(btw if anyone was interested, I think someone actually asked at some point but I forgot to answer??? I wrote a short history of african-american representation in american television in 1960-1990 time period and how The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reflects institutional racism in it’s themes.)
It’s late, so maybe some of you may not see this until the morning, but when I finish something I’ve always super excited to release it unto the world. So here it is, the super long…super late request for a Harry Styles pregnancy one shot.
The title is a cheesy pun, leave me be. I love cheesy puns.
Now on with the show!
“Ah Ms. Styles,” the hostess beamed as you approached her, “your table is all ready. Shall we wait for–”
“No I think I’ll wait for him at the table,” you said in a rush, effectively cutting her off, “Just show him in when he gets here?”
Ever the professional, the hostess ignored your clearly nervous fidgeting and ushered you to your usual table at the back of the restaurant. It was a booth in the back corner over looking the bay all dotted with lights from the idling boats. It was the same place Harry had proposed to you all those years ago. He had been just as nervous then as you were now.
“Celebrating anything special?” the hostess probed gently as you slid behind the table.
You hastily took the menu from her to hide your face. You had never been great at lying. “Nope, just a regular Tuesday night!” your voice had pitched an octave from stress, “We’re not celebrating anything…just a regular night out for the Styles!”
The hostess didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push the issue. “Would you like for your waiter to bring out your usual Pinot Noir?”
“No!” you too quickly to be played off as causal. You frantically tried to backpedal as the hostess was eyeing you up and down, “I mean…could you just bring me a water for now? I’m so parched from the drive and…wine just sounds so heavy right now.”
“Yes of course. Tap or bottled Miss?”
“Tap is fine,” you sighed with relief as the hostess finally left you in peace. You were in deep trouble. You had nearly lost your cool in front of the hostess, there was no way you’d be able to remain calm in front of Harry. He’d see through you in 2 seconds.
“Y/N! Sorry I’m late” Harry brushed his lips against your cheek before sliding himself into the booth, apparently unaware at how you flinched, “I got held up at the studio.”
“It’s alright, I was late too,” you could feel your cheeks heating up at just how true those words were. The waiter chose that moment to arrive with your water, and you nearly knocked it over in your efforts to grab it.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked patiently as Harry pinned you with a strange look.
“Could you give us a couple of minutes?” Harry smiled politely at the waiter who nodded in leave. “Are you alright?” Harry asked turning his attention back to you, “You’re acting very strangely.”
“I uh…” you twisted your napkin between your hands, “There’s actually something I need to tell you…”
“Did something happen?” Harry leaned toward you, his voice filled with concern.
“Everything’s fine!” you said in a rush to Harry’s very visible relief, “It’s just…”
Everything was going to be fine. You just had to say it. But saying it would make it real, in a ‘no turning back’ sort of real, and everything between you and Harry was great and you didn’t want anything to change. But…
You let out a shaky sigh, “I know we talked about this before, and we agreed we’d wait a couple more years until we were both ready but…I’m pregnant.”
You bit the inside of your lip waiting for Harry’s reaction. He fallen into a sort of stunned silence. His gaze was locked on something that seemed very far away and he had gone slightly pale.
“Harry?” you asked nervously, “I know we didn’t plan this but…please say something.”
“Pregnant,” the simple work slipped from Harry’s lips.