Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

After-Christmas Snuggles [Christmas]

                He had looked up from his phone as you’d fiddled with your purse across the room, no doubt re-organizing after a day of after-Christmas shopping with your mom. Your hair was in a ponytail, worn from the day and falling down in the back, unruly pieces framing your face. Your makeup had obviously been quite lovely for your outing, but in the lateness of the hour the wings of your eyeliner had smudged, the powder rubbed off your cheeks. Half in pajamas, half in what you’d worn that day, you made quite an adorable sight, though you probably wouldn’t have agreed had you looked in a mirror. He liked you best that way, though. Well, he liked you best any way, but it was awfully nice when you looked so cuddly and sleepy and decidedly lovely. He thought it special, in some ways, as it was the you that only he got to enjoy. He got to watch your lips rub together as you ordered your receipts, got to watch the way your fingers slid up underneath your glasses to itch your tired eyes, got to see you absentmindedly put a hand to your ponytail as you considered a text you’d just received. And maybe he was crazy, but even in those small, mundane things he was reminded how much he just plain ol’ liked you. Your tired bumbling had a softness about it, a quietness that seemed to calm him as he watched. To you, you were just getting the job done. To him, you were somehow irresistible in the process.

                And then, that night you’d looked up and he’d given a cheeky, guilty grin. “Babe, what..” you’d replied, shaking your head in sass. But he’d just deflected with another grin, moving towards you with a chuckle. “You look tired.” “I am.” “Headache?” “Yeah..”  The glasses gave you away every time, but he was sort of glad for it because he knew you wouldn’t tell him otherwise. His fingers had clumsily reached up for your face and gently retrieved your glasses, placing them down on the top of the dresser. He did so hate to remove them because he quite loved when you wore them (mainly because you were insistent on not wearing them as much as you could get away with and wouldn’t believe that he found it desperately adorable when you did). His hands curled around your head, thumbs pressing in on your temples. You’d sighed and closed your eyes, your hands hooking themselves on his outstretched arms. The moment didn’t last long, however, as he noticed a chill run up your spine and wouldn’t be satisfied until you were cuddled up warm by the fire.

                His big hands curled around your shoulders as he instructed you to sit, blankets flying and logs roaring. Despite your mild ailment, you couldn’t help but smile at his silly remedies, quiet, but lighthearted. Soon he settled down right next to you, pulling you into his side and a blanket over both of your laps. Your head easily tucked up underneath his chin and he held you there tightly, a soft humming seated somewhere deep in his throat. Maybe his concern was a little melodramatic, but he didn’t care. Any chance to make you feel especially loved and secure and cared for was his favorite. And man, he really did love you and care for you and want to protect you. As petty as his little admirations about your hair or your glasses or your fluffy socks might have been, he couldn’t deny that they were rooted in a much deeper truth.

                His hand ran up and down your arm as he finally settled. “Better?” “Yeah, babe, thanks.” His smile was small, but totally content at your sleepy, nonchalant reply. He was convinced having you fall asleep cuddled up next to him was better than a thousand sold-out shows at Madison Square Garden. With your body all nestled up next to his, his long arm easily draped around you, his fingers softly sliding back and forth along your hairline and helping you forget about the dull ache within. His eyes went into a sort of haze as he watched the flames jump and spark—fires have a way of being somewhat hypnotizing, you know—but his mind never strayed from how soft your skin was and how lovely you smelled and just how pitifully adorable you were in your reindeer pajama pants. Having your arm tucked around him and your cheek planted on his chest and your knees tucked up sort of between you and half on top of him and so close in he wasn’t really sure exactly how you fit so well in the little cave of his side (but you did and that was part of what made it so perfect) was just—well, he wasn’t even really sure how to describe it to himself because honestly it was too perfect of a mix of sweet and deep and cute and satisfying for him to put it to words. And for some reason, every minute you sat like that, he felt his love grew a little bit more. It was a silly thought, perhaps, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was true. So he’d tried to hold on as long as he could to savor the moments, but inevitably his pathological knack for falling asleep at a moment’s notice won out and his head drooped back, his own slow breaths of dreams joining yours.