Request: Can you write a harry blurb/imagine thing where he has an upset stomach one morning and he’s really not feeling well and ends up throwing up off and on all morning and he doesn’t want to leave the bathroom because his tummy is so sickly and he thinks he’ll make a mess and get sick? Thanks!!
Pairing: Reader (Y/N) x Harry
Word Count: 812
It was nearly six in the morning when Harry shot out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom as quickly as he could. You tried listening, but you had just woken up to Harry leaving the bed, so you were still nearly asleep.
All of a sudden, you could hear the unique sound of your worst nightmare: Harry throwing up. You slowly sat up and thought through your options. There was helping Harry and you also having the chance of puking, or you could continue to lay in bed.
You decided that helping Harry was better. As you walked into the bathroom, Harry groaned and glanced over at you. Even though he cut his hair, you made sure all the hair was out of his way and rubbed his back, shushing him.
“It’s going to be alright, love,” you cooed. Seeing Harry sick made you feel terrible. Even a simple cold made you feel like taking a day off just to watch over him.
After a few more times of plugging your nose and giving Harry words of encouragement, you both went back to bed. It was maybe thirty minutes of you two together when Harry again left the bed and went straight to the bathroom. You heard the same noises and went to console him some more.
“It’s alright, Harry,” you yawned. You were terribly tired because you and Harry had gone out with some friends and hadn’t come home until late. So you were riding on maybe three or four hours of sleep. Harry noticed your yawn and sighed.
“Go back to sleep, dear. I’m sure it’s nothing,” his voice drawled. You were uncertain about leaving him alone, but you decided it was best for you to sleep in the bed and not on the floor of the bathroom. As you walked to the bed, you could hear Harry sigh. You felt horrible for leaving for boyfriend, but your brain was already fixed on the bed.
The next morning, you walked into the bathroom, finding Harry on the floor.
“Oh, baby,” you spoke gently. He stirred slightly and glanced at you. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” was his mumbled response.
“Do you think it was the food last night we had at the restaurant?”
Harry shrugged. His hair was a mess and he was curled into the fetal position looking vulnerable.
“I don’t think I can go to me mum’s today. You can still go, though,” he said.
You knew he was looking forward to seeing his mum and you would feel incredibly guilty if you just went by yourself while Harry stayed home by himself.
“No, Harry, I’ll stay home with you. I can make some soup. Does your stomach hurt?” you asked. He nodded slowly. “Alright, you just need plenty of rest. I’m not a doctor, though, so please, if you die, just leave the house in my name, yeah?” you chuckled as he smiled at your joke.
You left Harry in the bathroom with a pillow and blanket as well as the laptop, so he could watch movies. You made a quick can of soup before gathering ingredients together to make an actual, homemade soup. Harry would love it, and you knew he would appreciate the gesture.
You called Anne, making sure she knew that you and Harry weren’t going to make it to her house today. You apologized which Anne said was completely unnecessary.
It was later in the afternoon when your soup was done. Harry had watched two movies and was bored out of his mind. He was restless and needed to move. Whenever Harry was sick, he became irritated easily. He wanted to be able to move, but being sick means staying in bed and getting rest.
Harry had moved from the bathroom to the bed with a bucket as he hadn’t puked in nearly two hours. He was still stuck watching TV or movies, but occasionally he would read a few news articles, catching up in politics or entertainment.
“It’s mainly jus’ my stomach now,” he stated.
You gave him a bowl of soup before nestling next to him and watching the screen in front of you. He was watching Finding Nemo, one of your favorite movies. You continued to watch it with him as he sipped his soup. Once he was finished with the bowl, he set it to the side and put an arm around you, cuddling to you as close as he could.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he whispered.
“I wouldn’t want to take care of any other person in the world,” you smiled back. Harry grinned and stated to lean in.
“Oh! Gross, no. We are not kissing, don’t you dare,” you pushed him back slightly as he laughed. You chuckled and snuggled back into Harry, loving that even though Harry was sick, you both enjoyed each other’s company and love.
No piece of mine has never had as much interest surrounding it as this one has, so thank you for expressing your excitement to me. I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait. (Protip: if you’re reading on mobile, ditch the app and read on Safari or Chrome instead, as the app is prone to close on longer pieces of text).
This one is dedicated to @permanentcross, simply because she’s the best. E has listened to me ramble on and on about this story for longer than anyone should have to. She’s the inspiration behind many things beneath the cut, all of which I will leave up to your own interpretation.
Without further adieu, I present you with Nine Months…
Harry adored his job. He really did. His work was his first love, he always said. But there were certainly days where it all got to be a little too much.
He woke up at six in the morning to be greeted by a rainy and foggy sky outside. He spent a good ten minutes gazing at the great love of his life, her hair splayed in all different directions from having forgotten to tie it up in a ponytail like she usually did. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were still puffy from the night before. He exhaled a sigh at the memory of it—it was the first time they’d really fought in a little while, but it’d been a doozy. Exhaustion took it’s toll on the both of them, but they were both too stubborn to admit it. It had been over something petty that he wasn’t even angry about anymore, even though at the moment in all seemed so important. And even though they tried to never go to bed angry, their tired eyes beat out the need to make up.
He exhaled a soft sigh as he watched his love, and he could see the tension built up in her features still from last night. He didn’t want to wake her just yet, because he knew that she would not love being woken up at six in the morning if she didn’t need to get up. The two of them rarely ever got a good night’s sleep anymore, and he didn’t want to take away her rest.
He got himself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom, going about his morning routine as quietly as possible as to not wake his girls. Within half an hour he was dressed up in a pair of black jeans and one of his button-ups. Usually he wouldn’t get so dolled up to go out this early, but he had a few morning radio shows he was making a live guest appearance on and impressions mattered to him. Having decided to get breakfast on the way to work, he quickly slipped out of the house without making a sound.
A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this! It’s the longest I’ve written on this blog and I’d really appreciate the feedback here
I’m most likely doing a Part 2 depending on how you all like it. Enjoy :)
Harry loved family reunions.
Amongst the bickering cousins and lurid pitter-patter of children, he often found himself feeling at peace as his folks filled him in on all the stories he’s missed out on. He’d laugh about his jittery uncle who nearly burnt his eyebrows off from an old barbecue, nodding approvingly as his aunt gushes about her eight year old who’s just won the flashy new title of spelling bee champion. He likes the way they treat him too. With adoration in their eyes, resurrecting from the years they’ve watched him as a young boy (instead of the usual gaze of stardom he’s used to). He almost, if not, especially enjoys the way they admire his success, not as an ego-booster, but as a way of praising Anne for his upbringing, despite the major gossip that briefly tainted his mother’s name around her first divorce.
But even in a house packed with his most favourite people, he would always feel relatively exhausted from the length of the reunion, a full four days he’d reckoned. It was unfair really, he loved his crazy family, but he always felt like he had to put on his best face, never getting his usual dose of solitude to rejuvenate.
So when Harry first invited you to join him, he hadn’t quite expected you to be so patient with his family.
“Yes, he is very handsome,” you’d chuckle, “but we’re only friends.”
“You’re sweet, love, but I think this little girl wins the beauty contest, hmm?”
“Right, he is very good with kids.”
“M’only in uni, ma’am, so I’ve got a few good years before settling down.”
She’s Just Not That Into You » Part I (A Harry Styles Miniseries)
First and foremost, I need to dedicate this miniseries to @stylesunchained. If it weren’t for B, this idea would’ve never come to fruition. It’s been so lovely to torture you with snippets of this story, and now it’s finally here! And yes, the whole damn thing is dedicated to you, my beautiful friend.
Secondly, I need to take the time to thank @cuddlemusclestyles for her knowledge of England and always answering my questions about it. I would be lost without you, for you are my own personal Google.
And, of course, thank you all for the interest you’ve expressed for this miniseries. It’s always that much more enjoyable to write when you know you’ve got people rooting for you. I hope I don’t disappoint you.
A/N: This piece is very long and has taken me a long time to write for several reasons. But I hope this is what these lovely people hoped for when they sent in their requests (xxx)!
Love you all and I hope you have a great day :)
Harry had always been in awe of you.
From the moment he had you in his
life, his heart had been filled with your gentle compassion. He had admired
your instinctive kindness, personally witnessing the way you’d give a piece of
your heart to everyone in your life. “Being
kind is all that I can give” he’d hear you say and it breaks him just a
little when he watches your smile falter for a fraction of a second, before you
arch your eyes and nod your head slightly towards him in reassurance. You’re
doing it again, he gathers, putting up a front to satisfy the people around
you. Making sure they remained lost in their pursuit of happiness while you’re
left alone to pick up your own shattered pieces.
Harry had regretted that night the
most. The first, of many, where your heart felt particularly heavy as you
smiled and whispered “I’m fine” to
his concerned eyes. The silk of your dress clumped at your shoulders as you
walked away from him then, away from a night of celebrating your recent
promotion at work and into a cab to nurse your friend that had gulped too much tequila
to shove away his own misfortunate thoughts.
Little things Harry would do to make Valentine’s Day special
Spend hours thinking of just the right words to put in your card, crafting the perfect way to explain how much you mean to him.
Insist on taking photos as you open your gifts. And when you protest, saying you’re still in your pajamas, he replies, “Gotta have summat to show our future children, love.”
Buy you a dress in the same shade of baby pink made of the same silky material as your favorite shirt of his. Not so that you’ll stop wearing his, god no; he loves coming home and finding you draped in his shirt, soft legs peaking out from the hem. He loves you in it so much he wants to see all the ways a dress of the same kind would flatter you.
Follow you around, gyrating and singing, as you get ready for the day, pleading with you to sing along. And when you finally let him take your hand, he spins you in a circle, crooning, “Girl, you know I want your love. Your love was handmade for somebody like me.”
I cannot believe it has been so long since I posted and I’m sorry, truly, that it’s taken me forever and a day to get my ass in gear. But due to recent events, I felt inspired to write something and I’m actually really, really happy with how this turned out!
Also, I owe a huge thank you to @permanentcross for giving me advice and reassuring me this wasn’t crap and to @canistay-haz for being her wonderful, loving self and telling me I don’t suck. You both are so, so lovely and I’m lucky that I can ask you for advice when I’m not confident in my writing.
Normally, Saturday mornings would be reserved for sleeping in, lazy kisses, and barely audible gasps filling your ears. Today however, you and Harry had to be somewhat functioning adults. You were having one last get together with Harry’s closest friends and family before his life was sent into the spotlight for who knows how long, and he didn’t get to be as free and open with his time as he had been.
You woke up about half an hour after Harry did, knowing you had things to do and people to see but you were having none of it. All you could think about was the slight yet very-much-still-there tingling sensation between your legs thanks to yours and Harry’s late night rendezvous. You smiled to yourself, rolling over and letting your face collide into Harry’s pillow, inhaling his lingering scent that made you want him all over again…
You made your way downstairs to your boyfriend, legs bare and torso covered in his ridiculously baggy pink shirt that was littered with the white polka dots, your rear just barely peeking out at the bottom hem. Harry was sporting only a pair of grey joggers that hung much too low on his hips, not that you were complaining.
“Morning, sunshine.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, peppering his back with tiny pecks.
“G’morning, poppet. Sleep okay?” Every morning after, without fail, he asks how you slept. He asks because he knows when you’re both in the heat of the moment, sex isn’t gentle. Not that it’s animalistic, but you and Harry like what you like and making sure you’re comfortable and properly taken care of after is an essential part of his aftercare routine; he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take care of you and pamper any part that might be slightly bruised or extra loved on. He does love a routine after all…
“Mhm,” you purr into his back, pecking his skin once more before he spins around in your grasp, your arms falling to your sides while he places one hand on your cheek and encloses your mouth with his.
“Good,” he smiles down at you, pecking your cheek before turning back to the countertop where you can see he’s been preparing a dessert for the get together later that night.
“Whatcha makin’?” you ask, hopping upon the countertop, legs swinging back and forth while eyeing the bowl of plain raspberries and the graham cracker crust that was still sitting in the tart pan Harry insisted he needed.
“How does a raspberry tart for tonight sound? Bought the pan, figured there was no use in letting it sit in the cupboard.”
You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. There was nothing comical about the dessert in and of itself, but you were feeling some type of way this morning and you couldn’t help but think of it in a provocative way.
Harry rolled his eyes, trying not to grin, “Why is that funny?”
You just giggled again and reached to kiss him on the cheek, “Maybe I wanna be your little raspberry tart. I already have the perfect shirt on.” Although you’d been sitting on the countertop for a good minute already, Harry had just noticed how his shirt had ridden up your thighs and he swallowed hard, also taking in how you had only the bottom two buttons fastened and there was little, if anything, left to the imagination. What Harry didn’t know was that you didn’t have anything covering the part of you that wanted him the most; he figured you’d just thrown on something skimpy just to torture him but no, you were completely bare, apart from the bottom of the hem under your bum, and sitting on your boyfriend’s counter. Harry didn’t have a prayer.
You smirked at him cheekily and even though you’d had him not even eight hours before, he could tell you still had an appetite for something else, something that filled you in a different way.
In which Harry loves your boobs and hates when you sleep.
Omg please write something about harry and his missus boobs I’m dying for it
Harry has been in a mood since the moment he woke up, hands roaming your body under the sheets, cupping the underneath of your breasts, lips sponging over the back of your neck. He woke you up with his feely touches, much to your annoyance.
“Harry, leave me alone,” you mumbled, rolling away from him. The two of you were out late last night and had a long day ahead of you. You needed all the shut eye you could get.
“Jus’ wan’ some cuddles, love,” he complained with a tired whine, fingers snaking over your hip in an effort to pull you back to him.
“No, you don’t. Let me sleep.”
You had to shove his hands away twice more before he finally relented, climbing out of bed to get ready for the day. You were thankful for the peace, but no matter how hard you tried, there was no getting back to sleep.
Now, here you are, yawning through the doorway after a busy schedule of meetings and catch-ups, toeing off your shoes in the entryway. Your feet lead you to the couch where you collapse onto your back, eyes resting closed. A wave of relieved bliss washes over you until it’s broken once more.
REQUEST: A one shot where it’s your birthday and Harry wakes you up for breakfast in bed and spoils the hell out of you with loads of gifts and kisses and cuddles?
REQUEST: Can you do a fluffy fluff blurb or one-shot with Harry?
REQUEST: Can I pretty please request a fluffy Harry one shot? Love you Yeli
REQUEST: A fluffy blurb or something because I am craving your writings
Mushed all these together. Love you all! xx
You woke up to the feeling of Harry’s nose nuzzling into your cheek, humming a particular tune while his arms wound around your waist.
The two of you had been dating for a couple of years now, long enough that you spent at least fifty percent of the time at Harry’s place. And if you’d learned one thing about Harry, it was that he absolutely loved birthdays. He loved celebrating them, counting down to them, and he enjoyed other people’s more than he did his own.
So when your birthday rolled around, you weren’t surprised that he was waking you up at the crack of dawn (or eleven a.m., if we’re being realistic).
Despite your best efforts to not smile you found yourself crinkling your nose, corners of your lips tilting upwards as you squirmed in his embrace. Now that you had given away that you were awake you turned your body so that your back was facing him, reaching to grab his pillow from across the bed and hug it to your chest with a soft grunt.
“Hey, m’right here, I’m more comfy than the pillow,” he complained, his fingertips digging into the soft pudginess of your belly. You squirmed once more, eyes still closed.
“Pillow doesn’t wake me up,” you teased, worming closer against the soft fabric. Harry audibly sighed, his voice at your ear.
“Alright, I’ll just put away all these presents, then…” Harry replied a bit melodramatically, starting to unravel his arms from around your body.
You suddenly opened one eye and turned your head to look back at him, your hands immediately trapping his against your belly so that he couldn’t escape.
“Presents?” You repeated, both eyes now wide open. You were like a little kid at Christmas.
“Tha’s what I said, innit?” he snickers, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your lips. You puckered them to press a kiss against it, grinning. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before hopping off of you.
When you shifted around to sit up properly on the bed, he was holding a tray of what breakfast foods accompanied by a glass of apple juice. There was also a cup of water that held a single yellow rose in it, causing an elated grin to appear on your features.
“First thing’s first,” he said, setting the tray in your lap and reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Happy birthday, princess.”
“Thank you,” you grinned, feeling like the luckiest girl alive.
Ever think about being Harry’s date to an award show?
He’s so excited telling you that he’s been invited to the Oscars and that he wants you to come with him. But when you remind him that of course he’s invited, he’s nominated, he just laughs and shakes his head, mumbling, “Oh, right, forgot about tha’.”
He insists on buying you the prettiest outfit, setting up countless appointments with your favorite designers. And he’d attend every one, showering you with compliments after every change. But you know you’ve got a winner when his jaw unhinges, tongue lolling to the side as he takes in the way the fabric hugs your every curve, the color compliments your skin tone, and how the style is so quintessentially you.
In the car, he can’t keep his hands off you, though he’s careful not to muss your hair or smear your makeup. At first, you try to keep him from pawing at you, but you have to admit his blue polka dotted Gucci suit fits him exquisitely, and the way he’s left the top few buttons of the pale blue shirt gaping to give a peek of his strong chest has you swooning. Your resolve melts half way to the theater after you whimper a why and he answers, “I’ve got no control around yeh in this dress, kitten.” So Harry and you take turns placing kisses in concealable spots, delicately slipping fingers beneath clothes to feel each other without ruffling or creasing the fabric.
But that doesn’t mean the both of you aren’t flushed from exertion when it’s time to exit the car and walk the carpet.