|One Direction Mpreg One-Shots|

.13 |L A R R Y|

be my baby (i'll look after you)

by: scagnetism (Ao3)

Summary: 

harry gets a baby gift.

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The stadium's almost empty as Harry looks out onto the green that's in front of him. There are only a few people milling about – a couple husbands and wives waiting for their significant others to leave the locker room. The charity match had been incredible like always, Louis had been incredible, and Harry smiles as he looks out onto the field.

"Your papa owned the place today, little one," he whispers softly, rubbing his belly over the Tomlinson 28 jersey he's got on. He's even got his hair back in a bun with a red scrunchie around it, as festive and supportive as he can be. "I wish you could've seen him. I think you heard the crowd when he came out cause you kicked right then – they love him. You'll be so proud of him. He can do everything – play football, sing, write the most amazing songs, and he's just the best person...it's not even fair." There comes a short kick against his palm, and Harry smiles to himself. "Maybe you'll be out there with him one day, yeah? Little footballer, maybe." There's another kick and he adds, "if you don't like sports, that's okay, too. You can be whatever you want."

His conversation with the baby is interrupted when Louis walks out onto the field with his duffle over his shoulder and pulls himself up over the railing to get to Harry faster. "Hi, love," he greets him with a kiss to the top of his head. His fringe is plastered to his forehead, still wet from his shower, and he smells like soap and home and cut grass. "You and Baby Nanas alright?"

"Think she's already proud of you, baby," Harry tells him as Louis plops down into the seat next to him. "She's been kicking. She'll take after you, I bet."

Louis grins, pressing a kiss to Harry's lips as he rests his hand on top of Harry's bump. "How was I?"

"You were incredible, Lou," Harry tells him with a grin. "The best one out there. The best footballer ever, I reckon. Watch out, David Beckham! He should be threatened by your ability."

"Let's not go that far," Louis laughs with a shake of his head as he unzips his bag.

"I am not downplaying your ability because you're modest."

"Oh, shush, Harold. You're not the best judge of football skill."

Harry rolls his eyes but can't help the grin that takes over his face, cheeks dimpling. "I know enough to know that you're my favorite."

Louis smiles, shaking his head again. "Even if that's just your bias talking, thank you. Love you, Hazza."

"Always."

"They gave me something for you, by the way." Louis pulls a red bag with white tissue paper sticking out of the top from his duffle and hands it to Harry, card hanging off it reading "Harry (and Baby Tomlinson!)"

"What's this?" Harry asks with quirked brows, sitting up a little straighter as he pulls out the tissue paper. He shifts his gaze to Louis, and Louis just shrugs, looking curious.

"Don't know, baby," he answers, "but they made sure to give it to me as I was leaving." Harry inspects the bag, and Louis giggles. "Just fucking open it, Haz. I wanna know."

"These things can't be rushed," Harry says, poking his tongue out as he pulls out the card.

It's a simple white card with "Congratulations" embossed on the front in gold script font. Inside it says, "Harry and Louis, congratulations on your impending arrival from all of us here at DRFC. We thought you could use a special gift from all of us to show our support. We can't wait to meet your new addition at future matches! They'll be sure to come out a Rover!"

"This is so sweet," he says softly, passing the card to Louis so he can read it, and Louis hums gently, leaning his chin on Harry's shoulder to see what the gift is. Harry pulls out something wrapped in tissue paper and carefully unfolds it to reveal a tiny jersey that says "Baby Tommo 28 ½" on the back. "Oh my god." He turns to look at Louis with tears in his eyes, and Louis lets out a breath as he touches the small piece of clothing like it'll break.

Louis kisses just under Harry's ear gently. "Oh my god," he echoes, and he's wearing a grin that matches Harry's. "This was so kind of them."

Harry moves the bag off his lap and onto Louis' so he can rest the jersey against his bump. "It fits perfectly," he jokes with a wet laugh, and Louis just throws his head back in laughter, eyes crinkling when he looks at Harry again. "This is so amazingly lovely."

Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket and says, "'Ve gotta take a photo, yeah?" Harry nods and grins so wide his face looks like it could crack. "So cute," he whispers softly, and Harry happily looks down at his bump.

"There's something else in here, babe," Louis says, feeling down into the bag with brows knit together as he hands another tissue paper wrapped bundle to Harry.

"Oh," Harry says in surprise, gingerly ripping the tissue paper and seeing a note lying on top. "Until Baby Tomlinson gets here, we think you need a new jersey, too, Harry! (Since you're carrying the ½!)" He pulls out a jersey his size with "Tomlinson 28 ½" on the back of it. "Oh my god," Harry says again, and a few tears escape, rolling down onto the bridge of his nose. "Now Baby Tommo is accounted for."

Louis grins as he wipes away the few tears from Harry's face and looks at the jersey, matching tears in his eyes, too. "This is above and beyond anything," he says, kissing Harry again. He puts his hand on top of Harry's belly, feeling a few kicks against his palm. "Hi, little bug. Hope I made you proud today."

"If the kicks are anything to go by, I think you did."

Louis smiles, pressing a kiss to Harry's bump.

*

The next match Louis is involved in falls a few months later, and Louis declares Harry too pregnant to go, not wanting to risk anything happening. He pouts and insists on going, wanting to show off his new jersey, but ultimately, Louis wins and tells him he can show his support by wearing the Tomlinson 28 ½ at home.

Harry watches the match on the couch, curled between his mum and Gemma with one hand resting on his bump at all times. "Papa is the doing the best," he whispers. "Are you proud of him, little love?"

A kick to his palm says she is.