#harry styles imagion

[cherryyharryy]

The First Five

Pairing: Harry and Reader

WC: 3K

Warnings: Pregnancy/Birth 

 The first five minutes after you tell him you’re ready for a baby are chaotic, but the good kind. He’d been ready since you both said I do, but you wanted time, time with just him. 

He bit his tongue more times than he can count, not wanting to pressure you, knowing you’d come to him when you were ready to turn your house of two into three...or four; he kept his fingers crossed. Maybe even five...

He’d seen your wandering eyes linger on a mother and her child while you were out to lunch. You passed through the baby aisle at the store, not grabbing a thing. And when his friends stopped by with their three month old boy, you didn’t want to put him down. But still, he keeps silent. He sees the gears in your head working overtime, and he knows it’s coming. 

It’s a humid day, right in the middle of summer, when you approach him. Harry has flashbacks of the first date you two shared, your bashful smile and nervous hands. 

“I’m ready, Harry,” you whisper, rolling your lips in. “I want a baby.”

He can’t pinpoint exactly what emotions swarm him, they must be new. All he truly recalls is snatching you from the lounge chair you were stretched out on, and pulling you in for a hug that put all other hugs to shame. 

He showers you with kisses, every pet name he can think of tumbles past his lips as he suggests you two get to work right away, tugging you back into the house and up the stairs. 

He spends a lot of these five minutes running his eyes over you, glancing down at your stomach once you’re both bare, with just the thought of his baby, your baby, growing inside his love. 

And he presses a hard, passionate kiss right on your lips, running his thumb over your cheek and declaring his love for you. 

“You’re my world, y’know? My angel. Gonna make another one, yeah? Another darling I can cherish. Give you both anything, and all my love, you’ll have all my love.”

*** 

The first five minutes after you tell him you’re pregnant is silent. You’ve searched the internet for a cute way to present the news, a meaningful way to announce the creation of your love for each other. 

It’d been months since you first started trying, and needless to say, you were both sinking into disappointment every time a test didn’t yield the results you were after. But having bought yet another box while Harry was at work, you decided to try once more. 

And now with Christmas right around the corner, it’d be crazy for you not to make this a gift for him. 

You’re both surrounded by wrapping paper, still in your pajamas with forgotten mugs of coffee abandoned in the kitchen while you tell Harry he still had one gift left. 

It is a small, square box with a red ribbon adorning the green paper that you pull out from the tree itself. Harry chuckles at the hiding place and offers a kiss when you join him back on the floor. 

You’re fidgeting, positively squirming as he gently pulls the ribbon apart and pops off the lid. His brows furrow at the first recognition of a tiny t-shirt—a gag gift perhaps? It would explain your restlessness. 

But when he pulls the shirt out and unfolds it across his lap, he’s sure his heart stops for a moment. He can’t move, staring at the infant sized clothing with ‘Daddy said I’m a Packers Fan’ written across the front. 

His jaw wavers, and he swallows a dry, hollow, gulp. The only thing he wants to look at right now, is you. He needs the nod—the one he’s seen in movies and read about in books, the one where you’ll shyly smile and roll your lips in while your head silently says yes, this is really happening. So he darts his eyes up from the tiny shirt in his shaky hands to your face. You nod. 

He has a million things to say but they all come out in breathless huffs and dizzy laughs. He scrambles over to you and pulls you in, surely giving you the tightest, warmest hug you’ve ever received. 

“You’re...I…” He pulls back and searches your eyes. He must be dreaming. “This is...we’re really…”

You giggle and nod. “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe…” His lips finally tug into a smile. He shakes his head and flickers his eyes between your face and your stomach. They’re in there, tiny, microscopic, but they’re there.

“I couldn’t wait to tell you. Almost slipped up a few times.”

“I—I’m speechless.”

A soft laugh bubbles out of your mouth. “I can tell.”

You lean over the few inches he’s allowed between the two of you and press a soft, sweet, we’ve made a baby kiss to his lips. (As best you can, he can’t stop smiling).

 ***

The first five minutes before you endure the joys of pregnancy are much more agonizing than the five after. And Harry knew he’d be that husband—watching every move you make—but he had no idea how well he’d slip into the role. 

Needless to say, when you wake up feeling like you swallowed a model rocket ready for lift off, complete with a watery mouth and sore back, he panics. Your body’s in a state he doesn’t truly know how to take care of—sure he’s obsessed over the idea of being a dad, of you being pregnant. He’s a godfather and has a breeding kink that he won’t admit to. But the actual changes, the actual pain and metamorphosis that you’ve been going through and will continue to go through for the next six months, scares him to pieces. 

So for that first five minutes he’s pacing. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as you wait patiently on the cold tile floor, already hunched over the toilet. 

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.”

You really need him to shut up. You’re fine, you’re throwing up. It’s what pregnant women do. But when he’s nervous—as he gets if you so much as put a hand to your forehead and sigh—it sparks the own nervous energy in you to take over. Because things could go wrong, you’re not out of the woods for nine months. And yeah, you’re probably inching closer to the bowl because of the hot sauce you added to your chicken the night before, (add spicy food to the list of things you can’t eat), but when he asks you again…

“You alright?”

...you burst. 

“Harry for fucks sake would you shut up!”

He’s silent after that. The remainder of the five minutes he obeys and keeps his mouth quiet. He doesn’t leave, stays leant against the counter, but he doesn’t talk. 

When you’re brushing your teeth you look over at him. He’s pale and fidgety, like a child who received forgiveness but knows their parent is still mad. 

“I’m sorry.” You spit out your toothpaste, and repeat the words so he can understand them this time. 

“I hate seeing you like that. I can’t do anything, I can’t fix it, I can’t make you feel better. You’re going through things I’ll never understand and you have to do it all alone. I just…” he sighs, loosening the tension in his shoulders with a roll of his back. “I worry, y’know? You’re my everything. If something happens to you…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, the last few words are lucky they made it out, as wobbly and frail as they were. 

“Hey, look at me.” You’re stern as you approach him. “I'm never alone, okay? I have you.”

“But—”

“Nuh uh. Yeah, I’m the one that’s pregnant, but that’s just a small portion of everything that’s ahead. Nine months. Nine months and then you’ll be put to work.” You smile once he cracks a smirk. “And in the meantime, you've been the best support I could ask for. I never feel alone in all of this.”

His smirk grows from bashful to sly. “Because I never leave you alone.”

You laugh around your words. “Yeah that’s part of it.” Your hands gently slide up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “And I’ll be fine. Doctor says everything’s good. Nothing to worry about.”

“But what if—”

“If...if something happens, we’ll handle it. Worrying about whether something may or may not happen doesn’t prepare us, and it certainly doesn’t make things easier.”

He stares down at you, eyes twinkling with a confident look you haven’t seen in a while. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

The first five minutes after you step out of the shower, the morning Harry is supposed to be home after nearly a month, are bliss. 

He pulls his clothes off tiredly in the bedroom, willing himself to stay awake until he can greet you with a proper kiss once you’re out. He avoids the bed, knowing if he even sits on the edge he’ll pass out. 

He pours a cold glass of water and is on his way back up the stairs when he hears the rush of the shower come to a halt. He speeds up, stepping into the steam-filled room just as you’re unfolding your towel to wrap around your body. 

“You—” He’s pointing at you, frozen in the doorway, and you break into a stifling panic because the last time his words got caught in his throat with a pointed finger, there was a spider the size of your hand behind you. 

“What? What!?”

“You’ve got a bump!”

Your lips tweak into a smile, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly shy around him. “Noticed it the other day, when I put on my orange dress.”

You hadn’t time to wrap the towel around you before he was wrapped around you; his arms pulling you in flush against his chest, but only for a moment as he steps back to admire the swell of your belly. 

It’s not that noticeable—you’d have to be especially attentive to that part of your body to see the difference compared to a couple of weeks ago. There’s no need to rush out and stock up on maternity wear, and you don’t have to worry about the friends and family you haven’t told yet finding out. 

But it is exciting. It’s your baby, yours and Harry’s baby. And it’s healthy and growing and now you’re showing...Harry’s enthralled. 

He flicks his eyes up and waits for your nod before smoothing his hand over your belly button. His hand is big and warm. His rings are absent which you’re thankful for, not needing the cold on your skin right after a shower. 

“I love our baby,” he muses against your hair. “And I love you.”

“Welcome home.”

*** 

The first five minutes in the baby store are ridiculous. Harry—is ridiculous. He’s got an entire cart overflowing, and he’s really in his own little world. 

“Look at these, love.” He holds up the smallest pair of mittens you’ve ever seen, with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. “Look how tiny.”

“Everything’s tiny, Harry.”

He tosses them in the cart. 

You’re not complaining; his enthusiasm is contagious. You’re excited yourself, but having someone to share it with, someone who’s over the moon at every piece of clothing and accessory added to the pile, is the cherry on top. 

You’re running your eyes over the rows and rows of socks, all a different color, all incredibly small. 

“What color?” He asks, tugging you back to rest against his chest. 

“Would you care if I said one of each?”

“I’ll go get another cart.”

***

The first five minutes into your baby shower are kind of ridiculous. It was Gemma’s job to throw the celebration together, but your lovely husband weaseled his way into the planning, and now you’re sitting amongst friends and family while Harry reads off a list of games the guests are to play. 

“Sorry,” Gemma nudges you on the couch. “I tried. Honest.”

“I guess it was stupid of me to expect him to sit back and do nothing.”

“No, not stupid...just…” she eyes you, holding back a smile. “Okay yeah, maybe it was.”

“Excuse me,” Harry scolds the two of you. He’s standing in front of the fireplace, waiting on each audience member to give him their full attention, his own wife included. “Are you two done?”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Just get on with it, would you?”

“As I was saying,” Harry asserts, “the first game is a bottle chugging challenge.”

***

The first five minutes after your first contraction are scary. It’s definitely a contraction. You’ve endured a bout of Braxton Hicks, but what you’re feeling now are the major leagues. 

It’s the moment of no return. You’ve been in this state for quite a while, but it’s successfully and overwhelmingly dawning on you: you’re going into labor. 

It’s not about the past nine months, and it’s not about the baby a week from now, it’s about this very moment, and the hours to follow that have you second guessing this entire decision. You were ready to be pregnant and ready to teach your six year old how to ride a bike. You are not ready to give birth. 

Harry settles down on the floor beside the tub and cups your cheek in his palm. He holds up his phone with the timer at zero on the screen. “Tell me when,” he whispers. 

You nod and rest your head back against the linoleum, shutting out the light with your eyes and focusing on your body. Your body that is designed to perform this miracle, your body that has gone through nine months of rapid changes, your body that’s been through so much already. 

“Ah.”

“Breathe in.” He watches you relax in the water, making a mental note of your habit of holding your breath. “Good. I love you, you’re doing so good. Have been, always.” 

His thumb strokes over your cheek, and he asks if that’s okay. You nod and peak your eyes open, watching the timer on his phone tick by. It’s going too slow. Five minutes, the doctor had told you. Five minutes and it’s time to leave for the hospital. You’re not ready, please don’t stop at five. 

“The bags are in the car. And I’ve called your mum. Mine too.” He sets the phone down and dips his hand in the water, not letting go of you. “S’this warm enough?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is shakier than you were expecting. You peer up at him, and just by the look on his face, you know he knows. 

“You can do this. You’ve done so much already, and this is the last step.”

“It’s the hardest step though.”

“And you can do it”

You open your mouth, but it takes a couple swallows before you can speak. “I’m so scared. I didn’t think I would be, but I am.”

“Tell me what you’re scared about.”

You flicker your eyes up from the timer to his face, brows pulling in to say take a fucking guess. Instead you shrug. “I—just everything. The pain. The stitches. Something going wrong. Me dying, our baby dying. Something being wrong with them. Everything.”

Harry doesn’t blink. He has no right to tell you not to be scared. No right to try and de-rationalize your fears. You’re the one who’s body is preparing for something terrifying at this very moment, something you can’t truly prepare for no matter how many women you’ve asked ...so how bad does it really hurt? You’re the one giving birth, not him. 

“Are you not scared?” He catches the hint behind your words. You’re almost asking for the secret he seems to hold, because ever since you woke up from your nap with a buzzsaw in your gut, he’s been calm and collected. 

“F’course I am. Not gonna lie to you. You’re having a baby...that’ll never not be scary. If we have ten kids I’ll still be scared on our tenth trip to the hospital.” He pauses for a breath. “But I also know that you can do this. I know that you’re incredibly strong, stronger than I’ll ever dream of being. You’re healthy and the baby’s healthy. You’ve got a fight in you that I fell in love with. You don’t give up on anything, you don’t back down. You power through and show me time and time again how un-fucking-believable you are.”

He’s wiping the tears that have started to trickle down your cheeks, and for a second he worries he’s said something wrong. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is still brittle, but when you look up at him, the light in your eyes has changed. 

“Thank you,” he smothers a kiss onto your lips, “thank you, thank you, thank you for everything.”

***

The first five minutes after you’ve brought your child into the world are heavenly. Your body is more than exhausted, numb, yet you feel everything. You’re not even sure if what you’re feeling is your body. There’s a lot of noise, a lot of chaos, as you lay there. 

The voices are all in a tunnel. The only one you really tune in to is the high pitched scream, a decibel breaking siren that is somehow coming from the tiny human being placed on your chest. 

Then it’s your own voice. You’re crying; not sad, just relieved, overworked, and so fucking happy. Despite the excruciating wringer you’ve just been yanked through, you’d do it again in a heartbeat...maybe Harry will actually convince you to have three. 

“Hey little one.” You softly stroke your finger down your newborn’s cheek, the wailing yet to cease. “I’m so happy you’re finally here.”

The room starts to slow down, and soon you’re taking everything in again. Harry’s by your side. He never left, although he’s back in focus now. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.” He’s holding his baby, cradling their head just like he practiced a million times. And he’s looking at you, in you, if that’s possible, into the very depths of whatever harbors the strength you showed today. And of course the tears are dripping down his cheeks. He’s so fucking happy too. “I love you. I love you so—I just love you.” He shakes his head. There aren’t really words, are there?

“And I love you.” He smiles at his child, running his eyes over the features he can’t get enough of. It really is the two of you, all wrapped up in this small bundle blinking up at him. “We’re gonna let muma rest now, aren’t we?”

He bends down to place a kiss on your forehead. You feel a tear beside his lips. “I love you, my darling. Close your eyes, you’ll be fast asleep in five minutes.”

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