brown boots of harry

harry during tmh: same black, white, and navy t-shirts every show and ratty ass brown boots

harry during wwa: testing the waters with patterned jumpers and long sleeved button downs

harry during otra: new shit every night. each shirt is at least $3000. titties always on display. sheer and floral and bright colors everywhere. are those gold boots? yes those are fucking gold boots

Any other Harry Potter fan on this blog 👻💞✨ ?

anonymous asked:

Maybe do one where they start putting together and decorating the nursery?x

I changed up the prompt a little bit, but, this is a sort of straight-up addition to the previous part posted in the Pregnancy Series - the part after this will be a direct part to the series where they start to decorate the nursery together. x

Pregnancy Series #14 - The Nursery.

(Word count - 6k+ words)

* 5 and a half months *

“Where do you want to head off to first? The shops, obviously. But, where too?” Harry wondered, as you climbed back into the car and settled in the front passenger seat for the third time that morning. 

Once you’d arrived home after travelling the almost 40 minutes back from the service station, after catching the sun-rising at dawn, you’d both refreshed and dressed in clothes that were appropriate to walk around the shops in, walking down busy streets and being noticed more than a few times by fans who recognised the both of you. 

Clothes were set out and neatly folded on the bed with shoes brought out of the wardrobe that were comfortable enough to walk in; a button-up and white jeans for Harry with brown suede boots waiting at the foot of the bed, with a pair of your white converse trainers that would compliment a flowing skirt and white tank-top paired with his pink and white spotted shirt that you’d taken a sudden adoration towards. 

A shower was shared after you’d helped one another strip down from the comfy clothing worn in the early hours of the morning, a heap of cotton and mixed colours pooling at your feet as both nude bodies stumbled into the bathroom and stood beneath falling water from the shower head. Hair wet and bodies shining beneath the bright light on the bathroom ceiling, soft touches being exchanged, his palms reaching round and rubbing over the prominent curve of your moving bump. Kicks and nudges being given to the warmth emitting from his touch; warmth that his daughter could detect and decipher as her father, her daddy, a parent she’d love with her entirety as soon as she graced your lives.

With fresh bodies and clean – and appropriate – clothes adorning your figures and after numerous mugs of tea had been consumed, you were both ready to set back out into the warm weather with your heads set in focusing on your baby and just your baby for the day. Money that was in both bank accounts and a joint account that was going to be spent fondly on furniture and paint and nursery accessories that would decorate a room and make it as homely as possible for a baby you’d nurture into a wonderful little girl.

Being almost 6 months pregnant and being a little over halfway into the second trimester of your first pregnancy, you had found it necessary to begin preparing the house. Decorating and baby-proofing some areas in each room to brace yourselves with the new experience of being new-to-the-scene parents and having a new baby blessing your lives and turning the page to construct the next chapter of yours and Harry’s book; a metaphorical book on your life, of course. 

“We can go to Homebase and look at the paint and get a couple of cans, then, I can paint the walls later today.”

“Doesn’t Homebase do baby furniture? Can’t we just look around there and see if we find anything that will fit the nursery?” You mumbled, reaching around and pulling the seatbelt around your body and clipping it into it’s place. “Not that I mind looking around baby stores and registering stuff to buy for baby Styles, but, we’ll end up buying stuff that we don’t need yet.” 

You weren’t aiming that towards anybody, but, deep down you knew that Harry would find something that he could see dressing his little girl in; whether they were jeans, a t-shirt that would make her look like ‘the most fashionable celebrity baby since North West’, as well as baby-grows and bibs that were patterned with words like Daddy’s Girl or I Love Daddy across the chest in pink cotton and cursive sewn words. 

You could imagine his search history on both his laptop and phone to be a variety of online shopping websites that sold baby clothes. Designer websites, baby websites or opened links that his sister had sent to him when she was bored at work and finding outfits and toys and little somethings that her niece – or nephew; to her, and to his and your families, they were unaware as to what gender the newest family member was going to be – would be spoilt with.

However, you couldn’t say you were any different. 

Nights on end since you’d be told the gender of the baby taking home in your belly, you’d been thinking about and searching for clothes and pretty pattered baby-grows that would make her look as scrummy as possible. Patterns that were very Harry-esque. Patterns that you could see matching with specific pieces of clothing that Harry would wear when it came to family dinners with his parents or your parents, or, family parties where everyone would gush over just how adorable she really was.

“Can’t ever have to many clothes. Baby Styles is going to be spoilt rotten with designer brands and everything,” Harry grinned, setting the car in reverse and backing out of the driveway, “I may have already been looking at baby clothes that match my button ups from Saint Laurent. Oh, and I found some pretty adorable boots that she can wear that match my suede ones,” he admitted excitedly.

“We don’t need to look for clothes yet, Peaches. She’ll live in baby-grows and little knitted socks before we dress her up to match your outfits,” you stated, looking across the console and seeing his concentrated face looking out the rear-view mirror, making sure he didn’t knock into a flower pot lining the driveway or crashing the bumper into the brick wall as he backed the Range Rover onto the road. “I love that you’re getting so excited about dressing her up like you, but, she’s going to be too small to wear anything like button-ups or jeans for the first few months, Peaches.”

Small enough to fit in the palm of one of his large hands. Delicate and fragile and swaddled tightly in the crook of his arm, her body looking tiny and petite.

“I know. Jus’ preparing for the future,” he admitted, truthfully.

In a little under 3 months, he’d be a father.

Not just a singer, nor song-writer, nor an new actor, nor a raconteur.

But a daddy, as well.

A daddy to a little girl that needed his full attention and needed his love. An important role in a little girl’s life as she grew up into a healthy young being, in a family filled to the brim with respect and intimacy and tenderness that moulded her into the bright young girl sweeping people off their feet and stealing and breaking their hearts.

He didn’t want her to lack in what she needed as a baby – babygrows, socks, her first set of trainers, nappies and bottles, and bath soaps that made her stay smelling like a baby and keeping that distinct new baby smell on her body; a smell he’d become some fond of inhaling after holding and snuggling with many babies in his past life, and really, he couldn’t wait to have that smell filling his home for him to have sudden wafts of each time he lifted her to his chest and had her snuggle into his chest. 

And he didn’t want her missing out on what she wanted as she grew up into a teenager – fancy and adored clothes that caught her eye in the shops, fancy-smelling bath soaps and shampoos that left the bathroom with a sweet and vanilla aroma hanging around in the atmosphere, and bath bombs that would be divided equally between yourself and her when both needed relaxing. 

All he wanted was to show his love by spoiling her because she was his daughter and, to him, she deserved the world.

“We have plenty of time to prepare, Peaches,” you cooed, “I promise. Three more months. We don’t need to worry about clothing and getting them the latest designer outfits or shoes or accessories until they’re old enough to wear them, okay?”

He gave you a soft nod before swiftly changing his attention from the rear-view mirror to the road in front, the car travelling slowly down the white-marked tarmac and passing parked cars that awaited a start-up at ten in the morning. A comfortable silence filled void between the two of you as the only sound that could be heard inside the car was the tyres rolling down the road, bumping over stones and pot-holes made after years the street wearing away. 

“Mum text me the other day,” Harry broke the silence with soft words, “wondered if we wanted to pop down to Chapel and see all the family this weekend. Grandad’s a bit excited to see us both and he’s been asking about you and the pregnancy and everythin’. I told her that I’d check with you to see if you were up for it before I gave her a definite answer.”

“Sounds like a sweet idea. I presume it’s for Sunday dinner as well as seeing family?” You hummed, your head turning towards the window as you watched the trees and the houses pass by in soft blurs. “I quite fancy a nice roast dinner now. I love her chicken.”

In the 6 years that you’d known and loved and bonded with his family, you’d had your fair share of Sunday dinners with the Styles and Twist family.

The first time you’d ever had a Sunday dinner cooked by Anne was the first time he’d taken you back to meet his family. Speaking so fondly of you over the phone and texting his mother each day to keep her updated, she was eager to meet you, and so was Robin; if Harry was so fond of you and felt the need to keep his mother updated on a daily basis on a relationship that had only been blossoming for less than a few months, then, to his mother and his stepfather as well his father collectively, it meant that you were special.

You’d taken the train from London with Harry because he was longing to show you the countryside leading you into the hustle and bustle city life of Manchester, catching a taxi at the other end in which he spent the entirety of the journey calming your nerves and promising you that everything was going to be okay.

- -

“What if I’m not what they expected, Harry? I’m not exactly deemed perfect to date someone like you,” you muttered, your head tilted down to your chest as you looked to the hanging loose string from your bag, “you’re so amazing and you’re humble and lovely and gorgeous and I’m nothing compared to you. What if they expect someone who’s in a stable job and earns money for themselves and isn’t feeding off of their partner’s bank account? What if I’m weird and act odd in front of them? Oh my god, what if I trip and embarrass myself or drop dinner down my outfit? Harry, I-” 

A finger was pressed to your lips as you looked towards him, your eyes wide and panic filled.

“Stop worrying. They love you already and they’ve never met you,” Harry chuckled, “I spoke to mum just yesterday when I dropped you off at work and she’s so excited to meet you and bond with you and talk to you, possibly about me as a baby and embarrassing me like mad.” 

“I already embarrass you,” you mumbled against his finger.

“You do not, you silly goose. We’ve been together for a few months and it’s time I introduced you to my mum and my stepfather. You’ve met Gemma already, but, we won’t go into that again,” he chuckled, “because that really was embarrassing. Just, stop worrying, okay? Mum’s been so excited. Even made your favourite dessert.”

“Banoffee pie?” 

“She googled a recipe and found a decent one. She sent me a photo and it looks delicious,” he admitted, dropping his finger from your mouth and smiling, “do not worry. My family will adore you. Just like I adore you.”

A blush painted your cheeks.

“God, I adore you too, Harry Edward.”

- - 

The second time you’d ever had a Sunday dinner cooked by Anne was Christmas in 2014, when you were a little over 2 years into your relationship with Harry. After a subtle drop of the question in his bed, moments after you’d rolled off of his sweating body and fell lax and naked against the mattress, you couldn’t turn down the opportunity of spending such a beloved holiday with a man and a family of which you loved just as much.

With the frosty countryside passing by the warm car with swaddled bodies in jumpers and scarves and hats and gloves, you and Harry were well underway on your car journey towards Holmes Chapel. A few phone calls passing through from the boys to wish one another a Merry Christmas, and, your text tone sounding around the car that was humming out soft Christmas tunes from the radio, text messages coming through from your parents and your family to wish good holiday and a confirmation that they’d see you in London for New Years.

- - 

“Merry Christmas!” Anne called out as she heard the front door open and close, a gust of wind catching in the doorway and wafting into the warm house smelling strongly of eggnog, cinnamon and a strong aroma of marinated chicken ready for the day tomorrow. “Harry, Robin’s in the garden collecting some firewood. Feel free to go out and help me. Gemma’s here now and (Y/N) can come and help with dessert,” she suggested, your bags dropping to the floor followed by the sack of presents resting against the table.

With booted feet yet beanies still on heads, you and Harry made your way into the kitchen, being instantly hit with the strong smell of cooking food and cinnamon sticks.

“Anne, it smells so good in here,” you praised, a smile on your lips as the elder lady engulfed you into a hug, “I’ve been so excited to have this Christmas dinner, you know? You cook a right lovely roast dinner. You’ll have to give me a recipe or some tips so I can take them back to London and make a roast for Harry when we have the opportunity.”

“Y’ don’t need too, baby. I can spoil you every Sunday and give you the afternoon off cooking,” he cooed, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to his jumper clad chest, his fingers swiping for a strawberry from the counter, earning a swat from Gemma, “looked invitin’, Gem. You’re cutting them up nicely and I had to snag one.”

“You’re annoying, Harold,” she grumbled, a giggle leaving your mouth as he gave your cheek a strawberry tasting kiss, “go and drop a log on your foot.”

- -

The third time you’d ever had a Sunday dinner cooked by Anne was the year you got married, Christmas in the December 2017. 

As a tradition to be started, Anne had suggested that your parents travelled down with you and Harry and they had a dinner that brought the whole family together. Opening presents and drinking hot chocolates into the late hours of Christmas Day Eve as you reminisced about past Christmases as both sets of parents exchanged stories about yourself or Harry, pink cheeks being the response and laughter being exchanged.

- -

“We were in (Y/N)’s grandma’s house one Christmas Day and everyone was round, and we’d just had a stunning Christmas dinner cooked by herself and my sisters. And she was around 4 or 5 and my nephew, (Y/N) older cousin, had left a bottle of coke on the floor where he was sat,” your mother laughed, “and of course, at a young age, they’re very curious and (Y/N) here had picked up the bottle and taken a nice big gulp down, and we had no idea until her cousin had complained that the rim was wet and slobbery.” 

“No way?” Anne laughed over the rim of her mug, the strong smell of eggnog wafting through her nose, “what happened?” 

“She didn’t go to sleep until 3 in the morning, and, (Y/N)’s dad here,” your mother grinned, patting her husbands thigh, “stayed up the entire night until she zonked out. He slept through breakfast and missed the afternoon drinks with the males.” 

“The funny thing is, she can’t have coke now after 8 because she ends up staying awake the whole night and she gets cranky the next morning when nothing goes right,” Harry chuckled, your body leaning against his side with an arm thrown over your shoulders, “have to bribe her with water before we go to sleep.” 

As the laughter died down between the families and you all fell relaxed into seats with full bellies on the roast dinner consumed just a few hours ago, it was evident that you were all tired and exhausted and ready to call it a night.

“Can you believe this time next year, we might have another little member to the family?” Anne cooed, reaching across and squeezing your knee, Robin’s arm holding her waist as she neared the edge of the sofa. “A little baby Styles, hm? Have you been thinking about the next step?” 

“Honestly, no,” you mumbled nervously, looking up at Harry as he gave you a wink, “but, we might give you all a surprise and get pregnant before Christmas.”

“It’ll be great to have a new member to spoil with presents. We never know what to buy for you two anymore. It’s resounded in buying perfume for you and underpants for Harry. Not that he’s complained about receiving them,” your mother laughed, your fathers deep chuckle drowning her speech out, “hurry up and have babies, okay? I need a little one to spoil.”

- -

“Mum does make the best roast dinner,” Harry chuckled, “she said we could stay the weekend, and, do whatever we wanted round Cheshire to see everyone. I think Alice is curious to know how you’re doing and she’s got a couple of things to give to us for the baby.”

“Have you told them what we’re having or have you kept it a secret? It’s been a couple of weeks now since we’ve known we’re having a girl,” you stated, “I think we should maybe tell people what we’re having, don’t you think? Maybe tell your family this weekend, see my parents or get them round ours for afternoon tea this afternoon and tell them, and then we can tell Twitter when all of our families know.” 

“That sounds wonderful, Gorgeous,” Harry grinned, reaching a hand across the console and squeezing your hand in his, “I haven’t seen your mum and dad in ages. It’ll be nice to see them today,” he added, “If they’re free, of course. We can always pop round when we’re done in the shops? See if they’re at home.”

You gave him a nod and looked down to your linked hands, your fingers toying with his as he continued to drive down the road, accelerating to engine as he neared the busy city streets taking you both towards the Homebase located on the outskirts of the London. 


He hummed in response, looking across the console and looking to you with a warm smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get anyone in to help us build the nursery? I can’t exactly help you lift anything heavy because I’ve already go an important job of opening my womb to our baby and you haven’t exactly got the best back in the world to carry anything heavy,” you reasoned, twisting the wedding band on his ring finger, the gold metal cool beneath your warm fingertips, “I jus’ don’t want you to have a bad back when I need you to help me.”

You weren’t exactly the tallest person and you required a person of reasonable height – or a chair – to help you reach up into a cupboard or up on a shelf to get something you desired. With Harry being on hand and there in the house, and upon hearing your grunts of struggle, he was there behind you in an instant. Cupping your hips in his hand and reaching up without one little tiptoe and struggle, you’d reward him with a kiss and a cuddle. 

You needed him more than ever now with a bump at your hips and the lack of movements allowed for you to endue, and with a bad back and aching muscles, he couldn’t do much for you. 

A back massage would never suffice but a trip to the osteopath would.

“I’ll be fine. F’we get everything put in the nursery as soon as we busy it, we won’t have to carry anything up the stairs,” he explained, flicking the indication switch and turning off of the motorway, “if I need someone, I’ll call Niall. He’s good at the handiwork and DIY stuff so he can help if we need someone urgently. Don’t worry.” 

“M’goin’ to worry about you, Harry. You have a bad back. It’s only going to get worse when you get older, especially when you have a baby to lug around and hold and bend over to pick up from the cot,” you reasoned, his hand snaking from yours as he changed gear of the car, “you’ll be leaning over a lot more and that always hurts your back and I can’t exactly drive you to the hospital in my state because we’re both too scared of road accidents happening.”

“I promise, I’ll be okay, Gorgeous. Don’t you worry,” he smiled.

* *

The both of you were surrounded by shelves and shelves holding different shades of paint, your eyes darting around the different tins from different brands, your mind internally debating what shade and what brand would be best suited for the nursery. Harry’s palm was flat on your back, his free hand brought to his face as he pinched his bottom lip between his fore finger and thumb, his eyes focused on the yellow shades of paint that he felt would be the perfect choice to paint at least three of the walls in the nursery with – in his mind, he pictured the nursery having three yellow walls with one white wall accentuated with a mirror and a vanity chest to be used as a changing table.

“What are y’ thinkin’?” Harry hummed, looking down at you as you frowned. 

“I really don’t know,” you mumbled, stepping forward and looking closer at the shades, “what are you thinking? I know you’ve been thinking about this more often than I have.” 

A chuckle left his mouth. 

“I was thinking a nice pale yellow. A gender neutral colour and it would go well with any coloured furniture,” he suggested, reaching for a pale yellow coloured tin and holding it up, “I caught you looking at white furniture online the other day, and, it kind of planted a seed for the yellow colour with maybe, like, one white wall.”

“Why one white wall?”

“My nursery used to be like that,” he admitted, “and, it’ll just give it a brighter feel to the room rather than having it be just all one colour, you know? And white is a common theme through the house anyway,” he added, setting the pain tin back down on the shelf and groaning, rolling his head back and looking towards the ceiling littered with lights and beams. “I never knew that organising a baby’s nursery would be so tough.”

“It’s our first time,” you stated, worming your body in front of him and snaking your arms around his hips, “y’know, we don’t have to do it today. I could just go home right now, slide these jeans off and have you in bed,” you whispered, your chin resting upon his chest as you looked up at him, your lips brushing against his jaw. “Wha’ d’ya say?”

Not necessarily naked and intimate, just, close and comforting with that little intimacy there that didn’t overpower with the only small amount of sexual tension coursing through his body.

“I’d love too, you know that. But, we really need to start buying this for baby Styles,” he explained, dropping his head and blowing a breath over your face, blowing the hair from your face. A distinct smell of mint fresh on his breath. “We’ve been putting off everything so far and I think we’re a bit far behind with everything. I know we’ve been coming to terms with the pregnancy and everything, but, I really think we’ll feel less stress after we get the room started.”

“I s’pose so,” you mumbled, pressing up on your toes and kissing the corner of his lips, “get yellow and white. I like your idea.”

“Not jus’ saying that to make this easier?” He teased, a chuckle escaping his mouth as he felt pokes to his belly, “thinkin’ baby Styles likes the idea. She’s kicking a storm up in there.”

“Uh-huh. It feels like she’s using my insides as footballs, m’telling you,” you grumbled, turning on your heels and spinning around, your back pressed against his chest as you reached for the white matte paint can and held the handle tightly in your hand. “Get the yellow. Please. I love the idea. We’ve never been one to have a purple or pink theme and the house is already grey and black and white so what’s the harm in adding yellow to the mix?” 

The living room in your London home was a mixture of complimentary colours; black and grey accessories and silver photo frames that held family photos and sweet candids taken of you and Harry that you thought would fit perfectly between a bunch of family photos, and, a teal coloured set of cushions set upon a grey sofa facing a TV.

The bedrooms on the second level were all following the similar colour scheme of greys and whites and blacks; the walls were white with one wall that stood out against the plainly painted brick.

The kitchen followed a scheme of white and grey, because Harry knew you liked a room that emitted bright light and didn’t give a vibe of boringness or dullness whenever anybody entered the particular part of the house. Knives and plates followed a similar pattern, the tea towels were pure white and the tiles lining the walls followed a strict white, grey, white, grey sequence. 

There wasn’t any harm in adding a colour that still complimented the house with the rest of the scheme.

“It’s settled then,” Harry smiled, pressing his lips to the back of your head and planting a kiss in your hair, “yellow and white. It’ll be like being a baby again,” he chuckled.

* *

“This place looks too expensive, Harry,” you mumbled, your hand tight in his as you stood at the front of a well-known and busy baby store, filled with expectant mothers and fathers who had taken it upon themselves to buy the furniture necessary for a nursery, “we can’t go in here, Peaches. Our baby will only be using them for 3 years of their life before we change them into a bigger room and give them a bigger bed and use a better pushchair,” you reasoned.

“Nonsense. We can just reuse the furniture over and over again, can’t we?” Harry suggested, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked down at you. “We can have another baby in a few years and then we can reuse the furniture and it won’t be a waste of money.”

“Harry,” you warned, as he stepped forward. 

“C’mon. Everything in here will be so worth the purchase, Gorgeous,” Harry grinned, tugging on your hand and pulling you to his body, your aching and swollen feet following behind him as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, “all we have to do is have a look around, alright? We don’t have to buy anything if you feel it’s too out of our range. We can always have a look online and order furniture in so we don’t have to travel out to go and get it.”

To you, that sounded like a dream.

You wouldn’t have to walk around with an aching back, and aching feet, and a hankering for a nap or a sit down in a chair that you wouldn’t be told to get out of because it wasn’t for the public to sit on. Everything would be there in front of you, your fingers scrolling the page as you adding pieces of furniture to a basket that Harry would pay for when it came to finishing the task. His figure sat beside you, his attention turning from the TV playing a rerun of a football game he’d missed – and spoken to his father about over the phone – and the screen on your lap, pointing out the better options to have in the nursery and backing his reasoning up with something that you couldn’t disagree with. 

To him, it sounded worse.

He knew you were aching and he understood that, just sometimes, you didn’t want to endue pain with each step you took. However, to him, searching and buying furniture for a nursery, that his little girl was going to stay in for the majority of her childhood, in person to see what it looked like when it was set-up to how it was meant to be was a better option; one he would choose any day. He felt much more participated in the father role because he was taking part in debates about what cot was better and he’d be comparing prams and pushchairs to see which one he could be seen folding up and putting in the boot of his car after pushing his baby around the streets to nod her off to sleep. 


“You’re aching, Gorgeous. I know. If we just have one look around here, maybe taking down the order numbers because that way, we can have a look on the website and order them over the internet to get delivered to our house,” he reasoned, his hand braced against the small of your back, his thumb rubbing softly at the knot sitting on your spine. “Just a short walk around,” he promised. 

“Fine,” you smiled, looking over towards the corner of the store where three cots were set up in a row – one was coloured brown, one was coloured white, and one was coloured a dark and shining oak, and all looked sturdy and at a reasonable build to what you had wanted.

However, what turned out to be just a short walk around the store had ended up in an almost four-hundred-pound order and a squeeze into the boot of the Range Rover Harry had opted to take that morning. A cot, a wardrobe, a changing station and a rocking chair squeezed into the boot, with the chairs pushed down and the boxes slanted at a weird angle to get them securely inside the car.

You’d never been more thrilled to sit down in the front passenger seat and slide off your shoes, relieving your sore soles as you curled your toes and stretched them out in the footwell. A bang of the boot closing sounded around the inside of the car, making you just but signifying that he’d squeezed the four large boxes in with the help of the store security guard who had recognised Harry and offered a lending hand. You could see in the side mirror of the car as Harry took a quick photo with the security guard, bid him a farewell with a thank-you, and, agreed to sign what you guessed was a piece of paper for an elder; an elder of whom you presumed had a daughter or a grandchild or knew of somebody who adored the boys as much as anybody else he’d met had.

He’d shuffled into the car shortly after, closing the door and sighing heavily as he looked across to you.

“Ready to go? You don’t need anything from anywhere else?”

You gave him a tired shake of your head, a yawn leaving your lips as he gave you a soft smile and reached over the console for your knee, his neck straining to press a kiss to your temple.

“All we have to do now is buy blankets and little necessities like night lights and a mobile to hang over the cot as well as clothes and nappies and bottles,” he grinned, “my favourite thing.”

He couldn’t lie when it came to stating what his favourite part of your pregnancy would be – getting to walk around shops filled with racks and racks of baby clothes; tiny, sewn together and different colour babygrows, t-shirts that he could fit over his hand, jeans that he could imagine his daughters’ tiny yet chubby legs squeezing into, as well as bibs and skirts and socks that were knitted with bows accentuating the hem.

He’d heard from his mum about baby shopping; emotional stories, funny stories, and stories that made him excited as ever to take part in as an expecting parent. 

- - 

“It’s the best feeling in the world when you pick up a babygrow and it’s the size of your palm,” his mother explained over the rim of her mug of coffee, the hustle and bustle of the Starbucks they were sat in drowning out the sound of her speech. “How are you feeling? Are you ready to be a daddy yet or-”

“Mum, I’m more than excited,” he admitted, “this is the best feeling. I’ve wanted this ever since I said I do to her. We just had our first wedding anniversary and it’s just incredible to think that we were pregnant just a little over 6 months into our marriage,” he grinned. 

“Just wait till you start baby shopping, sweetheart. It’s the best feeling in the world being surrounded by clothes that are just so tiny, and, you just can’t believe that your baby is going to be that small,” Anne admitted, “you were tiny when you were born. So very tiny. Not a big as you are now.”

A chuckle left his mouth as he took a bite of his bacon roll, and chewed on the meat.

“You’re a stylish man. (Y/N)’s a very stylish lady. You’ll be dressing your baby in designer clothes as soon as she’s been born,” Anne laughed, looking at Harry’s button-up attire, “have you been looking for clothes yet or aren’t you worrying to much?”

“Don’t think we’re worrying too much about it. She’s only just passed 4 and a half months so I think we going to get the nursery and the baby-proofing of the house down before we worry about filling a wardrobe up with clothes and shoes,” he smiled, swallowing down the remnants around his mouth, reaching for his bottle of water.

“I’m so excited to start seeing you with a baby, Harry. It’s a mothers dream to see her child becoming a parent themselves. You were a born father, sweetheart. You’ll fly through parenting as easy as anything, I’m sure of it,” she grinned, reaching for his hand, “this will be the best few years of your life, I can assure you. When I had your sister, I swore I couldn’t love anyone more than her, but then you came along and I had a swelling heart filled with love for you both. I’m sure that’s where you get your massive heart from,” she admitted truthfully.

“Have to have you come from Cheshire more often, mum. I know (Y/N)’s mum is getting stuck in with helping us and everything, so, we’d love your help as well.”

- -

“You just can’t wait, can you?” You giggled, placing a hand over his. “Just take us to my mum’s place. I could use one of her amazing cups of tea.” 

Oi, I can make you some good tea. You were knocking it back this mornin’,” Harry muttered with an amused tone lacing within the words rolling off of his tongue, squeezing your knee and earning a groan when his fingers dug into your limbs. “To your mums we go.”
Harry Styles shows off his tattooed torso at GQ and Warner Music bash

Harry Styles was more than happy to show off his tattooed chest as he attended the Warner Music and GQ party on Thursday. The One Direction star made a typically stylish arrival to the bash held at Shoreditch House as he sported a casual look for the event.

Harry, 20, put his body art on display in a buttoned down blue shirt which he teamed with black skinny jeans and brown ankle boots. 

Naturally, Harry sported some trendy headgear as he tucked his famous brown curls into a wide brim-hat for the event.

It seems the heartthrob might be putting his party days behind him as a partygoer revealed his tame behaviour inside the bash.

Speaking to MailOnline, the source said: ‘He turned up to the Warner and GQ summer party but didn’t even seem to make use of the free bar and instead was the perfect gentleman, letting the ladies ahead of him in the packed queue.

‘He mingled outside and enjoyed the view from the rooftop before moving downstairs to join comedian pal Jack Whitehall (who was looking worse for wear) and his girlfriend Gemma Chan and a large, rowdy group of friends but he seemed to take a backseat.

‘All his mates were calling in rounds of shots and having a good time but Harry shunned the drinks in favour of a quiet chat with a male friend.

‘He also spent a lot of the night texting. He headed home at around 1am when the party was very much still going. He was so polite and did the rounds giving everyone a hug and kiss.’