Daddy Cool *larry au* (mpreg)

Eleven

Have y'all noticed a change in Emily since the beginning? If so, what is that change? What do you think the change in Emily's behaviour is leading up to?

"Papa! Wake up!" Is what Harry wakes up to, making him groan and rub his eyes. It's usual to wake up to a little girl commanding for him to awaken, but he feels hungover, even though he hasn't drank anything since New Years. His head is throbbing and his stomach is doing flips. Katie's little commands would be positively adorable if he didn't feel like his head was about to explode. Ugh, he needs some Advil.

"I'm up, I'm up," Harry whines, running a hand through his hair. He squints toward the noise to find Katie bouncing on the bed, a large smile on her little face. Harry smiles. "Gee, I feel like there's something I'm forgetting!" He says teasingly, though it feels as though his stomach is going to release everything at any second.

"It's my birfday!" Katie exclaims, settling down on the bed. She crawls toward Harry, laying down in his arms and smiling up at her Papa. Harry smiles fondly at her, nuzzling his nose into her hair. It smells like the strawberry shampoo he's been using on the girls since Emily was two.

"Happy birthday, Bug," Harry chuckles, leaning down and peppering Katie's cheek with kisses. Katie giggles and tries to push Harry's face away, tiny hands pressing against his cheek as her giggles turn to loud, shrill bursts of laughter. Once Katie calms down, Harry presses one last kiss to her forehead. "My big five year old."

"'M a big girl, Papa!" Katie squeals, getting up off Harry's bed and starting to jump again. Harry has to refrain from groaning, giving Katie a tight-lipped smile that she doesn't take note off.

"I know," Harry croaks. His throat is starting to burn. He feels sick. "Why don't you and Emily go decide what to eat for breakfast while I brush my teeth?"

Katie nods, hopping off Harry's bed and practically skipping out of the room and down the hallway. As soon as Katie is gone, Harry jumps up out of bed and rushes to the washroom connected to his bedroom. The tile is cold under his toes and usually he would shiver, but he doesn't have time.

Harry drops down to his knees in front of the toilet, retching into it loudly. He prays the girls don't hear him. They're probably too busy planning a breakfast that Harry will bend over backwards making. He only spoils them a little bit. It's hard not to–they're too goddamn adorable.

Harry straightens his back, thinking he's done, only to bend over and vomit into the toilet bowl yet again. He hasn't vomited like this since he was pregnant with Katie-

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no," He thinks, clutching to the toilet bowl so hard his knuckles turn white. Somehow he feels even queasier than before. Expect, he can't be pregnant, he hasn't had sex with anyone.

Oh wait.

Harry throws up again, and he thinks it's more from his thoughts than his nausea. It's probably both. Fuck, he can't be pregnant again. He's already taking care of two kids practically by himself (that's kind of his own fault, though. He could invite Louis to move in and help, but for some reason he has trust issues). He can't take care of a third. He'd work himself to death.

Louis would definitely just run off again after Harry tells him he's pregnant. He can feel his bottom lip tremble as he runs a hand through his hair, his forehead sweaty. He can feel his legs wobble as he slowly stands up, feeling his stomach calm down a bit. He still feels nauseous, however.