Harry Styles Blurbs (Reader Insert)

Something About Alarms (Fluff)

The downright, horrid screeching and disappointingly familiar pounding of your alarm causes you to awake with a slight jolt. Your heavily lidded eyes open moments later, blinking in the darkness of the room before they betray you and fall shut again. The room is cold, and if the fact that light isn't streaming through the slightly parted shutters of your rooms window is any indication, it seems that even the sun hasn't woken up yet. The nightstand to your left is shaking from the vibration of the continued blaring and as your body slowly starts to catch up to your rebooted mind, it starts to irritate you. It's the exact reason you had chosen the most annoying of sounds from the plethora your device offered, to actually get you up and to turn it off. It's much like a siren, or, perhaps it's better compared to one of those industrial fire alarm sounds, the ones without the voice instructing you there is an emergency and to exit accordingly.

You whine, unable to ignore the sound any longer as you try to twist a bit, glancing briefly over your shoulder at the nightstand before reaching an arm out blindly to put a stop to it. Your lazy aimless fingers wander around the nightstand, eyes still shut as you try to feel around for your device. When you don't come in contact with the familiar feeling of your case, you huff, forcing your eyes open to see the phone just a bit too far from your reach. A hoarse grunt leaves your throat, oddly timed to fit between the millisecond of a pause among the continuous blaring as you sit up a bit, trying to squirm close enough to grab the device. The strong, tattooed arm around your waist has other plans however as it's grip tightens around you suddenly and keeps you from moving. The arm pulls you back to the chest it's attached too, heavy and solid, and warm against your back as you land against it with a bit of a clumsy thud. You feel Harry bury his face into your hair, forcing it into the crook of your neck with his steady puff puffs of breath tickling the skin it's pressed against. You humph a bit, fingers tracing his tattooed arm gently as your try to pull away again.

"Will yeh stop movin? Tryin sleep, aren't I?" His raspy voice grumbles into the skin of your neck, the usual attached endearments he has for you at a loss with his muddled morning brain.

You snort a bit in reply, before locating your voice for the first time that day, "Harry, I need to turn the alarm off. Would you-" You grapple a bit, fingers now gripping his forearm as you yank at it without result.

"Harry." You try again, voice stern yet whiny in a sense.

His only response is, "S'cold, sweetheart, don't think yeh should move from here", accompanied by a series of lazy, not so soothing kisses to your neck. You tilt your head back a bit, letting it rest on top of his wild and adorably fluffy morning hair for a few moments, hand reaching up to scratch his scalp gently.

"S'not fair, tryin to butter me up so you can sneak away. No' fallen for that, love." He whines after a moment, burying his head ever deeper into your neck as his gravelly voice echos off your skin.

You chuckle a bit, "Harry, I'm not getting up yet. I promise, let me just turn the alarm off love."

He doesn't respond for a few moments and you're just about at the end of your obscurely tiny morning dose of patience when he whines, much like a small child and pulls away the smallest of amount of space possible, arm a bit looser around you. "Hurry. 'M nips are cold." He mumbles as he pushes the leg that's intertwined between yours to jab you in the calf.

"Maybe you should wear a shirt then." You muse as you take the opportunity and quickly lean over to silence the incessant blaring.

"S'enough out of yeh." He mutters, smacking your bum playfully as you put the phone back.

"Hey." You grumble half heartedly , glancing over your shoulder at him with your eyebrows quirked in question.

"Hey wha? S'not like I have any left, yeh bloody steal em all anyway." He retorts as his hand tugs at the material you're wearing to cover your bum again, material, indeed of one of his shirts. His hand travels up to your waist, big and clumsy with its movements as his long fingers splay across your waist and dig, tugging until you're toppling back over to him. This time, however, he pulls you into his chest with your face buried into his neck. He grunts, a terribly sleepy grunt as he shifts a little to readjust the covers before settling back down and securely anchoring you to his chest with both arms around you, encasing you to the spot once again with the extra arm for assurance that you won't squirm away or deny him of his obligatory dose of morning cuddles.

You pucker your lips in a piss poor effort of a kiss to the skin where his 17BLACK tattoo is. Even with your eyes closed, you know it's where your lips land. You intertwine your legs with his once again as one of his hand wanders up to brush through your hair, massaging your scalp gently.

"How're your nips now?" You mumble into his skin as your press yourself tighter to him.

It's his turn to laugh, and you feel his cheek against the top of your head while it rumbles from the laugh that's shaking his chest, "Fine, now. Warmed em up, I reckon."

"Good." You reply sleepily, feeling yourself slip deeper into the outstretched welcoming depths of sleep.

He has always had a way with his hands, his fingers too, and the way the pads are oh so gently rubbing your scalp is like a sleep inducer itself.

"Have to get up, H." You manage to croak out with regret.

Harry sighs, lips pressing to your head, "I know, pet. We'll get up soon. Just, no' yet.. No' yet."

It's a switch off routine, between you and Harry. When he has to get up early and leave you, it's you clinging to him like a small child. Although, you can't, and don't really mind. He's far more pleasant than that bloody alarm anyhow.