28harryssunflower

[28harryssunflower]

queen i love you

Queen I love you too

[28harryssunflower]

hi! in case you didn’t know, april is sexual assault awareness month. so i just want to say a few things, especially for those who have unfortunately been impacted in any way.

- it was not your fault

- you aren’t exaggerating or being dramatic

- it was not your fault

- any gender can experience sexual assault from anyone of any gender (same with age)

- it was not your fault

- what they did to you does not define who you are as a person

- it was not your fault

i love you so much and i am here always 🩷

[28harryssunflower]

Frozen hearts

The cold air of the rink wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. Ice was your home. You had spent your entire life chasing perfection, carving your dreams into the frozen surface beneath your skates. Titles, medals, records - you had them all. But there was still more to prove, still more to accomplish.

Moving to a new city wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. A fresh start, a new training facility, and, most importantly, a new partner.

You laced up your skates in the dressing room, tying them tight - just the way you liked. Everything had to be precise, controlled. Figure skating wasn’t just a sport to you; it was your life. You had sacrificed everything for it - time, relationships, distractions. There was no room for anything but winning.

As you stepped out onto the ice for the first time, you saw him.

Harry Styles.

You recognized him immediately. He was famous, even outside the skating world. His tousled curls, striking green eyes, and effortless charm made him unforgettable. His talent on the ice was undeniable, but he carried himself differently from anyone you had worked with before. He was loose, relaxed, almost too carefree.

The moment he saw you, he grinned.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my new ice queen,” he teased, gliding toward you with effortless ease.

You didn’t react. You had met people like him before - charming, playful, convinced that they could win anyone over. You weren’t just anyone.

“We’re professionals,” you said coldly. “Let’s keep it that way.”

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. “Ouch. Straight to business, huh? No introductions? No ‘Hey, Harry, nice to meet you’?”

You adjusted your gloves. “We don’t need introductions. We need results.”

Harry let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “You’re really gonna make this difficult, aren’t you?”

You met his gaze with a steely one of your own. “I don’t do distractions.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow nod, he pushed off and started skating backward. “Alright then, Ice Queen. Let’s get to work.”

Weeks Passed.

Training was brutal. Early mornings, late nights, endless repetition. The routines were demanding, pushing both of you to your limits. You never allowed yourself to falter, never let fatigue show.

But the real challenge? Harry.

He was unlike any partner you had ever worked with. Where you were disciplined, he was effortless. Where you focused, he played.

He hummed songs under his breath while running drills. He cracked jokes between lifts. He teased you every time you refused to laugh.

“You know,” he mused one day after a flawless routine, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so determined to not have fun.”

You shot him a sharp look, breath still heavy from the last set. “Fun doesn’t win championships.”

Harry cocked his head, watching you carefully. “Neither does shutting everyone out.”

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you turned back to the ice, pushing off into another spin.

It was easier that way.

You didn’t know exactly when it started. Maybe it was during a particularly grueling session when you stumbled, just slightly, and instead of teasing you, Harry caught your wrist to steady you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his touch warm even through your gloves.

Maybe it was the way he started staying later after practice, running routines with you long after the coaches had gone home.

Or maybe it was the moment you caught yourself admiring the way he moved - effortless, powerful, free. He made it look so easy. You had spent your life chasing perfection, but Harry? He made perfection look like an accident.

And you hated that you noticed.

You tried to push him away, tried to keep the walls up. But Harry didn’t back down.

One night, after a particularly difficult session, you sat on the bench, untying your skates with stiff fingers. Your muscles ached, exhaustion weighing heavy on you.

Harry plopped down beside you, stretching his legs out casually.

“You ever take a break?” he asked, nudging your shoulder lightly.

You glanced at him. “Breaks don’t win gold medals.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You think too much about winning.”

You frowned. “And you don’t think enough about it.”

His expression softened, and for the first time, there was no teasing in his voice. “Maybe. But at least I don’t forget to live in between.”

The words hit harder than you wanted them to. You stared at your skates, pretending they were the most interesting thing in the world.

Harry sighed, leaning back on his elbows. “You’re allowed to enjoy this, you know. Skating. Life. It’s not just about the medals.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure how.

For the first time in years, you weren’t certain of something.

And that terrified you.

Harry was persistent. Infuriatingly so.

It started small.

One day, he showed up to practice with two cups of coffee, holding one out to you with a grin. “Figured you could use something other than pure determination to keep you going.”

You glanced at the cup, then back at him. “I don’t drink coffee during training.”

His smile didn’t waver. “Just one sip?”

You skated past him without another word.

Then there was the time he convinced the rink staff to play music over the speakers during warm-ups. Not the usual classical instrumentals, but something upbeat - Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, even a little rock.

You ignored it. Even when he tried to get you to dance along, skating circles around you as he hummed the lyrics.

“Come on, Y/N,” he called, twirling effortlessly. “Live a little.”

You tightened your jaw, stretching your legs like nothing was happening.

It was exhausting. Every single day, Harry tried to break through that wall you had built so carefully. And every single day, you reinforced it.

You didn’t have time for fun. You didn’t have time for him.

After yet another practice where Harry had spent more time teasing you than focusing, you finally snapped.

You stormed off the ice before the session had even ended, yanking off your gloves as you made a beeline for your coach.

“I can’t work with him,” you said, your voice tight with frustration. “He pushes me to no end. I can’t focus. I can’t deal with him. There has to be someone else I can partner with.”

Your coach, an older woman who had seen it all, sighed. “Y/N-“

“I’m serious,” you interrupted. “I need someone who understands discipline. Not someone who acts like this is a game.”

She crossed her arms, studying you. “Harry is one of the best. And like it or not, you two have chemistry on the ice.”

You scoffed. “Chemistry? We don’t even get along.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, Y/N, is the problem really that he’s not disciplined? Or is it that he makes you uncomfortable because he’s different from you?”

You opened your mouth to argue but closed it just as fast.

Your coach sighed again, softer this time. “You’re not getting a new partner. So, figure it out.”

You left the conversation feeling even more frustrated than before.

Harry didn’t give up.

He didn’t know you had gone to the coaches. He didn’t know how much he had gotten under your skin. But he knew you were pushing him away, and that only made him push harder.

The next day at practice, he didn’t tease as much. He didn’t joke. He just skated.

Flawlessly.

And it was annoying.

It was easier to be angry when he was making stupid jokes or trying to get you to smile. But when he was just good - when he showed just how much raw talent he had - it made it harder to convince yourself that he wasn’t serious.

Still, you kept your distance.

One day, after an exhausting session, he skated up beside you as you unlaced your skates.

“You ever gonna tell me why you hate me so much?” he asked, voice light but with an edge of something real beneath it.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered.

You exhaled sharply, placing your skates in your bag. “I just don’t have time for distractions.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. Then, softer, “Maybe you’re just scared.”

Your entire body went still.

Slowly, you turned to him. “Scared of what?”

He shrugged. “That you might actually like having someone around.”

The words settled between you like a challenge.

And instead of responding, you stood up, grabbed your bag, and walked away.

Because deep down, you were afraid he might be right.

The rink was silent at this hour, the only sound the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant creaks of the old building settling into the night.

You had tossed and turned in bed for hours, your mind restless. This month, you hadn’t pushed yourself hard enough. Maybe you had let Harry distract you more than you realized. Maybe you had wasted too much energy arguing with him instead of improving.

That was unacceptable.

So, at nearly midnight, you laced up your skates in the empty dressing room, tying them even tighter than usual. If you wanted to stay the best, you had to work harder than anyone else.

But as soon as you stepped onto the ice, you stopped short.

Because you weren’t alone.

Harry was already there, gliding across the rink with effortless ease, lost in his own world.

His movements were fluid, graceful, powerful. He wasn’t just going through the motions - he was feeling the music, skating like it was second nature to him.

You hated that it caught you off guard.

For a moment, you considered leaving. But no - this was your extra practice session. You wouldn’t let him be the reason you backed down.

You tightened your jaw and stepped onto the ice.

Harry must have sensed you, because he slowed his movements, turning to look at you with slight surprise. He didn’t say anything - just raised an eyebrow, as if asking what you were doing here.

You ignored him.

Without a word, you skated to the center of the rink, adjusted your posture, and started running through the choreography.

For the first few minutes, neither of you spoke.

You both skated perfectly, going through the routine with muscle memory so ingrained that the moves felt automatic. The music played softly through the rink speakers - someone must have forgotten to turn them off for the night - but you didn’t mind. If anything, it helped.

It was annoying how good Harry was.

His jumps were flawless, his spins sharp yet smooth. He had this ridiculous ability to make everything look easy. He was one of the only people who could match your skill level, and that bothered you more than it should have.

You would never tell him that.

After a while, Harry finally broke the silence.

“You always train at ungodly hours, or is this a special occasion?”

You didn’t look at him, focusing on your footwork instead. “I don’t think I pushed myself hard enough this month.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unreal, you know that?”

You frowned, glancing at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He skated closer, just enough to match your pace. “It means you train harder than anyone I’ve ever met. And yet, it’s like you’re never satisfied.”

You exhaled sharply. “That’s how you stay the best.”

Harry studied you, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then he sighed, shaking his head again. “You ever just… skate for the hell of it?”

You hesitated. “What?”

“You know,” he said casually, “skate without trying to be perfect. Without thinking about gold medals or world rankings. Just because you love it?”

You opened your mouth to answer. Then closed it.

Because, if you were honest… you couldn’t remember the last time you had.

Harry must have noticed your hesitation, because his expression softened. “You used to, though. Didn’t you?”

Your throat felt tight, so you just turned away. “We should run the program again.”

Harry didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded, took his starting position, and when the music started again, you both skated.

For now, that was enough.

The training session had been perfect - until it wasn’t.

Every jump, every spin, every movement had been crisp and precise. Your body felt strong, your footwork was flawless, and for once, you weren’t overthinking every single step. You were in the zone.

Until you weren’t.

It happened so fast.

One wrong landing. One slip of your blade.

And then - pain.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your entire leg as you hit the ice. The impact rattled your bones, and for a moment, you couldn’t even breathe. The cold from the rink seeped into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning through your ankle.

Before you could even process it, Harry was there.

“Y/N!” His voice was urgent, and then suddenly, he was kneeling beside you, hands hovering over you like he wasn’t sure where to touch. “Shit- Are you okay?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to sit up. “I’m fine.”

Harry scoffed. “You’re not fine. That fall was brutal.”

He reached for you, but you swatted his hands away. “I can keep going.”

You braced your hands against the ice, trying to push yourself up, but the second you put weight on your leg, agony shot through you. Your arms trembled from the effort, but no matter how hard you tried, your body refused to cooperate.

Your ankle wouldn’t hold you.

You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut.

Damn it.

Harry sighed, clearly exasperated. “Alright, that’s it.”

Before you could protest, he scooped you up in his arms.

“Harry! Put me down!” you snapped, struggling against him.

He didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, not happening.”

His grip was strong, steady, as he skated toward the benches like you weighed nothing. You clenched your teeth, trying not to focus on the fact that he was carrying you, muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he held you against his chest.

Once he reached the benches, he sat you down gently before kneeling in front of you.

Your coach hurried over. “That fall looked bad,” she said, concern clear in her voice.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though even you weren’t convinced.

Harry ignored you, reaching for your skate. “Let me see.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah? Then why can’t you stand?”

You glared at him but said nothing as he carefully unlaced your skate and slid it off.

The second he did, you both saw it.

Your ankle was already swelling - badly.

Harry inhaled sharply. “Yeah, no. We’re going to the hospital.”

You shook your head immediately. “No. I need to practice.”

Harry looked at you like you’d lost your mind. “Y/N, you can’t even stand. You’re not practicing. You’re going to the hospital.”

“I don’t have time for this!” Your frustration boiled over, panic creeping into your voice. “Every second I’m off the ice is wasted time-“

Harry cut you off, voice firm. “If you don’t let me bring you, I’ll call a fucking ambulance.”

You stared at him, breath uneven, heart racing.

You hated this.

Hated the idea of wasting time. Hated the idea of being weak.

But you knew Harry wasn’t bluffing.

“…Fine,” you muttered.

Without another word, he crouched in front of you again, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. He carried you into the dressing room, setting you down carefully before heading to your locker.

He grabbed your clothes, then handed them to you. “I’ll give you a minute,” he said before disappearing to change.

You sighed, trying to shift your weight to pull off your skating gear, but it was impossible. Every movement sent sharp, unbearable pain through your leg. You clenched your jaw, swallowing the frustrated lump in your throat.

A few minutes later, Harry came back, now dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. He paused when he saw you still struggling with your clothes.

“…Do you want help?” he asked, voice surprisingly soft.

You let out a tired sigh. “Just get it over with.”

He didn’t say anything, just crouched in front of you and carefully helped you out of your skating attire, never lingering too long or making it weird. He was surprisingly gentle, helping you into your normal clothes before packing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

Then, once again, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and carried you to his car.

The hospital confirmed what you already knew.

A broken ankle.

Surgery needed - immediately.

You sat in the hospital bed, hands clenched into fists, frustration bubbling over. This was time wasted. Time you couldn’t afford to lose.

“This is bullshit,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I can’t afford to be out for this long.”

Harry, who had been standing beside your bed the entire time, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, you don’t have a choice.”

Your jaw tensed, anger burning in your chest. You felt helpless, and you hated it.

“I don’t want this,” you whispered.

Harry sighed and pushed off the wall, walking closer to you. His voice softened. “I know.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked at the edge of the hospital blanket. You hated hospitals. Hated the idea of losing control over your body.

“…I don’t like anaesthesia,” you admitted quietly.

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

Then, to your surprise, he took your hand.

His fingers were warm, steady, grounding.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he reassured you. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You swallowed, forcing a nod.

The doctors entered, prepping the IV. You tensed when they inserted the needle, but Harry squeezed your hand, his grip strong and unwavering.

“Breathe,” he murmured.

You didn’t realize how much you needed that until you actually did.

Your entire body felt heavy when you opened your eyes. The room was dim, the faint beeping of hospital machines the only sound.

And then, you noticed him.

Harry was still there, sitting beside your bed.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice soft.

You blinked slowly. “You stayed?”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

Something about that made your chest tighten.

Before you could dwell on it, Harry grabbed the tray of food the nurses had left. “Come on, you need to eat.”

You sighed, but your body was too weak to argue. You hated how shaky your hands were when you tried to grab the spoon. Harry must have noticed because, without a word, he helped you eat.

Afterward, he even helped you change, carefully easing you out of the hospital gown and into your clothes.

The final touch? Your hair.

He stood behind you, gently undoing the tight ponytail that had been pulling at your scalp for hours. His fingers worked through the strands, careful not to tug too hard.

“Better?” he asked.

You exhaled, relieved at the lack of tension. “Yeah…”

And for the first time in weeks, you realized something.

Maybe Harry wasn’t just your annoying partner.

Maybe he was something more.

Harry had been in a lot of places with you. The rink. The dressing rooms. The hospital. But never your home.

Until now.

You were exhausted from the hospital visit, from the pain, from everything. The last thing you wanted was to be babysat, but the doctors had made it clear - you’d need help adjusting for the first few days. And somehow, Harry had decided that person would be him.

You didn’t even remember agreeing to it.

But here he was, standing in the middle of your apartment, looking around with mild curiosity.

“Didn’t peg you for a candle person,” he mused, eyeing the small collection on your coffee table.

You rolled your eyes as you awkwardly adjusted your crutches. “Are you here to judge my interior design choices or help me?”

Harry smirked but didn’t argue. “Alright, first lesson: Walking.”

You scowled. “I know how to walk.”

Harry crossed his arms, clearly amused. “Do you?”

You huffed, gripping the crutches tighter before taking a step forward. It should have been easy - you were a professional athlete, for god’s sake - but the second you shifted your weight wrong, the crutch slipped, and you nearly went flying.

Harry caught you before you could hit the floor.

“Woah, alright,” he laughed, steadying you. “Let’s try that again, yeah?”

Your face burned with frustration as you exhaled sharply. “This is stupid.”

“No,” he corrected, “this is you learning to be a normal person instead of an ice-skating machine.”

You glared at him, but he just grinned and gestured for you to keep going.

The first hour was filled with near falls, frustration, and Harry making fun of you every time you wobbled. But eventually, you got the hang of it. Enough to move around your apartment without feeling like a newborn deer.

Harry clapped dramatically when you made it across the living room without tripping. “She’s done it, ladies and gentlemen!”

You shot him a glare but couldn’t fight the small, reluctant smirk pulling at your lips.

That was the first thing he noticed about you at home.

You were calmer here. Less rigid. Less closed off.

He saw it in the way you sighed in relief when you finally sat down on your couch, letting your body relax into the cushions.

He saw it in the way you actually laughed when he made a stupid joke, instead of just rolling your eyes.

And when he asked what you wanted to eat, you didn’t snap at him or insist you could do it yourself. You just sighed dramatically and muttered, “Surprise me.”

Harry wasn’t sure why, but something about that made him smile.

For the first time, he wasn’t seeing Y/N, the figure skating champion.

He was just seeing you.

Harry didn’t even hesitate when you told him he could stay.

You had expected some kind of teasing comment, maybe a cocky remark about how you just couldn’t get rid of him. But all he did was nod, grab his keys, and say, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

And just like that, he stayed.

What was supposed to be one night turned into two.

Then a week.

Then weeks.

It was easy, surprisingly so. Too easy.

Harry made himself at home in a way that should have annoyed you, but instead, it felt… natural. His things started to appear around your apartment - his extra sweaters draped over your couch, his books stacked on your coffee table, his shoes kicked off by the door.

And for the first time in years, you weren’t alone.

It wasn’t just about him helping you with your crutches or making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard. It was the little things.

Like how he made breakfast every morning - sometimes something simple, sometimes something ridiculous like pancakes shaped like figure skates just to make you roll your eyes.

Or how he insisted on movie nights, introducing you to all his favorites and dramatically reciting half the lines.

Or how he convinced you to try things you normally wouldn’t.

One night, you sat on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, when Harry suddenly plopped down beside you with a mischievous grin.

“You ever had a proper British tea night?”

You raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

“Tea. Biscuits. The whole experience,” he said, already standing up. “Come on, you’re in for a treat.”

You watched, amused, as he moved around your kitchen like he’d done this a million times before. And before you knew it, you were sitting at your kitchen table with him, sipping tea and trying every type of biscuit he had bought from the store.

You didn’t realize how much you were letting him in.

But you were.

Slowly. Dangerously.

Because feelings started to creep in.

Feelings you’d never felt before. Feelings you never wanted to feel.

One night, you woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, only to find Harry already sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, scrolling through his phone with a sleepy look on his face.

He glanced up and smirked. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

You shook your head. Without thinking, you sat down across from him.

You had never done this before. Never let someone this close.

And yet, as you sat in the quiet, comfortable silence of your kitchen, you weren’t scared of the silence anymore.

You were scared of what it meant.

It was another sleepless night.

You had been tossing and turning for hours, your mind refusing to shut off. The weight of your injury, the uncertainty of when, or if, you’d be able to skate again, the feeling of losing control over your own body… it was too much.

So, when you found Harry in the kitchen, already awake, mug in hand, you weren’t surprised.

He glanced up, reading your tired expression immediately. “Hot chocolate?”

You hesitated. Then, with a sigh, you nodded. “Yeah.”

That’s how you ended up outside, sitting on the small balcony of your apartment, wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate as you stared at the night sky.

The stars were bright, the city quiet. For a moment, it felt like nothing else existed.

You didn’t say much, and neither did Harry.

And then - he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

Something in his gaze made your stomach tighten, like he was seeing something in you that even you couldn’t see.

And before you could think - before you could stop it - he kissed you.

Soft. Gentle.

Like he had been waiting.

Like he wanted to give you the chance to pull away.

But you didn’t.

For one second, you let yourself feel it. The warmth of his lips, the way he fit against you, like he had been meant to do this all along.

And then - you flipped.

You ripped yourself away from him, heart pounding, chest tightening.

“No- no, we can’t do this.”

Harry blinked, startled. “Y/N-“

“This is wrong,” you snapped, pushing yourself up from the chair as best as you could. “We are partners. That’s it. This- this is a mistake.”

He stood too, stepping toward you, his face calm but serious. “Why? Because it scares you?”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “No, because I have bigger problems than love, Harry.”

He frowned. “Y/N-“

“You don’t get it,” you cut him off. “I might never skate again. I might have ruined my career. Everything I’ve ever worked for could be gone. And you- you think I have time to waste on- on this?”

Harry exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Love isn’t a waste of time.”

“For me, it is,” you shot back. “I can’t afford distractions.”

His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “Y/N, you’re allowed to have a life outside of skating.”

You shook your head. “No. No, I’m not. You don’t get it, Harry. You don’t know what it’s like to dedicate every single second of your life to something, just for it to be ripped away.”

Silence.

Harry just looked at you, his expression softer now.

“I do get it,” he said quietly. “More than you think.”

You swallowed, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your hands shook.

But you couldn’t do this.

You couldn’t let yourself feel.

So, you turned away, gripping the railing of the balcony, focusing on the cold metal beneath your fingers instead of the warmth still lingering on your lips.

Harry sighed. He didn’t push.

He just murmured, “We don’t have to figure this out right now. But don’t tell yourself you don’t deserve love. Because you do.”

You didn’t look at him.

You just kept your eyes on the stars, wishing they could give you the answers you didn’t have.

For days, you avoided Harry.

Which was hard, considering he lived in your apartment now.

You kept your distance - physically, emotionally, in every way you could. You kept conversations short, avoided his eyes, and made sure to keep things strictly professional.

It was exhausting.

You needed help with things - getting around, carrying things, even just making food - but you refused to ask. If Harry offered, you let him, but you didn’t let it mean anything.

He didn’t push.

Not at first.

But you knew him well enough now to see it - the way he watched you carefully, the way he held himself back, the way he was waiting for you to break.

And you did.

Just not in the way you expected.

It had been a rough day.

You had pushed yourself too hard, trying to move around on your own, trying to not need help, and now your body was aching, your ankle throbbing, your patience thin.

You sat on the couch, rubbing your temples, frustration bubbling under your skin.

Harry walked in, taking one look at you, and sighed. “Alright. That’s it.”

You looked up, frowning. “What?”

“We’re talking,” he said, plopping down beside you.

You scoffed. “No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“No, we-“

He cut you off with a look.

You shut your mouth.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression softer than you expected. “Y/N… what are you so afraid of?”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

He sighed. “Bullshit.”

Your jaw clenched, fingers digging into your palms. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?” he challenged. “For your life? Because newsflash, Y/N. You’re more than just figure skating.”

Your heart lurched. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted. “You’re a person. You have dreams, thoughts, feelings-“

“Feelings are a waste of time,” you snapped.

Harry shook his head. “No, they’re not. You’re just scared to let yourself have them.”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. “You don’t get it.”

“I do,” he said, voice softer now. “I know what it’s like to have your whole identity tied to something. To feel like if you lose it, you lose yourself.”

You swallowed.

“But that’s not true, Y/N.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “Figure skating is what you do. It’s not who you are.”

Your chest tightened.

Because… what if he was right?

Who were you, if not a skater? If not the best? If not the girl who had dedicated everything?

Harry leaned closer, his voice gentle. “You’re allowed to be more than just this.”

You inhaled shakily. “I don’t know how.”

He smiled, just a little. “Then let me show you.”

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself listen.

It happened so slowly.

One evening, after a long day, you found yourself leaning into Harry instead of pulling away.

You had been sitting together on the couch, the TV playing some random movie you weren’t even paying attention to. At some point, you sighed and let your head rest against his shoulder.

And he didn’t make a big deal out of it.

He just shifted slightly, adjusting so you were comfortable, his arm moving around you so naturally it felt like it belonged there.

You weren’t sure who kissed who first.

One moment, you were watching the movie, and the next, you were looking at him. Really looking.

His gaze flickered to your lips, and something in you melted.

You leaned in, just enough to feel the warmth of him, just enough to give him a chance to stop you - but he didn’t.

And then… you kissed.

Soft. Slow. Like a secret being shared.

When you pulled away, he smiled.

And for the first time in your life, you let yourself feel it.

That night, you let yourself have him.

The warmth of his hands, the gentleness of his touches, the quiet laughs between kisses. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

And for the first time, you didn’t fight it.

Harry was your first

Your first boyfriend.

Your first love.

And it was good. It was easy. It was happiness.

A week later, Harry drove you to your doctor’s appointment.

You were practically buzzing with excitement. They were finally taking the cast off. You were finally going to walk on your own again.

Harry squeezed your hand as you waited in the exam room, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your skin. “Excited?”

You nodded, smiling. “More than anything.”

The cast came off.

You flexed your ankle slowly, wincing at the stiffness but relieved to finally feel free.

And then the doctor spoke.

“You’ll need at least four more months before you can even think about skating again.”

Your heart sank.

Four months?

You frowned. “But I- I feel okay. I can start rehab, I can-“

The doctor shook his head. “Rehab, yes. Walking, yes. But skating? Not yet. Your ankle needs to heal properly.”

Your chest tightened.

Four months felt like an eternity. Like wasted time.

Harry immediately saw your frustration.

The whole ride home, you were tense, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

You needed to skate. You needed to be back.

And later that night, you tried.

You were in the living room, testing your limits, stretching your ankle, trying to find a way to put weight on it without pain.

Harry walked in just as you were about to push too far.

His face dropped.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You froze. “Nothing.”

Harry stormed over, eyes narrowed. “Nothing? Y/N, you’re trying to skate again, aren’t you?”

You looked away. “I just… I need to know if I can.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They explicitly told you not to.”

You exhaled sharply. “They don’t get it, Harry.”

“I do,” he said firmly. “I get it more than anyone. But you need to heal first.”

You hated it.

Hated being held back.

Hated feeling weak.

Harry’s voice softened. “I know this is hard. But you have to let yourself heal. You can’t rush this.”

You swallowed, frustrated tears burning your eyes. “And what if I never skate the same again?”

Harry cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “Then we figure it out together.”

You exhaled shakily, looking into his steady, patient eyes.

And for once you listened.

Walking on your own again was harder than you expected.

At first, you stumbled. A lot. Your muscles were weak, your ankle still stiff, and every step came with an annoying limp that frustrated you to no end.

But Harry was always there.

Every time you wobbled, his hands were there to steady you.

Every time you got frustrated, he would distract you - cracking jokes, reminding you that you were improving every single day.

“You know,” he grinned one afternoon, watching you take slow, careful steps across the apartment, “your little limp makes you look kinda badass.”

You gave him a flat look. “Harry.”

“What?” he shrugged. “Like you fought off a bear or something.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips.

And weeks later, when you finally took a full, steady step without limping, Harry was more excited than you were.

He picked you up immediately, spinning you around despite your protests.

“You did it!” he cheered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Told you you’d get there.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face.

You were back.

Not fully, not yet, but you were getting there.

And a few months later… you finally got the news you had been waiting for.

The doctor’s words felt unreal.

“You can skate again.”

Your heart soared.

“But take it easy,” he added. “No overworking yourself. Take breaks.”

You nodded, barely listening, already thinking about stepping back onto the ice.

Harry, however, was paying full attention.

“Did you hear that, love?” he said, nudging you. “Breaks. Actual ones. Not your version of a ‘break’ where you just stretch for two minutes and then go right back to it.”

You huffed. “Fine.”

And the next day, you were back at the rink.

The moment your skates touched the ice, something inside you clicked.

The cold air, the smooth glide, the familiar feeling of home - you hadn’t realized how much you had missed it.

Harry was with you every step of the way.

Helping you warm up. Running through your partner choreography for the World Championships.

And most importantly - making sure you actually took breaks.

At one point, when you had clearly been skating too long, Harry skated right in front of you, blocking your path.

“Alright,” he said, arms crossed. “Break time.”

You groaned. “Harry-“

“Break. Time.”

You glared at him. He just smirked, leaning in slightly. “If you sit down, I’ll get you a hot chocolate.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Bribery?”

He grinned. “Whatever works.”

You sighed, reluctantly skating off the ice.

And later, as you sipped your hot chocolate, watching Harry go over a part of your routine on his own, you realized something.

You weren’t alone in this anymore.

You had him.

To train with. To help you. To love you endlessly.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The rink was silent, except for the faint hum of the speakers waiting to play your music.

You stood in position, dressed in full costume, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you.

Harry stood beside you, his hand brushing against yours - a silent promise.

Your coach watched closely, nodding in approval. She had been your biggest supporter, not just in skating, but in your relationship with Harry.

“Alright,” she said. “One last time. Make it count.”

The music started.

And you moved.

Everything was in sync. Every step, every lift, every spin - it all felt effortless, like you and Harry were two halves of the same whole, perfectly balanced.

By the time you reached the final pose, breathing heavily, you knew.

It was perfect.

Harry knew it too. He looked at you, a proud grin on his face. “Told you we’d get here.”

You smiled, chest tight with emotion.

But when you got home, you couldn’t sit still.

So, in the living room, you went through the routine again, as best as you could without skates.

Harry watched, amused. “You do realize you just did this for two hours straight, yeah?”

“I need to be sure,” you murmured, repeating a step in slow motion.

Harry sighed, stepping in front of you, grabbing your hands.

“We’re going to win this,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Believe in us.”

You exhaled slowly.

And for the first time, you did.

The world championship.

The arena was buzzing with energy.

Bright lights. Cheering crowds. Cameras flashing.

You barely heard any of it.

It was just you and Harry.

Stepping onto the ice together, hands clasped, you took a deep breath.

Then, the music began.

And suddenly, nothing else mattered.

Every movement was flawless. Every lift, every spin - it all flowed together seamlessly, like a story being told without words.

By the time you reached the final pose, staring into Harry’s warm, familiar eyes, your chest heaved with breath, and you knew it was the best performance of your life.

You stepped off the ice, shaking with excitement.

Harry, just as breathless, immediately pulled you into his arms.

His hands were everywhere - your waist, your face, your hair - and he kissed you, right there, in front of everyone.

You didn’t care.

Let the cameras flash. Let the world see.

You loved him.

And nothing else mattered.

The tension was unbearable.

You and Harry sat side by side, hands clasped so tightly they were starting to ache.

Third place was announced.

Not you.

Second place.

Still not you.

Your heartbeat roared in your ears.

“And the winners of the World Championships are… Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupted.

Applause, cheers, flashing lights - it was deafening.

But all you could focus on was Harry.

The way he turned to you, eyes wide with pure joy, before pulling you into his arms, spinning you around.

You were laughing, crying, shaking, gripping onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

And then he kissed you.

Right there, in the middle of the ice, with the whole world watching.

You didn’t care.

Neither did he.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was this.

You. Him. Love. Victory.

[28harryssunflower]

Theres gonna be a new story out laterrr

School is still a pain in the ass, sorry about not posting💀

But I don’t have any exams until mid May, so that’s a start!

I’ll try to make more time for my post again💞💞

[28harryssunflower]

hello! could you please write something for harry from like late 2013/early 2014 where harry is feeling a bit insecure about his acne? i think it is quite possibly the hottest thing ever and if it could be like, reader is in the hotel room with him just relaxing after a show or interview and he’s in the bathroom like over analyzing it? trader doesn’t have to be in the band either.

i really hope this makes sense i literally love your writing :)

Hope you like it xx

Imperfectly perfect

Puberty had hit Harry hard, and even at 20, he still struggled with acne. You never understood why he let it bother him so much. To you, he was beautiful - his dimples, his green eyes, the way he scrunched his nose when he laughed. The acne? It was just part of him, something normal, something that didn’t make him any less attractive. But no matter how many times you told him, he still struggled to see himself the way you did.

Tonight was no different.

Harry walked into the hotel room, his shoulders slumped, his usual lively energy missing. He looked drained, almost defeated. You were curled up on the bed waiting for him, excited to spend the evening together, but the second you saw his face, you knew something was off.

“Hey, love,” you greeted softly, watching as he kicked off his shoes and let out a heavy sigh. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his curls. “Just tired.”

You frowned. You knew him too well - he wasn’t just tired. Something had happened. Maybe an interviewer made a comment? Maybe he saw a picture of himself he didn’t like? You wanted to ask, but you also knew how stubborn he could be. So, for now, you let it go.

“Okay,” you said gently. “Want me to join you in the shower?”

You often showered together - not always in a steamy way, but just to be close, to help each other relax. But tonight, Harry shook his head.

“Not tonight, love. I just need a minute.”

His words made your stomach twist, but you nodded. “Alright. I’ll be here.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and you listened as the water turned on. But as the minutes passed - ten, twenty, thirty - you started to worry. Harry never took this long.

After almost an hour, you couldn’t take it anymore. You walked over to the bathroom and slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside.

Your heart ached at what you saw.

Harry stood in front of the mirror, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, his face inches from the glass. His fingers were digging into his skin, trying to pop the blemishes on his cheeks and chin, his brows furrowed in frustration. The steam from the shower still filled the room, but it was clear he hadn’t even stepped in.

With a soft sigh, you slipped inside, turning off the water he had left running to fool you. He jumped at the sound, his hands immediately stopping as he turned toward you.

“Y/N-“

“Harry,” you cut him off gently, stepping closer. You reached for his hands and pulled them away from his face. His fingertips were red, and small spots of blood dotted his skin where he had been picking at it. You frowned, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheek.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” you whispered, your voice filled with nothing but love.

His jaw clenched. “Because I hate it,” he admitted, looking away. “I hate how my skin looks. I hate that no matter what I do, it won’t go away.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how much it affected him, how self-conscious he felt even when you told him over and over how perfect he was.

You guided him to sit down on the toilet lid, standing in front of him. Grabbing a washcloth, you carefully cleaned the irritated spots on his face, your touch featherlight.

“You are gorgeous,” you told him firmly, your eyes locked on his. “Every single inch of you. This doesn’t change that. You are literal perfection, Harry.”

He shook his head, a tired chuckle escaping his lips. “You have to say that. You’re my girlfriend.”

You huffed. “I don’t have to say anything. I say it because it’s true.”

Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Perfect,” you whispered.

You kissed his temple. “Beautiful.”

His cheek. “Handsome.”

His nose. “Stunning.”

With every kiss, you gave him a compliment, covering his face in love, making sure he felt every word. You felt him relax under your touch, his shoulders losing their tension, his breath evening out.

When you pulled back, you cupped his face in your hands. “You are more than your skin, Harry. And I love every single part of you.”

He exhaled slowly, his green eyes softening as they met yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Don’t say that.”

A small smile finally tugged at his lips, and that was enough for you.

“Now,” you said, standing up and grabbing his skincare products, “let’s take care of the rest, yeah?”

And this time, he let you.

After that night, it started happening more often.

Some nights, Harry would come home from interviews, drained and quiet, the ghost of insecurity lingering in his eyes. Other times, he’d stare into the mirror too long, fingers itching to pick at his skin. You noticed the way he touched his face absentmindedly, the frustration in his sighs whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection.

But instead of letting it break him, you turned it into something else. Something softer. Something full of love.

Every evening, without fail, you did his skincare.

At first, he resisted.

“You don’t have to do this, love,” he mumbled one night as you gently dabbed toner onto his face.

“I know I don’t have to,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “I want to.”

He sighed, but he let you do it.

And then, as the days passed, something shifted.

It became your thing.

After long days, no matter how exhausted he was, he’d sit on the toilet lid, waiting for you. You’d stand between his legs, your hands moving gently over his skin, applying serums, moisturizers, and treatments with the kind of tenderness that words couldn’t match.

You’d hum softly as you worked, sometimes talking about your day, sometimes just enjoying the comfortable silence. And every night, after the last step, you’d press soft kisses to his face, whispering the words he still struggled to believe.

“Perfect.” Kiss.

“Beautiful.” Kiss.

“My handsome boy.” Kiss.

And every night, Harry would smile just a little more.

One evening, as you smoothed moisturizer over his cheeks, he let out a content sigh. His eyes fluttered shut under your touch, his head tilting slightly into your palms.

“You know,” he murmured, “I think I actually like this now.”

You grinned. “Oh? So all my hard work is finally paying off?��

He chuckled, opening his eyes to look at you. “You’re just good at making things feel… safe.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. “I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart swelled, and you leaned in, pressing one last kiss to his nose. “I love you too, Harry.”

And as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, you knew - no matter how many times insecurity crept in, no matter how many bad days came - he would always have you to remind him of the truth.

And for a while, it seemed like things were getting better.

Harry was getting more comfortable in his skin, his confidence growing, even if the insecurities still lingered in the background. The nightly routine you had built together became a source of comfort, a moment of peace at the end of every day.

But some days were harder than others.

Some days, no matter how many times you told him he was perfect, he couldn’t believe it.

And today was one of those days.

You had gone shopping with Louis in the afternoon, leaving Harry alone in the hotel for a few hours. He had seemed fine when you left, just a little tired - but looking back, you should have noticed the way he was avoiding the mirror. The way his fingers kept ghosting over his jaw, his forehead, his cheeks, like he was already fighting the urge to scratch.

When you came back to the room, shopping bags in hand, the moment you stepped inside, your heart dropped.

Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his curls a mess from running his fingers through them.

And then you saw his skin.

His cheeks, his chin, his forehead - everything was red and raw, angry scratches covering his face where his nails had dug in too deep. Some spots were bleeding, tiny cuts that made your heart ache.

You didn’t need to ask what happened. You already knew.

“Oh, Harry…” you whispered, setting the bags down and immediately kneeling in front of him.

He flinched, not looking at you. “I- I tried not to,” he said, his voice small, filled with frustration. “But I just… I couldn’t stop.”

You reached out, gently pulling his hands away from his face. He let you, his fingers trembling slightly in yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened. “No, love. You don’t have to be sorry,” you said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

You sat next to him on the bed, one hand resting on his knee while the other brushed through his curls soothingly. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”

He nodded weakly, inhaling shakily as you guided him through a few slow, steady breaths. His body slowly relaxed under your touch, his hands no longer clenching into fists.

After a few minutes, you stood up, pressing a kiss to his temple before heading to the bathroom. You grabbed a clean washcloth, dampening it with warm water, and returned to him.

“This might sting a little,” you warned as you knelt in front of him again, carefully dabbing at the irritated spots on his skin.

He hissed quietly, but he didn’t pull away.

You worked gently, your touch featherlight, your heart aching for him. As you cleaned his skin, you spoke softly, filling the silence with reassurance.

“You’re still the most handsome man in the world, you know that?” you murmured.

Harry let out a weak chuckle, shaking his head. “Doubt it.”

You frowned playfully. “Oi, don’t make me start listing all the ways you’re perfect.”

That made him smile - small, but real.

Once you had cleaned his face, you set the cloth aside and ran your fingers through his curls. “You wanna lay down for a bit?”

He nodded, letting you guide him onto the bed. You sat beside him, his head resting on your lap as you continued playing with his hair.

“Can I braid it?” you asked softly, knowing how much he loved the feeling.

He hummed in approval, closing his eyes.

As you carefully twisted his curls into loose braids, you continued speaking. “You know, bad days don’t erase the progress you’ve made. And you don’t have to go through them alone. I’ll always be here, Harry. No matter what.”

His fingers brushed against your knee, a silent thank you.

Once his hair was braided, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Think you’re up for some skincare?”

He nodded slightly. “But… just the ones that won’t burn,” he mumbled.

You smiled. “Of course.”

You grabbed the gentlest products you had, skipping anything that might sting his open wounds. As you applied a soothing cream to his skin, he let out a sigh, melting under your touch.

By the time you finished, his breathing had evened out, his body completely relaxed. You curled up beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispered, barely audible.

You kissed his cheek - the one spot that wasn’t scratched. “Always, my love.”

And as he drifted off to sleep, safe in your arms, you knew that no matter how many rough days came, you’d always be there to remind him - he was loved.

Just as he was.

[28harryssunflower]

Omg no, don’t even apologize!! Studying comes first, and we totally get how stressful it can be. Take all the time you need, we’ll always be here waiting for you! Your well-being is way more important than uploads, so don’t feel pressured at all. Just focus on your exams, and when you’re ready, we’ll be just as excited as ever to see you back. Wishing you all the luck with your studies, you got this!! <3

Don’t make me cry, will you😭💞

[28harryssunflower]

hi queen! just wanted to let you know that i love your work, like you eat everytime💖💖 i get so excited when you upload cause it’s soooo rare that someone uploads daily (which i get cause its hard work) so i just wanted to thank you ily xx

About the daily upload thing…😭

I know I haven’t been active lately but I’m so stressed with studying atm. I’ll write a lot of exams these next few weeks, so bare with me😭

Because of the non-stop studying I literally had no motivation, nor creativity to write anything, so I’m do so sorry I haven’t been uploading😭

It’ll get frequent again once I can get some peace from my teachers🙏😭

[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]

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.