harry styles blurbs

drunkrry

harry comes back from a party a little wine-drunk 

word count: 1116 (a short but sweet one!) 

warnings: none! just a lot of fluff lol

You hear the door handle first. Rattling relentlessly as your boyfriend attempts to enter your quiet house at the crack of dawn. Any sane person would be concerned by the insistent attempts to essentially break into the house, but you know you need not worry when all six foot of Harry comes stumbling through the door with a string of swear words following in his trail.

"Fuck!" He not so subtly exclaims, it echoing through the tiled walls of the kitchen and travelling down the long corridor to your shared bedroom. You can only lie on your side and stifle a laugh as you hear his spindly legs struggling to navigate their way across the floors. He's always been a massive klutz, and inebriation does not help his case one bit.

You'd sent him off to his producer's birthday party suited and booted, licking your thumb and smearing away your Dior lipstick from the corner of his mouth. He'd snogged you like a teenager and insisted he stayed home...to which you obviously said no, encouraging him to leave his hermit life for once and socialise. He'd protested with wandering hands until you'd promised him doting and...loving...the day of his hangover.

Whiskey never got him clumsy drunk, it always made him confident and loud, and you knew he wouldn't go near a pint of beer...so the only explanation was wine.

"Shit. Who put that fucking lamp there. I know it wasn't bloody me..." he mumbles incoherently as he enters the bedroom, but you're so attuned to his drunken babble that you can understand every word.

You smile even harder, too amused by his attempt to be quiet in order to not wake you, shifting slightly when you feel the bed dip and a warm arm slip around your waist.

Harry huffs a breath out into the back of your hair and tightens his arm, noises of approval leaving his throat as he situates himself.

You wait for a beat of silence before speaking loudly, "have fun then?".

His body jolts and he lifts himself to look at your face, his chest rising and falling in terror at your jump scare. His eyes look glossy but elated as he stares at you with an open mouthed smirk. You admire his strewn hair and glowing face, the wine evident in his flushed cheeks and neck.

"Sorry babe. Did I make you jump?" You cackle and his reaction is delayed, a low chuckle with his eyes screwed shut, soon after his face dropping down to yours to kiss you.

You only let him peck you once before you grab his cheeks, not wanting to get too intimate when he's in a state, and he pouts at this.

"'Want to kiss you. Wanna kiss my girlfriend." He mumbles, a faux frown on his face.

"Not with that red wine breath."

You mirror your action from the beginning of the night, swiping the red wine stain on the corner of his mouth and pinching his cheek.

"Let's get you sorted, H," he groans and tries to pin you to the bed, clearly too tired to move, "you're not sleeping in your nice shirt."

After a few failed attempts of heaving Harry out of the bed, he complies, but insists on leaning his entire weight on your small frame. You undress him, leaving him in just his boxer shorts, even though he insisted he sleep naked. You situate him in front of the counter in the bathroom, heaving yourself up to sit on the counter and directing him to stand between your legs. He complies, a lopsided grin on his face and his eyes fluttering open and closed.

"Stay awake, pretty boy." You whisper, and he leans forward lazily with his lips puckered and his eyes shut, waiting for you to kiss him again.

Instead, a dollop of face wash smears over his face and he makes noises of disgust, pinching your thighs between which he stands. You shush him, massaging the face wash into his cheeks with gentle swipes and rinsing it with a cloth from his face. His eyes stay shut and his chin tilts toward you, him looking as soft and beautiful as ever.

"How much fun did you have tonight, baby?" Your teasing tone is dropped and you ask the question with a sweet yet quiet tone, not wanting to disturb the seemingly relaxed state he's in.

"About six glasses. Soooo barely any." He muses, and his face stretches into his award-winning smile. You can't help yourself when you poke your fingers into the dimples that carve themselves out.

"Bloody hell." It comes out as a humoured scoff rather than a scold.

"You have such pretty eyelashes. Who- did anyone tell you that? 'M so lucky to have you." The nonsensical sentences make you laugh even louder this time, cradling his cheek and kissing it with complete and utter adoration for the man in front of you.

"'M lucky to have you too. Even when you have red teeth." You say pointedly, pulling a thumb along his bottom lip to reveal his wine-stained teeth.

"Heyyy." He frowns.

"Oh, hush. Get cleaning." You're passing him a toothbrush with a heap amount of toothpaste, soon watching him lazily drag it back and forth as his head tips forward and back. Your thighs tighten around his waist in attempt to steady him whilst he finishes cleaning up his teeth, giving you a exaggeratedly wide grin to show them off.

"Love your thighs." He mumbles as he taps the brush on the side of the sink, dropping it into its respective pot sloppily and dragging his hands up your thighs to your waist, nestling his head into your neck and trying to sleep.

"Harry, let's get you to bed."

"Mhm. 'M fine here."

Hauling his lanky body proves more difficult than you'd anticipated, and you end up having to dump his body on to the bed, moving to drag his legs around so he's in a lying position.

Lying down yourself, you sigh and flick off the light, Harry not waiting even a beat to get his hands on your waist and thighs. His head returns back to its place in your neck as he sighs.

"Gonna marry you so I can go to bed with you and wake up with you every single day. Wanna give you my last name. And our kids. If you want them? Hm. They're annoying sometimes though." His sentences get sleepier and sleepier the more he goes on, yet you felt the conviction behind this one. Your hand goes to his hair and rakes through it.

"Maybe that's a conversation for when you're sober, hm?" You're feeling defeated yourself, caring for a man child taking the energy out of you completely. He nods nonetheless.

"I love you. S'much." His breaths go heavy and he finally falls unconscious, leaving you to whisper to him gently as he passes the realm of unconsciousness.

"I love you too. More than y'know."

.