My hair is my identity (A Harry Styles Imagines)
"Crank up the radio!" you scream and start rocking out to What Makes You Beautiful. "Everyone else in the room can see it" you scream. “Yes everyone can love" said Harry. "You turn red when you’re embarrassed" he said with a laugh and walked over to hug you. You started running away looking for a place to hide when strong arms grabbed you from behind and threw you onto the nearby couch. You moved over and Harry sat with you hugging you against his chest. You shivered and he whispered in your ear. "Are you cold love I can fix that" making you shiver again, but not from the cold. He leaped off the couch and ran to his room; he came back with his purple Jack Wills hoodie and gave it to you. You threw it on over your head and cuddled into him again his hoodie smelt like him. He started playing with your hair and attempting to braid it without success. "Now that you played with my hair can I straighten yours please, please, please" you beg, doing the puppy dog face. “NO, not the puppy dog eyes, it burns!” He cried covering his eyes with his hands. "But Love my hair is my identity and I need it curly". “Ok that's alright" you say a little disappointed. He peeks through his fingers and sees your disappointment, his eyes soften. “Or maybe I could find a new identity” he says with a laugh. You run into your shared room, grabbing your straightener and plugging it in. "While we're waiting though" he says and pulls you in for a kiss. You kiss him hard; your hands in his soon to be straight hair, his roaming you’re back and sides. He pulls you close and you climb into his lap. He grips your hips and pulls you so close; you can’t tell who’s who. The ding of the straightener ends the kiss, as you break apart in surprise. "Are you read Hazza?" You question. He just nods; you grab and straighten the first piece.
