HARRY STYLES IMAGINES (REQUESTS OPEN)

#3 DDM: His Little Angel (REQUESTED)

My first DDM in this book and it was requested by the lovely -newangel

Thank you for the lovely request! Hope you'll like it.

Dedicated to : -newangel

WARNINGS : DAD HARRY FLUFF

WORD COUNT : 1773

****

Being a single dad to a three year old was hard. What made it harder was when his little girl would give him a hard time with everything.

"Rosie, wake up, baby girl," Harry cooed at his daughter, tickiling her soft belly gently.

A giggle like snore emerged from Rosie's mouth. "Don't wanna," the little girl, dressed in a pink princess nightsuit, whined.

"Sweetie, daddy has to get ready for work. Please, Ro," Harry begged, using her nickname.

Little Ro held up five fingers. "Ten more minutes, daddy?" She opened only one of her eyes and looked at him sweetly.

"You are holding up only five fingers, sweet pea," Harry corrected, taking her other soft hand and holding up the rest of her five fingers. "And fine, ten more minutes, but then you have to wake up and get ready or else daddy will be late." He ended up caving in.

Harry sighed as he watched his daughter fall back asleep almost immediately. She was a little stubborn like that, but he doted on her immensely. And if her mother were alive, she would have accused Harry of spoiling her with his love unnecessarily.

But Harry couldn't contain the infinite love he felt for his daughter. Maybe it was because she was the splitting image of her mother,  or maybe because she was the last gift his late wife gave to him. He wanted to cherish these moments with his little one for as long as he could and he was willing to even become a literal human shield to protect her.

He sat on her daughter's bed as he waited for the ten-minutes to pass, and in those ten minutes, the memories of his daughter being born washed over him.

It had been a complicated operation, a fatal C-section. They had been able to revive the baby girl, but not her mother. And Harry had been broken then, but he had managed to plaster an adoring smile at the sight of the little angel his wife had left behind.

"You look exactly like your mummy, little one," he had said, playing with her tiny fingers, then had proceeded to pick her up his arms, and all the while his tears had flowed freely.

"I know you won't have a mother, but I'll try my best to be her for you. I won't just be your father. I promise you, baby girl, and I promise your mummy too."

Shaking his head harshly, he looked down at his daughter, overcome with a sudden sense of loss, the loss of his wife three years ago.

"Wakey wakey now, bub," he said as he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Your ten minutes are up. Now be a good girl and rise and shine."

Rosie stirred glumly. "But daddy--"

He cut her off in a sing song voice, "Nope, nope, nopity, nopity, nope."

Removing the yellow Mickey Mouse blanket off of little Rosie, he picked her up and lay her head against his chest and tiny palms wrapped around, or barely wrapped around, his neck.

"Let's get you ready for the day, ya silly goose," he said, blowing a raspberry on her arm, earning a melodious roar of laughter from her.

****
He ran his daughter a warm bath with bubbles and toys strewn around in the water.