Can you please write a little blurb for this? 13. “Hey loser! I love you and your face!” X
“Harry!” Louis calls towards the living room, where Harry’s been sat for the past half an hour, immersed in a book. How incredibly Harry of her, Louis thinks, to be assigned a book for uni, whine about it for two hours straight, only to end up absolutely loving it and being incapable of putting it down for more than ten minutes.
“Whassup?” Harry calls back. Louis can tell she’s clasping a pencil between her teeth from the way the word comes out mangled.
“Do we have any chocolate left? I can’t seem to find any,” Louis says, closing the cupboard which contains all things sweet. She opens the fridge, grabs the milk, and adds it to the rest of the ingredients she’s already assembled. That she can do. She’s good at assembling. Here’s to hoping the actual baking goes as well as the assembling, Louis thinks. She may be slightly worried, contrary to what she’d told Harry before she’d relocated to the living room.
Harry had (very graciously) offered to give her a hand, which Louis had (very graciously) declined. She’s been teaching these demons to “Point those toes!” and “Stretch those legs!” for ten months now and she’s grown quite fond of them, so she’ll be damned if she let some rando bake them their see you next year! cupcakes. It’s not happening. She can totally do this.
“You do realise I don’t actually live here, yeah?” Harry says, strolling into the kitchen. The pencil that had been clasped between her teeth only moments before, is now twisted in her hair, effectively keeping her hair out of her face.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Louis says.
Harry grins at her, “Not my fault your flat is the epitome of peace and quiet compared to my own.”
“So that’s what’s been going on?” Louis asks, in a playful tone, watching Harry make her way over to her. “You’ve been spending so much time here because of the ‘peace and quiet’?”
Harry sidles up to Louis where she’s stood at the worktop, pretending to examine her ingredients. She ducks down to nuzzle Louis’ neck. “Mhm,” she hums, “the peace,” she kisses Louis’ pulsepoint, “and the quiet,” she kisses it again, lingering this time.
Louis sighs, tilting her head as Harry leaves a trail of tiny kisses down Louis’ neck towards her shoulder, which she nips playfully.
“So,” Harry says, straightening up, eyes twinkling with mischief, “chocolate?”
Louis gives her a look, one that says you’re a menace and I don’t know why I put up with you but also I love you, please kiss me so Harry does, once, twice, thrice, until she slips Louis some tongue and the tang of bitterness makes Louis gasp.
“You! Were you literally eating chocolate just now?”
Harry smirks, “sure was.”
“You better not have eaten the entire pack, Styles, that was the last one.”
“What if I have?” Harry asks.
Louis smiles sweetly, “Then you’ll never get to find out what I was planning to do with the leftovers, now will you.” She licks her lips to emphasise her statement, looking down at Harry’s cleavage pointedly.
When she flicks her eyes back up to Harry’s, Harry’s irises have grown a shade darker, her pupils a hint wider.
“I,” Harry’s voice comes out rough. She clears her throat and says, “may have left you some.”
“Yeah?” Louis asks, coyly, “so why is it not on my worktop yet?”
From the look Harry gives her before turning to leave the room, Louis gathers Harry’s really more concerned about why Louis is not on the worktop yet.
Harry gets the chocolate and Louis gets to work and twenty minutes later Louis is mixing the batter expertly. Harry has left her spot in the living room and is now perched on a stool opposite Louis, reading, making the occasional note, humming along to the radio when she recognises a song. Louis has only asked her for help a grand total of one time. She’s killing it, if she does say so herself.
After dividing the batter between the cupcake cases, she pops them into the oven and puts on a timer. She hands the used bowl to Harry in exchange for a kiss, grabs the decorations, and gets to work on the icing. “Hey, loser,” she says a few minutes later.
“You better not be calling me a loser,” Harry says, not taking her eyes off her book. She’ll never be able to control that dimple, though, Louis thinks, as it comes out to play.
“Hey, babe,” Louis says, softer, tucking Harry’s mess of curls behind her ear.
Harry looks up, teeth biting down on a smile. “Hm?” she hums, with a raise of her eyebrows.
Louis points to the worktop, where she’s been messing about with the decorative letters she bought for the cupcakes.
“I love you,” Harry reads, chuckling.
“And your face,” Louis adds, “but I ran out of letters for that.”
Harry takes a look at the small pile of remaining letters. “Could’ve formed ‘and your arse’, though,” she says. She molds her face into a sad expression, offset by the mischievous glint in her eyes Louis has become so familiar with.
“Do you not love my arse, Louis?”
Louis leans in, but pauses right before their lips make contact. Harry’s breath cools the wet sheen of saliva on Louis’ lips.
Louis says, “Why don’t I show you?”
