words to define what was between you. It just… was. You fit together like pieces of a puzzle, and for those few hours of sleep, it was the only thing that felt right in a world that had turned upside down.

Harry didn’t just take care of you emotionally, though. He did everything. He made sure you ate, even when you didn’t have the energy to make anything for yourself. He’d gently remind you, “You need to eat something, Y/N,” and even if it was just a small snack, he’d watch you eat it, making sure you were taking care of yourself.

When you felt too tired or too drained to get up, he’d help you change into something comfortable, even going so far as to help you take off your clothes if you couldn’t manage. He didn’t make it awkward. There was no embarrassment in the way he handled it. It was just Harry, taking care of you, because that’s what he did. He wanted you to feel better, even when you weren’t sure you ever would.

And on days when you didn’t feel like getting out of bed to wash your hair, Harry figured out how to braid it for you. He watched a few videos online and practiced until he could get it right. You found yourself smiling through your tears as he carefully worked through your hair, his fingers gentle and soothing as he twisted it into a simple braid.

“Looks good, right?” he’d ask, a playful grin on his face, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes. He genuinely cared about making sure you were okay.

You didn’t feel okay, though. You didn’t feel much of anything other than numb, but Harry’s presence made the world seem a little less unbearable. When it felt like everything was falling apart, he was there to catch the pieces, even when you couldn’t see them yourself.

You didn’t talk much. You didn’t have to. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable; it was a kind of peace. Harry spoke when he needed to, when he could tell you needed a distraction or some reassurance. But mostly, he let you be. He didn’t pressure you to be happy or fixed. He just wanted you to know he was there.

There were days when the weight of it all felt too much to bear, and you’d look at Harry, your eyes tired and red from crying, and he’d simply pull you closer. His warmth would envelope you, and for a brief moment, you’d feel a flicker of something other than sadness. You’d feel safe, cared for.

“You’re not alone in this, Y/N,” Harry would whisper, his voice steady and firm. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t have the strength to respond, but you didn’t need to. The way he held you told you everything. You weren’t alone. And somehow, despite the darkness of everything you were feeling, that made it just a little easier to breathe.

You didn’t know how you were going to get through all of this, how you’d come out on the other side. But for now, as long as Harry was there, you didn’t have to do it alone.

Harry was sitting on the couch, a textbook open in his lap, his brows furrowed as he stared at his laptop screen. He had his usual focused look - lips slightly parted, fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of the page, deep in thought. But you knew him well enough by now to recognize the frustration building in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed slightly, and the tiny sigh he let out every few minutes.

You watched as he rewound the YouTube video he was watching for the third time, his expression growing even more confused with each replay. A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You look like you’re in pain,” you teased softly, shifting closer to him on the couch.

Harry let out a dramatic groan, rubbing his hands over his face before leaning back against the cushions. “I swear this guy is speaking another language. I don’t get it, and I don’t even know why I’m still trying.”

You curled up next to him without hesitation, pressing yourself against his side as you rested your head on his shoulder. It had become second nature at this point - being close to him, seeking comfort in his warmth.

“What are you stuck on?” you asked, peering at the notes scattered across the coffee table.

Harry hesitated. “I don’t wanna bother you with it. You don’t have to explain anything, you know?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly. “I want to, dummy. Now, let me see.”

Harry sighed in mock defeat but tilted his laptop slightly toward you. You glanced at the video for barely ten seconds before scoffing. “No wonder you don’t understand this. This guy is explaining it in the most complicated way possible.”

Harry chuckled. “Right? I was starting to think I was just dumb.”

You shook your head, already flipping through his notes. “You’re not dumb. You just need someone to explain it in a way that makes sense. Like this…”

And just like that, you fell into your usual rhythm - breaking things down in a way he could grasp, answering his questions, making sure he wasn’t just nodding along pretending to understand. It was familiar, effortless, something that felt normal after everything you’d been through in the past few weeks.

Harry kept sneaking glances at you while you talked, the little lines of stress on his face easing bit by bit. You were speaking again, really speaking, your voice carrying more life than it had in weeks. You were engaged in something, finding purpose in teaching him like you always had.

And maybe he was imagining it, but you looked… lighter.

After you finished explaining, you leaned back against his chest, exhaling softly. He let his arm drape around your waist, pulling you even closer.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” you murmured.

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Not bad at all.”

That night, something shifted. It wasn’t immediate, but from that moment on, your mood started to change. Each day, the darkness that had clung to you seemed to lift just a little bit more. You laughed more often, smiled more, let yourself enjoy things again. You still had bad days, but they weren���t as suffocating as before.

And Harry noticed every single bit of it.

He still took care of you, still made sure you were eating properly, still spent his nights holding you close. But now, he also saw glimpses of the person you used to be before everything happened - the one who teased him endlessly, who rolled her eyes at his bad jokes, who had a sharp wit and an even sharper mind.

You were healing.

One evening, as you both sat curled up on the couch again, the TV playing some random movie neither of you were paying attention to, you found yourself studying him. The way his fingers traced lazy circles on your hip, the way he absentmindedly played with a strand of your hair, the way he looked at you like you were the most important person in the world.

It hit you all at once. You already felt like you were his. You already acted like you were together, relying on each other, sharing everything. It was just… unspoken.

You swallowed, shifting slightly so you could meet his gaze. “Harry?”

“Mm?” His thumb brushed against your side.

You hesitated for a second before speaking. “What are we?”

Harry blinked, surprised by the question, but he recovered quickly. His lips curled into a soft smile, his green eyes warm and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I’d like to think we’re something.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached up, cupping your cheek gently. “I mean… I know we never really said anything about it, but… I think about you all the time, Y/N. And I know we’ve been through a lot, but I don’t wanna pretend like this, us, doesn’t mean something.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest. “It does mean something,” you admitted softly.

Harry searched your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “So… can I call you my girlfriend now? Or is that too soon?”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I think we’ve basically been acting like a couple for weeks.”

His grin widened. “Yeah, but I still wanted to ask.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Then, yeah. You can call me your girlfriend.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and he didn’t waste another second before pulling you into a kiss, slow and gentle, full of unspoken promises.

You were his. And he was yours. Officially.

[28harryssunflower]

Too young, darling - a mini series: part 1/5

Too young, darling: Part 1

Harry Styles had always been the kind of guy who got along with everyone. But there was one person in his class who stood out to him, and that person was Jeremy. They’d met during freshman orientation, and despite their differences, they clicked immediately. Jeremy was easygoing, and Harry’s easy charm worked its magic. The two quickly became best friends, and Harry found himself spending more time with him than anyone else.

But the thing that made it all the more complicated was Jeremy’s older sister, Y/N. You were a college professor, older than Harry by seven years, and… Well, let’s just say it wasn’t just your teaching that made you unforgettable. It was your looks. You were stupidly hot. That wasn’t the only problem, though. No, the issue lay in the fact that Harry had just turned 19, and you? You were about to turn 26. That was a huge gap, especially with Harry being so young.

Despite this, Harry couldn’t help it. He had always thought you were incredibly beautiful, but there was something about your intelligence, the way you carried yourself, and the way you laughed at his jokes that made his heart beat a little faster.

The issue, however, wasn’t just the age gap - it was the fact that you had a boyfriend. His name was Mark, and he was everything Harry hated. He was rude, condescending, and, to make matters worse, he hated Harry. Specifically, he hated how Harry always found himself in your orbit, even when Mark wasn’t around.

On days when Mark wasn’t in the picture, Harry could find himself getting close to you in a way that left him walking on eggshells. He’d flirt with you - sometimes harmless, sometimes not - and you’d always respond with playful teasing, your eyes sparkling as you ruffled his hair or pinched his cheek.

“Oh, you’re such a kid, Harry,” you’d laugh, the teasing tone in your voice making him want to laugh along, even if it made his stomach twist.

You never seemed to mind his flirting, often making jokes about how young he was, but there was always a clear line. And no matter how much Harry wanted to cross that line, he knew better. It wasn’t like you had any interest in him, anyway.

The problem was Mark. Every time Harry found himself near you, Mark would appear out of nowhere, looming like a dark cloud. He’d make little comments about Harry being “too young” for you, calling him a “little boy” in front of everyone, and always making sure to remind Harry of the huge gap between him and you.

“You’re just a kid, Styles,” Mark would sneer, usually when you weren’t around to hear. “Go back to playing with your toys.”

It made Harry clench his fists, but he would just smile and shrug it off. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let Mark get to him, but the constant tension between the three of them was starting to drive Harry crazy.

It wasn’t until one late afternoon, after a particularly uncomfortable encounter with Mark, that Harry found himself alone with you. He’d stayed after class to help you with some tech issue in the lecture hall, and Mark had already left, as usual.

You walked up to him with a mischievous smile. “You okay, kid?” you asked, still using that teasing nickname. Harry couldn’t help but feel a surge of frustration and attraction mix together.

“Yeah, just dealing with Mark’s usual… charming personality,” Harry muttered, glancing up at you. Your smile faltered for just a second, but then you gave him an understanding look.

“Don’t let him get to you,” you said softly, walking over to him and giving his hair a ruffle, as though you hadn’t noticed how much it bothered him. “Sometimes he’s a big idiot, Harry. You’re better than that.”

Your words were meant to reassure him, but as your fingers grazed his hair, Harry felt the heat rise in his chest. “It’s hard when he’s always around, you know? Especially when he’s constantly making digs at me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I know he acts like a prick. But you’re smart, you know that?” you said, your voice taking on a different, more serious tone. “Don’t let people like him mess with you. And if it gets too bad, just let me know. I can handle him.”

Harry looked into your eyes, and for a moment, the teasing, flirtatious energy between you both seemed to disappear. He could see the genuine concern there, and despite the age gap and the complicated nature of their friendship, he couldn’t help but wonder just how different things could be between the two of you.

But before he could say anything, your phone buzzed. You glanced down at it, your expression shifting back to casual.

“I’ve got to go. Mark’s probably wondering where I am,” you said, turning to leave, but then paused. “And remember, you’re still a kid, Harry. But that doesn’t mean you can’t keep up with the big boys, huh?”

With that, you gave him another playful pinch on the cheek, and as always, Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

But deep down, he knew one thing for sure: even though he had no right to feel the way he did, Harry couldn’t stop wanting more. Even if it meant pushing past all the teasing, all the jokes, and maybe crossing a line he’d been too afraid to approach.

A few weeks later, Harry found himself at Jeremy’s house, hanging out in the living room, the usual banter between the two of them filling the air. It was just another lazy afternoon, until Harry noticed something strange. He hadn’t seen much of you lately. You hadn’t come downstairs much, not like usual.

After about an hour of hanging out, the door to the hallway opened, and there you were - just for a split second. You walked past the living room, your face pale, dark circles under your eyes, and your movements sluggish. You didn’t seem to notice Harry watching, too caught up in your own thoughts, and when you passed by, you quickly disappeared back down the hallway.

It wasn’t like you to act like this. Normally, you were confident, laughing, teasing Harry with that playful attitude that made him smile. But today? You looked… exhausted. Sick, even. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

He waited a moment, trying to act casual, but his curiosity got the better of him. He turned to Jeremy, who was on the couch, flipping through his phone.

“What’s going on with Y/N?” Harry asked quietly. “She looks sick.”

Jeremy sighed deeply, not looking up from his phone. “They broke up.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal. Harry stared at him, waiting for more, but Jeremy just shrugged. “I don’t know exactly why. She won’t talk about it.”

“Wait… Mark?” Harry asked, his gut tightening.

Jeremy nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. It’s been rough for her, man. I’m not really sure what happened. She’s been… different lately.”

A few minutes later, Harry watched as you briefly came out of your room to hug your mum. You looked defeated, exhausted, and when you gave your mum a tight hug, it felt like the last of your energy was spent. Then, just as quickly, you disappeared back to your room, closing the door behind you.

Harry’s heart ached for you. He couldn’t stand seeing you like this, and though he knew it wasn’t his place to pry, he couldn’t ignore the pull to check in on you.

About half an hour later, Harry made his move. He got up, telling Jeremy he was going to the bathroom, but instead, he slipped quietly down the hallway toward your room. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over your door, unsure of what he was going to say or do.

But when he knocked softly, your voice called from inside. “Come in.”

It was a surprise, but Harry opened the door cautiously. You were lying on your bed, facing away from him, your shoulders slumped. The room was dim, curtains drawn, as if you were trying to block out the world.

He hesitated, then walked in, his feet quiet on the hardwood floor as he sat at the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he said softly, not wanting to startle you. “I just… wanted to check in. I’m here if you want to talk.”

You didn’t look at him. You just remained facing the other direction, your voice distant when you spoke. “You don’t get it, Harry. You’re too young. You wouldn’t understand.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, trying to find the right words. “I’ll try, though. I don’t care about my age. I’m here for you, Y/N. I can help if you let me.”

Finally, you turned around to face him, your eyes red and puffy, and that was when Harry realized just how much pain you were hiding. There was a flicker of hesitation in your gaze before you spoke, voice small.

“Mark broke up with me,” you said, each word feeling heavy. Harry’s heart dropped. “Because I’m pregnant. And he didn’t want the kid.”

The words hung in the air like a sharp punch to the gut, and Harry was momentarily speechless. He had no idea how to respond.

But before he could say anything, you looked away, the pain of your confession written all over your face. Without a second thought, Harry scooted closer and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

You stiffened for a moment but then collapsed against him, your body shaking as silent sobs wracked through you. He could feel the tension in your body, the hurt, and he just held you, not knowing what else to do, but trying his best to comfort you.

He let you cry into his shoulder, and after a few moments, Harry shifted, carefully lying down beside you on the bed. He didn’t say anything, just letting you rest your head on his chest. His hand lightly stroked your back, trying to offer what little solace he could.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered softly, his voice warm and steady. “You’re strong. You’ll get through this. I’m here for you, always.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes as you tried to control your emotions, but the tears came anyway. You shook your head slightly, the pain in your voice clear. “You’re only 19, Harry. You shouldn’t have to be here for me. It should be the other way around.”

Harry just shook his head and gently cupped your face, making you look at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly. “You can let it out. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sniffled again, but after a few moments, you let out a shaky breath, your body relaxing slightly against him. Harry just stayed there, holding you, letting you cry, letting you feel whatever you needed to feel. He wasn’t going to force anything, wasn’t going to rush you.

He just knew he’d stay there, quietly, to comfort you, to let you know that no matter what, you weren’t alone.

The days that followed were a blur of quiet visits from Harry. At first, you weren’t sure how to handle it. You’d never expected Harry of all people to be the one to check on you, to care enough to make sure you ate, drank, and took care of yourself. It felt almost wrong at first, as if you didn’t deserve it. But Harry wasn’t going to let that stop him. He showed up regularly, every afternoon or evening, slipping into your room with a casual knock, always with a bottle of water, a sandwich, or something to eat, just to make sure you didn’t forget to take care of yourself.

The first time he came with food, you’d been sitting in your bed, too tired to move, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly. Harry walked in with a tray of soup, a small smile on his face.

“Hey, I brought you something to eat,” he said, setting it on your nightstand and sitting down at the edge of your bed. “You haven’t eaten all day, and I’m not letting you starve.”

You felt your throat tighten at the kindness. You’d barely realized how little you’d been taking care of yourself. But Harry was there, checking in without fail, making sure you were alright.

“I’m not hungry,” you murmured, turning away, not wanting him to see how drained you felt.

“Well, you’re gonna eat anyway,” Harry replied, his tone light, but firm. “I’ll sit here until you finish it.”

You sighed, half wanting to argue, but something in the way he spoke made you relent. You didn’t want to be difficult. So, you sat up, taking the spoon in your hand. Harry stayed beside you, chatting aimlessly, talking about whatever came to mind - some random thing that happened in class, or something funny he’d seen on campus. The casual banter made you feel lighter, and before you knew it, you’d finished the soup.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry grinned, looking at you with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “You just needed a little convincing.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a small chuckle escaping your lips, though it felt foreign at first. The laughter seemed to surprise both of you, but Harry’s grin widened. He’d been patient, never pushing, just making sure you felt comfortable and safe around him.

The next few days followed a similar rhythm. He’d pop in to bring you something - water, fruit, or snacks - and he’d sit with you, talking about anything and everything. Gradually, your walls started coming down. You found yourself laughing more. It wasn’t forced or fake; it was real. Harry’s presence was like a weight being lifted, and with each conversation, you felt yourself breathing a little easier, your heart slowly untangling from the knot of grief and exhaustion that had taken hold.

One afternoon, about a week after everything had started, Harry arrived with a box of your favorite cookies. You were sitting up in bed, finally feeling like you had a little more energy, and as soon as you saw the box, you raised an eyebrow.

“Cookies?” you asked, unable to hide a small smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, I thought you might be in the mood for something sweet,” Harry shrugged, his eyes warm. “You’ve been doing well. I figured you deserved a treat.”

You sat up and took the box, looking inside at the assortment of cookies. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt genuinely thankful.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, your voice a little stronger now. “You’ve been amazing through all of this, Harry.”

Harry just smiled, though you could see the way he looked at you. It wasn’t pity - it was care, genuine care. He sat down beside you on the bed, looking pleased that you were finally able to sit up and have a conversation without feeling so drained.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “You’ve been through a lot. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You took a deep breath, your shoulders relaxing as you leaned back against the pillows. “I don’t think I would’ve gotten through this without you. I mean it. You’ve been so patient, so kind when I didn’t deserve it. I was a mess, and yet you just kept showing up. I- I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

Harry gave you a teasing grin, nudging you lightly. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. I’m just doing what friends do.”

But you could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just being a good friend; he was genuinely worried, and for some reason, that made everything easier. You found yourself leaning into his support more and more, starting to feel like yourself again, little by little.

The laughs came easier now, the smiles more frequent. And though you still had days where the weight of everything hung heavily over you, Harry’s visits had become the bright spot in your life. He made you feel like you were allowed to laugh again, allowed to breathe again.

Over the next couple of weeks, you started going out with him to get fresh air, taking walks around the campus, laughing at the dumb jokes Harry would crack, and slowly but surely, you were finding a way to move forward.

You felt stronger. You felt lighter. And Harry, with his constant support, was the one person who made you believe that everything would be okay.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” you told him one evening as you both sat on the steps outside your building, watching the sun dip below the horizon. “I don’t know if I’ve said it enough, but you’re a good person, Harry.”

He looked at you, that familiar, easy smile back on his face. “You don’t have to say anything. Just knowing you’re feeling better makes it all worth it.”

And in that moment, you realized that Harry’s kindness hadn’t just been a bandage to cover up the hurt - it had helped you heal.

The following days felt like they were shifting in slow motion. You’d begun feeling like yourself again, but there was a sense of confusion lingering in the back of your mind. Harry had been a constant source of support, and you found yourself more and more at ease with him. It wasn’t just the way he had been there when you were at your lowest, but the way he made you laugh, how comfortable he made you feel in your own skin again.

But one afternoon, as you sat on the couch, Jeremy walked into the living room with that look on his face - the one that always preceded some sort of teasing. He took a seat across from you, eyeing you carefully, and then his lips curved into that knowing smirk.

“So, how’s it going with Harry?” he asked, his tone a little too casual, a little too playful.

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Jeremy said, leaning back with a chuckle. “I’ve noticed you two hanging out a lot lately. Like, a lot.” He emphasized the last part, his grin widening as he poked at you with his words. “You in love with him or something?”

You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “No way, Jeremy. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, sure, sure. Just making sure. You know, it’s hard to miss the way you two are always together. You practically light up when he walks in.”

“Stop it, Jeremy. It’s not like that,” you replied, feeling your cheeks warm a little. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy Harry’s company - it was just that you weren’t sure you could deal with thinking about it that way. Harry was just there for you. That’s all. Nothing more.

But as the days passed, you found yourself wondering whether Jeremy’s teasing had some truth to it. You’d never really looked at Harry that way before, but the more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much you missed his presence when he wasn’t around. You’d laugh with him about the smallest things, and there was a certain warmth between the two of you that felt undeniable. It wasn’t just friendship - it was something more.

One evening, after another long day of casual conversation and jokes with Harry, you found yourself sitting on the porch steps, trying to clear your head. The sky was painted in soft orange hues as the sun set, and the cool air made you shiver slightly.

Jeremy, who had been sitting inside, came out to join you. He glanced at you for a moment before sitting beside you, his face more serious than usual.

“So,” he began, his voice quieter this time. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on with you and Harry?”

You looked at him, biting your lip nervously. You hadn’t exactly had this conversation before, not openly. You never really had the words for it. You’d been afraid of acknowledging it - afraid of how complicated everything had become.

“Jeremy, I… I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice a little shaky. “I mean, he’s been amazing. I’m so grateful for everything he’s done for me, but… I’m not sure if this is something I should even be considering. I’ve got enough on my plate with… everything, you know?”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to explain further. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of emotions flood over you.

“I’m pregnant, Jeremy. And I just broke up with Mark. I’m not in a place where I should be thinking about… dating or anything like that,” you said, your voice lowering. “And then there’s the whole age thing. Harry’s 19. He’s a kid.”

Jeremy sat quietly for a moment, his face softening with understanding. “You think too much, you know that?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I know. I just… I don’t know how to make sense of it. I can’t stop thinking about him, though. The way he’s always there, how he makes me feel like I’m not completely falling apart. I just… I don’t want to drag him into my mess. I don’t want to hurt him.”

Jeremy nudged you lightly with his elbow. “Hey, Harry’s not stupid. He knows what he’s getting into. And if he’s sticking around this long, it means he’s not exactly running from the mess. He’s probably not thinking about your age. You should give him more credit.”

You bit your lip, the weight of your brother’s words sinking in. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough right now? I’m not in the right place for anything serious, not when I’m dealing with all this.”

Jeremy gave you a small, almost knowing smile. “You’re never going to be in the ‘right place’ for anything, Y/N. Life doesn’t work like that. If you wait until everything is perfect, you’ll be waiting forever.”

You frowned, not sure how to respond. But Jeremy wasn’t finished.

“I’m not saying you should dive into anything right away, but… you don’t have to be afraid of how you feel. If Harry makes you feel better, if he makes you laugh, makes you feel like you can breathe again, then maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world to see where it goes.”

You let out a small breath, staring out at the sunset, contemplating his words. Could you do this? Could you take the risk of opening up, even when everything seemed uncertain? You had so many questions and fears about the future, and yet, the thought of being with Harry felt… right in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice distant. “I think I just need some time. To figure it all out.”

Jeremy’s smile softened. “Take your time, but don’t let the ‘what ifs’ control everything. And if you do decide to talk to Harry about it, I’ll be here to make fun of you both the entire time.”

You chuckled weakly, feeling a little lighter, though still unsure of what you should do. But for the first time, you didn’t feel quite as overwhelmed by the uncertainty. Maybe you didn’t have to have all the answers right now. Maybe, just maybe, you could take things one step at a time.

[28harryssunflower]

i just want to say that i absolutely love your stories so much :)

Thank you, love💞💞

And I love you so much‼️

[28harryssunflower]

A mafia Valentine

The Venetian chandelier above you glows softly, casting golden light over the sprawling penthouse. The air is filled with the scent of roses - hundreds of them, maybe even thousands - arranged in every corner of the room. Petals are scattered across the polished marble floor, leading toward the enormous king-sized bed draped in crimson silk sheets. Everywhere you turn, there’s something extravagant - a wall of designer dresses, diamond-studded jewelry boxes, limited-edition handbags, and neatly stacked gift boxes wrapped in fine satin ribbons.

It’s overwhelming. It’s too much.

Your heart races as you take it all in. The weight of it, the sheer excess of it, makes your chest tighten.

“Harry,” you breathe, turning to face him.

He stands a few feet away, dressed in his usual tailored black slacks and an expensive silk shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal the inked patterns of his tattoos. His rings gleam under the warm lighting, his fingers adorned with silver and gold. He watches you with a satisfied smirk, the green of his eyes dark with amusement and something softer - something you still struggle to put a name to.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” he says smoothly, stepping toward you. “D’you like it?”

You swallow hard, looking back at the gifts. “Like it?” you echo, a dry laugh slipping past your lips. “Harry, this is- this is too much. It’s always too much, but today… today it’s way too much.”

His smirk falters slightly, and for a moment, he just watches you, his expression unreadable. “Too much?” he repeats, his voice quieter now. “Think you deserve the world, angel.”

You shake your head, stepping toward him with a deep breath. “Harry, money isn’t something to… to just throw around like this.” Your voice wavers slightly as you motion toward the lavish gifts surrounding you. “It’s precious. You shouldn’t be spending so much on me. I’ve told you before, but today… this is insane. I don’t even want to imagine how much all of this cost.”

He exhales slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You don’t have to imagine it,” he murmurs. “It’s not your concern.”

You frown, your chest tightening. “But it is my concern,” you insist. “I know what it’s like to have nothing, Harry. I know what it’s like to go to bed hungry, to wake up and wonder how you’re going to survive another day. And now… now you’re handing me things people could only dream of.” You run a shaky hand through your hair. “It- it feels wrong. Like I don’t deserve it. Like you’re just wasting all of this on me when you could be doing something better with it.”

Silence settles between you, thick and heavy.

Harry’s jaw clenches, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. When he finally moves, it’s slow, deliberate. He steps closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your chin.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do, though your heart pounds at the intensity of his gaze.

“You had nothing before,” he says, his voice low, steady. “And I swore I’d give you everything.” His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his touch impossibly gentle despite the power that radiates from him. “You think I don’t know what money means? I do. That’s why I use it to make sure you’ll never suffer again. I want you to have everything because you deserve it.” His grip tightens slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Because you’re mine.”

Your lips part, but you have no idea how to respond. His words wrap around you like a promise - one that holds more weight than you can fully comprehend.

“I don’t need all of this,” you whisper, barely able to find your voice. “I just need you.”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes soften. “I know,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “But I need you to have it.”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips, but your mind is still spinning.

You know Harry means well. That he loves you in the only way he knows how - through protection, through possession, through making sure you’ll never have to suffer again. But sometimes, it’s just too much.

Your fingers clutch the fabric of his silk shirt, grounding yourself.

“You don’t have to buy me things to prove that you love me,” you whisper.

Harry exhales sharply, his fingers flexing against your waist. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” you ask, pulling back just enough to search his face. His emerald eyes flicker with something unreadable, something deep. “Because I feel like every time I try to tell you that I don’t need all of this, you just double down.”

His jaw tightens. “Because you don’t know what it does to me,” he mutters, his voice strained.

You blink up at him, confused. “What what does to you?”

Harry releases you, running a hand through his curls as he steps back. He’s silent for a moment, his expression guarded.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“You ever wonder how I found you?” he asks quietly.

You swallow, not expecting the sudden change in conversation. “What?”

“How I found you,” he repeats, tilting his head slightly. “That night. When you were barely getting by.”

You shift uncomfortably, memories creeping in. The cold. The hunger. The exhaustion that had settled so deep in your bones that you had almost given up entirely. You had been at your lowest when Harry had found you, sweeping into your life like a storm - dangerous, intense, and unstoppable.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “You never told me.”

Harry exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “I wasn’t looking for you,” he murmurs. “I was tracking down some lowlife that owed me money. A guy who had been hiding from me for months.” He pauses, his gaze darkening. “And then I saw you.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding.

“You were sitting outside that shitty café, shivering in that thin jacket.” His voice lowers, rough with something raw. “Your hands were shaking. You looked exhausted. And when you thought no one was looking, you stole a piece of bread off a table someone had left behind.”

Your stomach twists with shame. You remember that night. How your pride had shattered the moment you reached for that half-eaten piece of food.

Harry steps closer again, his gaze locking onto yours. “I’ve seen desperate people before,” he continues, his voice softer now. “People who would do anything to survive. But you?” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “You were starving, freezing, and still… when I sat down next to you, you told me to leave you alone.”

Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say.

Harry lets out a quiet chuckle, though there’s no humor in it. “You had nothing. And you still had your pride.” His eyes darken slightly. “But I couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t get you out of my head. So I found out who you were. Where you had come from. And I swore - right then and there - that you would never live like that again.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“That’s why I do this, angel,” he murmurs, cupping your face between his hands. “Why I spoil you. Why I give you more than you think you need. Because I know what it feels like to starve.” His thumb traces along your cheekbone. “And I know that even though you tell me you’re fine, there’s still a part of you that’s afraid of going back to that life.”

Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. You try to look away, but Harry doesn’t let you.

“You’re mine now,” he whispers. “And as long as I’m breathing, you will never have to be that girl again.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips. “Harry-“

He silences you with a kiss, deep and slow, his hands holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. And maybe, to him, you are.

When he finally pulls away, his smirk returns, though it’s softer now.

“Now,” he murmurs, his hands slipping down to your waist, “are you going to let me spoil you today, or are we going to spend the whole night arguing?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

Harry grins. “And you’re everything, angel.”

And despite the diamonds, the designer dresses, and the endless luxuries - you know that, in his eyes, you are the most valuable thing he has ever owned.

The room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breath and the faint rustling of silk as Harry’s fingers toy with the hem of your dress. The weight of his words still lingers in the air, settling deep in your chest like an anchor.

You’ve always known that Harry was possessive - that his love was fierce, all-consuming, and unwavering. But hearing the full story, remembering the night he found you, makes everything feel even heavier.

His protection, his obsession with spoiling you, his need to make sure you never go without - it all makes sense now.

And yet…

You place your hands on his chest, gently pushing him back just enough to meet his eyes.

“I hear you,” you say softly. “I do. And I know you just want to take care of me. But, Harry… I don’t want to forget where I came from.”

His jaw tightens slightly, the ghost of a frown flickering across his face. “You don’t have to.”

“But I don’t want to live in fear of it either,” you continue, your voice steady. “And I don’t want you to, either. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, searching his gaze. “You’re afraid. Afraid that if you stop, if you let me go without anything, I’ll somehow slip back into that life.”

Harry’s hands flex against your waist. He doesn’t confirm it, but he doesn’t deny it either.

You take a deep breath, running your fingers lightly over his collarbone. “I love you,” you murmur. “And I love how much you love me. But you don’t have to prove anything to me, Harry. I already know you’d burn the world down for me.” A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “You don’t have to buy me the world too.”

He watches you, his gaze unreadable, and for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Then, slowly, he exhales, his forehead pressing against yours once again.

“Christ,” he mutters. “You make it so damn hard to argue with you.”

You laugh softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Maybe because you know I’m right.”

Harry hums, his hands sliding lower, pulling you flush against him. “Mmm. Maybe.”

There’s something different in his expression now - less tension, more ease. He still wants to spoil you. That much is obvious. But maybe, he understands you a little better now.

His lips brush against your ear. “But I’m still taking you to dinner tonight.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re smiling. “Of course you are.”

“And you’re still wearing the dress I bought you.”

You glance over at the extravagant black gown hanging on the rack, undoubtedly worth more than your entire childhood home.

You sigh. “Fine.”

Harry smirks. “And the diamonds.”

You narrow your eyes. “Harry-“

He silences you with another kiss, slow and deep, his fingers threading through your hair. When he finally pulls away, his smirk has softened, replaced by something quieter, something that makes your heart ache.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too.”

And as much as he spoils you, as much as he overwhelms you with more than you think you need, you know this - he is the only luxury you’ll ever truly want.

The restaurant Harry takes you to is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before - an exclusive, candlelit terrace overlooking the city, where only the most powerful and untouchable people dine. The soft hum of a violinist fills the air, mixing with the low murmur of conversation, but all you can focus on is the man sitting across from you.

Harry Styles, the most feared mafia boss in the city, watching you with a look so intense it makes your breath catch.

Dinner had been perfect. The finest wine, the most exquisite food, all chosen just for you. Harry never does anything halfway, and tonight is no exception. But still, something feels different. There’s a tension in the air, a kind of anticipation that makes your pulse quicken.

You set your glass down, eyeing him carefully. “Alright,” you say, crossing your arms on the table. “You’ve been staring at me all night like you’re up to something. What is it?”

Harry chuckles, leaning back in his chair, his rings glinting under the warm light. “Can’t a man admire his girl?”

You narrow your eyes. “You admire me every day. This is different.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Always too smart for your own good.”

Your heart skips a beat when he suddenly stands, reaching into his pocket before holding out a hand. “Come with me.”

You blink, glancing around. “Harry, we’re in the middle of dinner-“

“Dinner’s over,” he says simply, his green eyes dark with something unreadable. “Come on, angel.”

Curiosity buzzes inside you as you slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. He leads you through the terrace, past the elegant diners who all seem to shrink in his presence.

And then, just when you think he’s about to guide you back to the car, he takes a sharp turn - leading you toward a private rooftop.

Your breath catches as the sight unfolds before you.

The rooftop is empty except for a sea of white roses, their petals glowing under the soft golden fairy lights strung across the railing. The city sparkles in the distance, the skyline stretching endlessly under the night sky.

It’s beautiful.

You turn to Harry, heart pounding. “Harry… what is this?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as he looks down at you, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it.

“I’ve given you everything,” he murmurs. “Everything money can buy. But there’s still one thing I haven’t given you yet.”

Your stomach flips, realization dawning.

Harry takes a slow breath, then drops to one knee.

You gasp, your hands flying to your mouth as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black box.

“I told you I’d never let you suffer again,” he says, his voice steady. “That I’d give you the world, that I’d protect you with everything I have.” He flicks the box open, revealing a breathtaking diamond ring - elegant, stunning, perfect.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears.

“But none of it means anything if I don’t have you,” Harry continues. “You are the only thing I’ve ever truly needed.” He exhales, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, marry me. Let me make you mine forever.”

Your chest feels like it might burst.

The man who once ruled through fear, who held the entire city in the palm of his hand, was now on his knees before you, asking you to be his forever.

A tear slips down your cheek as you let out a shaky laugh. “Of course, you idiot,” you whisper. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Harry’s lips curl into a relieved smirk as he slides the ring onto your finger before pulling you down into his arms, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that steals the breath from your lungs.

And as the city lights glow around you, you realize.

This was all you ever truly needed.

[28harryssunflower]

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 4/4

Royal scandal: Part 4

The journey back to the palace felt surreal.

After a few days in the private royal hospital, where doctors monitored both you and Amelia, it was finally time to bring her home.

Security was tighter than ever - photographers lined the streets, eager to capture the first glimpse of the new princess. The moment you and Harry stepped out of the hospital, Amelia cradled in your arms, the world erupted. Cheers, flashes, flowers thrown into the air.

It was overwhelming - but as you looked down at your tiny daughter, wrapped in soft white blankets, her little lips slightly parted in sleep, you realized nothing else mattered.

This was your family now.

The palace had transformed in your absence.

The nursery - designed months ago - was now fully stocked with everything Amelia could ever need. The royal staff practically tripped over themselves to ensure the transition was seamless.

But the biggest surprise?

King Edward and Queen Anne.

The moment you stepped inside the palace, Anne was there - waiting.

“Oh, my darling.” Her voice trembled as she pulled you into a tight, warm hug. “You did so well.”

You barely had time to respond before she turned to Harry, kissing his cheek, and then - her eyes landed on Amelia.

Silence.

And then, with the gentlest touch you had ever seen from the Queen, she reached out, cradling Amelia’s tiny hand in her fingers.

“She’s perfect,” Anne whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Your chest ached as you watched her.

She had always been a picture of grace and elegance - a composed, dignified queen. But now? Now she was just a grandmother, utterly in love with her first grandchild.

Harry smiled, resting his hand on your back. “Would you like to hold her, Mum?”

Anne’s eyes lit up.

With the utmost care, you passed Amelia to her grandmother, watching as Anne held her like the most precious treasure in the world.

“She’s so small,” Anne murmured. “But already so strong.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “She kicks like she’s training for battle.”

Anne chuckled, rocking her gently. “Oh, she’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

Then, King Edward cleared his throat.

The entire room seemed to shift.

You turned - and for the first time since entering the palace, you felt nervous.

Edward had always been intimidating. Powerful.

He wasn’t just the King - he was a man who built the foundation of the modern monarchy. Strong-willed, sharp-tongued, impossible to impress.

And yet, as he stepped forward, his eyes locked on Amelia, something in his expression softened.

You watched in silent shock as he reached out, hesitant at first, before gently tracing a finger over her tiny cheek

“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly.

It was the gentlest you had ever heard his voice.

Harry stood beside you, barely breathing.

“Would you like to hold her, dad?”

You nearly gasped at the sight -because King Edward looked nervous.

It took a few seconds before he finally, carefully, took Amelia into his arms. His massive hands dwarfed her tiny body, yet he held her with a tenderness that seemed impossible for the man you had once feared.

He stared down at her, completely captivated.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“She won’t be for long,” Anne teased gently. “They grow up before you know it.”

Edward didn’t answer.

He simply stared at Amelia, his granddaughter, as if memorizing every single feature.

Then, he smiled.

Not his usual, small smirk. Not the polite, reserved expression he wore at public events.

No.

This was different.

It was genuine. Soft.

“She’ll be brilliant,” he finally said, voice thick with something almost like pride. “I can already tell.”

Your throat tightened.

Because for the first time, Edward wasn’t just the King.

He was a grandfather.

And he loved your daughter.

Adjusting to life as a Queen and a mother was not easy.

Your days were already packed with royal duties - now, they were filled with sleepless nights, diaper changes, and a baby who refused to sleep unless she was in someone’s arms.

And yet, you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Harry was utterly smitten.

He spent every free moment with Amelia, cradling her against his chest, humming softly as he rocked her to sleep.

“She’s got me wrapped around her tiny little finger,” he admitted one night as you watched him hold her.

You grinned. “You’re doomed.”

He sighed dramatically. “I know.”

Anne visited almost daily, bringing little gifts, giving advice, and making sure you were getting enough rest.

And Edward?

Edward, the ruthless King, the stoic ruler, he became a different man around Amelia.

He would stop by the nursery when no one was watching, sitting beside the crib, staring at her with an expression of pure wonder. He would read to her in his deep, commanding voice, watching as her tiny hands waved in excitement.

And one evening - when he thought no one was looking -!you caught him holding Amelia against his chest, whispering softly.

“You will be so loved,” he murmured. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Your heart clenched.

You stepped back, letting him have his moment.

Because, for the first time, you realized something important.

Edward had never been given the chance to be a soft father. He had been raised with duty above all else, with no room for vulnerability.

But now?

Now, with Amelia, he had a second chance.

And he was taking it.

As you sat in the royal garden one afternoon, Amelia nestled in your arms, Harry beside you, you realized something.

You had once feared this life.

Feared the crown, the duty, the expectations.

But now…

Now you had a family.

A husband who adored you.

A daughter who was the light of your life.

In-laws who, despite their flaws, loved your child just as much as you did.

And as Amelia let out a tiny yawn, snuggling closer against your chest, you smiled.

Because the future?

It wasn’t just about ruling a kingdom.

It was about raising a family.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The first few years of Amelia’s life were a blur of milestones - each one more precious than the last.

It was one of those late afternoons when the sunlight streamed through the palace windows, casting golden light over everything. Amelia was sitting in her high chair, trying to grab at the toy blocks in front of her, but the little one was much more interested in the sound of her parents’ voices.

You were sitting beside Harry, who was sipping his tea, both of you watching her with soft smiles.

“Say mama,” you urged gently.

Amelia looked up at you with her wide, curious eyes, her chubby fingers still fumbling with the blocks. You repeated, “Mama, say mama.”

Then, as if hearing you for the first time, she opened her mouth and let out a single syllable.

“M…ma…”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief, before the biggest smile spread across his face. “Did she just?-“

You laughed in amazement, barely able to contain the tears that sprang to your eyes. “She did.”

Amelia giggled, as though she understood the excitement around her, her tiny face lighting up. “Mama!” she repeated, even clearer this time.

“That’s my girl!” Harry exclaimed, picking her up and holding her against his chest, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Mama and I are so proud of you, Amelia.”

You could barely breathe for the sheer joy swelling in your chest. “Her first word,” you whispered to Harry. “Her first word.”

As the months passed, Amelia began to grow into a curious, determined little toddler. Her legs wobbled and she took tentative steps toward independence.

One afternoon, the royal family was gathered in the grand sitting room. You and Harry were chatting with Harry’s parents, laughing over tea when Amelia stood, holding onto the edge of the couch.

“Come on, sweetheart,” you encouraged gently, bending down to her level. “Just a few more steps, you can do it.”

Amelia’s eyes shone with concentration. She let go of the couch and, with shaky legs, took a step toward you. Then another. And another.

You gasped in astonishment. “She’s doing it! She’s walking!”

Harry leaned forward, holding his breath, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out for her.

“Amelia, baby, come to Daddy,” he coaxed.

And just like that - your precious girl took her first real steps, stumbling straight into Harry’s arms.

He lifted her up, spinning her in the air, his laughter echoing in the room. “She’s walking, Y/N! Our little girl is walking!”

You stood frozen, the tears threatening to spill as you watched Harry twirl her around. “I can’t believe it,” you whispered, your hand pressed to your chest.

Amelia giggled, thrilled by the attention. “Da-da!”

Your heart swelled at hearing her say the other word.

Harry’s face was brighter than ever. “She said ‘Da-da’! I’m the lucky one, aren’t I?” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ll just be over here, crying quietly,” you teased, your eyes glistening with joy.

The next big milestone came a few months later - Amelia’s first teeth.

It started with her being unusually fussy one day, tugging at her ear and gnawing on her favorite toy. You and Harry shared a worried glance before the royal pediatrician was called in.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” the doctor assured you both with a reassuring smile. “It’s just teething. It can be uncomfortable, but it’s a phase every child goes through.”

That night, you noticed Amelia was drooling more than usual, and when she smiled, you caught a glimpse of something shiny on her lower gums.

“No way,” you whispered in disbelief.

Harry leaned over, his face lighting up with excitement. “Is that…?”

You both stared, transfixed, as a tiny tooth began to emerge, glinting in the soft light of the nursery.

“That’s her first tooth, isn’t it?” Harry asked, his voice filled with awe.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “She’s growing up so fast.”

When Amelia was old enough, the time came for her first day at the royal academy. The excitement was palpable, but so was the hesitation.

You and Harry stood side by side in the doorway of the academy, watching as Amelia, dressed in a tiny uniform that was adorable beyond measure, held your hands tightly.

You both knew this was another moment of transition - a sign that she was no longer a baby, but a young girl growing up with all the responsibilities of a future monarch.

But as she looked up at you, her bright, innocent eyes full of trust, you knew you had prepared her well.

“I’m proud of you, Amelia,” you whispered as you crouched down to her level, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re going to do amazing things.”

Harry chuckled softly. “We’ll miss you, little one.” He kissed her cheek, then stood back. “But we’ll be right here when you’re done, alright?”

Amelia nodded, looking at both of you with the serious face she often put on when she was determined.

You watched as she marched off, her small figure disappearing into the academy. Harry pulled you into his arms, his lips pressed against your hair. “She’s going to do great things.”

You smiled softly. “She’s going to change the world, just like we always dreamed.”

As the years went by, Amelia grew into a bright, confident young girl -!your princess and the future Queen of England.

She was everything you and Harry had hoped for and more.

Her laughter filled the halls of the palace, her curiosity insatiable as she learned and explored everything she could about her royal duties. She was smart, independent, and full of joy.

Despite all the royal pressures that came with being born into a monarchy, you and Harry made sure that she never forgot what really mattered: family, love, and kindness.

Amelia knew she would one day sit on the throne, but for now, she was just a child - a little girl with a big heart who loved her parents fiercely.

And as you watched her grow, you realized that being royalty wasn’t about titles or power.

It was about love.

And that’s all you had ever wanted.

[28harryssunflower]

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 3/4

Royal scandal: Part 3

The weeks seemed to slip by faster than either of you had expected. What felt like distant conversations about your future as King and Queen was becoming a reality. The meetings, the briefings, the preparations for the inevitable transition - everything seemed to be happening in a whirlwind.

You and Harry spent more time in royal meetings than you had ever anticipated, discussing matters of the crown, foreign policy, and how the monarchy would evolve with the two of you at the helm. You had thought that marrying Harry would mean more time spent together - more moments of joy and peace in the midst of the chaos of royal life. But, in truth, the opposite had happened. Every day felt more like a race to prepare for the overwhelming responsibility that was waiting just around the corner.

It was one evening in the royal study, papers scattered across the large wooden desk, when Harry finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, Y/N,” he said, his voice tired. He rubbed his hand over his face, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. “It feels like everything’s moving so fast, and I can’t catch my breath.”

You looked up from the papers you had been scanning. You felt exactly the same way - completely overwhelmed. The weight of the responsibilities coming your way was almost suffocating. You had thought the royal duties would be manageable, but the constant pressure and the endless demands from the press, the public, and the family itself were beginning to take their toll.

“You’re not alone in this, Harry,” you said softly, getting up from your seat and walking over to him. You sat next to him, your hand resting on his. “I feel it too. Every decision feels like it’s the most important thing in the world. And the faster we go, the harder it gets to keep up.”

Harry looked at you, his eyes tired but filled with appreciation. “I know you’re right. It’s just… I don’t think I’m ready to be King. I don’t think I ever will be.”

You gently squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him. You knew his fears; you shared them too. You had talked about this before, the two of you voicing your insecurities about the roles you were about to take on. But hearing him express them aloud still hit you hard.

“I know it’s terrifying,” you said quietly. “But we’re going to get through this together. You don’t have to be ready right now. We just need to take it one step at a time.”

Harry shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I mess up? What if I let everyone down, including you?”

You cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at you. “You’re not going to let anyone down, least of all me. You’re the person I love, Harry. And together, we can face anything. You’re going to be an amazing King, because you’re already a great person. You don’t need to be perfect.”

The words seemed to offer him a small amount of comfort, but you knew the battle raged inside him. Harry had always been someone who cared deeply about doing things right, especially when it came to his family and his country. And now, with the pressure of the monarchy’s future on his shoulders, it was clear that the fear of failure was taking a toll.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” Harry murmured, his voice low.

You leaned your forehead against his, your heart aching for him. “No one ever is. But you’ll grow into it. And we’ll do it together.”

The words felt true, but even as you spoke them, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty that still gripped you both.

As the days passed, the weight of the situation continued to settle deeper into both your hearts. The date for the official transition of power - the moment Harry would step into the role of King and you by his side as Queen - was approaching with incredible speed.

The palace was a whirlwind of activity. You were handed papers to sign, decisions to make, and events to attend. The world outside the palace walls had no idea of the sheer amount of preparation happening behind closed doors. The moment when the crown would pass from Harry’s parents to him was coming closer and closer, and with each passing day, the reality of the responsibility began to hit harder.

At dinner one evening, the King and Queen spoke more about what was to come. The monarchy was undergoing a transformation, they said, and the country would look to Harry for leadership and direction. They had outlined the plans for how Harry would assume his new role, the formalities, the speeches, the public image they wanted to project.

But amidst all the royal discussions, you noticed that Harry seemed more withdrawn than ever. He was barely speaking, his mind obviously elsewhere. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

“Harry,” you whispered softly, leaning in closer to him during dinner, “are you okay?”

He glanced at you, offering a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just trying to keep it together.”

You could tell he was trying to hide his stress, but you knew him too well. “I know it’s a lot. But you don’t have to carry it all on your own, you know.”

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper as he glanced at his parents, who were engaged in their own conversation at the end of the table. “I just feel like everything is spiraling out of control. I’ve never been so overwhelmed in my life. And it feels like no one really understands what this is doing to me. I can’t help but feel like I’m not ready for this.”

You placed your hand on his, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to be ready right now, Harry. You just have to do your best. And that’s all anyone will expect of you.”

He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “But what if that’s not enough? What if they expect more? What if I let you down, too?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you had to be strong for him in this moment. “Harry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to let you face this alone. And if you ever feel like you’re struggling, we’ll face it together. You and me. That’s what matters.”

His hand tightened around yours, and for the first time in what felt like days, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“Together,” he murmured. “Yeah. I can do this if we’re in it together.”

The moment felt like a small victory in the midst of the storm. But as the days continued to pass, you both knew that the hardest challenges were yet to come. The transition to the throne was fast approaching, and the weight of the monarchy loomed larger than ever.

But you were determined, as was Harry. You would face whatever came your way - together.

The days leading up to Harry’s official ascension to the throne were a blur. The palace was a cacophony of endless meetings, preparations, and ceremonial rehearsals. Every detail was scrutinized, and the pressure on Harry to be both the heir and the future King of England was suffocating.

You could see it in the way he moved - his shoulders slumped, his hands occasionally trembling when he wasn’t consciously gripping them together to keep himself steady. He had been avoiding sleep and barely eating, the exhaustion evident in the bags under his eyes. But you knew Harry well enough to understand that it wasn’t just physical fatigue - it was the weight of expectation bearing down on him. He wasn’t sure if he could live up to the role that had been thrust upon him.

You had tried to reassure him, but you knew he needed more than just comforting words. He needed to find a way to believe in himself, something that was increasingly difficult with each passing day.

One evening, after yet another exhausting royal dinner, you found Harry pacing in the drawing room of your shared private quarters. His mind seemed miles away as he walked back and forth, hands running through his hair in agitation.

“Harry, stop,” you said gently, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Come here.”

He didn’t stop pacing immediately, but eventually, he turned toward you, his eyes weary and filled with frustration. “I can’t do this, Y/N. I just can’t.”

You took his hands in yours, pulling him toward you. “You don’t have to be perfect, Harry. You just need to be yourself. You’re going to be a wonderful king because you are who you are. That’s all anyone could ever ask for.”

His gaze softened slightly, but the doubt still lingered in his eyes. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about being myself. It’s about leading a country, making decisions that affect millions of people’s lives. I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that.”

You squeezed his hands, your voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this alone. We’re in this together. You have me. You have your family. And most importantly, you have a country that believes in you.”

Harry was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on yours, searching for reassurance. You could feel his internal struggle, the pressure and the fear, but also the flickering hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he could do this after all.

“I just need time,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I need time to figure this all out, Y/N.”

You smiled softly, lifting your hand to gently touch his cheek. “We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time.”

The day of the coronation arrived faster than either of you had anticipated. The grand halls of Buckingham Palace were filled with dignitaries, foreign ambassadors, and members of the royal family. Every inch of the palace was adorned in the finest silks, golden tapestries, and regal colors. The ceremony itself was a spectacle - an event that would be etched in the history books, a moment of great transition for both the monarchy and for Harry.

It was still early in the morning, and you were in your private chambers getting ready. Your dress was a custom creation - a delicate gown of ivory and gold that shimmered under the soft light of the palace. A team of stylists had worked tirelessly for days to perfect your hair and makeup, transforming you into the epitome of royal elegance. Your heart was beating quickly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves.

As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the tiara that had been passed down through generations of queens, you couldn’t help but think of Harry. This moment wasn’t just about the throne - it was about everything you both had fought for. The love you shared, the life you were building together, and the future you were about to embrace.

Just as you finished adjusting the final touches, the door to your chambers opened. Harry stood there, dressed in the royal regalia - his coronation robes shimmering in the light, the crown already resting on the table behind him. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, all the noise and chaos of the world outside melted away.

He looked every bit the future King of England, but the vulnerability in his eyes was impossible to ignore.

“You look incredible,” he said softly, stepping toward you.

You smiled, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “So do you, my King.”

Harry took a deep breath, clearly nervous. “I don’t know if I can do this, Y/N. This whole thing- it’s overwhelming. I’m just trying to keep it together, but…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words.

You walked toward him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “You’re going to be amazing, Harry. You already are. And you have the love and support of everyone who cares about you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment was short but meaningful, as Harry’s parents called from the hall, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin. You exchanged a quiet look, silently promising each other that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

The cathedral was breathtaking. The long aisles were lined with flowers, and the golden light that streamed through the stained-glass windows filled the space with a sacred glow. The air was thick with anticipation as dignitaries and guests took their seats, each waiting for the monumental moment to arrive.

You and Harry stood at the front of the cathedral, the weight of the moment finally settling over both of you. The Archbishop of Canterbury stood before you, ready to begin the sacred coronation ceremony that would officially make Harry the King of England - and you, the Queen.

As Harry knelt before the Archbishop, your heart was in your throat. The crown was lowered onto Harry’s head, and the soft murmur of the guests faded into silence. The weight of the crown seemed symbolic, as if it represented everything Harry had feared - his future, his legacy, his duty. But in that moment, as Harry rose to his feet, you could see something change in him. He stood taller, more certain than before, as if the crown - though heavy - was now a part of him.

The Archbishop turned to you, and you felt a tremor in your chest as you knelt beside Harry. The crown was placed on your head, your hands trembling slightly as the weight of the moment finally sank in. You were officially the Queen, standing beside the man you loved, ready to face the future together.

When the ceremony ended, applause filled the cathedral. You turned to look at Harry, and the look on his face made your heart skip a beat. He was no longer the nervous, uncertain man you had married. He was the King. And you were the Queen by his side.

As you and Harry left the cathedral, the weight of the crown - and the reality of what it all meant - pressed heavily on your shoulders. The applause from the guests echoed in your ears, but in the quiet of the palace, it was just the two of you.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry muttered, his voice shaking. “It all just happened so fast.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I know. But we did it. And we’ll continue to do it, together.”

Harry smiled, the weight in his eyes finally easing. “Together,” he repeated, his voice steady.

The crown was now on both of your heads. But the most important thing -!what mattered most - was that you had each other. And with that, no matter how overwhelming the responsibilities of royalty might be, you knew you would face the future side by side. Together.

The months following your coronation were filled with a mixture of new beginnings, long royal meetings, and settling into your roles as the King and Queen of England. You and Harry found yourselves slowly adjusting to the rigorous demands of your new life. The palace became your home in a way it never had before, the once overwhelming responsibilities now starting to feel like a second skin.

Together, you navigated the complexities of being the face of a nation, balancing state visits with private moments, public appearances with stolen moments of quiet. As a couple, you were still learning, still growing into the roles you had taken on, but through it all, there was one thing you both held dear - each other.

But in the quiet of your shared chambers, away from the world’s eyes, there was an underlying weight, one that lingered quietly between the two of you. You and Harry had been trying for months now, hoping, wishing for a child - an heir to carry on the legacy you both were now responsible for. But each time, when you found yourself staring at the stark white of another negative pregnancy test, the hope seemed to drain a little further from your soul.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried - oh, you had tried. You and Harry had put everything into it, every last ounce of love and effort, but it was as if something was just out of reach.

You would smile for the cameras, be the perfect Queen in the eyes of the people, but behind closed doors, you felt like you were failing. Failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing yourself. Every month, the disappointment grew more pronounced. Each time you felt your period arrive, it was like a slap in the face.

There had been moments of doubt, moments when you sat in silence and just cried, asking Harry over and over what was wrong with you. What was it about you that wouldn’t let you get pregnant? What had you done wrong? What were you missing?

You sat in front of the large mirror in your chambers one night, staring at your reflection with teary eyes, the silence of the room making everything feel heavier. The weight of the crown seemed insignificant in comparison to the frustration, confusion, and sadness that had begun to take root in your heart.

“Why can’t I give him a child?” you whispered softly, as though your reflection could answer. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling lost. “Am I not enough for him?”

You didn’t hear Harry enter the room until he was standing next to you, his voice filled with quiet concern. “What’s going on, love?”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Nothing, just…thinking.”

But Harry knew you better than that. He’d seen the breakdowns. He’d seen the tears that you wiped away before anyone else could notice. He had felt the tension in the air when you tried to hold it together, knowing how much you wanted this. You both wanted this.

“I know you’ve been struggling,” Harry said gently, his hand resting on your shoulder. “But don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve only been trying for a few months, Y/N. This doesn’t mean anything yet.”

You stood up, pushing his hand away gently as you wiped a stray tear from your face. “It’s been months, Harry. Months of trying, of failing, and I’m just…” Your voice cracked. “What if there’s something wrong with me? What if I can’t have children?”

Harry’s face fell, his heart breaking at your pain. He wanted to take the weight from you, wanted to fix it and make it better, but this was something neither of you could control. He couldn’t change the reality of the situation, and he knew that, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to protect you from the sadness that had become all too familiar in the last few months.

“You’re not failing,” he said firmly, his voice low but filled with love. “You’re not. We’re just starting. We’ve only just begun. You’re going to give me children, I know it. It’s just… it takes time.”

You closed your eyes, the bitterness of uncertainty rising in your chest. “But what if it doesn’t? What if it never happens? What if we can’t have the family we’ve dreamed about?”

Harry took your face in his hands, his eyes locking with yours, his grip firm but tender. “Y/N, you are enough. And if we don’t have a child right now, it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change how much I love you. It doesn’t change how I see you. You are everything to me. You’re the woman I love, the woman I chose to be my Queen, and I will never, ever stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

His words, though comforting, couldn’t erase the doubt that lingered in your heart. But his hands on your face, his tender touch, reminded you that at least you weren’t in this alone. You had Harry - and together, you would face whatever came next.

The weeks passed, and while the world saw the King and Queen leading their country, you both continued to face the heartbreaking reality of your inability to conceive. The doctor visits became more frequent. You sat in sterile offices, surrounded by pamphlets, medical charts, and explanations you barely understood, each visit leaving you with more questions than answers.

Harry did everything he could to support you. He was patient when you had days of frustration and silent tears. He was understanding when you pushed him away, when you withdrew into yourself. But each time you saw him try to comfort you, try to assure you that it would all work out, the feeling of guilt seemed to grow.

“I just want to give you the family we talked about,” you whispered one evening, curled up on the sofa with Harry, the two of you sharing a quiet moment before bed.

Harry kissed the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, rhythmic motions. “You have given me everything, Y/N. A life I never could have dreamed of. A life I’m so proud of. We don’t need to rush into anything. If it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t, we’ll find another way. Together.”

But it wasn’t just about Harry’s words anymore. It was about you. You were terrified that you couldn’t be the mother you so desperately wanted to be, terrified that your inability to carry a child would disappoint him or make him feel less fulfilled. And no matter how much he reassured you, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As the pressure of royal expectations continued to build around you, so too did the pressure of your own heart. It wasn’t just the throne you had to bear - it was the weight of being the Queen, and the expectations that came with it. Your failure to conceive seemed to only intensify the scrutiny.

And all you could do was hold onto Harry - just as he held onto you -!and keep going, no matter how hard it became. Together, you would face the unknown. Together, you would find a way.

But for now, it seemed like that future - one with children, with a growing family - was still a distant dream.

It had been a long day already, filled with meetings, royal engagements, and the ever-present weight of expectations that came with being Queen. But today, you had made time for something far more important - helping Anne with one of her charity projects.

The two of you had spent the morning overseeing a women’s shelter, speaking with staff and listening to the stories of the women who had found solace there. It was the kind of work that reminded you why you had wanted to be Queen in the first place - not for the politics or the power, but for the chance to make a difference.

Now, back at Buckingham Palace, you were sitting in Anne’s private drawing room, sipping tea as she sorted through a pile of paperwork regarding upcoming charity events. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon streamed through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over the elegant space.

Anne had always been kind to you, had always made you feel welcome in the family. But today, sitting here with her, you felt something shift. You felt like you weren’t just her daughter-in-law - you were her daughter. And daughters needed their mothers.

You hesitated, staring into your cup, the tea swirling in slow, aimless patterns. Your heart felt heavy, the words stuck in your throat like an unbearable weight. But you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Anne,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up from her papers immediately, her sharp eyes full of quiet concern. “Yes, dear?”

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. “I- I need to tell you something. Something I haven’t told Harry yet.”

That got her full attention. She set the papers aside, leaning forward slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she gave you her undivided focus. “Go on,” she urged gently.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. But the moment you opened your mouth, the emotions you had been bottling up for months came crashing down.

“I- I can’t get pregnant,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Or, well, I can, but barely. I went to the gynecologist, and they told me I only have a two percent chance. Two percent, Anne.” Your hands trembled as you set the cup down on the saucer with a soft clink. “I feel like a failure. Like I’m failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing myself.”

Anne’s face softened, her usual composed expression shifting into something far more vulnerable - motherly.

“Oh, my dear,” she murmured, reaching across the small table to take your hands in hers.

You let out a shaky breath, the tears you had been trying so desperately to keep at bay finally breaking free.

“I haven’t even told Harry,” you confessed, shaking your head. “I don’t know how. How do I tell him that the one thing we both wanted more than anything -!a family - might never happen? How do I look him in the eye and say that I can’t give him children?”

Anne squeezed your hands tightly, her grip warm and reassuring. “Listen to me,” she said firmly, her voice filled with a rare intensity. “You are not a failure. Do you hear me?”

You let out a soft sob, nodding, even though you didn’t quite believe it.

Anne sighed, shifting to sit beside you on the small sofa. Without hesitation, she pulled you into her arms, cradling you the way a mother would a heartbroken daughter. The moment her warmth surrounded you, you collapsed into her, sobbing into her shoulder as the weight of your grief finally consumed you.

“I hate myself for this,” you whispered, your voice muffled against the fabric of her dress. “I hate that I can’t give Harry what he deserves. I hate that my body won’t do what it’s supposed to.”

Anne’s grip tightened, her hand stroking your back in slow, soothing motions. “No,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering. “You don’t get to hate yourself for this, Y/N. You are not defined by your ability to have children. And Harry - Harry loves you. Not just the idea of a family, not just the dream of children. You.”

You sniffled, clinging to her as more tears spilled down your cheeks. “But what if he’s disappointed? What if he resents me?”

Anne pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, her own filled with unwavering certainty. “He won’t. And if he does, then I will personally knock some sense into him.”

That earned a wet, broken laugh from you, though it quickly turned into another sob.

Anne cupped your face, her thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Sweetheart, you are already enough. More than enough. And if there’s one thing I know about my son, it’s that he would never see you as anything less because of this. But you need to tell him. Don’t carry this burden alone.”

You nodded weakly, though the thought of telling Harry still terrified you.

Anne gave you a small smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, you are family. My family. And I will always be here for you, just like a mother should be.”

That was all it took for you to break down again, but this time, the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite as unbearable.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional crackling of the fireplace in your shared chambers. The golden glow of the flames danced against the walls, casting soft shadows across the room. Harry was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a few documents he needed to review for an upcoming event, but his attention wasn’t really on them.

He could tell something was wrong.

You had been unusually quiet all evening, barely touching your dinner, barely speaking. And when he had tried to pull you into conversation, you had only offered small, forced smiles that never reached your eyes.

Harry knew you well enough to know when you were holding something in. And whatever it was, it was eating you alive.

You stood near the window, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared outside at the darkened palace gardens. Your heart was racing, palms sweaty, stomach twisted in knots. You had spent the entire day trying to find the right moment, the right words, the right way to tell him.

But there was no right way to say this.

“Love?” Harry’s voice was soft, careful, as he set the documents aside and turned his attention fully to you. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I-“ Your voice broke immediately, and you clenched your jaw, trying to steady yourself. “I need to tell you something.”

Harry was already on his feet before you could say another word. He crossed the room quickly, his hands immediately finding your arms, rubbing slow, comforting circles.

“You can tell me anything,” he said gently. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, but it didn’t make it any easier. The words felt trapped in your throat, suffocating you.

Harry’s brows furrowed in concern. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, his hands running up and down your arms. “Talk to me, darling.”

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a brief moment. And then, finally, you forced yourself to say it.

“I went to the gynecologist,” you whispered. “I- I haven’t been able to get pregnant, and I needed to know why.”

Harry’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly. His body tensed, but he didn’t say a word - he just let you speak.

“They did some tests,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “And they found out that I can get pregnant… but the chances are-” You choked, pressing a hand to your mouth as the pain of saying it out loud became unbearable. “Two percent, Harry. I have a two percent chance.”

His face fell, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “What?”

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling under the weight of your emotions. “I- I might never be able to have kids with you. And I didn’t know how to tell you because-“ Your voice cracked. “Because I feel like I failed you.”

Harry’s entire body stiffened at those words. His hands immediately cupped your face, tilting it up so you were forced to look at him.

“Stop,” he said firmly, his green eyes burning with intensity. “You have never failed me. Do you understand me?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened.

“I wanted to give you a family,” you sobbed, your hands gripping his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. “I wanted us to have kids, to grow old together surrounded by them. And now… now I don’t know if that will ever happen.”

Harry’s heart shattered at the sheer pain in your voice. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as you cried.

His hand cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses to your hair. “Oh, love,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You buried your face into his chest, your sobs muffled against his shirt. “I was scared,” you admitted. “Scared you’d be disappointed. Scared you’d regret choosing me.”

Harry immediately pulled back, his hands cupping your cheeks as he looked deep into your eyes. His expression was one of pure disbelief, almost offended at the idea.

“Y/N, I could never regret choosing you.” His voice was rough, filled with emotion. “You are my wife. My Queen. The love of my life. Do you really think the ability to have children could change that?”

“I just… I know how much you wanted kids,” you whispered.

“I want you,” he corrected, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I want a family with you. And if that means we try and try and try until it happens, then that’s what we’ll do. And if it doesn’t happen, we’ll find another way. Adoption, surrogacy, whatever it takes. But you are my family. You are enough.”

His words shattered the last bit of control you had. You clung to him, sobbing openly now, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable in his arms. And Harry just held you - held you like he was afraid you might slip away, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “No matter what. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite the heartbreak, you felt safe.

Because you had Harry. And as long as you had him, you would never face this alone.

The hallways of the Buckingham Palace felt colder than usual. Each step echoed against the marble floors as you made your way toward King Edward’s office, your stomach twisting in knots.

This was, without a doubt, the most terrifying conversation you had ever faced.

Telling Harry had been one thing - he was your husband, your partner, the man who had chosen to love you unconditionally. But telling his father? The King of England? The man who had spent his entire life ensuring the future of the monarchy? That was an entirely different battle.

Edward had always been firm about the importance of an heir. Even before you and Harry had married, he had spoken of continuing the bloodline, of ensuring the next generation would be raised to take the throne one day.

And now, you had to tell him that there was a strong possibility that wouldn’t happen.

You swallowed hard, standing outside his office door, your palms damp with nerves. The guards stationed nearby gave you a brief nod before opening the large double doors, signaling your arrival.

King Edward was seated at his desk, scanning through documents with his usual air of authority. He barely glanced up as he gestured for you to step inside.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, his voice even. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You hesitated for a moment before closing the door behind you, taking a few cautious steps forward. Your heart was pounding, and for a brief second, you wondered if you should just turn around and walk away.

But no. You had to do this.

“Your Majesty,” you began, keeping your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something… important.”

That made him look up. His piercing gaze settled on you, sharp and calculating, as if already trying to decipher what you were about to say. He set his papers aside, folding his hands neatly on the desk. “Go on.”

You took a shaky breath. “It’s about the future of the family. About an heir.”

His expression remained unreadable, but you knew he was listening intently.

“I went to the doctor,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And they told me that my chances of getting pregnant are… almost nonexistent.” You swallowed hard. “Two percent, to be exact.”

A long, heavy silence filled the room.

Edward didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His face remained neutral, but you could see the way his fingers tensed slightly on the desk, the only sign that your words had truly registered.

“I know how much you wanted a grandchild,” you continued, forcing the words out before you lost your courage. “I know how important it is to secure the next generation of the monarchy. And I-” Your voice broke, and you quickly pressed your lips together, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes locked onto yours. And then, finally, he exhaled.

“Come here,” he said.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Edward pushed his chair back slightly and gestured for you to step closer. “Come here, Y/N.”

Your legs felt stiff, almost reluctant to move, but somehow, you found yourself stepping toward him.

As soon as you were close enough, Edward did something you never expected.

He reached out and pulled you into his arms.

You froze.

You had never hugged Edward before. In fact, you had never seen him as anything other than a king - a ruler, a strategist, a man who commanded respect in every room he entered. But right now, in this moment, he wasn’t King Edward.

He was simply a father.

Your father-in-law.

Your breath hitched as his arms tightened around you, firm yet careful, as if shielding you from the weight of your own pain.

“You must have been terrified to tell me this,” he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

That was all it took for the dam to break.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched onto him, burying your face into his shoulder. All the fear, all the guilt, all the self-loathing you had carried for months poured out of you in an uncontrollable wave.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your body trembling against him. “I’m so sorry.”

Edward sighed, his large hand smoothing over your hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I feel like I failed you. Like I failed Harry. I wanted to give this family an heir. I tried. But I-” Your voice cracked, and another sob escaped before you could stop it.

Edward pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his hands firm on your shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice filled with quiet strength. “The ability to have children does not determine your worth. Not as a woman. Not as a Queen. And certainly not as my daughter-in-law.”

You sniffled, blinking up at him in disbelief.

“I won’t lie to you,” he admitted. “Yes, I have always wanted an heir. But not at the expense of my son’s happiness. And not at the expense of yours.” He squeezed your shoulders. “You are my family now, Y/N. And you will always have a place here. No matter what.”

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness.

For the first time since hearing the news, you felt a weight lift from your chest.

Edward - the King - wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed.

He was just there. Holding you, reassuring you, giving you the fatherly support you had never truly expected from him.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry this burden alone.

With a shaky breath, you tightened your grip around him, resting your forehead against his shoulder as more silent tears fell.

And Edward?

For the first time, he simply held you - not as his son’s wife, not as the Queen of England.

But as his daughter-in-law.

Life at Buckingham Palace didn’t slow down, no matter what personal struggles lay beneath the surface. The world kept turning, the public kept watching, and you and Harry had responsibilities to uphold as the Queen and King of England.

After your emotional conversation with King Edward, a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again. You weren’t alone in this - not with Harry, not with his parents, and not with the people who truly cared about you.

But even with that relief, the reality of royal life came crashing back down almost immediately.

The next morning, you were seated at the long oak table in the private royal meeting room, staring at an overwhelming stack of documents, schedules, and briefing notes. Across from you, Harry had his own pile, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to focus.

A royal advisor stood at the head of the table, reading out the upcoming engagements.

“…and following the charity gala next Saturday, Your Majesties will attend a diplomatic dinner with foreign delegates from Spain, Germany, and Japan,” the advisor continued. “It will be your first official state dinner as the future monarchs, so expectations will be high.”

You sighed quietly, already feeling exhausted just listening to the schedule.

“And before that,” another advisor chimed in, flipping through her notes, “the two of you will make a public appearance at the children’s hospital in London. It’s part of the royal family’s ongoing efforts to support pediatric healthcare.”

Your ears perked up slightly at that. You had always enjoyed your visits with the children - it was one of the rare duties that truly made you feel connected to the people, rather than just a figurehead in a crown.

Harry, sensing your shift in mood, glanced over at you with a small smile.

The meeting continued for another hour, outlining everything from upcoming speeches to wardrobe expectations for each event.

By the time it was over, you felt drained.

As the advisors filed out of the room, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “How do they expect us to keep up with all of this?”

Harry let out a deep sigh, standing up and stretching. “Honestly? I don’t think they care, as long as we do it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile.

He stepped around the table, coming to stand behind you. His hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. “You’re doing incredible, you know that?”

You let your head tilt back slightly, enjoying his touch. “I feel like I’m drowning in expectations.”

“You are.” He smirked. “But at least we’re drowning together.”

You huffed out a laugh, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

Just then, the door opened again, and Queen Anne stepped in. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, her voice warm.

“Not at all,” you said, sitting up properly as she approached.

Anne smiled, her eyes filled with the usual grace and wisdom she carried. “I just wanted to check on you both. I know these past few weeks have been… heavy.”

You swallowed, exchanging a quick glance with Harry.

“I’m okay,” you assured her, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was.

Anne tilted her head slightly, studying you in the way only a mother could. Then, instead of pressing further, she simply said, “I know it’s been overwhelming, stepping into this role so quickly. But I want you to remember - you’re not just here to serve the people. You’re here to live, too.”

You blinked, taken aback by her words.

She smiled knowingly. “Don’t let the crown steal the joy from your life, my dear. It’s a privilege, yes, but it’s also a burden. And if you don’t take time for yourselves, it will consume you.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll try, Mum.”

Anne arched a brow. “No, you will.” She placed a gentle hand on your arm. “And if you ever need a reminder, I’ll be here to give it.”

You felt an overwhelming warmth at her words.

Maybe the crown didn’t have to weigh you down completely.

And as you looked at Harry - your partner in all of this - you knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

You stared down at the six pregnancy tests lined up in front of you, each one displaying the same undeniable result.

Positive.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the bathroom counter, your breath shallow.

This couldn’t be real.

After months of heartbreak, of failed attempts, of hearing the doctor’s grim diagnosis - you had convinced yourself that it would never happen. That the dream of carrying Harry’s child would always remain just that - a dream.

So when the first test showed two pink lines, you had scoffed.

Faulty. It had to be faulty.

Then the second one.

The third.

By the fourth, your hands had started shaking.

By the fifth, tears had blurred your vision.

And now, staring at the sixth positive test, your mind finally allowed itself to believe the impossible.

You were pregnant.

A choked sob escaped your lips as the overwhelming reality of it all crashed into you. Your body trembled as you sank onto the bathroom floor, hugging your knees to your chest, silent tears trailing down your cheeks.

You had prepared yourself for disappointment so many times that the sheer possibility of this being real left you utterly paralyzed.

That was how Harry found you.

The door creaked open, his voice carrying through the quiet space. “Love? I’m home.”

He paused when he stepped into the bedroom, immediately noticing the empty bed. His brows furrowed.

Then, his eyes landed on the open bathroom door.

“Y/N?” His voice softened with concern.

He stepped inside - and froze at the sight of you sitting on the floor, your shoulders shaking.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was by your side in an instant, kneeling beside you, his hands cupping your face as he searched your tear-streaked expression. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words stuck in your throat, the sheer weight of this moment making it impossible to speak.

His panic only grew. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of what had caused your distress - until they landed on the sink counter.

On the six pregnancy tests lined up in a perfect row.

Harry’s entire body went still.

You watched as his emerald eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze flickered between you and the tests, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Finally, his lips parted. “Are these…?”

You managed a shaky nod, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I took six.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t believe the first one. Or the second. Or the third.” You let out a breathless laugh, one that was half-sob, half-disbelief. “But after six… I think I finally believe it.”

Harry’s eyes welled with emotion as he let out a shaky exhale, his hands trembling as they cradled your face.

“You’re pregnant?” His voice was hoarse, filled with something so raw, so utterly vulnerable.

Another nod. “I’m pregnant.”

And then, before you could react, he was wrapping you up in his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he was afraid you’d disappear.

A broken laugh rumbled through his chest, his face buried in your neck. “Holy shit.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Holy fuck.”

You let out a watery laugh, clinging onto him just as tightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands shaking as he brushed your hair away from your face. His eyes were shining with disbelief, awe, pure love.

“I thought-” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t even form the words. “I thought we couldn’t-“

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “I thought so too.”

Harry let out a sharp breath, his forehead pressing against yours. “This is a miracle.”

You nodded. “It is.”

Then, suddenly, his lips were on yours, kissing you with so much love and relief that it made your head spin. It was deep and tender, filled with all the emotions neither of you could fully express in words.

When he finally pulled away, he let out another breathless laugh, his hands resting on your still-flat stomach.

“There’s a baby in there,” he murmured in amazement.

You sniffled, covering his hands with your own. “Yeah. Our baby.”

His throat bobbed as he fought back tears. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

Harry exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before letting out another disbelieving laugh.

“You took six?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a teary chuckle. “Shut up.”

He grinned, and for the first time in months, everything felt perfect.

The next morning, you and Harry sat in your private lounge, both buzzing with nervous energy. The six pregnancy tests still sat on the nightstand as if they were too precious to throw away just yet, a constant reminder that this was real.

“We should tell them today,” Harry said, pacing the length of the room, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Yeah.” You nodded, twisting your fingers together. “But… what if they don’t react the way we hope?”

Harry stopped, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

You sighed. “I mean, your father has always wanted an heir, right? What if the pressure starts immediately? What if-“

Harry knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. “No. Stop that.” His voice was gentle but firm. “We’re not going to let anyone ruin this moment. This is our baby, our family. And I don’t care if we’re King and Queen someday - our happiness comes first.”

Your heart swelled at his words.

You exhaled deeply and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Harry grinned and kissed your knuckles before standing up. “Let’s go shock the hell out of them.”

A short while later, you both stood outside the grand sitting room where King Edward and Queen Anne spent most of their mornings.

Harry glanced at you one last time, squeezing your hand. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He pushed open the doors, and you both stepped inside.

King Edward sat in his usual chair, reading over some documents, while Queen Anne was sipping her tea by the window. They both looked up at your entrance.

“Harry, Y/N,” Anne greeted with a soft smile. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Edward peered at you both over his glasses. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Harry cleared his throat and exchanged a quick glance with you before stepping forward. “We, uh… we have some news.”

Anne immediately straightened, setting her teacup down. “Good news?”

Harry hesitated for only a second before his face broke into a wide grin. “The best.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the pregnancy tests (because, of course, he had insisted on bringing proof), and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

Both parents leaned forward.

Anne gasped first. “Is this…?”

Edward’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying?-“

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that broke across your face. “We’re having a baby.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, suddenly, Anne let out a soft cry of joy, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she stood up and rushed toward you.

“My dear…” she whispered before pulling you into a tight embrace. “Oh, my dear.”

You melted into her hug, letting yourself be held as relief washed over you.

Anne pulled back, placing her hands on your cheeks, beaming through her tears. “This is wonderful news.”

Then, without hesitation, she turned and pulled Harry into a hug as well. “Oh, my sweet boy.”

Harry chuckled, hugging her back. “Took you long enough to say congrats, Mum.”

Edward, who had been silent up until now, finally stood from his chair, still staring at the test in his hand as if it were an artifact of unspeakable value.

Then, his gaze flickered to you, to Harry, before softening in a way you rarely ever saw.

“A child,” he murmured.

Harry nodded. “Our child.”

Edward stepped forward, his expression unreadable. For a brief second, you braced yourself for something stern or demanding - but instead, he simply placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other on yours.

His lips twitched slightly. “Congratulations.”

It was a single word, but it carried so much weight.

And then, much to your absolute shock, Edward did something he had never done before.

He pulled you into a hug.

Your breath hitched, completely caught off guard, but within seconds, you relaxed into the warmth of it.

When he pulled back, he cleared his throat, his usual composed self returning. “This is… a significant moment for the monarchy. But more importantly, it is a significant moment for our family.”

He turned to Anne, who was still wiping at her eyes. “We’re going to be grandparents.”

Anne sniffled, nodding fervently. “Yes, we are.”

Harry exhaled, grinning as he wrapped an arm around you. “Well, I’d say that went better than expected.”

Edward shot him a dry look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, son. There will be many discussions about the child’s future.”

Harry groaned. “Of course there will be.”

Anne swatted her husband’s arm. “Not now, Edward.” She turned back to you, her eyes soft. “Right now, we celebrate.”

And as she hugged you once more, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel scary.

It felt right.

Pregnancy had a way of turning life upside down, especially when you were the Queen of England.

From the moment the news broke publicly, the world was obsessed. The media called it the biggest royal announcement in decades. Journalists speculated on names, gender, and how the pregnancy would affect the monarchy. Public celebrations erupted across the UK - parades, fireworks, even special merchandise with your face on it.

It was surreal.

But behind closed doors, pregnancy was a rollercoaster of emotions, challenges, and unexpected changes.

Morning sickness hit hard.

Whoever named it “morning” sickness was a liar - because it lasted all day.

You had to excuse yourself from meetings to throw up, sometimes barely making it out of the room before dashing to the nearest bathroom. The first few times, you tried to play it off as nothing, but after the third time in one week, Harry put his foot down.

“We’re telling them,” he insisted one evening as you lay curled up on the sofa, utterly exhausted.

You groaned. “No. They’ll just fuss.”

“They should fuss!” Harry ran a hand through his curls, exasperated. “You’re pregnant and still trying to do everything like normal. It’s not normal.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. So the next day, the royal advisors were informed - and just like that, your schedule changed.

Meetings were shortened. Public appearances were reduced. The palace chef was given strict orders to prepare meals that wouldn’t make you nauseous.

Harry, meanwhile, went into full protective mode.

He hovered constantly. If you so much as breathed wrong, he was by your side, fussing over you like a mother hen.

“Drink more water.”

“Did you eat enough today?”

“Put your feet up, love.”

At first, it was sweet. Then, it got slightly annoying.

One night, after he practically carried you upstairs because you “looked tired,” you finally snapped.

“Harry, I love you, but if you don’t let me walk on my own two feet, I swear I will-“

“Okay, okay!” He held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “But just so you know, I will catch you if you so much as stumble.”

You rolled your eyes - but deep down, you loved how much he cared.

The sickness eased, but new challenges emerged.

Your growing belly made royal duties a bit harder. Dresses had to be altered constantly. Walking in heels for long ceremonies? Impossible. The royal tailors ended up crafting special, elegant flats just for you.

Then came the kicks.

The first time you felt the baby move, you gasped so loudly that Harry nearly fell out of bed.

“What? What’s wrong?” He scrambled to sit up, eyes wide.

You grabbed his hand, pressing it against your stomach. “Feel that?”

For a moment, nothing - then, a tiny thump beneath his palm.

Harry’s eyes went huge. “Oh my God.”

You both froze, and then he laughed - a soft, awed sound. “That’s our baby.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Yeah.”

From then on, Harry was obsessed. Every night, he talked to your belly, pressing kisses against it, telling stories, singing softly.

“Hey, little one. It’s Dad. Hope you’re comfy in there.”

The sight of him doing that made you fall in love with him all over again.

Everything was hard.

Sleeping? Impossible.

Standing for long periods? Torture.

Breathing? Sometimes a challenge.

And the baby kicked nonstop.

“I think they’re training for the Olympics,” you groaned one night as you shifted uncomfortably in bed.

Harry chuckled, rubbing soothing circles on your belly. “Or trying to prepare us to never get a full night’s sleep.”

The palace had adjusted everything for your comfort - your chair in meetings had extra cushions, a footstool was placed under every table, and a personal physician was on standby constantly.

But the hardest part was the public scrutiny.

The press obsessed over every tiny detail. If you looked tired in a photo? Headlines speculated on complications. If you skipped an event? Scandal.

One day, a tabloid even claimed you were carrying twins based on the size of your belly.

“Twins? Really?” you scoffed, tossing the magazine aside.

Harry smirked. “Well, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. You are massive.”

You glared. “Say that again and you’re carrying the next baby. I don’t know how, but I’ll make it work.”

He held up his hands in surrender, laughing.

Despite everything, though, there were beautiful moments.

Like the time the entire royal family gathered to feel the baby kick. Anne teared up, pressing a gentle hand to your belly.

Edward, surprisingly, softened. “A future ruler,” he murmured.

“No,” Harry corrected, wrapping an arm around you. “Our child. First and foremost.”

Edward looked at him for a long moment - then nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

It was the closest thing to a heartfelt moment you’d ever had with the King.

The palace was on high alert.

Every doctor, nurse, and staff member was on standby. Your hospital bag was packed. The route to the private royal hospital was finalized.

You were ready.

Or so you thought.

Because one evening, as you sat in bed, rubbing your belly, you felt a sharp pain.

Your breath hitched.

Harry, who was reading beside you, immediately noticed. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I think… I think it’s starting.”

For a second, there was silence.

Then…

Harry panicked.

“Oh my god. Okay, OKAY- We- we practiced this!- Breathe! Wait, SHOULD I BREATHE?!”

You groaned. “Harry, call the damn doctor.”

He scrambled for his phone, fumbling with it in his panic. “Right! Doctor! I can do that! I’m calm!”

He was not calm.

And as the reality of what was happening sank in, you realized.

Your baby was finally coming.

The moment you arrived at the private royal hospital, chaos unfolded.

Doctors and nurses swarmed around you, checking your vitals, preparing for the delivery. Everything was happening so fast.

Harry never left your side.

Not even for a second.

He held your hand the entire way through the halls, whispering reassurances, pressing kisses to your knuckles, promising you that everything would be okay.

“You’ve got this, love,” he murmured as they settled you into the delivery room. “I’m right here.”

And he was.

It was hell.

Contractions hit like waves of agony, rolling through your body with no mercy. Time blurred. At one point, you swore you were dying.

“I hate you,” you growled through clenched teeth, gripping Harry’s hand so tightly his fingers turned white.

He swallowed hard. “Okay, fair-“

“This is your fault.”

“I know, baby, I know-“

“If you ever touch me again-“

Harry winced as you squeezed harder. “Right. Noted.”

But despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, you had never loved him more.

Because he stayed.

He wiped the sweat from your forehead, whispered encouragement, ignored his own pain as you nearly broke his hand. He never let go.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathed against your temple, voice thick with emotion. “So close now.”

Then, finally - after hours of agony -!the doctor’s voice rang clear.

“One last push, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your teeth, dug your nails into Harry’s hand, and gave it everything you had.

Then, a cry.

A sharp, piercing cry filled the room.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with exhaustion, but nothing - nothing - could have prepared you for the overwhelming rush of emotion as they placed your baby on your chest.

A tiny, wriggling, perfect little girl.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at her, barely able to breathe.

“Hi, my love,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Hi, my sweet girl.”

Harry made a strangled noise beside you.

You turned to look at him - and your heart nearly shattered at the sight.

Tears streamed down his face as he stared at your daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world. His hands trembled as he reached out, brushing a single finger over her impossibly soft cheek.

“She’s…” He exhaled shakily. “She’s beautiful.”

You nodded, unable to speak.

Harry let out a choked laugh, his free hand covering his mouth as he blinked rapidly. “We have a daughter.”

The doctor smiled. “Would you like to cut the cord, Your Majesty?”

Harry’s breath hitched.

Slowly, he nodded, taking the scissors with trembling hands. You watched as he carefully, almost reverently, did as instructed - then immediately pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

You let out a watery laugh. “I love you too.”

And then, the nurse swaddled your daughter in the softest white blanket, placing her back in your arms.

She was tiny.

Her delicate features scrunched up in sleep, her tiny fingers curling slightly. A full head of dark curls peeked out from the blanket.

You traced a fingertip down her cheek, completely in awe.

You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his damp cheek. “What should we name her?”

Harry exhaled, looking down at his daughter with pure, unfiltered love.

Then, as if it had been meant to be all along, he whispered.

“Amelia.”

Your heart clenched.

Princess Amelia of England.

It was perfect.

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded. “Amelia.”

Harry kissed your forehead again, voice thick with emotion. “Welcome to the world, my darling girl.”

And in that moment - exhausted, overwhelmed, but utterly complete - you knew.

Your life had changed forever.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[28harryssunflower]

My version of the “I met my younger self for coffee today”

I met my younger self for coffee today.

I was right on time; she was ten minutes early because she was anxious about being late.

She ordered nothing. She was scared of gaining weight. I ordered an iced latte and a piece of cake.

She declined my offer to share it, so I drank and ate it all alone.

She wore her weird, totally oversized clothes, while I wore baggy jeans and a crop top.

Her hair was ruined from all the dye she had put in it. My hair was healthy and back to its natural colour.

She avoided eye contact and looked down anxiously, while I sought eye contact with her the whole time.

Her nails were short and her cuticles were bloody because she always bit them when she was nervous. My nails were painted and long.

She finally looked at me with tired, glossy eyes and asked why I didn’t look the way she had always wanted me to. I told her that I didn’t need to lose weight or wear makeup to feel pretty.

She asked me about her friend group. I told her to hug them a little longer when the time comes.

She thought I was boring and too mature, she never wanted to be mature when she grows up. I thought she was weird for thinking that way.

She told me she thought about me often. Almost every day. I told her that I didn’t think about her at all anymore.

We hugged. She didn’t want to let go. I let her because I knew she needed it. I told her to give it time and that everything would be okay. That she’s gonna find two new best friends. That she’s gonna find comfort and a reason to live in an artist she would’ve found weird.

I hope we meet for coffee again sometime. And I hope next time, she orders an iced latte and a piece of cake too.

[28harryssunflower]

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 2/4

Royal scandal: Part 2

You stood in the middle of the grand dressing suite, surrounded by mirrors, stylists, and racks of silk and lace. Your wedding dress - carefully designed over the past few months - hung elegantly on a mannequin nearby, waiting for you.

A special stylist, one of the Queen’s personal favorites, carefully helped you step into it, adjusting the delicate fabric against your skin.

“You look breathtaking,” she murmured as she fastened the last few buttons.

You turned to the mirror, your breath catching in your throat.

The gown was perfect. A delicate blend of tradition and modernity, with intricate embroidery and a flowing train fit for a royal wedding. It cinched at the waist before cascading down in soft waves, and the veil - pure lace - was attached to a glittering tiara that once belonged to a former Queen.

You barely recognized yourself.

One of the hairstylists approached, gently beginning to weave your hair into an elegant updo, curling a few strands to frame your face. At the same time, a makeup artist worked on your face, enhancing your features while keeping your look natural and timeless.

As they worked, you stared at yourself in the mirror, your heart pounding.

This was it.

A soft knock at the door made you turn.

The Queen stepped inside, dressed in a regal lavender gown. Her eyes swept over you before a rare, warm smile graced her lips.

“You look magnificent,” she said.

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

She stepped forward, adjusting the tiara slightly. “Are you ready?”

You met her gaze in the mirror, determination settling in your chest.

“Yes.”

Meanwhile, across the palace, Harry stood in his own suite, adjusting the cuffs of his ceremonial uniform. The deep navy jacket, adorned with gold buttons and royal insignia, made him look every bit the Prince he was.

A royal aide handed him his sash, but Harry barely noticed. He was too busy pacing, his nerves getting the best of him.

“You’re going to wear a hole into the carpet,” his best man - his childhood friend, Niall - remarked from the couch.

Harry shot him a glare. “I can’t help it.”

Niall smirked. “You’ve performed in front of thousands, and yet, this is what makes you nervous?”

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This is different. This is forever.”

Niall stood, adjusting Harry’s sash properly before clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Exactly. And you’ve wanted this forever.”

That was true.

Ever since the night he walked into that bar and met you, he had known.

Taking a deep breath, Harry straightened his jacket and turned to the mirror.

“Let’s do this.”

The grand doors of Westminster Abbey (yes, king Edward was able to get his will) opened, revealing an aisle lined with white roses and chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds. The grand organ played, and the entire world watched as you took your first step forward.

Your arm was linked with king Edward’s arm since your father wasn’t in the picture. But as you walked down the aisle, your eyes found Harry’s.

He stood at the altar, his breath visibly hitching as he took you in. His hands clenched at his sides, his green eyes shining with emotion.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

The whispers of the crowd, the flashing cameras, the pressure of an entire kingdom watching - it all faded away.

It was just you and him.

When you reached the altar, Harry took your hands in his, his grip warm and steady.

“You look…” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Absolutely breathtaking.

You smiled, whispering, “You clean up pretty well yourself, Your Highness.”

A quiet chuckle passed between you before the officiant began.

The ceremony was a blur of vows, whispered I love yous, and the moment the Archbishop finally spoke the words:

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Harry didn’t wait.

The second he was allowed, he cupped your face and kissed you - deep and sure, the kind of kiss that made the entire world disappear. The crowd erupted in applause, and you heard distant camera shutters clicking wildly.

But none of it mattered.

Because you were his, and he was yours.

Forever.

The afterparty was held in Buckingham Palace, a grand affair with champagne towers, twinkling chandeliers, and live music that filled the ballroom.

You barely had time to breathe before you and Harry were whisked onto the dance floor for your first dance as husband and wife.

Harry held you close, his fingers resting on your waist as he swayed you gently to the soft melody. His forehead pressed against yours, a small smile on his lips.

“You’re my wife,” he murmured, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You grinned. “And you’re my husband.”

Harry let out a soft chuckle. “God, I love the sound of that.”

The night went on in a blur of laughter, speeches, and stolen kisses. The King even gave a rare toast, looking almost proud as he welcomed you into the family.

At one point, Harry leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Let’s sneak away.”

You raised a brow. “Harry, we’re literally in the middle of our own wedding reception.”

He smirked. “Exactly. No one will expect it.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you let him tug you toward one of the quieter balconies, away from the crowd.

The cool night air brushed against your skin as you stepped outside. The city lights sparkled in the distance, but your gaze was only on Harry.

He pulled you close, his hands settling on your hips. “We actually did it,” he murmured.

You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair. “Yeah. We did.”

Harry exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “You changed everything for me, you know that?”

Your heart swelled. “And I’d do it all over again.”

His lips brushed against yours in the softest, sweetest kiss, sealing a promise that needed no words.

Because this?

This was just the beginning.

The party was still in full swing when Harry whisked you away from the grand ballroom.

Laughter and music filled the palace halls as the two of you hurried through the corridors, your fingers intertwined, your heart racing.

The night had been a whirlwind - ceremony, speeches, dances, champagne toasts - but now, finally, it was just the two of you.

As soon as you reached your private suite, Harry barely gave you a chance to take a breath before pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours.

“Mrs. Styles,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky.

A shiver ran down your spine. “Prince Harry.”

He groaned dramatically. “You’re supposed to call me your husband now.”

You grinned. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

Harry leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “We have all the time in the world.”

And with that, he kissed you again, deeper this time, and the world outside the palace doors ceased to exist.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of your new bedroom - the one you and Harry now shared as husband and wife.

You stirred beneath the silk sheets, your body warm and tangled with his. His arm was draped over your waist, his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

For a moment, you just lay there, letting it all sink in.

You were married.

To Harry.

To Prince Harry of England.

Your fingers absentmindedly traced over his hand, feeling the cool metal of his wedding band.

As if sensing your thoughts, Harry groaned softly, tightening his grip around you. “Mm. Too early. Come back to sleep.”

You chuckled, turning in his arms to face him. “It’s not that early.”

Harry cracked one eye open, a lazy grin on his lips. “We just got married. We deserve a lie-in.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You just don’t want to get out of bed.”

He hummed, leaning in to brush his lips against your shoulder. “Can you blame me? My wife is finally mine - all mine.”

Heat crept up your neck at the way he said it.

“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”

Harry smirked, pressing a kiss to your ring finger. “You have no idea.”

Of course, sleeping in wasn’t an option when you were part of the royal family.

Soon enough, there was a soft knock on the door, followed by the familiar voice of Harry’s personal aide.

“Your Royal Highness, breakfast has been prepared in the private dining hall.”

Harry groaned, burying his face into the pillow. “Tell them we’re dead.”

You laughed, swatting his shoulder. “Come on. If we don’t show up, they’ll send the Queen herself to drag us out of bed.”

Harry sighed dramatically but relented, rolling out of bed.

A short while later, the two of you entered the private dining hall, where the Queen, the King, and a few close royal family members were already seated.

The Queen smiled warmly when she saw you, gesturing to the empty seats beside her.

“Good morning, newlyweds.”

You blushed slightly as you and Harry took your seats. The table was set with an elaborate breakfast spread - fresh fruits, pastries, eggs, and of course, tea.

King Edward barely spared you a glance before addressing Harry. “I trust you’re ready to resume your royal duties soon.”

Harry exhaled through his nose. “Can I at least have one day to enjoy being married?”

The King merely raised a brow. “The country doesn’t stop for a wedding, Harry.”

Before Harry could snap back, you placed a hand on his knee, giving him a small squeeze.

The Queen cleared her throat, cutting through the tension. “I’m sure they’ll ease back into their duties in due time. Let them enjoy their first day together.”

Harry shot his mother a grateful look.

You smiled to yourself, realizing that - even with all the pressures and responsibilities - you weren’t in this alone.

You had Harry.

And you had a whole lifetime ahead of you.

The honeymoon phase didn’t last long.

Barely a week after the wedding, you and Harry were summoned for an official meeting with the royal advisors. It was time to begin your training - learning the duties and expectations that came with being the future King and Queen of England.

You had known this moment would come, but nothing could have prepared you for how intense it would be.

The grand meeting room inside Buckingham Palace was intimidating. Long mahogany table, high-backed chairs, and a group of advisors who had been serving the monarchy for decades.

You sat beside Harry at the head of the table, feeling every pair of eyes on you.

The King sat across from you both, expression unreadable. The Queen, ever the picture of composure, sat beside him.

An older man in a sharp suit cleared his throat. “Your Royal Highnesses, now that the wedding is behind us, we must discuss your responsibilities. His Majesty has decided that the transition to the next reign should begin sooner rather than later.”

You glanced at Harry, whose jaw tensed slightly.

The King spoke then, his deep voice carrying authority. “Your training will begin immediately. There is much to learn, and I expect you both to take this seriously.” His sharp gaze landed on Harry. “Especially you.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around yours beneath the table, but he said nothing.

Another advisor, Lady Catherine, smiled at you - one of the few friendly faces in the room. “Your role, Your Royal Highness,” she said, addressing you, “will be to support Prince Harry in his duties, as well as represent the monarchy in official engagements. You’ll be expected to travel, host state events, and work closely with charities.”

You nodded, trying to absorb everything.

“And you, Prince Harry,” another advisor chimed in, “must begin preparing for your future as King. This includes deepening your understanding of foreign relations, economic policies, and-“

Harry cut in, his voice tight. “I do understand these things.”

The King raised a brow. “Then prove it.”

Silence fell over the room.

You squeezed Harry’s hand under the table, a silent reminder that he wasn’t alone.

Lady Catherine quickly changed the subject. “We’ll start with the basics. You’ll both shadow Their Majesties in their daily duties, attend council meetings, and begin public engagements immediately.”

You swallowed. Immediately.

Your new life had officially begun.

A few days later, you and Harry had your first official engagement as the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge - a visit to a local children’s hospital.

You had expected it to be nerve-wracking, but the moment you stepped into the hospital and saw the children’s faces light up, everything changed.

You knelt beside a little girl in a hospital bed, her tiny hands gripping yours. “You’re so pretty,” she whispered shyly.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “And you, my darling, are the most beautiful princess I’ve ever seen.”

The little girl beamed, and your heart melted.

Harry, meanwhile, was surrounded by a group of kids, laughing as he let them place a plastic tiara on his head. “How do I look?” he asked, grinning.

You shook your head, grinning. “Absolutely regal.”

The visit was a success, and as you left the hospital, Harry exhaled deeply, lacing his fingers with yours.

“That was actually… nice,” he admitted.

You nodded. “Not everything about this life has to be duty and pressure, Harry. We can make a real difference.”

Harry looked at you, his gaze softening. “I think you’re going to be an incredible queen.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The morning after your first public engagement, you woke up feeling dizzy and feverish. Your head throbbed with an intensity that made you cringe as soon as you opened your eyes. The sharp pain shot through your temples like needles, and your body felt like it had been run over by a carriage.

You pushed yourself out of bed, but as soon as your feet touched the floor, nausea overwhelmed you. You stumbled to the bathroom and barely managed to make it before you threw up, the entire experience leaving you trembling with weakness.

The fever was high, unmistakably high -!your temperature soaring well past 40°C, and your entire body shivered uncontrollably.

But you had duties.

You didn’t have the luxury to rest. You were the future Queen of England. You had an image to maintain, and there was no way you could miss an engagement today.

You dragged yourself back into the bedroom, trying your best to dress and freshen up. The makeup team was due soon for a photoshoot, and the press was expecting you to be at an event later in the afternoon. You couldn’t afford to make a bad impression.

As you reached for your shoes, your legs buckled, and you nearly collapsed onto the bed. A wave of dizziness hit, and you closed your eyes, willing the spinning to stop.

Just then, the door swung open.

Harry stepped in, his face softening the moment he saw you. “What the hell is going on?”

You tried to sit up, brushing your damp hair out of your face. “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not fine, Y/N. You look like you’ve been run over.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, forcing a smile. “I have an event today. I can’t miss it.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. He feels your forehead. “You’re glowing.”

“I don’t have time for this.” You stood, swaying slightly, trying to keep your balance. “I need to look perfect, Harry. The press is watching, the public is watching. I can’t afford to miss this.”

He stepped forward, catching your arm as you swayed. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was firm, but there was an underlying worry. “You’re not fine. You’re seriously sick.”

You tried to pull away, but Harry’s grip tightened, and for once, you saw the seriousness in his eyes.

“You can’t keep pushing yourself like this,” he said sternly. “You need to listen to your body. Your health comes first.”

You shook your head stubbornly, feeling the sharp sting of the migraine flare up again. “I have to do this, Harry.”

Harry stepped back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fine.”

Before you could protest further, Harry moved swiftly, dialing his parents.

A few moments later, the phone call was over, and his voice was louder, more commanding than ever. “You’re staying in bed. I’m getting my parents here. They’re going to explain to you why you need to rest. Now.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Harry cut you off.

“No. Enough. I’m calling my mom to talk some sense into you.”

The Queen and King arrived shortly after, both looking concerned but not surprised.

Anne, ever the practical one, immediately stepped forward. “Y/N, love, you’re pale as a ghost. What on earth possessed you to try to power through this?”

You tried to sit up straighter, but a fresh wave of dizziness had you reaching for the bedpost for support.

“I… I have duties. I can’t cancel.”

The Queen’s expression softened, but her voice was firm. “You must take care of yourself, darling. The public and the royal duties will still be there, but your health won’t wait. This is exactly why you have to listen to your body.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Anne raised a hand gently to stop you. “Y/N, being sick like this isn’t something you can ignore. If you don’t rest, you’ll just make it worse. And then you won’t be able to do anything at all.”

Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of failing on such a public scale. You felt weak and helpless, which only made you more frustrated.

“I’m supposed to be perfect,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t mess up in front of the world. I can’t.”

Anne’s eyes softened as she sat beside you on the bed. “Sweetheart, no one expects you to be perfect all the time. Being sick doesn’t make you weak, and it certainly doesn’t make you unfit to be Queen. You need to rest.”

The King, usually a man of few words, nodded gravely. “You’ll find, Y/N, that your body won’t perform on willpower alone. If you ignore it now, it will be harder to recover later. You have to take care of yourself.”

You swallowed hard, the exhaustion weighing you down more than you wanted to admit.

Reluctantly, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay in bed.”

Harry walked over, his eyes softening at the sight of your flushed face and defeated posture. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself.”

He sat beside you, brushing your hair away from your forehead. “I don’t care about the press. I care about you.”

Anne stood and nodded to Harry, her tone lighter now. “We’ll check on you later, dear. Rest up. And don’t even think about getting out of bed.”

You managed a weak smile as they left, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to ease.

You spent the rest of the day in a haze of feverish sleep, your body struggling to heal. Harry stayed by your side, checking on you frequently, but for the most part, you slept through the hours.

As the day wore on, the fever began to break, and your headache began to dull, but you were still exhausted. Every time you woke, Harry would gently bring you some water, making sure you were comfortable, before allowing you to rest again.

Later that afternoon, Anne came by once more, bringing with her a light broth for you to eat. She fussed over you for a bit, tucking the blanket around your shoulders.

“You’re lucky you have a husband who cares about you so much,” she said, her voice teasing but warm.

You nodded, your throat sore. “I know.”

She smiled softly, smoothing your hair back. “Take this time to rest. It’s what you need.”

And though you didn’t want to admit it, deep down, you knew she was right. You couldn’t be the best for others if you didn’t first take care of yourself.

That night, Harry kissed your forehead, his touch warm.

“Rest, love. We’ll take on the world tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, your body finally giving in to the sleep it so desperately needed.

The next few days were a blur of sleep, recovery, and the occasional visit from Harry, Anne, and even the King. They had all been so understanding, but you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not being able to push through. You knew Harry had a lot on his plate, and he was determined to give you space to heal, but the guilt lingered.

Even though you were slowly recovering, it wasn’t easy being confined to bed, especially knowing how many people were depending on you. There was a royal function coming up soon, and you were expected to attend. The press was buzzing about the newlywed royals, and you could already hear the whispers about your health.

Despite the warmth of Harry’s care and the support of his family, your mind raced, filled with worries about the responsibilities awaiting you.

As the fever finally broke, you started to feel like yourself again, though you were still weak. You hadn’t fully recovered yet, but you were desperate to get back into the swing of things.

Harry, on the other hand, remained calm and patient, sensing your restlessness. He had seen how hard you were pushing yourself before you got sick, and he wasn’t going to let you do the same now that you were recovering.

One afternoon, after a quiet breakfast in your private suite, Harry gently took your hands in his, his eyes serious yet filled with understanding.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “you’re not going back to work yet.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he stopped you. “You’re still not fully recovered. Your health comes first.”

You sighed, feeling frustrated. “But Harry, we have so much to do. People are depending on us. The press, the charities, the royal engagements.”

“I know,” he said, his voice steady. “But the only way you’re going to be good for them is if you’re good for yourself first. No one can do this job perfectly all the time.”

You met his gaze, realizing how much he had learned in such a short time - how much he truly understood the weight of everything you were both about to face.

“Okay,” you murmured reluctantly. “But I’ll go stir-crazy if I stay in bed much longer.”

Harry chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “We’ll take it slow. I promise. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

Two weeks later, you were finally well enough to attend a royal event again, though still not at full strength. Your doctors insisted on a low-key return to the public eye, which meant a quiet appearance at a charity gala focused on education. The last thing they wanted was for you to relapse, but they also understood that as the future Queen, you couldn’t stay behind the palace walls forever.

Harry stood by your side, ever vigilant, as you entered the gala with your head held high. The press buzzed with excitement, flashes of cameras illuminating the room. Your heart skipped a beat, but this time, you weren’t focused on perfection. Instead, you focused on the cause - the charity that meant so much to you both.

And with Harry at your side, you felt strong enough to face it.

Despite the exhaustion from the previous days, you were determined to show that you could manage both the responsibilities of your new life and your health. Harry’s quiet support gave you strength, and soon you were engaging with the guests, smiling for photos, and genuinely feeling like you were doing some good in the world.

The event was a success, and afterward, you and Harry shared a private moment in a quiet corner of the palace.

“You were amazing tonight,” Harry said, his eyes filled with admiration. “I knew you could do it.”

You smiled, still a little exhausted but proud of yourself. “I just had to pace myself. But I’m glad I could do something good again.”

Harry pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/N. You’re already doing more than enough. You’re the future Queen of England, and that’s more than anyone could ask for.”

You sighed, resting your head on his chest. “I just want to be the best I can be for you… and for us.”

Harry kissed your forehead, a soft smile spreading across his face. “You are. And I’ll always be here for you. We’re in this together, every step of the way.”

And with those words, you knew that no matter how difficult the road ahead might be, you weren’t alone. Harry was by your side, and together, you would face the challenges of the royal world and carve out a life full of love and purpose.

The weight of the crown, you realized, was much easier to bear when you had someone like him to share it with.

A few months after your return to public life, you had settled into a rhythm. The constant media attention had become less daunting, and the long hours of charity work and public engagements had started to feel like a second nature. The more you learned, the more you realized just how important your role was - not just for the people of England, but for Harry too.

You had truly become a team.

But with that comfort, there was always an underlying sense of pressure. The responsibility of ruling the country one day weighed heavily on both of you. Harry still hadn’t completely adjusted to the idea of becoming King, though he had grown into his duties with grace and determination. And, as always, your role as his partner was pivotal.

It was one early evening when you were all seated in the family’s private dining room at Buckingham Palace. The table was beautifully set, the soft glow of the chandelier reflecting off the polished surface. There was an air of quiet anticipation - something was clearly on Harry’s parents’ minds.

You sat beside Harry, glancing at him. He looked pensive, as if already aware of what was coming. His fingers lightly brushed against yours, a reassuring touch, but you could sense his anxiety.

The King and Queen had yet to speak, but when they finally did, it was clear they had something serious to discuss.

“Harry, Y/N,” the Queen began, her voice calm but direct. “There are some matters we need to discuss regarding the future of the monarchy.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, his eyes locking onto his mother. You felt the sudden tension in the room, the quiet thrum of something unspoken hanging in the air.

The King leaned forward slightly, his usual stoic expression softened just enough to reveal the importance of his words. “We’ve been discussing the future of this family and the crown for some time. The time has come for you to step into a new role, Harry.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what was happening. You glanced at Harry, who was now looking at his father with a quiet intensity, processing the weight of the statement.

“We believe it’s time for you to officially begin preparing to take over as King,” the Queen continued, her voice steady but undeniably firm. “It’s not a decision we’ve made lightly, but we think the time has come for you to assume your rightful place.”

The room fell silent. Harry’s lips parted, but no words came out. He looked like he was swallowing a lump in his throat, the reality of what was being said hitting him harder than ever before.

You could see the tension in his body - his shoulders tense, his jaw tight.

“The country needs you, Harry,” the King added, his voice grave. “And with your marriage to Y/N, it’s only a matter of time before the transition is made. We trust that you will rise to the occasion, but it’s time to prepare. And we need to be certain you’re ready.”

Harry shifted in his seat, the weight of the moment weighing heavily on him. “I… I’m not sure I’m ready,” he said quietly.

The Queen smiled softly. “You will be. But you need to understand that this change comes with great responsibility - something we can’t delay any longer. The monarchy cannot remain stagnant.”

You could see Harry fighting with his emotions, his desire to step up mixed with his uncertainty about what it all meant.

“And there’s another matter,” the King continued, his tone shifting slightly, as if to take the edge off the seriousness of what had been said. “We are looking toward the future of the monarchy in more ways than one.”

Harry glanced at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“We want grandchildren, Harry,” the Queen stated plainly, her gaze meeting yours now. “The people are eager to see a new generation in the family. You and Y/N are already the future of the monarchy, but to solidify that future, it’s time to start thinking about building a family.”

You blinked, your heart racing. The sudden shift in the conversation had caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected them to bring up children so soon. Of course, you had talked about it privately with Harry, but hearing it from his parents - especially in such a serious context - made the pressure feel so much heavier.

Harry’s face flushed slightly as he processed their words. “I… I didn’t realize you were thinking about that yet.”

The Queen smiled kindly, though her words carried the weight of royalty. “You have to understand, Harry, that the crown isn’t just about your duties. It’s about the legacy that you will leave behind. The people need to know that there’s continuity. We are asking you to start thinking about children in the near future, perhaps sooner than you might have anticipated.”

You felt Harry’s hand tighten around yours under the table. “I-” he started but faltered, unsure of how to articulate his thoughts. He wasn’t ready for the magnitude of their expectations. He had never imagined this part of the royal journey would come with such urgency.

“I understand,” you interjected softly, sensing Harry’s discomfort. “But we’re not rushing this. We’ll do it when we’re ready, together.”

The Queen’s gaze softened at your words. “Of course. We don’t mean to rush you, Y/N. But you must understand the position we’re in. The monarchy thrives on legacy and continuity. The sooner you’re able to expand your family, the sooner the country will have the stability it craves.”

You glanced at Harry, his features conflicted. You could feel his unease, his desire to meet his parents’ expectations, but you also knew how much pressure he was already carrying.

“I just… I want to do this right,” Harry finally said, his voice rough. “I don’t want to let anyone down, especially you.”

The King reached across the table, placing a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You won’t, son. We have no doubt you’ll be ready. Just remember, you’re not in this alone. You and Y/N will face it together, and that’s all we ask.”

The Queen nodded in agreement. “The future of the monarchy rests in your hands, Harry. But we know you’re capable. We just wanted to have this conversation now, so you’re aware of what lies ahead.”

You squeezed Harry’s hand tighter, reassuring him silently. He didn’t need to take on the world alone. You were right there with him, every step of the way.

“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice quieter but filled with sincerity. “I… I’ll start preparing. For all of it.”

The Queen smiled, and the King gave a nod of approval. “We have faith in you both. And don’t forget, we’ll be here to help you when the time comes.”

As the conversation wound down, you and Harry shared a private glance. The weight of the future - of children, of being King and Queen - was a lot to bear, but at least you had each other. And that, for now, was enough.

Later that evening, you and Harry took a walk through the palace gardens, the soft moonlight casting a calming glow over the peaceful surroundings. The conversation with his parents lingered in both of your minds. The pressure, the expectations, and the future were all hanging heavily over you.

But Harry was still holding your hand tightly, as though grounding himself in the present.

“Do you feel ready for all this?” you asked quietly, unsure if you meant the responsibility or the idea of starting a family so soon.

Harry paused, turning to face you. His expression was open, vulnerable. “Honestly? No. But I know we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Together,” you repeated softly, feeling your heart steady in his presence.

And in that moment, despite the uncertainty and the pressure, you knew one thing for sure - you and Harry would face whatever came next as a team. Together.

[28harryssunflower]

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 1/4

Royal scandal: Part 1

The grand dining hall of Buckingham Palace was oppressively silent, save for the sound of silverware clinking against fine china. Candlelight flickered off the polished mahogany table, casting long shadows across the velvet-draped walls.

Harry pushed the food around on his plate, barely listening to his mother’s polite small talk with one of the visiting dignitaries. His father sat at the head of the table, regal as always, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a deliberate clearing of his throat, King Edward turned his attention to Harry.

“It’s time we discuss something important,” the King said, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink. The conversation around them quieted instantly.

Harry sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” His father’s tone was firm. “You are twenty-one, Harry. It’s time you start taking your responsibilities seriously.”

Harry exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. “I am taking my responsibilities seriously.”

The King scoffed. “Is that what you call the drunken outings? The constant presence of your name in the tabloids? The string of women you leave behind without a second thought?”

A muscle in Harry’s jaw tightened. “What I do in my personal life is my business.”

“Not when you are the Prince of England.” The King’s voice grew sharper. “You cannot behave like some reckless commoner with no obligations. Your duty is to this country, to your people. It is time to act like it.”

Queen Anne sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

“No, we will discuss this now,” the King said. “Harry needs to understand the weight of his position.” He turned back to Harry, eyes cold and unwavering. “You will be married within the next six months.”

Harry froze.

His fork clattered against his plate, the sound echoing through the silent room.

“What?”

“You heard me,” his father continued. “You are of age, and it is time you settle down. If you do not find a suitable wife soon, I will choose one for you.”

Harry let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious.”

The King’s expression didn’t waver. “I am.”

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t just force me into a marriage.”

“You are a prince, Harry. This is how things work. A marriage will stabilize your image and strengthen alliances. You will choose a woman of noble standing, someone with grace, intelligence, and the ability to uphold the duties of a princess. No more scandals, no more reckless behavior.”

Harry pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the marble floor. “And what if I refuse?”

His father’s eyes darkened. “Then I will make the decision for you.”

Harry clenched his fists, rage bubbling beneath his skin. “So that’s it? You’d just hand me off to some woman I don’t even love? Someone who only cares about the title, the money, the power?”

His father’s gaze remained hard. “Love is a luxury, not a necessity.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You already have everything you want.”

Queen Anne frowned, her voice softer. “Harry, I know this may seem unfair, but-“

“No.” He cut her off, his voice sharp. “It’s not fair. It’s my life.”

His father stood, his towering presence only adding to the tension. “You are a prince before you are a man. And you will do what is required of you.”

Harry’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His entire life had been dictated by duty, by expectations, by rules. But this? This was too far.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the dining hall, ignoring the calls of his mother and the murmurs of the guests. He needed air. He needed an escape.

That was how he found himself in the heart of London hours later, dressed in worn jeans and a hoodie, stepping into a dimly lit bar.

The place smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke, the low hum of conversation blending with the faint sound of a jukebox playing an old rock song. It was exactly what he needed.

Behind the bar, you were wiping down the counter when he approached. You recognized him immediately - how could you not? He was the Prince of England, his face plastered across tabloids and news outlets constantly.

But instead of gawking or treating him like royalty, you simply raised an eyebrow.

“What’ll it be?”

Harry smirked, but there was a bitterness to it. “You’re not gonna bow or curtsy?”

You snorted, leaning on the counter. “You want me to? ’Cause I’m pretty sure you came in here looking like a regular bloke for a reason.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. Most people fawned over him, desperate for a selfie or a conversation that they could brag about later. But you… you didn’t seem to care.

And for the first time that day, Harry felt like he could breathe.

So he told you everything. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way you just listened, nodding along without judgment. You even did a few shots with him, making sure he had a good time. He didn’t have to be Prince Harry here - he could just be Harry.

And when the night ended, it didn’t feel like a mistake when he ended up in your bed.

One night turned into two. Then three. Then a routine.

Harry kept coming back, and you never asked for anything more than what he was willing to give. No expectations, no pressure. Just him.

But that all came crashing down one night when, at nearly 3AM, frantic knocking at your door jolted you awake.

You barely had time to open it before Harry barreled inside, his face streaked with tears, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“I can’t do this,” he choked out, collapsing into your arms. “My father’s going to start looking for a wife for me. I can’t- I won’t… be forced into some loveless marriage with a woman who only wants the title. I just want-“ He sucked in a breath. “I just want to be happy. I want love. A real family. Not something arranged for me like I’m some pawn.”

You held him, running soothing circles along his back. You wanted to say something comforting, but what words could possibly fix this?

And then, an idea struck.

“Harry,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his red-rimmed eyes. “What if… what if you introduced me to them?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“What if we got married?” You swallowed hard, nervous about his reaction. “I mean, at least we like each other. It wouldn’t be forced. And it’d buy you time - keep you from being stuck with someone awful.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “They’d never let me marry a bartender.”

“Then I won’t be a bartender.” You took a breath. “I’ll tell them I’m in college, that I’d drop out for you. We can make this work - we just have to convince them.”

He stared at you, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

Then, against all odds, a small, breathless laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re mad.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But so are you for coming here at 3AM crying in my arms.”

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, he looked at you again - really looked at you.

“Alright,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s do it.”

The plan was simple.

Well, as simple as introducing a commoner bartender to the King and Queen of England under the guise of being a respectable college student could be.

Harry sat across from you in your small apartment, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as he stared at the floor. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

“This is crazy,” he muttered.

You leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms. “A little.”

“They’ll never go for it.”

You shrugged. “Not if you walk in there doubting it. You have to make them believe it.”

Harry let out a deep sigh and dragged his hands through his curls. You could tell he was struggling. He wanted a way out of this marriage arrangement, but deceiving his family - especially his mother - wasn’t something he took lightly.

“You know they’ll do a background check on you, right?” he asked.

“Obviously,” you said. “Which is why we have to be smart. I’ll tell them I’m in school, that I study… something impressive.”

“Political science,” Harry said quickly. “That would make sense. It would explain why we met - maybe at some charity event or lecture I attended.”

You nodded. “Right. And we’ve been seeing each other for months now, just keeping it quiet.”

Harry exhaled sharply, glancing over at you. “And you’d really do this?”

You looked at him, taking in the uncertainty in his eyes. This wasn’t just about helping him avoid a loveless marriage. It was more than that. Somewhere along the way, what started as casual hookups and late-night conversations had turned into something deeper. You liked him - more than you should have, more than you were willing to admit.

So you swallowed down the nerves creeping up your spine and nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

His lips parted slightly, his gaze searching yours. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he must have found it.

Because he whispered, “Okay.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation.

Harry took care of the logistics, ensuring that you were given the right credentials, setting up a believable history of your supposed time at university. He even had someone help polish up your online presence - social media accounts cleaned up, LinkedIn updated with impressive details that made you sound like a brilliant up-and-coming scholar rather than a bartender slinging drinks to London’s rowdiest crowds.

Meanwhile, you practiced.

You memorized details about your “studies,” learned the etiquette of addressing royals properly (even though Harry assured you that his parents wouldn’t expect you to bow or curtsy), and prepared answers for the inevitable questions about your background.

But the hardest part wasn’t the preparation.

It was the waiting.

The night before you were supposed to meet them, Harry stayed over. You sat together on your couch, both nursing glasses of whiskey, the air between you heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“If this goes wrong…” Harry murmured, staring at his glass.

You shifted closer to him. “Then we deal with it.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

Harry turned his head toward you, his green eyes filled with something unreadable. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest moment before he shook his head and looked away.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered.

You frowned. “Don’t deserve what?”

“This. You.” He swallowed. “I dragged you into this mess, and you’re willing to lie to my entire family just to help me.”

Your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just about helping him.

But instead, you smirked and nudged his shoulder. “Well, I’m not doing it for free. I expect lifetime access to the palace’s wine collection.”

Harry huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Deal.”

Buckingham Palace was even more intimidating in person.

You had never been inside before, and now, standing in the grand foyer with its towering ceilings and ornate chandeliers, you felt very, very small.

Harry stood beside you, dressed in a sharp navy suit, looking every bit the prince he was. He had told you not to be nervous, that his mother would be kind and his father would be fair.

But none of that mattered when the King and Queen of England entered the room.

Queen Anne was graceful and poised, her smile warm as she took you in. She was beautiful, elegant in a way that made you understand why the country adored her.

King Edward, on the other hand, was… intimidating. His gaze was sharp, assessing, his posture rigid as he studied you.

“So,” the King said, his voice deep and measured. “You are the woman my son has been seeing.”

You straightened your spine, keeping your expression polite but neutral. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

There was a pause. The tension in the room was thick, like everyone was waiting for someone to say something that would determine the entire outcome of this meeting.

Queen Anne smiled. “Harry has spoken highly of you.”

You glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.

You turned back to her. “That’s very kind of him.”

“What is it you study?” the King asked.

“Political science,” you answered smoothly. “I’ve always been passionate about government and international relations.”

The Queen tilted her head. “How did you two meet?”

Harry stepped in. “At a private charity event. We got to talking about politics, and we just… connected.”

The King didn’t seem convinced. He studied you for a long moment before finally saying, “And tell me, if this were to continue - if it were to become official - would you be willing to give up your personal ambitions to stand by my son’s side?”

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “If it meant supporting Harry, then yes.”

The Queen seemed pleased with that answer. The King, however, remained unreadable.

Finally, he looked at Harry. “A word. Alone.”

Harry stiffened, but nodded.

You watched as he followed his father out of the room, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Queen Anne turned to you with a kind smile. “Would you like some tea while they talk?”

You managed a smile, but your mind was racing.

The moment the King led Harry out of the room, your stomach twisted into knots.

Queen Anne, ever the picture of warmth and grace, poured you a cup of tea with delicate hands, as if this were nothing more than an afternoon social call. You tried to steady your nerves, tried to ignore the fact that just beyond these walls, Harry was being confronted by one of the most powerful men in the world.

You wrapped your hands around the fine china cup, more for something to hold than to actually drink from it.

The Queen studied you for a moment before speaking. “I must say, I was quite surprised when Harry told us about you.”

You forced a polite smile. “I imagine so.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Not because of who you are, but because Harry has never been one to commit. Not to anything that wasn’t forced upon him.”

Your throat tightened. Was this a test? A warning?

“You must mean a great deal to him if he brought you here,” she continued.

You hesitated before responding. “I’d like to think so.”

The Queen smiled knowingly, but there was something sharp in her eyes, something that told you she wasn’t as easily convinced as she seemed.

You were about to say something else when the doors swung open, and Harry reentered. You barely had time to assess his expression before he turned to you.

“We should go.”

Something was wrong.

You set down your tea and rose to your feet, glancing at the Queen, who simply nodded in farewell. As you followed Harry out of the room, you kept your voice low.

“What happened?”

He didn’t respond until you were outside, stepping into the sleek black car waiting to take you away from Buckingham Palace. The second the doors shut, Harry let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“He doesn’t believe it,” he muttered.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“My father. He doesn’t believe us.”

You swallowed hard. “What did he say?”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He said I’m lying. That this is all an act to get out of my arranged marriage. That you’re nothing more than an excuse.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “So what now?”

Harry turned to you, his jaw tight, his green eyes dark with frustration. “Now? Now he’s going to do everything in his power to prove I’m lying.”

Over the next week, the scrutiny was relentless.

The palace had people digging into your past, scouring every detail of your life, looking for any reason to dismiss you. Paparazzi started sniffing around, and before long, tabloids were already speculating about Harry’s “mystery woman.”

You’d never been under this kind of microscope before. At work, people whispered when they saw you. Your coworkers asked questions. And when the first grainy photos of you and Harry surfaced online - him walking you to your door, his hand lingering on your waist - the media frenzy only grew worse.

But the real pressure came from within the palace itself.

Queen Anne invited you to lunch three days after your meeting, her expression as gentle as ever but her words careful. “You must understand,” she said, her hands folded neatly on the table, “this isn’t just about Harry. It’s about the monarchy, about the future of the country. If you truly care for him, you must be prepared for what this life entails.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge.

And then there was the King.

He summoned you alone one evening, without Harry’s knowledge. The meeting took place in one of the palace’s smaller sitting rooms, the air thick with unspoken tension.

The King sat across from you, his sharp eyes assessing, calculating. “You think this will work?” he asked bluntly.

You held his gaze. “I think Harry should be allowed to choose his own future.”

A small, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And you believe you are that future?

You swallowed, keeping your expression steady. “I believe I care about him enough to try.”

The King leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, how much is he paying you?”

The words struck like a slap. Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to let the shock show.

“I’m sorry?”

The King’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so cold. “I know my son. He is desperate to escape the obligations placed upon him, desperate enough to go to great lengths to do so.” He tilted his head. “So tell me - how much did he offer you? Money? Status? What was the deal?”

Your blood ran cold.

Your entire life, you had been underestimated, dismissed by people who thought they were better than you. But this - this was the King of England accusing you of being a gold-digger, a liar, a pawn in his son’s game.

And you wouldn’t stand for it.

You straightened your shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t need Harry’s money. I don’t need his title. I don’t need anything from him.”

The King studied you, but you weren’t done.

“I didn’t come into his life looking for a way out of mine. And I certainly didn’t agree to this relationship because of what he could offer me. I care about him. I see him as a person, not just a prince. And if that’s not good enough for you, then I don’t know what is.”

A beat of silence passed.

And then, to your utter shock, the King chuckled.

It was a deep, knowing sound, like he had expected you to break and was almost impressed that you hadn’t. He stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his perfectly tailored suit.

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose we’ll see how long you last.”

And just like that, he walked out, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

Your hands trembled slightly as you exhaled.

This wasn’t just a test anymore.

This was war.

When you told Harry about the conversation later that night, he was furious.

“He what?” Harry’s voice was sharp, his hands clenched into fists as he paced your apartment. “He accused you of- bloody hell.”

You sat on the couch, watching him wear a hole into your floor. “Harry, calm down.”

“No.” He stopped, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “He had no right to do that. No right to treat you like-” He cut himself off, his jaw tight.

You stood, walking over to him and resting a hand on his arm. “I handled it.”

Harry’s expression softened slightly, but the frustration didn’t leave his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You sighed. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. And honestly? I think your dad respects me more now.”

Harry let out a breath, dragging a hand through his curls. “That makes one of us.”

You smirked. “Oh, come on. What would be the fun in this if there wasn’t a bit of royal drama?”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

Harry exhaled and cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Here we are.”

And as he kissed you, slow and deep, you realized something terrifying.

This wasn’t just a plan anymore.

You were falling for him.

And if this all went wrong, you weren’t sure your heart would survive it.

It had been two weeks since your confrontation with the King.

Two weeks of scrutiny, of whispered meetings with Harry in your apartment, of watching the media dissect every little movement you made. The palace hadn’t officially acknowledged your relationship, but the press had already put the pieces together. Every tabloid ran their own version of the story - some calling you a mystery scholar, others labeling you a gold-digger who had seduced the prince.

And through it all, Harry had been by your side.

He showed up at your apartment almost every night, exhausted and frustrated, but unwilling to let this fight go. You’d stay up for hours, strategizing your next move, trying to find a way to win his father over. But as much as you prepared, you knew one thing - if the King had already made up his mind, nothing would change it.

And that became painfully clear when Harry got the news.

The King had begun the search for his future wife.

Harry stormed into your apartment that night, his face red with anger, his curls a mess from running his hands through them. The moment he saw you, he grabbed your face and kissed you - desperate, urgent, like he needed to remind himself that you were real.

When he pulled away, he was breathing heavily.

“He’s doing it,” he spat. “He’s already selecting candidates. He’s meeting with their families, setting up discreet meetings.”

You felt your stomach drop.

“Harry-“

“I won’t do it.” His voice was sharp, unwavering. “I won’t marry some aristocrat I don’t know. I won’t be forced into a life I don’t want.”

You swallowed, reaching for his hands. “Then we have to do something.”

He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around yours. “Like what?”

And that’s when the idea hit you.

“An engagement.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

You took a deep breath. “If we announce our engagement first - publicly - then your father will have no choice but to acknowledge us. He can’t force you into another marriage if the world already sees you as taken.”

Harry stared at you, his green eyes searching yours. “That’s insane.”

You shrugged. “A little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to your shock, Harry let out a small, breathless laugh.

“You’re serious.”

You lifted a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He ran a hand down his face. “Because this isn’t just pretending anymore. This would mean… forever.”

Something in your chest tightened, but you kept your voice steady. “Is that really so bad?”

Harry’s expression shifted. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not if it’s with you.”

Your breath caught.

And then, just like that, the decision was made.

The palace was in chaos.

The moment Harry posted a simple photo on Instagram - his hand wrapped around yours, a stunning engagement ring on your finger - the world erupted.

News outlets scrambled for statements. Social media went into a frenzy. And within an hour, Buckingham Palace was forced to issue a public response.

You sat in your apartment, your phone buzzing nonstop, watching the royal spokesperson deliver a carefully worded statement on TV.

“His Royal Highness Prince Henry has announced his engagement. The Royal Family was not made aware of this decision beforehand, but we offer our congratulations and will provide further statements in due course.”

Not exactly the warmest endorsement.

But it didn’t matter. Because now, the entire world knew.

And that meant the King couldn’t erase you.

Harry had warned you that the palace would summon you soon.

He just didn’t expect it to happen the next morning.

You barely had time to process the news before a sleek black car arrived at your apartment, and suddenly, you were being driven straight to Buckingham Palace.

By the time you entered the grand hall, your nerves were on fire.

Harry was already there, standing tall in front of his parents. Queen Anne looked composed, her lips pressed together as she studied you. But King Edward…

He was furious.

His gaze cut through you like a blade. “So this is how you do things?” he said coldly. “Announcing an engagement without our approval? Trapping us into accepting this circus?”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to back down. You lifted your chin. “Harry made his choice.”

The King scoffed. “A choice? No, this is manipulation. A desperate attempt to back us into a corner.” His sharp eyes turned to Harry. “And you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice unwavering. “I chose her.”

The King clenched his jaw. “Do you even understand the consequences of this? You think you can just marry some commoner and expect the world to accept it?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Maybe the world would accept it if you did.”

The tension was suffocating.

And then, for the first time, Queen Anne spoke.

“I’d like a moment alone with her.”

Everyone turned to look at her. The King frowned, but after a long pause, he nodded. “Fine.”

Harry hesitated before turning to you. His fingers brushed against yours in a silent reassurance before he followed his father out of the room.

And then it was just you and the Queen.

She studied you for a long moment before finally speaking. “Are you in love with him?”

The question caught you off guard. You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Were you?

This had started as a plan - a way to protect Harry from an arranged marriage. But somewhere along the way, you had fallen. Fallen for his laughter, his late-night rants about music, the way he looked at you like you were the only person who had ever really seen him.

So you took a deep breath and told the truth.

“Yes.”

Queen Anne’s expression didn’t change. “And do you truly believe you can handle this life?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”

She was silent for a moment. Then, to your shock, she let out a soft chuckle.

“You remind me of myself,” she murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

She smiled, but there was a knowing sadness in her eyes. “When I married Edward, I wasn’t what the world expected, either. I was too bold, too outspoken, too… untraditional.” She sighed. “But I loved him. And I fought for my place here.”

She met your gaze.

“So if you truly love my son, then fight for him.”

Your breath caught. “Does that mean…?”

The Queen smiled faintly. “It means I won’t stand in your way.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

She wasn’t giving you full approval. Not yet.

But she was giving you a chance.

And right now, that was more than enough.

When you walked out of the room, Harry was waiting.

The moment he saw you, he rushed forward, his hands finding yours. “What happened?”

You took a deep breath, then smiled.

“She’s on our side.”

Harry’s lips parted in shock. Then, without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off the ground.

And as he kissed you - right there in the halls of Buckingham Palace - you realized something.

This wasn’t a plan anymore.

This was real.

And you were ready to fight for it.

You weren’t surprised when the King requested to see you alone.

After all, Queen Anne may have been willing to give you a chance, but King Edward? He wasn’t one to accept things so easily.

So when a royal advisor arrived at your apartment with the summons, you didn’t hesitate. You knew what this was. A test. A final attempt to break you, to make you doubt yourself, to push you into walking away.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

You were led through the grand halls of Buckingham Palace, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Every corner of this place reminded you that you didn’t belong here - not yet. But if the King thought he could intimidate you into submission, he was about to be very disappointed.

The advisor finally stopped in front of a massive oak door. “He’s waiting inside,” he said stiffly.

You nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped in.

King Edward was seated in a large armchair near the fireplace, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly over his knee. The room was dimly lit, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face. He didn’t look up immediately, instead staring at the fire as if deep in thought.

You didn’t speak first. If there was one thing you’d learned from watching him, it was that he commanded every room he was in. He expected obedience. Expected people to fold under his silence.

So you waited.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled sharply through his nose and turned his gaze toward you.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

But you stayed standing.

“I’d rather not.”

His brow arched slightly, the first sign of surprise. “Is that so?”

You lifted your chin. “If you called me here just to intimidate me, Your Majesty, I’d rather skip the formalities.”

Something flickered in his eyes - annoyance, amusement, you weren’t sure. He studied you for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair.

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “I think I love your son.”

His jaw tightened. “Love.” He let the word linger in the air before scoffing. “Do you have any idea what it means to love someone like Harry? What it means to be part of this family?”

“I understand more than you think.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Then you understand that this isn’t a fairy tale. You are not a princess. You are not meant for this life.”

You clenched your fists. “Who decides that? You?”

“Yes.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “I decide. Because I have spent my entire life protecting this family, this monarchy, from people like you.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “People like me?”

“People who don’t understand what this life requires. People who think love is enough to survive it. People who will break under the weight of it.” His eyes burned into yours. “You think you’re ready for this? Ready to be scrutinized, criticized, torn apart by the press? Ready to be hated by the people who don’t believe you deserve to stand beside him? Ready to sacrifice your life, your privacy, your freedom?”

Your throat tightened. You had thought about it. But hearing it like this - so brutally, so coldly - made it real.

Still, you didn’t back down.

“I don’t care what the press says about me,” you said firmly. “I don’t care about the public’s approval. I don’t care about titles or palaces or any of this.” You took a step forward, your voice unwavering. “The only thing I care about is Harry. And I won’t walk away just because you think I should.”

The King’s expression darkened. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.” You met his gaze without flinching. “Because if you keep pushing Harry away, you’ll lose him.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed. “You think he’d leave his family?”

“I think he’s already considering it.”

That hit its mark.

For the first time, King Edward looked genuinely unsettled.

Good.

You took another step forward, your voice softening just enough. “I don’t want to take him from you. I don’t want to be the reason he walks away. But if you force him into a life he doesn’t want… if you push him into a marriage that will make him miserable… he will leave.”

Silence.

The King stared at you, his expression unreadable.

And then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he said, “Do you truly love him?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing for a brief moment. When he looked at you again, something in his gaze had shifted.

Not acceptance. Not approval.

But understanding.

“Then prove it.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“If you truly love my son,” the King said, standing to his full height, towering over you, “then prove it. Prove that you can handle this life. That you can handle me.”

You squared your shoulders. “I already have.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk but refused to.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, leaving the room.

The moment the door shut behind him, you finally exhaled, your hands shaking.

You had won - for now.

But this war wasn’t over.

Not yet.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before the door finally opened again.

Harry rushed in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His brows were furrowed, his jaw tense. “What did he say to you?”

You swallowed, still feeling the weight of the conversation. “He tested me.”

Harry stepped closer, reaching for your hands. His were warm, steady - grounding. “What do you mean?”

You met his gaze. “He wanted me to back down. To walk away. To prove that I wasn’t strong enough for this.”

Harry exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he did.” His grip tightened around yours. “And?”

You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t.”

His expression softened, something like admiration flickering in his green eyes. “You stood up to him.”

You gave a small, tired smile. “For you? Always.”

Harry cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “You shouldn’t have to fight for me.”

“But I will.” You held his gaze, unwavering. “If that’s what it takes, I will.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, but there was something vulnerable in it. Like he wasn’t used to being fought for. Like he had spent his whole life being treated as an asset, a pawn in the monarchy’s game. And now, here you were, standing in front of him - defying the King himself - just to be with him.

His lips met yours, slow and lingering, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word into the kiss. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you.” His voice was hoarse, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for too long.

Your breath hitched. You had known it - felt it - but hearing it was something else entirely.

You smiled, your fingers curling around his collar. “I love you too.”

A soft knock at the door made you both pull apart.

A royal advisor stepped in, looking as stiff as ever. “His Majesty requests an audience with the Prince.”

Harry frowned. “Alone?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Harry looked back at you, hesitation flickering across his face. You squeezed his hand. “Go,” you whispered. “See what he wants.”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly reluctant, but nodded. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before following the advisor out of the room.

And you?

You stayed behind, your mind spinning.

Because while you had won the first battle, you knew the war was far from over.

Harry returned hours later, his face unreadable as he shut the door behind him.

You stood from the couch immediately. “What happened?”

Harry dragged a hand through his curls before finally looking at you. “He gave me a choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “What choice?”

His jaw clenched. “Stay in the royal family and marry someone of his choosing… or leave it all behind.”

Silence.

Your heart pounded. “Harry…”

His eyes softened as he stepped forward, his hands settling on your waist. “I told him my answer before he even finished speaking.”

You swallowed hard. “Which is?”

His thumb brushed against your hip. “You.”

Your breath caught.

Harry took a deep breath, his voice steady. “I’d rather walk away from the crown than lose you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His hands moved to cradle your face. “I was born into this, but it’s not my life. It’s theirs. And if I have to give it up to be happy, then so be it.”

You shook your head, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I don’t want you to resent me-“

“I could never resent you.” His gaze was fierce, unwavering. “You are the only thing in my life that feels real. And I won’t let my father take that from me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “What happens now?”

Harry’s lips pressed into a firm line. “We fight.”

And looking into his eyes, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t fighting alone.

You weren’t going to stand by and let this happen.

The moment Harry told you what his father had said - what he was threatening - something inside you snapped.

You knew the King didn’t approve of you. That he wanted you gone. But to go as far as to force Harry to choose between you and his entire family?

No. Absolutely not.

So while Harry was in another wing of the palace, distracted in a meeting, you stormed through the halls of Buckingham Palace with a fire in your veins. The staff gawked as you passed, but no one dared to stop you. Maybe it was the determination in your stride, or maybe they were simply too stunned to believe what they were seeing - a commoner marching straight toward the King’s office unannounced.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed open the heavy oak doors with more force than necessary, making them slam against the walls.

King Edward looked up from his desk, startled for only a second before his expression turned to cold disapproval.

“You are out of line,” he said sharply.

You didn’t care.

You stepped inside, shutting the doors behind you. “You can’t do this to him.”

The King leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a blank expression. “Do what?”

“Don’t play games with me.” Your voice shook with anger. “You know what. You can’t just kick your own son out of the family because he refuses to be your puppet.”

Edward’s eyes darkened. “You think this is my doing? Harry made his own choice.”

“No, you forced his hand.” You stepped closer, slamming your hands onto his desk. “You gave him an impossible choice: abandon me or abandon his entire family. Do you even hear yourself?”

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

Your chest heaved, your voice growing desperate. “You’re supposed to be his father. His family. And instead of supporting him, you’re pushing him away. You’re punishing him for wanting to be happy.”

King Edward let out a slow breath, his gaze sharp. “And what would you have me do? Let him throw away centuries of tradition for a woman who doesn’t belong in this world?”

You clenched your fists. “I don’t give a damn about tradition. What I care about is Harry. And whether you like it or not, he’s still your son. You can’t just cut him off because he refuses to live his life according to your rules.”

The King studied you, his eyes cold. “And why do you care so much? Is it because you fear losing your new luxurious lifestyle?”

Your anger flared so hot it nearly burned.

“You think this is about money?” Your voice rose, filled with frustration. “You think I’m doing all of this because I want a title? A palace? You have no idea who I am.”

The King arched a brow. “Enlighten me, then.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to steady. “I love Harry. Not because he’s a prince. Not because of his wealth or his status. I love him because he’s kind. Because he’s funny and stubborn and passionate. Because he’s the only person who has ever truly seen me.” You swallowed hard, eyes burning. “And I refuse to let you take him away from the people who love him just because he refuses to be your perfect prince.”

Silence.

You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating.

But you didn’t back down.

“I will fight for him,” you continued, voice unwavering. “I will fight for his happiness, for his right to choose his own life. Even if it means standing against you, I won’t give up on him.”

For a moment, the King just stared at you.

And then-

He grinned.

A slow, amused grin that made your stomach twist.

“Welcome to the family.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

The King leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “You passed.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His smirk deepened. “You think I was really going to cast my own son out?” He scoffed. “Harry may be reckless, but he’s still mine. I needed to see if you were strong enough to stand by him. If you’d crumble under pressure… or if you’d fight for him.”

Realization hit you like a freight train.

“This was all a test?” you said in disbelief.

The King’s expression turned knowing. “Did you really think I’d let my son marry someone who wouldn’t protect him?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Harry is emotional. Impulsive. He needs someone who will stand their ground, someone who won’t walk away when things get difficult.” He gave you a pointed look. “And you just proved that you’re exactly that person.”

You were still reeling. “So… you approve?”

The King chuckled, standing from his chair. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He smirked. “But I’ll allow it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. After everything - every argument, every moment of doubt - he was letting you stay.

You had won.

Just as you were about to respond, the doors suddenly flew open again.

Harry stormed in, his green eyes wide with panic. “What the hell is going on?” His gaze darted between you and his father, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I leave for one hour and suddenly you’re having a meeting without me?”

You turned to him, still stunned. “Harry…”

The King smirked. “Relax, son. Your little spitfire here just proved herself.”

Harry blinked, completely thrown. “Proved herself?”

The King clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “She’s a fighter. You chose well.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Wait- you mean?-“

“I won’t stand in your way,” Edward said simply. Then he turned to you, eyes glinting with something almost… proud. “But be warned, young lady - being part of this family is no easy task.”

You lifted your chin. “I never expected it to be.”

The King studied you for a final moment before nodding. “Good.” He glanced at Harry. “Try not to embarrass me, son.”

And with that, he strode past both of you, leaving the office like nothing had happened.

Harry stared after him, then turned to you. “What the hell just happened?”

You let out a breathless laugh, still processing. “I think… we won.”

Harry blinked. Then, without warning, he grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You shrieked in surprise, laughing as he kissed you - deep, desperate, filled with relief.

When he set you back down, he pressed his forehead against yours. “You did this for me?”

You smiled. “I’d do anything for you.”

His green eyes burned with love. “God, I love you so much.”

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew - this was just the beginning.

The moment the King gave his reluctant approval, everything changed.

There was no more hiding, no more sneaking around. The press exploded with headlines about Prince Harry’s shocking engagement to a commoner, the royal advisors scrambled to prepare the public for the news, and the palace staff suddenly had to make space for you in Buckingham Palace.

And you?

You were caught in the middle of a whirlwind.

Standing in your tiny apartment, surrounded by half-filled boxes, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness.

This place had been yours. A space that belonged to no one else, where you had lived freely, without the weight of the crown pressing down on you.

Now, you were about to trade it all for a palace.

For him.

Harry sat on your couch, watching as you folded a sweater into a box labeled clothes. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers playing with the rings on his hand.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You exhaled, forcing a smile. “Yeah. It’s just… weird.”

Harry nodded, understanding. “I get it. This is a big change.”

You looked at him, searching his face. “Are you sure about this? About me moving in?”

Harry scoffed, standing up and wrapping his arms around you. “Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time I woke up in your bed.” His lips brushed against your temple. “I want you there. I want to fall asleep with you every night. Wake up with you every morning.”

Your heart melted a little. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you, love.” He smirked before looking around the apartment. “Do you want to keep this place?”

You hesitated.

“I mean… it’s not like I need it,” you admitted. “But it’s the first place that ever felt like mine, you know?”

Harry nodded in understanding. “Then keep it.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His smile was soft. “You don’t have to live here, but it can still be yours. Somewhere to escape when the palace gets too much.”

Your chest tightened. How did he always know exactly what you needed?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “I love you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know.”

Walking into the palace with your belongings felt surreal.

The grand halls, the expensive paintings, the endless corridors - it still didn’t feel real. You weren’t just visiting anymore. You lived here now.

Staff members were already bringing in your boxes, setting them in the suite you’d now share with Harry. It was massive, more like an apartment within the palace itself, with high ceilings, antique furniture, and a balcony overlooking the royal gardens.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“This is insane,” you whispered.

Harry grinned, leaning against the doorway. “A bit different from your apartment, huh?”

You shot him a playful glare. “Just a bit.”

He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You’ll get used to it.”

You leaned into him, sighing. “I don’t want to lose myself, Harry.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You won’t. You’re you - the woman who stormed into my father’s office and yelled at the King of England.” He chuckled. “Trust me, no palace is gonna change you.”

You smiled, relaxing into his embrace.

Maybe he was right.

The next few weeks were absolute chaos.

Meetings with royal advisors, endless dress fittings, security briefings, and etiquette lessons that made your head spin. There were rules to follow now - how to sit, how to speak, how to wave (yes, there’s an actual royal wave).

Every day was another step closer to the wedding.

And every day, it felt more real.

One afternoon, you sat in the Queen’s private sitting room, flipping through a massive book of wedding venue options. Queen Anne sat across from you, poised and elegant as ever, but her gaze was warm.

“You must be exhausted,” she said knowingly.

You exhaled, nodding. “There’s just… a lot to take in.”

She smiled. “That’s an understatement.”

You hesitated before speaking. “How did you handle it? When you married the King?”

Her smile faltered just slightly, as if she were recalling something distant. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “I had to fight for my place, just like you.” She studied you for a moment. “But I see now why Harry chose you. You’re stronger than you realize.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. “Thank you.”

She nodded, flipping to another page in the book. “Now, let’s pick a venue before the King takes over and insists on Westminster Abbey.”

You laughed. “God forbid.”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

For the first time, you felt like you truly belonged.

This wedding - this life - was yours. And you were ready.

The morning of your wedding dawned with a golden sunrise spilling through the palace windows. The air buzzed with nervous excitement, and the entire world seemed to be watching.

Today, you would officially become a member of the royal family.

[28harryssunflower]

this blog hates donald trump

[28harryssunflower]

Please be careful on social media again, there’s pictures of Liam‘s body going around again. And also if you’re in any One Direction related group chats, don’t open any messages from a number you don’t know.

My best friend is in one of these group chats and got sent the picture on WhatsApp.

A lot of you probably don’t use WhatsApp, but it can basically happen on any other app too.

So please be careful with what you interact with. I happily haven’t seen the picture, and I hope it stays that way. And I think most of you are feeling the same way.

i hate it here

[28harryssunflower]

The call that changed everything

The first time you met Harry Styles, you knew you hated him.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was Harry Styles - world-famous singer, certified heartthrob, and, unfortunately, your sister’s best friend’s little brother. It wasn’t even because of his celebrity status. No, it was something much simpler.

It was him.

The cocky, self-assured way he sat in his chair when you walked in, completely at ease like he owned the place. The way his green eyes flicked up and down as he took you in, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. The way he didn’t even bother standing up to introduce himself, instead raising an eyebrow as if he had already decided you weren’t worth the effort.

“So this is the one you were raving about, Gem?” he drawled, barely sparing you a glance as he took a sip of his drink.

You folded your arms, unimpressed. “And this is Harry Styles? Thought you’d be taller.”

Gemma snorted, but Harry? His smirk only deepened.

“Feisty. That’s cute.”

Your teeth clenched. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a pet, Styles.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, love. Even pets are less annoying than you.”

And just like that, the war began.

From that day forward, it was a battle every single time you were in the same room.

Harry made it his mission to get under your skin, and unfortunately, he was really fucking good at it.

“Y’know,” he mused one night, watching you struggle to open a bottle, “if you asked nicely, I might help you.”

You scoffed, gripping the cap tighter. “I’d rather drink air.”

“Suit yourself, love.”

Or the time he deliberately sat next to you at a group dinner, leaning in way too close as he murmured, “Noticed you’ve been wearing a lot of black lately. Mourning the loss of your personality?”

You turned to him with a fake smile. “Noticed you’ve been wearing a lot of rings lately. Compensating for something?”

Gemma groaned. “Would you two just make out and get it over with?”

“I’d rather choke,” you said at the same time Harry muttered, “Over my dead body.”

It never got better. Only worse.

Every conversation turned into a verbal sparring match, a game of who could get the last word. Sometimes, fate was cruel, and you’d find yourself stuck together, forced to tolerate each other’s existence.

And then, one night, everything changed.

You weren’t sure why you called him.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the weed still lingering in your system. Maybe it was the way your room felt suffocatingly empty after the things your ex had said to you.

“You’re just… not pretty enough.”

“Maybe if you lost some weight, you’d be more my type.”

“You should wear makeup more often. Might help.”

The words echoed in your mind, looping over and over, each syllable digging into your skin like barbed wire. Your vision was blurry, a mix of tears and intoxication, and before you could think about what you were doing, your fingers were already dialing.

The call barely rang twice before he picked up.

“What do you want?” Harry’s voice was laced with its usual arrogance, like he was already preparing to throw some smug comment your way.

But when you sniffled, a quiet, pathetic sound, he paused. “Wait… Are you crying?”

You let out a broken laugh. “No shit, Sherlock.”

There was a brief silence. Then, his voice softened - just a fraction. “What happened?”

And, for some reason, you told him.

Through drunken slurs and quiet sobs, you spilled everything - how you caught your boyfriend cheating, how he humiliated you before you left, how you felt so fucking stupid for believing you were enough.

When you finished, all you heard was silence.

Click.

He hung up.

You let out a shaky laugh, dropping the phone onto the floor beside you. Of course. What did you expect? Comfort from Harry fucking Styles?

But then: A knock on your window.

Your hazy brain struggled to process it as you pushed yourself up, stumbling toward the sound. And when you pulled back the curtain, your breath hitched.

Harry stood outside, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

You hesitated before fumbling with the lock, struggling to slide the window open. After a few failed attempts, he sighed and did it himself, slipping into your room with ease.

“Why are you here?” you whispered, still dazed.

He rolled his eyes. “Because you called me, dumbass.”

You expected irritation in his tone. Expected him to mock you, to make some smartass remark. But instead, he just crossed his arms and looked at you properly.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Come here.”

You didn’t move, too stunned to understand what was happening. But then he stepped forward, pulling you into his arms, and you.. you broke.

You buried your face into his shoulder, gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline as the tears came harder, raw and unfiltered. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t tease. Just let you cry until exhaustion took over.

You woke up with a pounding headache and the unmistakable warmth of someone beside you.

Your mind scrambled to catch up, still foggy from the night before. But before you could process anything, nausea hit you like a truck. You bolted upright, gagging.

And before you could even make it off the bed, a bucket was shoved in front of you.

A hand pulled your hair back as you emptied your stomach, shaky breaths filling the room. When you finally finished, exhausted and miserable, a glass of water was pressed into your hand.

You blinked up, still dazed.

Harry. Sitting on your bed. Watching you.

You stared. He stared back.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you croaked.

He sighed. “You called me.”

Memories came rushing back all at once, and your face burned. “Shit. I- I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be. Just… eat something today, alright?”

Then he left, just like that.

You thought that would be the end of it.

But then…

Harry: Have you eaten?

Harry: Drank any water?

Harry: Don’t make me come over again.

You didn’t know why he was checking in on you. But you didn’t hate it.

You were almost ready to leave.

Your outfit was picked with careful precision - something a little more modest than what you used to wear to parties. Something that hid the things your ex had made you feel insecure about. Your makeup was heavier than usual, too. Dark eyeliner, extra foundation, lips painted in a shade bolder than you usually dared to wear. A mask, in a way.

You were just slipping on your shoes when there was a knock on your bedroom door.

“Coming!” you called, expecting your sister. You pulled the door open, and froze.

Harry stood in your doorway, arms crossed over his chest, brows slightly furrowed as he took you in.

Your stomach twisted.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice sharper than necessary.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes flicked over your face again before he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Harry-“

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the edge of your bed.

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Just sit down.”

His tone wasn’t teasing or condescending. It was… something else. Something you couldn’t quite place. Against your better judgment, you did as he said, watching as he moved toward your dresser.

He grabbed a makeup wipe.

You stiffened.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped in front of you, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers before carefully swiping the wipe across your cheek.

You flinched. “Harry, stop-“

“Shh.”

You glared. “Did you just shush me?”

“I did. Deal with it.”

You huffed but didn’t pull away as he continued. His movements were slow, almost cautious, as he wiped away all of the makeup, revealing the bare skin underneath.

When he was done, he took a step back, looking at you properly.

You felt… exposed.

“There she is,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You swallowed hard. “Harry, I-“

“You don’t need this,” he said, holding up the makeup wipe. His voice was softer than you had ever heard it. “You never did.”

You looked down, fingers twisting in your lap. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.”

Your head snapped up.

His expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady. “That asshole made you feel like you weren’t enough. That you had to change yourself to be what he wanted.” He exhaled sharply. “But he’s fucking wrong.”

You didn’t know what to say. So he kept going.

“You don’t need makeup to be beautiful. You don’t need to hide yourself. And you sure as hell don’t need some dickhead’s approval.”

Your throat tightened.

“And another thing,” He reached for the oversized hoodie you were wearing. “Why are you dressed like this? Where’s the confident girl who didn’t give a shit what anyone thought?”

Your fingers clenched around the fabric. “I just…” You hesitated. “I don’t feel comfortable wearing the stuff I used to. He made me feel like I shouldn’t.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “That’s bullshit.”

You didn’t respond.

With a determined look, he turned toward your closet, rummaging through the hangers before pulling out a red crop top and a white skirt. He held them up with a nod. “Wear this.”

Your stomach twisted. “Harry, I-“

“Just trust me, okay?”

You hesitated.

Harry. Harry fucking Styles. The same guy who spent months making your life hell. The same guy who seemed to take pleasure in pissing you off. But… also same guy who showed up at your window in the middle of the night when you needed someone the most.

Something in his expression made your resistance crumble.

“Fine,” you muttered, snatching the clothes from his hands. “Turn around.”

To your surprise, he obeyed, covering his eyes dramatically as you changed. When you were done, you swallowed your nerves and turned toward the mirror.

Your stomach churned as your eyes flicked over your reflection.

It was… different.

You weren’t used to seeing this version of yourself anymore. The one who didn’t hide. The one who didn’t feel the need to shrink herself down.

You shifted uncomfortably, fingers brushing over your exposed stomach.

Harry’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“You look perfect.”

You turned, lips parting slightly.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “You don’t need to worry. You’re beautiful.”

Your throat tightened.

It was one thing to hear compliments from random people. It was another to hear them from Harry.

You didn’t know why, but you needed to hear that.

And he must have known. Because for once, there was no teasing. No smugness. Just sincerity.

You swallowed thickly. “Thanks, Harry.”

He nodded.

A beat of silence passed before he clapped his hands together. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You frowned. “Wait- where are you going?”

He smirked, back to his usual self. “You’ve got a party to get to, yeah?”

For some reason, the idea of him leaving didn’t sit right with you.

Before you could overthink it, the words slipped out. “Do you… wanna come?”

His brows shot up.

You quickly backpedaled. “I mean, it’s probably not your scene, but-“

“Sure,” he said, cutting you off.

You blinked. “What?”

He chuckled. “I’ll come.”

For some reason, that made you nervous.

But maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new. Something different.

Maybe… you and Harry weren’t enemies anymore.

The house was packed, music pulsing so loud you could feel it in your chest. Bodies swayed to the rhythm, laughter and conversation blending into the intoxicating energy of the party.

And somehow, Harry was still by your side.

You had been drinking - maybe a little too much. A few shots in, and the world had taken on that warm, hazy glow, everything slightly funnier, slightly easier. Harry was drinking, too, but not as much as you. You could tell by the way his gaze stayed sharp even as he leaned against the counter, whiskey in hand, watching you with mild amusement.

“Y’alright there, love?” he asked, smirking as you set down your empty shot glass a little too hard.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like it when you say it.”

“That so?” His grin widened. “Think you secretly do.”

You huffed, opening your mouth to argue, but before you could, someone called out:

“Truth, dare, or shot?”

The group had gathered in the living room, bottles scattered around, everyone already giggling as dares and drunken confessions were tossed into the mix.

You didn’t hesitate. “I’m in!”

You plopped down onto the floor, Harry following with an amused shake of his head. He sat beside you, stretching his long legs out, his knee brushing yours. You ignored the way your skin tingled at the contact.

The game started off lighthearted. Someone had to text their ex something embarrassing. Another had to take a shot off someone’s stomach. A guy ended up running around the house in nothing but his socks.

And then it was your turn.

One of your friends smirked, eyes flicking between you and Harry. “I dare you to make out with… Styles.”

The room erupted in oohs and laughter.

Your heart lurched - whether in excitement or horror, you weren’t sure.

Harry turned to you, eyebrow raised, lips curling into that infuriating smirk. “Well?”

Your face burned.

You could do it. It wouldn’t mean anything. Just a stupid game. Just lips and pressure and-

Nope.

Before you could talk yourself into it, you reached for the nearest bottle and poured yourself a shot, throwing it back without hesitation. The group booed in disappointment, but you ignored them, setting the glass down with a satisfied smirk.

Harry chuckled beside you, shaking his head. “Didn’t know you were scared of me, love.”

You shot him a glare. “I just didn’t want to waste my energy on you.”

“Sure.”

Somehow, the night ended with Harry in your room.

You weren’t sure how it happened. The walk home was a blur of drunken giggles and playful shoves. One minute, you were stumbling inside, and the next, he was leaning against your dresser, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“So,” he said, crossing his arms. “Why’d you take the shot?”

You blinked, swaying slightly before plopping down onto your bed. “What?”

“Earlier. The dare. Why’d you take the shot instead of kissing me?”

You giggled, drunk and lightheaded. “Because we’re supposed to hate each other.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Supposed to, yeah.”

You nodded dramatically. “It would’ve ruined our whole dynamic.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Exactly.”

There was a pause.

Then, before you knew what was happening, he was closer. His presence loomed over you, his gaze flicking down to your lips, his expression still unreadable.

You didn’t know who moved first.

One second, you were staring at him. The next, his lips were on yours, and your breath hitched at the warmth of his mouth, the way he tasted like whiskey and something undeniably Harry.

The kiss was slow at first, testing, as if neither of you could believe it was actually happening. But then your fingers found the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, and suddenly, it wasn’t slow at all.

It was heat and urgency and something dangerously addicting. His hands skimmed your waist, his fingers teasing against the exposed skin beneath your crop top. You gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your whole body shiver.

Somehow, you ended up tangled together on the bed, laughter and whispered insults breaking between heated kisses. It was messy, chaotic, but fun. Neither of you knew what the hell you were doing, but you didn’t care.

You were definitely supposed to hate each other.

So why did this feel so right?

You woke up with a dull headache, your body sore in the way that only came from a night of drinking - and other things.

For a moment, you didn’t move, your brain still foggy with sleep.

And then you noticed it. The warmth beside you.

Your eyes snapped open, and your breath caught when you saw him.

Harry.

Lying beside you, his bare chest rising and falling steadily, his face relaxed in sleep. His curls were a mess, his arm draped lazily across your waist like it belonged there.

Your stomach twisted. Oh shit.

You shifted slightly, and that’s when reality hit you.

Harry had seen you like this. Just like your ex had. And your ex…

“You’re just not pretty enough.”

“Maybe if you lost some weight-“

“You should wear makeup more often”

The memories slammed into you like a freight train, panic rising in your chest.

You needed to get up. Needed to cover yourself, hide, before Harry woke up and realized that-

“Stop.”

The word was groggy, but firm. You froze.

Harry shifted beside you, cracking one eye open, his morning voice thick and raspy. “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.”

You swallowed. “I-“

“Don’t.” His hand moved to your waist, fingers tracing absent patterns against your skin. “I already know what you’re gonna say, and it’s bullshit.”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t-“

His lips cut you off before you could finish.

Soft. Slow. Reassuring.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re perfect. Just like this. Always have been.”

Your chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t from insecurity. It was something else entirely.

You didn’t have the words to respond.

So you just kissed him again.

[28harryssunflower]

Beneath the badge

The precinct was quiet at this hour, just the hum of a few late-night officers shuffling through paperwork. The coffee machine gurgled, filling the air with the scent of burnt caffeine.

Harry sat at the small break room table, fingers drumming against his cup, though the coffee had long gone cold. Across from him, you leaned back in your chair, idly scrolling through your phone, completely at ease. Like you weren’t the biggest contradiction he had ever met.

He let the silence linger, watching you, waiting. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I know what you are.”

You didn’t even look up. “And what’s that, Styles? A better cop than you?,“ you laughed and kept scrolling on your phone.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can drop the act. I know you’re involved with the mafia.”

That made you pause. Just for a second. Then you let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “Jesus, you’re still on this?”

He leaned forward, eyes locked onto you. “Every time we get close to making a major bust, the targets disappear. Someone’s tipping them off. And somehow, none of our cases against organized crime ever hold up in court.” His voice dropped lower. “You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”

You finally looked up at him then, tilting your head as if studying him. There was no fear in your expression, no hesitation - just quiet amusement.

“I expect you to believe in facts,” you said smoothly, setting your phone down. “Not whatever conspiracy theory you’ve cooked up in that pretty head of yours. I don’t know what you’re hoping to find, but there’s nothing there, Harry. So stop looking, for Christ’s sake“

The way you said it - so calm, so certain - sent a chill down his spine.

“And if I don’t?” he challenged.

You held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed as if he were nothing more than a frustrating child. “Then you’re wasting your time.”

With that, you stood, grabbed your empty coffee cup, and brushed past him like the conversation meant nothing. Like you weren’t hiding a double life right under his nose.

Harry watched you walk out of the break room, jaw tight.

He wasn’t wasting his time. And he was going to prove it.

The night air was cold, the streets slick from an earlier rain. Harry sat in his car, parked a few blocks away from the old warehouse, gripping the steering wheel tightly. His heart pounded as he watched you step out of your vehicle and disappear inside.

He had followed you from the station, keeping his distance, headlights off. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to leave this alone. But he had come too far to stop now.

After waiting a few minutes, he climbed out of his car and moved toward the building, keeping to the shadows. There were guards at the front entrance, so he circled the perimeter, looking for another way in. A fire escape. A side door. Anything.

Then, movement.

Before he could react, strong arms grabbed him from behind, twisting his wrists back. A sharp pain exploded in his temple as something hard struck him, and the world spun.

Darkness.

Harry woke to the sensation of cold metal biting into his wrists and ankles. His head throbbed, his vision swimming as he blinked against the dim light. The basement was small, the air damp and freezing. A single flickering bulb cast eerie shadows along the concrete walls.

He tried to shift, but the restraints held tight. His entire body ached, and when he exhaled, it came out as a shaky, pained breath.

Then, footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

You stepped into the room, hands in the pockets of your coat, looking at him like he was an inconvenience.

“I told you to stop looking for clues,” you sighed. “Why didn’t you just listen?”

Harry let out a weak chuckle, though it hurt to even breathe. “Maybe because I don’t like being lied to.”

“Lied to?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I never lied. I told you there was nothing to find. You’re the one who didn’t listen.”

His fingers curled into fists, the restraints digging into his skin. “You’re a goddamn cop. A fucking police sergeant, Y/N! Or at least, that’s what you want everyone to believe.”

“And yet, here we are.”

There was something so infuriatingly calm about the way you said it, like none of this mattered. Like his life wasn’t currently at your mercy.

His temper flared. “Go to hell.”

You tilted your head, considering him. Then, with a small scoff, you turned to the men standing by the door.

“Do what you want with him,” you said. “Just don’t kill him. He might still be useful later.”

Harry barely had time to process your words before you turned and walked out, leaving him alone with the men who had no problem carrying out your orders.

Time blurred. Hours? Days? He wasn’t sure anymore.

The beatings came in waves. Sometimes they asked him questions - who else knew about his suspicions, what he had found, what he was planning to do with it. Other times, they didn’t bother asking anything at all.

The pain became a constant, his body screaming in protest with every shallow breath. His wrists were raw from the restraints, his entire body bruised and bloodied.

When the door finally creaked open again, he barely had the strength to lift his head.

You stepped inside, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over him with something unreadable.

“You look like absolute shit, Styles.”

He let out a weak, breathless chuckle. “Yeah? Well, you still look like a traitorous bitch, so I guess we’re even.”

Your expression didn’t change. You took a slow step forward. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”

He licked at his split lip, tasting blood. “You could let me go.”

You hummed, considering. “Tempting. But you and I both know that’s not happening.”

Silence stretched between you.

Finally, you sighed. “You never should’ve followed me.”

Harry forced himself to meet your gaze. Even now, something sharp and defiant still burned in his eyes. “Yeah? Well, I don’t regret it.”

Something flickered across your face - Annoyance? Amusement? He couldn’t tell.

You turned toward the door. “I’ll figure something out.”

Then, you were gone again.

Harry exhaled shakily, resting his head back against the cold chair.

He wasn’t sure what scared him more - the thought that he might not make it out of here, or the fact that, despite everything, you still weren’t sure what to do with him.

Harry wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

Pain was a dull, constant presence now, a steady throb in his ribs, his arms, his legs. His face felt swollen, his body a canvas of bruises and open wounds. Every breath hurt, every shift of his weight sent agony shooting through his bones.

But worse than the pain was the waiting. The silence between beatings, between visits.

And worst of all was you.

When you came back, it wasn’t with fists or threats. You simply stood there, watching him, studying him.

Like he was a problem you still hadn’t figured out how to solve.

Harry forced himself to lift his head as you stepped into the cold basement once more, the door creaking shut behind you. You weren’t dressed like a cop now. No badge, no uniform. Just dark clothes, tailored and expensive, the kind that belonged to someone in power.

Not a police sergeant.

A crime boss.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall, eyes sweeping over him. “Still breathing?”

Harry let out a weak, humorless chuckle, though it hurt to even smile. “Disappointed?”

You tilted your head. “Not yet.”

His jaw clenched. “You just here to watch me bleed, or are we gonna get to the part where you pretend you don’t know what to do with me?”

You exhaled, tapping a finger against your arm. “You’re really pushing your luck, Styles.”

“What luck?” he shot back. “I’m tied to a fucking chair in your basement, covered in my own blood. I’d say whatever luck I had ran out the second you decided to have me dragged in here.”

You didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it. You just studied him, like you were waiting for him to break.

Harry didn’t break.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered after a long silence. “You had every chance to kill me. Could’ve put a bullet in my head the second your men dragged me inside. Would’ve been easier. Cleaner.” He narrowed his swollen eyes at you. “But you didn’t.”

You sighed and pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “You think I want to kill you?”

“I think you’re stalling.”

You didn’t answer right away.

And that told him everything.

Harry let out a dry laugh. “Jesus. You really don’t know what to do with me, do you?”

You clicked your tongue, pacing slowly. “You’re a problem, Styles. A stubborn, reckless, insufferable problem.”

He smirked, wincing at the sharp pain it sent through his split lip. “And yet, here I am. Still alive.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “For now.”

Another silence stretched between you.

Then, with a sigh, you crouched in front of him, your voice dropping to something quieter. “Tell me, Harry - what am I supposed to do with you?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Let me go.”

You huffed a laugh. “Right. And then what? You run back to the precinct, tell everyone what you’ve seen? Watch as they either laugh in your face or mysteriously drop the case before it even starts?”

His blood ran cold at that.

You shook your head, voice calm. “You think you’re the first cop to figure it out? To start asking questions?” You leaned in just slightly. “You ever wonder why my other partners all mysteriously disappeared?”

Harry swallowed hard, his throat dry.

There had been whispers before. Officers who got too close to the wrong cases. Cops who disappeared, who wound up dead under suspicious circumstances.

And yet, here he was. Still alive.

“You don’t want me dead,” he muttered, realization settling over him like a weight. “You need me for something.”

Your expression gave nothing away, but you didn’t deny it.

Harry exhaled, shaking his head. “What do you want from me?”

A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at your lips. “Loyalty.”

He let out a weak laugh, the sound rough and bitter. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’d ever work for you.“

You stood, adjusting the cuffs of your sleeves. “I don’t need you to work for me, Harry. I just need you to stop working against me.”

His stomach twisted. “You want me to turn a blind eye.”

“I want you to be smart.” You glanced toward the door. “You’ve got two choices. You leave this basement, and you keep your mouth shut. Or…” You trailed off, eyes dark. “You don’t leave at all.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “You expect me to just walk away from this?”

“I expect you to understand that you don’t have a choice.”

A long silence stretched between you.

Finally, you sighed. “Think about it.” You turned, heading for the door. Before you left, you glanced back over your shoulder. “I’ll come back for your answer.”

Then, you were gone.

Harry sat there, bloodied and broken, his mind spinning.

You were right about one thing. He never had a choice.

But he’d be damned if he let you win.

The hours stretched on. Maybe it had been days; Harry had long lost track of time. The cold concrete floor, the frigid air of the basement, the constant ache in his body. But most of all, the feeling of your absence - the way you always appeared, just when he thought he might lose his mind from the silence. Then you’d leave again, leaving him with nothing but the echo of your words.

“Think about it.”

It was maddening.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected when you walked out of that room. Part of him wanted to think that you’d show a little mercy, maybe offer him a way out. The other part, the more realistic part, knew that mercy wasn’t in your vocabulary. You’d already made it clear how things worked in your world. It was either fall in line or disappear.

But as time wore on, something gnawed at him - a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t shake.

You had shown him more than just power. You had shown him control.

And the way you’d asked, so casually, what he would choose… it wasn’t a question for you. It was a test.

A test that Harry wasn’t sure he was ready to fail.

When the door opened again, Harry didn’t look up immediately. He already knew who it was.

The sound of your footsteps was unmistakable. Heavy, confident. There was a deliberate grace in the way you moved, a quiet authority that made his blood run cold.

“You’re still alive,” you said, almost as if you were surprised.

Harry finally looked up, eyes narrowing at you. His voice was rough, strained, but his defiance still lingered beneath the pain. “And you’re still a fucking bitch.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes glinting in the low light. “Careful with that tone, Styles. You’re in no position to talk like that.”

“You can kill me. Or you can let me go. Either way, I don’t give a damn anymore,” Harry spat, his voice raw. “But I won’t work for you. Not now, not ever.”

A slow smile crept across your lips as you studied him, like you were weighing him.

“Is that your final answer?” you asked, voice soft but dangerous.

“I’m not playing your fucking games, Y/N.” He winced as he shifted in the chair, his limbs stiff from the prolonged restraints. “You can’t break me. I won’t be another pawn in your empire.”

Your smile never wavered. You stepped into the room, circling him slowly. “You think I want to break you, Styles?”

Harry didn’t answer, but his brow furrowed.

“You’re a smart man. A cop, even,” you continued, voice calm. “You know how this works. People like me don’t get to the top without making hard choices. Without putting people in situations like this.” You paused just in front of him, your eyes never leaving his face. “But I never said I wanted you broken. I just need you to see the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture?” Harry echoed, disbelief dripping from his words. “You think I’m going to just accept being part of your little mafia, your fucking criminal syndicate?”

You tilted your head, almost as if you were trying to read him, trying to figure out if he was bluffing. “You could be useful, Harry. More than you think. You’re good at what you do, and you’re smarter than most of the idiots who work for me.”

“Smarter doesn’t mean I’m willing to become a criminal.”

You leaned down, bringing your face closer to his. There was no warmth in your eyes, only cold calculation. “You think this is about criminality? It’s about power, Harry. It’s always been about power.” You straightened, her gaze hardening. “You have a choice: you can either help me take what’s mine, or you can keep resisting and become nothing more than a footnote in my story. It’s your call.”

Harry swallowed, the weight of your words sinking in. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him - some dark part - understood. You weren’t just another criminal. You were building something. Something vast, something dangerous. The question was, did he want to be part of it? Or was he better off dead?

The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, with a deep breath, Harry looked you in the eye. “And if I say no?”

“You’ll stay here,” you answered bluntly. “I’ll keep you locked up. Maybe for a day. Maybe longer. It’s up to you.”

Harry’s heart raced, but his voice didn’t falter. “And you’ll keep me alive just long enough to let me watch you take everything?”

You stepped back and sighed, clicking your tongue in mock disappointment. “You’re stubborn, Styles. I’ll give you that.”

Then, you leaned in close enough that he could feel your breath on his skin. “But you’re also smart. Smarter than most. I just need you to stop fighting what’s inevitable.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not your pawn. I’m not your toy.”

You held his gaze, silent for a long moment. Then, finally, you spoke again, voice soft. “You still think you have a choice?”

Harry didn’t answer. His breath came shallow, his mind racing. What did he have left to fight for? His pride? His integrity? The badge he wore, even though it was tainted by this mess you’d dragged him into?

Then, without warning, you turned away, stepping toward the door. “I’ll give you some time, Harry,” you said, your back to him. “Think about it. You’ll make the right decision in the end. Everyone always does.”

Before the door shut behind you, you paused for a second, turning your head just enough to glance at him. “You just have to ask yourself one question: What’s more important? Your life, or your ideals?”

The door closed softly behind you, and Harry was left alone again, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Time didn’t feel real anymore. Harry had no concept of how long he had been in that room. His mind drifted in and out of consciousness, his thoughts a swirling mess of conflicting emotions. Was there a way out? Did he even want to find one?

All he knew was that the choice before him felt impossible. But there was something buried deep inside him - a spark he couldn’t ignore.

You thought you had broken him, thought you had pushed him into a corner. But Harry Styles wasn’t a man who easily surrendered. Not to you. Not to anyone.

He would find a way out.

Even if it meant taking everything you had built down with him.

Harry didn’t expect the change in the air when the door opened again. It was different this time - there was no anger, no bitterness in your presence. Just a quiet, predatory calm, the kind that made his pulse quicken in his chest.

You entered, heels clicking softly against the floor, your steps measured and slow. You weren’t dressed in your usual tactical gear or business attire. No, tonight you were dressed casually - loose, soft fabrics that clung to your body just enough to be dangerous. The kind of clothes that didn’t scream power, but whispered it.

And Harry knew immediately that you weren’t here to negotiate.

You were here to break him.

You stepped closer, the distance between you closing in an instant. Harry’s breath hitched, but he refused to look away from you, even as his heart began to pound in his chest. He could feel the tension in the air thickening, like a storm about to break.

You crouched down in front of him, your eyes never leaving his as you gently brushed a lock of hair from his face, your fingers lingering on his skin a little too long. His entire body tensed at the touch, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t - if he did, you would know.

“Harry,” you said softly, your voice almost a purr. “You’re tired. I can see it. You’re tired of fighting me.”

He swallowed thickly, his throat dry. “I’m not tired. I’m resisting.”

You smirked, your lips curving up slowly as you leaned in just a little closer. Your noses brushed together lightly, just enough to make Harry’s skin prickle with heat.

His heart raced, and for a moment, he wondered if he could resist you at all.

You were close enough now that he could feel your breath against his lips. Every small movement, every subtle shift in your body, was an invitation he couldn’t deny - not fully.

He fought to keep his breathing steady. “Don’t do this,” he muttered, voice hoarse and full of warning.

But you ignored it, instead brushing your lips against his in a teasing, barely-there touch. It was so close to a kiss that Harry felt his body react before his mind had time to catch up. He leaned forward instinctively, his lips nearly finding yours.

But then, just as quickly as it began, you pulled away, just out of reach.

Harry froze, his chest heaving as he fought the instinct to reach for you.

“You’re stubborn,” you murmured, your voice a velvet whisper that danced over his skin, teasing and dangerous. “But even the strongest walls crumble eventually.”

Your eyes locked onto his, full of dark amusement. You knew you had him. You were just waiting for him to admit it.

The moment felt stretched, like time itself had slowed down. Harry’s pulse was pounding in his ears. He hated this feeling, hated how his body responded to you despite everything. He couldn’t let you win - not like this.

But then, as if sensing the hesitation, you reached out again. Slowly, purposefully. This time, your hand didn’t just hover near his face. It cupped his cheek, your thumb grazing over his lips.

“Let me make it easier for you,” you said softly. “I can make this all go away, Harry. All you have to do is stop fighting me.”

His chest tightened, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe it. To imagine giving in - to let you take away the pain, the confusion, the endless tug-of-war inside of him.

But just as quickly, the thought vanished.

“No,” he breathed, his voice breaking slightly.

Your smile grew, but there was no kindness in it. Just cold, triumphant knowledge.

“You’re so close, Harry,” you whispered, leaning in again, this time a little more deliberately. “Just let go. Imagine all the power, the protection..”

Before he could stop himself, his lips met yours - soft, hesitant at first, as though he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or lean in deeper.

And then, just as quickly, you pulled back.

You laughed softly, but it wasn’t a laugh of joy. It was cold, a little mocking. “Told you. You’re crumbling. Piece by piece.”

Harry’s eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and disbelief. He had wanted it, wanted to feel the kiss - just a moment of surrender. But you had yanked it away just as he reached for it.

“You’re fucking cruel,” he muttered, struggling against the restraints once more. His chest ached as the reality of the situation hit him - he was out of control.

“Maybe,” you said with a soft chuckle, your hand brushing his hair back once more, a slow caress. “But I’ll give you something this time.”

Without warning, you kissed him again.

This time, it was soft, slow, and real. A kiss that didn’t linger in the air, didn’t taunt him. Your lips pressed gently against his, coaxing him into something he didn’t want to feel.

But Harry couldn’t fight it anymore.

His lips parted slightly, responding despite himself. His body seemed to betray him, urging him closer to you. He closed his eyes, forgetting for a moment the world around him, losing himself in the softness of the kiss that had started as a battle and was now an admission of something he couldn't deny.

You pulled away after a long moment, your lips brushing his one last time before you stood, eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression.

"I'll leave you to think about it, Harry," you said softly, your tone still dangerous but laced with something else-something almost tender. "I’ll give you whatever you want. Let's see what you do with it."

Without another word, you turned and walked out, leaving him alone in the silence once more.

This time, the silence felt heavier than before. Because this time, Harry knew that everything had changed.

His walls were crumbling, bit by bit. And there was no going back.

Harry’s body felt as though it had been run through a grinder, every inch of him aching in a way that made the very thought of movement feel impossible. His head was swimming, his thoughts muddled as he tried to make sense of what had happened over the past few days.

The last time he had truly been awake - aware - was when you kissed him. It felt like a distant memory now, one that wasn’t entirely real, like it belonged to someone else. But now, as the door creaked open again, the faint light spilling into the cold, damp room, Harry knew this was no dream.

Two men, neither of whom he recognized, stepped into the basement. They were tall, broad-shouldered, but there was something almost sympathetic in their eyes - something Harry had never expected to see in people working for you.

One of them knelt down beside him, loosening the restraints around his wrists, while the other offered a hand, a silent offer to help him stand. Harry didn’t trust them. He couldn’t - he was still confused, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened, everything he had just barely survived. But the offer was there, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was in no shape to refuse.

With their help, Harry was slowly guided to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, his body unsteady as he tried to make sense of the reality around him. He tried to shake off the grogginess, but his head still swam, his vision blurred, and every step was a battle of wills against his own body.

The men didn’t say anything as they guided him down the hallway, away from the basement, through winding corridors. Harry could barely focus on where they were going, but when they finally stopped in front of a door and opened it, the warm, steady scent of cleanliness hit him.

A bathroom.

He was led inside, and one of the men stood guard by the door, while the other helped him towards the shower. His body ached even more now, the bruises, the cuts - everything just seemed to scream louder with every move. But there was something about this that felt almost foreign, surreal.

“Take your time,” the man said quietly, before stepping back and closing the door behind him.

Harry stood there for a moment, his gaze settling on the mirror above the sink. He looked like hell. His face was swollen with bruises, his lips split, his body covered in cuts and dark marks from the beating he had endured. His hair was matted, his clothes torn and bloodied.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Why were they helping him?

Shaking his head, Harry stripped off his dirty, torn clothes, stepping into the shower. The hot water hit his skin like a revelation, stinging against the rawness of his wounds, but he couldn’t help the sense of relief that washed over him as the dirt and blood began to disappear.

His thoughts, for the first time in days, became clearer. He knew this wasn’t the end. No, this was something else. You had done this - had brought him here, had kept him alive. But why?

When he stepped out of the shower, his body felt cleaner, though still far from whole. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into a new set of clothes laid out for him. Soft, comfortable fabrics that felt strange on his skin after days of being in that filthy, cold basement.

He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know what the next step was.

But he knew one thing - he was about to face you again.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry was escorted down another hallway, this time with more urgency. His mind was still clouded by the events of the past few days, the uncertainty gnawing at him. He had no idea where he was being led, but as he rounded the corner, he saw a familiar door ahead.

Your office.

The two men who had helped him stood off to the side, giving him the space to walk on his own. When he reached the door, they pushed it open, and Harry stepped inside.

You were sitting behind your desk, your posture relaxed but confident, your eyes sharp as ever. You didn’t look surprised to see him - if anything, you seemed almost expectant.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to the chair across from you, voice cool and calm.

Harry hesitated for a moment, his muscles still aching from the beatings, but he followed your command. He sat, still unsure of what to expect.

“I bet you have a lot of questions,” you said, your gaze never leaving him as you folded your hands on the desk.

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t find the words. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke. “What happens now? With everything? With our jobs as cops?”

You leaned back in your chair, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m still going to work. I still have business to handle. But that’s not something I’ll explain to just anyone.”

Harry swallowed, then asked what had been on his mind. “And what about me? If I agree to this… loyalty you’re asking for, what happens to our work as cops?”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable, but you didn’t hesitate. “Once I’m sure I can trust you, Harry… 100% trust you, you’ll be able to go back to work. But you need to be loyal. You need to prove to me that you’re with me in this. That you’re committed. It won’t be easy, but I think you’re smart enough to understand that.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why me?”

You paused, the faintest smirk still playing at the corners of your mouth. “Because you’re the one who figured me out. When we worked together as cops, you were the one who saw through the cracks in the facade. You were the one brave enough to follow me. You survived everything that happened to you down there. I’ve been watching you, Harry. You’re perfect for this.”

He was still processing your words, trying to make sense of everything. But the more you spoke, the clearer it became. You had chosen him. Not because he was weak, but because he was strong. Because he had potential.

The silence between them stretched for a moment before you spoke again, your tone a bit softer, almost… personal.

“You’re the only one who could be my partner. All I need from you is loyalty. Can you give that to me?”

Harry sat back in his chair, still stunned by everything, by how much you seemed to know about him, about what he could become.

He didn’t know what the future held. But for the first time in a long time, he was starting to see where it could go.

“I can,” he said, his voice steady.

You smiled, and it was all sharp edges.

The atmosphere in the room shifted after Harry’s admission of loyalty. What had once been tension-filled, laced with uncertainty, now felt like the calm before a storm - quiet, expectant. You leaned back in your chair, watching him closely, as if sizing up the man who had just pledged his allegiance to you.

“You’re going to need to understand the business, Harry,” you said, your tone steady but full of weight. “The way it works, and how your role will fit into it.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the gravity of your words settle in his chest.

You stood up from behind your desk, the smooth motion making your presence even more commanding. “First thing’s first,” you began, “Let me show you where you’ll be staying. I’ve set up a place for you. We can’t have you wandering around unprotected, not just yet.”

Harry followed you out of the office, the heavy silence between you growing thick with anticipation. He had known, deep down, that there was more to the situation than just surviving the basement. He needed to know everything.

As you led him through the labyrinth of hallways, it felt surreal - the quiet hum of the place, the occasional murmured conversation, the faint metallic smell of something serious in the air. Harry’s senses were heightened, alert, taking everything in. The walls of this place were filled with secrets. He could feel them pressing down on him with every step.

You stopped in front of a door and opened it. Inside was a modest, yet comfortable room. It wasn’t lavish, but it was clean, secure, and private. A large bed sat in the center of the room, with dark, simple furniture surrounding it. There was a desk in the corner and a window that, while high up and small, gave a glimpse of the world outside.

“This is where you’ll stay for now,” you explained, stepping inside, allowing him to take it all in. “It’s private and secure. You won’t have to worry about anyone getting to you here. Your privacy is as important as your safety, so make yourself comfortable. You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.“

Harry stood by the doorway, still absorbing the shift in his reality. Everything felt strange. The boundaries between his old life as a cop and his new life in the underworld of organized crime were blurring, and the walls between them had been torn down with a single declaration of loyalty.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions about the business,” you continued, your gaze now softer, almost like you were giving him permission to ask. “And you deserve answers.”

He took a deep breath, then spoke. “So, how does this all work? The mafia, the power structure, everything…?”

You looked at him with a hint of amusement, as if you knew this moment would come. “It’s a delicate web, Harry. Everything is connected, from the street level all the way up to the higher echelons. People think they know how things run, but they don’t - everything is orchestrated. Money, influence, power - they all intertwine. You’ve seen the violence, the shadows, but there’s more to it. There’s control. There’s finesse.”

You paused, your eyes growing more intense as you spoke. “I’ve built this organization from the ground up. We handle everything - from legal businesses to underground operations. There’s not a single part of the city that doesn’t feel the touch of our influence, and every step we take is calculated. But the key to success? Loyalty. Every part of this family is held together by loyalty.”

Harry felt the weight of your words, the weight of the entire organization’s power seeping into the room. It was so much bigger than he had ever imagined. And yet, here he was, standing in the heart of it.

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” you said, your voice more serious now. “Once you’re healed, you’ll begin your training. You’ll learn the ropes - how to run things, how to move people, how to control the business. This isn’t just about muscle, Harry. It’s about making smart decisions, understanding the nuances, and ensuring everything runs smoothly.”

You led him through the building, showing him the various rooms. There was the main office area, filled with people working behind computers and desks, each one absorbed in their task. There were storage rooms where goods were moved under the radar, the dark corridors where deals were made with no witnesses.

The deeper they went into the building, the more Harry realized just how vast this operation was. It wasn’t just a few guys on the street corner dealing drugs. This was a multi-layered, sprawling empire with reach everywhere.

“You’ll meet the people you’ll be working with soon enough,” you said as you led him into one of the back rooms, where a group of men sat around a table, discussing operations. “But first, let’s talk about the rules.”

Harry nodded, eager to understand.

“Rule number one: Don’t betray the family. That’s non-negotiable. Betrayal is met with consequences, and you’ve seen firsthand how severe those consequences can be. Rule number two: Always be loyal, not just to me, but to the entire operation. If you help us, we’ll help you. If you prove you’re worth it, you’ll get everything you need - protection, power, money. And rule number three: Never get too comfortable. This business doesn’t allow for softness. You’ll see things, you’ll do things that change you. But you’ll stay sharp, stay smart, and always keep your eyes open. We have eyes everywhere.”

Harry took it all in. His mind was working fast, piecing together the fragmented information. He had no choice but to accept it, to understand that this wasn’t just some small-time operation. This was a massive, complex organization. And now, he was part of it.

You finished showing him around, leading him back to the front of the building, where you stopped in front of a large, imposing door. “This is where the real decisions get made,” you said, turning the knob and walking inside. The room was different - larger, more grandiose. A large desk sat in the center, and everything about it screamed power and authority.

You took a seat behind the desk, looking at Harry as he stood before you, the weight of everything becoming more apparent with each passing second.

“So,” you began, your voice calm and direct, “You’re probably wondering why I work in the police force and why I have such a high rank.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had been wondering that, but didn’t want to ask outright.

You leaned back in your chair, a small smirk on your lips. “It’s simple, really. I work in law enforcement because it provides me with protection, information, and access. I worked my way up the ranks to where I am now because it keeps my identity hidden. I can control operations, stay in the shadows, and make sure the police are always one step behind. Being a sergeant is just a cover, but it allows me to manipulate situations in our favor. It’s a chess game, and I’m always three moves ahead.”

Harry took a moment to process your explanation. It made sense. Of course, it did. You’d never gotten to where you were by simply being ruthless on the streets. Your power came from the blend of street smarts and bureaucratic position - a perfect balance.

“You chose me because I was smart enough to figure it out,” Harry said, his voice steady. “Because I survived down there.”

You smiled again, this time with something warmer beneath the coolness. “Exactly. You’re the only one who could’ve seen through it all. That’s why you’re my partner now.”

Harry nodded, the weight of it settling on his shoulders. This wasn’t just about surviving anymore. This was about building a future, one that was far more dangerous and far more complex than anything he’d ever known.

But he knew one thing for sure - he had no choice but to see it through.

It had been weeks since Harry’s first steps into this new world. Weeks since he had been dragged out of that basement, since the days of pain and questioning had turned into recovery and immersion into the depths of the organization. His wounds had healed, and with each passing day, he grew stronger. His body was back in fighting form, but it was his mind that had shifted most. The constant presence of power, of danger, and of you, had subtly yet surely changed him.

You had kept him busy, training him, showing him the inner workings of the operation - how everything flowed, how people were manipulated, how to command respect without uttering a word. It was all starting to click into place, and Harry had quickly realized that this was no ordinary criminal empire. This was sophisticated. This was precise.

But now, after the bruises had faded and the last remnants of the bloodstains were gone, you were about to let him take the next step. He had passed the tests. He had earned your trust, even if it still felt like the weight of the world hung over him every moment. The life he once knew—being a cop, standing by the law - was beginning to feel like a distant memory. A faint echo.

It was a late afternoon when you called him into your office again. The sun was low in the sky, casting the room in warm hues, but the air felt thick, like a storm was coming.

“Come in, Harry,” you called from behind your desk, your voice steady and cool.

He pushed the door open, standing before you. Your gaze immediately swept over him, assessing him. He had come a long way from that ragged man who had been dragged into this place bruised and broken. His clothes were pressed, his hair freshly cut. There was a sharpness to him now that hadn’t been there before. You could see it. The transformation wasn’t just physical - it was in the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way his eyes sharpened when they met yours.

“You’ve made progress,” you said, the corner of your lips curving up just slightly. “You’ve been patient. Now, it’s time to step back into the world you came from.”

Harry blinked, the weight of your words settling in. He had been waiting for this, and yet, now that it was here, he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Going back to the police force after everything - after knowing what he knew, after seeing the way things really worked - it felt strange. But he knew he had no choice.

“You’ll be going back to work,” you continued, the matter-of-fact tone to your voice making it clear this wasn’t up for discussion. “You’ll need to come up with an excuse for your absence. People are going to start asking questions. It’s time for you to slide back into the role you were always meant to have. Keep up the facade.”

“I don’t have any idea how I’ll explain it,” Harry said, his voice laced with uncertainty. His return to the force felt more like a trap than a solution, but you’d made it clear that his involvement with you - his loyalty - was the ticket to surviving this new life.

You stood from your desk, walking toward him with a slow, deliberate step. “That’s your job, Harry,” you said, voice lowering just slightly. “I trust you to figure it out. Think of something. Make it believable.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering your words. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t have an answer. He hadn’t thought about how he would explain his absence, how he would step back into the role of a cop after everything had changed. The very fabric of his life had been torn apart, and there wasn’t an easy excuse that would make his return seamless.

“You’re going to need to do a little more than just walk back in like nothing happened,” you added, a glint of something almost predatory in your eyes. “People will want to know. If they ask too many questions, they won’t be asking them for long.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way you said it, but he understood. You weren’t just offering him a return to normal. This was part of the game. He would have to play it - or risk being burned in the process.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said after a long pause, his jaw tightening as he steeled himself for whatever would come next.

You gave him a slight nod, as if you expected nothing less.

“You’ll need to be careful, Harry. They’re always watching. And now that you’re part of this family, part of this operation, you have to make sure your allegiances are clear. We can’t afford mistakes. There’s too much at stake. One slip-up and you’ll be out. And we both know what happens to people who cross me.”

He couldn’t help but swallow at the coldness in your voice. He knew you meant every word.

“Understood,” he replied, his tone resolute.

“Good.” You took a step back, assessing him once again, a look of satisfaction on your face. “Now, let me show you how business is done.”

You walked to a hidden panel in the wall, pressing a combination of buttons that Harry hadn’t noticed before. With a quiet click, the panel slid open, revealing a room behind it - a conference room, a war room, filled with monitors and papers scattered across the tables.

“This is where things get decided,” you said, your voice firm as you gestured toward the room. “The operations, the plans, the logistics. Everything flows through here. You’ll need to know how to navigate it all if you’re going to remain useful to me. You’ll be involved in every decision from now on. When you walk back into that precinct, you need to remember who you answer to.”

The room was dimly lit, with computers and equipment lining the walls. It was the nerve center of the operation, and Harry felt the weight of it pressing on him as you motioned for him to step inside.

“The network we have here is vast,” you explained, tapping on one of the screens. “We control nearly every aspect of the city’s underworld, and a good portion of its legal front as well. But no one can know that. People like power, but they’re afraid of it too. The trick is staying out of sight while controlling everything behind the scenes. You’ll be working closely with the people who run these operations. And you’ll need to report back to me.”

Harry felt the intensity of the room’s purpose. It was clear now - this wasn’t just a small-time operation. This was an empire.

“So, what’s the next move?” he asked, his voice steady, matching the cold, calculated energy that seemed to permeate the air.

You smirked slightly, leaning against one of the tables as you glanced at him. “You’ll see soon enough. First, you need to get yourself back in that precinct. You need to convince them that you’ve just been on vacation, or had a personal issue. Make it believable. Make it stick. If you want to keep up the facade, you have to be convincing. I’m not going to make it easy for you, Harry, but I know you’ll find a way. You always do.”

Harry nodded slowly, his mind already working on the excuse he would use. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore - it was about surviving while playing two sides of a dangerous game. One slip, one wrong move, and it would all crumble.

He was part of this now. There was no turning back.

Time passed, and Harry changed.

At first, it was subtle - small things he barely noticed himself. The way he stopped hesitating before pulling the trigger on orders you gave him. The way he no longer flinched when dealing with threats, when watching men beg for mercy they wouldn’t receive. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself - it all shifted.

You had warned him from the beginning that this life would consume him. That the line between right and wrong would blur until it no longer existed. And yet, he hadn’t fought it. He had let it happen.

Now, he stood beside you, not as your reluctant captive, not as the cop who had uncovered your secret, but as something else entirely. As your equal.

The police force still believed he was one of them, still saw him as the officer who had simply taken time off for “personal reasons.” But Harry knew better. That life had become a disguise, a mask he wore only when necessary. The real Harry Styles now walked these halls with you, running the empire by your side.

And then there was the other shift.

The one neither of you had expected.

It had started with stolen glances, with tension so thick it could suffocate. The proximity between you had become unbearable - charged moments where neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, but the air between you burned.

Then, one night, it snapped.

Neither of you knew who moved first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that one moment you were arguing over a deal gone wrong, your voices sharp, eyes locked in a battle of wills - then suddenly, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was fire and violence, dominance and surrender, all wrapped into one.

Your back hit the desk as Harry’s hands tangled into your hair, pulling, demanding, and you met him with equal intensity. Clothes were torn, breathless curses spilled between heated kisses, and by the time you were both tangled in the sheets, bodies slick with sweat, neither of you could remember how it had even started.

It didn’t end that night.

It became a habit. A reckless, addictive one.

Neither of you acknowledged it at first. There were no confessions, no whispered affections. Just stolen moments between business meetings, secret rendezvous behind locked doors. It was raw, desperate, filled with an edge that neither of you cared to dull.

But then it changed again.

Harry didn’t just come to your bed for pleasure. He started staying. Waking up next to you, running his fingers over your skin before the sun had risen, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder before either of you had to return to the world.

And you let him.

Neither of you had planned for it, but neither of you regretted it.

The world saw you as ruthless crime lords, untouchable, feared by many. But behind closed doors, it was different.

There was trust, loyalty - a bond unbreakable in its intensity.

Harry no longer hesitated when making decisions that once would've haunted him. If someone needed to be eliminated, he did it. If a message needed to be sent, he delivered it.

You had corrupted him completely.

But he hadn't just fallen into the darkness - you had dragged him in, and he had embraced it.

Together, you ruled. You weren't just a mafia boss and her loyal right-hand man anymore. You were a couple - a dynamic duo, the perfect team.

The city was yours, and nothing would ever take that away from you. Nothing could break the bond you shared.

You were in this together, and as long as you held on to each other, nothing could stand in your way.

my thumbs hurt so bad lol

[28harryssunflower]

Hi could you add a “keep reading” cut on your posts please?

Never thought of that tbh lmao

But I did now! ^^