gabby_the_turtle_: HIS FACE!!!! America you jelly or nah?
the next time you do blurbs could you please do one about harry being the little spoon bc hes sad? thnk you :)
You had fallen asleep with Harry holding you, his arms secure and warm around your waist, his face plastered into the side of your neck. There was nothing out of the ordinary; Harry usually opted to hold you like this. What was unusual was the way he was curled in on himself in the middle of the night, when you woke up because of too much heat, and his back was turned to you, muscles straining underneath the cotton of his t-shirt, and you had abruptly pulled back when the warmth coming from his skin seemed to scorch you.
"Harry?" you murmured, and somehow the quiet whisper of your voice at three in the morning got back to him, which he grunted back at. "You’re burning up, babe."
"Not feeling well." The scratch in his voice, the little tickle in his throat, was evident when he spoke lowly in the moonlight. He turned his head slightly to look for you in the dark and his fingers squeezed reassuringly at yours. "I’m alright. Took some medicine just now, go back to sleep."
Harry was about to turn back onto his side and face you, but you quickly reached up and nudged on his shoulder, causing him to stay in the position with his back facing you. He made a noise of confusion in the back of his throat, but before he could ask you what you were doing, you had already shifted down underneath the comforter and gotten a good anchor on his legs with yours wrapped around his own. You kissed the back of his neck and pressed yourself fully against his back, nuzzling the damp skin at his shoulder blades.
“You go back to sleep,” you told him, reaching up to stroke at a piece of his curls while your other arm tried to wrap itself entirely around Harry’s broad body (that didn’t work too well, but you did get far enough around so he could cradle your hand at his stomach with one of his own). “Let me take care of you.”
Harry practically purred when you continued playing with his hair, your motions soft and languid. Harry moved slightly against your chest, pushing a little farther into you, and he let you kiss the back of his head.
"Okay," he whispered, "Feeling much better already."
can u write a blurb abt harry in a hoodie bc im about to have a goddamn conniption
Sometimes Harry would pad around the kitchen floors in the late morning, feet bare, legs covered in just the tiniest fabric that he dared to call boxers, with a comfortable hoodie falling across his shoulder blades in a way that made you want to hook your ankles around his back and let him lay you down on the kitchen counters that you two had covered in flour and oil.
Other times, Harry packed the hoodies of his that you wore around the flat the most for tour, and when you pouted and whined a bit, he ran his thumb over the bridge of your nose and told you he would have some new ones delivered to the house in no time, in his size, that you would be able to keep company since he was going to be gone for a while. His defense was he just really, really, really wanted something to remember you by at night; so he opted for the hoodies that smelled of you.
There were the occasions where you got cold, your eyes wide like saucers when he tucked his hand at the back of his neck and swiftly pulled the hoodie off like it was nothing. His shirt underneath rode up in the process and, inbetween admiring the soft feel of the hoodie being pressed into your hands, you noticed the bottom bit of the leaves tattooed on his body and watched the strong muscles in his stomach contract. He would laugh and bring your mouth up to kiss you and that ended up distracting you, too.
When he wore these hoodies (or before you ended up taking them all, denyingdenyingdenying when Harry gave you a look that correlated into him knowing), he would drag you against his chest and you would purposely scratch your cheek against the soft, thick material, sighing contentedly into him. All of his hoodies were warm, and they only added to the heat that was already radiating off Harry, and being wrapped up in his arms while he wore one was better than lying in the sun.
Harry in a hoodie was soft and scratchy all at the same time; his stubble pressing against your jaw as he held you while you played with the strings at the top of his clothing, his hands big and firm on your back, pressing you impossibly close to him. Your favorite part was listening to him speak, hearing the lowness of his voice vibrate into your heart while you pressed your ear against the top of his chest, just listening to him whisper to you, his hands tangled in your hair, his lips smoothing against the top of your head, the hoodie soon gone and flung to the ground.