Miniature Preview
Sneak Peak of ...
“I’m Happy You’re Here.”
Niall’s breath knocked out of his lungs as he observed your figure step out of your wardrobe. He sat on your mattress, his knee bouncing, his fingertips picking at his cuticles, desperately trying to avoid staring at you, his jeans beginning to grow tighter and tighter with each miniature dress you’d slip on and show off, innocently asking his opinion on which looked better and more appropriate, although he couldn’t bear to truthfully explain that he’d wish you’d wear a smock and only let him admire you in a dress which showed off every single curve he would love to love and kiss and touch.
He couldn’t manage to take his gaze and focus off of you. He couldn’t imagine watching any other man dancing or kissing or touching you, beyond himself, in a peach dress, which hugged all of your curves in a way he couldn’t use words to properly express. His breath hitched in his throat, his thoughts travelling in a million different directions. He didn’t draw his attention back until you’d nearly shouted his name, your fingertips snapping in front of his eyes to capture his focus.
“Did I scare you or something? Should I not wear this?”
“No, no. God, no. It’s, um, you look really good,” he stutters, shoving his palm against his cock, crossing his legs uncomfortably as he manages to stare at anything in your bedroom beyond you. “I like your dress. It’s pretty.”
“Thank you,” you blush, a slight giggle leaving your lips as you step into your wardrobe, your hand clutching your chest, a heavy breath breathing in as your heartbeat slows, your cheeks burning red and your heart thumping through your thoughts. “Should I wear my nude pumps or booties?”
“Don’t remember the difference, darlin’,” he chuckles, groaning as he adjust himself on your comforter, his head laying against your pillow, his arms tucked neatly on his chest as he closes his eyes momentarily, a quiet cough drawing his attention, once more. “Pumps.”
He chuckled to himself quietly, shaking his head, his mind reminiscing to a moment in his life where he would’ve never assumed he would care so much about what his best friend would carefully wonder about his opinion – his opinion on how she looked and if she looked “good”, which colour dress should she wear for which occasion, or how a certain pair of shoes would match with an outfit. He couldn’t believe she would ever believe she didn’t look beautiful, because in his eyes, she always looked stunning – whether she was dressing in her best dress and heels, or if she sported a tank top and joggers with a pair of fuzzy socks tucked on her feet. He grinned widely, his cheeks blushing as she snapped around, her hands on her hips, her hazel eyes narrowing as she stared with a smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“Not’in! I’m surprised wit’ me’self with havin’ an actual opinion on fashion choices, like t’is. I’m not all too well in my fashion, as we can see,” he smiled, waving his hand alongst his outfit, his white tee shirt and blue jeans falling loosely off his figure.
“Niall,” you moan, rolling your eyes sarcastically, dropping your heels on your carpet, dragging your feet as you step against your bed frame, “you’re in blue jeans and a tee shirt – there is no direct style with that, like, at all.”
“Hey! I’m a boy – we don’t have a best sense of style.”
“Clearly,” you giggle, turning on your heel, shuffling towards your vanity, lifting a tube of mascara and brushing against your eyelashes swiftly, “I’ve gathered as much with our friendship over quite a few months.”
“We’ve been best friends nearly a year, now – thank you very much.”
“Wow. I am so sorry,” you dramatize, your soft words dragging each sound, his hip bumping your bursting a giggle off your lips. “Hey! I’m putting on mascara. Do you want me to permanently poke an eye out?”
“No,” he sighs playfully, winking with a smirk as he shakes his head, “because if you poked an eye out, you wouldn’t be able to admire my beautiful face ever again.”
“Wow, maybe you should bump into me, again.”










