Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

Cuddling

With Harry there wouldn’t be like, one specific time for cuddling. It’d just be cuddling all the time—whenever and wherever. Being the adorable man-child that he is, he’d be on the verge of smothering you in cuddles at nearly any moment. He’d be the epitome of touchy-feely—yeah, sometimes in a sexy way like all the rags made him out to be—but most often in this completely harmless, adorable, childish way that’d make you giggle every time. He’d just like to have his hands around you and your body tucked up underneath his and his face in your neck any chance he’d get because for one, he had to make up for all the lost time from touring, and two, well, you’re you and you’re his and you’re.. well you’d be just extremely, irresistibly cuddly— or so he’d think and tell you all the time.

The type of cuddle would depend on the situation. When you’d visit him on tour or you’d be out with the boys, he wouldn’t mind that other people could see, but it’d be a more casual cuddle—his arm always draped around you, his fingers at the ready to poke or tickle your side, his face rolling over your shoulder as he’d playfully moan about Lou asking him to do something for her. Sometimes it’d be a needy, clingy cuddle—like if his body wasn’t pressed to yours in every way it could be he might wither up and die or blow away like an untethered balloon. He’d just need you, you know? Need to feel your warmth, need to know you were there, need to escape his world for a while and just be. Other times it’d just be completely silly—he’d tug at your hair and tuck you under his arm like a kid and force you to cuddle him back with a huge, impish grin on his face. Playful banter would abound, as well as sloppy kisses that’d wet your temples and make you laugh and squeal and squirm. And then sometimes it’d be a protective cuddle—asserting himself as your boyfriend, feeling manly with a puffed out chest, proud of you, seeds of jealousy sprouting for no particular reason. He’d just feel overly protective and possessive sometimes, and the cuddles then would be big and serious and secure, almost like a dad with a heartbroken daughter feeling the need to fix everything and prove everything and be everything.

There’d also be the movie cuddles—you know, the especially snuggly ones that’d be reserved for donning fleece pajamas and burrowing underneath a million blankets and watching a movie in the comfort of your own home. He’d start out with his arms playfully around you, his face stuffed between your shoulder and the couch, and complain that the movie’d be just too scary. Which, of course, would be completely ridiculous, especially when you’d watch a fun animated movie or chick flick or even an exciting (but not scary) action movie. But he’d say it every time and, honestly, you’d laugh every time because eventually it’d become sort of this lame personal joke he’d create (and despite your better comedic judgment, you would so love his lame jokes).  By the end of the movie, though, you’d both end up stretched down the length of the couch, legs all tangled up together like ear buds in a backpack, and his arms would be all cinched around your waist and hands knotted together. Usually he’d fall asleep before the credits, his chin resting on your shoulder or neck, and though his light breathing would often tickle the skin at your cheek or collar bone and send little chills up and down your spine, you wouldn’t mind so much, because the cuddles would just be too sweet.

Morning cuddles would be sweet as well, but in a more intimate way, kind of like the difference between doughnuts and honey. One’s overly sugary and colorful, while the other’s sort of natural and unassuming. Both are deliciously sweet in their own way, just different. And a good kind of different, because doughnuts don’t make for a good tea flavoring and honey isn’t good for sprinkles and morning cuddles need a special kind of ruffled sheets and snoozy smiles. And with Harry, they’d be all that and more, because he’d be especially fond of morning cuddles. Waking up would always be better when you were there to sling his arm over and pull you in, tired sighs slipping from his upturned lips, eyes still closed and voice groggy. In the cool morning air it’d feel good to have his chest against your back and his legs worming their way through yours and his wild curls flopping all over the place. But after he’d pull you in he wouldn’t budge because even though he’d love waking up next to you, waking up in general would always be hard because your bed was just so warm and you were just so soft and sleep just felt too good. But the way you turned in his grasp and ran your fingers through his hair and grinned down at him made it easier and oh, why did moments like that ever have to end?

And, of course, that’s why he’d always get especially excited for cold weather, because that meant entire nights of snuggles and cuddles and bodies all wrapped together to escape the cold. And it meant mandatory “weather protection” (which would just be his lame excuse for always having his arm around you and his body smashed against yours while walking around outside) and stuffing you inside his coat and wrapping you up in blankets like a cocoon.

Even in the summer he’d find a way to cuddle—shoving all the sheets off, turning the air down low, pushing you into the pool and carrying you around on his back in the water as you’d mash his hair up in all sorts of shapes and hug his neck like a scarf. A beautiful, fun, lovely scarf he’d never want to take off, even in the heat of summer. And even when you’d push him away and insist that it was too hot, he’d still find a way to slide his fingers between yours or play with your hair or knock his knees against yours because, gosh, he just wouldn’t be able to help himself. The cuddles—your cuddles—would just be too good, and he’d never be able to get enough.