summary: The guy next door likes to blast music. You maybe-sorta-kinda really like him.
warnings: cussing, not edited, im not in college idk how it works…
—
You didn’t want to be annoying. Truly, you didn’t. But you and your roommate, Daisy, were asleep.
Or…
Trying to be.
It was difficult with the blasting music next door.
And honestly, you had tried to avoid it. Had let them play their loud music for months now. Sent Daisy over to tell them to shut up so you didn’t have to (because despite her name, she was terrifying when she got mad).
But.. really?
It had to be, like… three in the morning. They’d been blasting it since nine pm, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.
So, clad in your bunny slippers, pajama pants you stole from someone (don’t ask who, you don’t remember) and a Fleetwood Mac shirt four sizes too big (because that was all they had at the thrift store), hair pulled back into a very messy braid, and glasses you rarely wore because you liked yourself better with contacts (mainly because you were so blind your glasses made your eyes look bigger), you stomped on over.
You pounded on the door (not really.. your knock barely made a sound), and miraculously, they heard you and opened the door.
A boy opened it.
No. Not a boy.
A cute boy. A very, very cute boy.
You blinked in surprise. You had expected girls… were boys even allowed on the same floor as girls?
“Ehm.. can I help you?” he asked after you were silent for a little too long.
“Oh. Right. Uh.. would you mind turning the music off? I have a final tomorrow, and.. I’m next door, so.. I can kinda hear it. On full blast. Um.. you don’t have to turn it off.. just.. down..”
He sighed, turning into the dorm to shout, “I told you to turn it down, Lou!” he turns back to you. “Yeah. Sorry. My mate’s practically deaf, I’m pretty sure. Doesn’t realize how loud he is… you say you’re next door?”
You nod.
“You got the alarmingly scary roommate named after a flower?”
Another nod. Why was he making small talk? You wanted to sleep.
“Ah. Glad y’didn’t send her over.”
He eyes you up and down, giving that sentence another meaning you didn’t really like.
"Right. Well.. just.. turn it down, please," you give an awkward smile and nod.
When you turn to walk away, he stops you, "’ey-- little rude to not give me y'name, isn't it?"
"Oh. Uh.. I’m Y/N."
He grins, "Well, hello, Y/N. I’m Harry."
You nod, pursing your lips as you pull on a strand of your hair.
There’s a beat of silence, and you contemplate just throwing yourself off a bridge, honestly.
"I'll see you around, Y/N."
With that, you scurry off to your room. Despite being uncomfortable in the moment, it wasn't because of him. You just were horrid at talking to boys.
-
A few weeks passed, and you accepted the fact that maybe you wouldn't see your neighbor as much as you hoped you would.
And really, you weren’t surprised. You’d never seen him before, why would that change? It made perfect sense that he remained as elusive as he had apparently always been.
Well, that is, until you were dragged to a party you really didn’t wanna go to in clothes you really weren’t all that comfortable wearing at your house— let alone at some douchey frat party.
The first hour was fine because it was early, so only a handful of people were drunk.
The second hour was less enjoyable, the longer the party went on, the more people drank.
In the third hour, your friends shoved a drink in your hand, and once you finished it, they sucked you into taking far too many shots.
The fourth hour was when you started to get antsy. You were pushing over the edge of just being a little too tipsy, and it was hot and sticky and crowded and had it always been so hard to breathe?
You shoved your way out of the crowd and onto the empty (or so you thought) patio, and exhaled. It was less of a patio and more of a balcony, since it was the second floor— but it was huge. 20 people could comfortably stand on it and not be crowded.
Your heels clack on the concrete as you walk to the edge of the patio, leaning on the railing as you take deep breaths.
“That bad in there?”
You nearly jump out of your skin at the familiar british voice. You spin around with wide eyes and a hand over your heart, “Jesus Christ! Don’t do that!”
“Sorry!” he raises his hands in defense. “I thought you saw me!”
“Clearly not!” you pause and take a deep breath, “Sorry— I’m kinda drunk and I hate being drunk. I’m paranoid enough when I’m sober, so when I can’t even walk straight I’m extra jumpy and anxious. And I honestly didn’t even wanna come out tonight, my friends just dragged me along and put me in some ‘going out clothes’ that I don’t think I even have the confidence to wear alone in my dorm! And—“
You pause at his grinning face.
“I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry, I get nervous when I’m drunk. Did I already say that? I think I did. Anyway, I talk a lot when i’m nervous, and I don’t really know how to talk to guys in the first place. If I get too annoying just tell me to shut up and I will. I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the— I’m still going. Sorry.”
“No harm done. I quite like your nervous rambling.”
Your cheeks heat up.
“So what made you run for the hills to come out here?” he asks, standing up from the chair he was sitting on.
“I’m not really a party girl.”
“Yeah, I could’ve guessed that.”
You frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not in a bad way!” he rushes out. “But you just.. are a jumpy person, like you said. Like a bunny. I’d be surprised if you went to parties every weekend on your own free will.”
And really— you have to laugh, because he’s right. “Yeah. I’m definitely not a party girl. And I am not the girl who wears this stuff. Not that it’s bad! But.. I’m just not.. comfortable in this,” you shrug, pulling at the short skirt.
The outfit your friends had picked out consisted of a white, very mini mini-skirt, a white cropped tank top, and some black heels. If the skirt was just a little longer, perhaps a little looser, you’d be fine. If you could at least cover up your belly button— you’d always hated it for no real reason except for the fact that, as embarrassing as it sounds, belly buttons freaked you out.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you look great,” he smiles.
You probably look like a tomato’s long lost sibling by now.
“Thank you.”
“But.. I also think you look great in pyjamas and bunny slippers and glasses and that little pout telling me my music’s too loud.”
“Hey!” You cross your arms.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughs as you try to smack his arm. “So, if you don’t like parties, why’re you here?”
“My friends wanted to go out,” you shrug. “I was done the second we got here.”
He pauses, as if mulling over a thought in his brain and you desperately want to know what, before he speaks, “D’you wanna go home, then?”
You blink at him, “What? I— I mean, yeah. I do, but I’m kinda drunk and all my friends are plastered—“
“I’ll drive you,” he cuts you off before you talk yourself up a wall. “Live next door t’ya anyway.”
“Really? I— are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered if I was. Let’s get y’out of here.”
-
The trip to the car took far longer than necessary, mainly because you ran into your friends doing shots and got sucked into one more round, which turned into ten more rounds.
By the time you were done, Harry was half carrying you out. He’d long since looped your arm around his shoulders, and his own arm around your waist as you stumbled towards the car.
“Alright,” he sighed once the two of you finally reached the car. “In you get, love.”
You can’t even stop yourself from grinning ridiculously as he helps you get in the passenger seat and buckle.
He shuts your door and slides into the driver’s seat. You stare at him. He smiles, but doesn’t call you out.
He turns on the radio, and you gasp. “I love this song!”
“Do you, now?” he laughs, and it’s almost teasing. Or, perhaps, it is, and your brain is too fogged up to comprehend that.
“Yes!” you exclaim, turning up the volume as Cruel Summer blasts through his car.
“I’m drunk in the back of the car! And I cried like a baby comin’ home from the bar! Oh, oh!” you sing, extremely off key.
“Quite the singer,” he comments.
“Said I’m fine, but it wasn’t true! I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you! And I snuck in through the garden gate—“
-
“You’re pretty,” you comment as Harry helps you up the stairs.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. You have nice eyes. And hair. Your hair’s really soft.”
“Don’t think you’ve ever touched my hair, so I’m not sure how you came to that conclusion, babe.”
You grin. Babe. “It looks soft. Duh.”
“Oh, of course. Duh.”
You think he’s teasing you, but you don’t care to tease back or get offended.
“Alright. Where’re your keys?”
“My keys! They’re… with Daisy.”
“No spares?”
“No,” you pout. “Do I have to sleep in the hallway?”
“No, ‘course not,” he shakes his head, pausing. “Ehm.. new plan. Gonna set you up in my bed, yeah? That okay?”
You nod with a hum.
He moves you one door over and fumbles with the key before finally pushing the door open.
“Bed’s right here, love. In you get, c’mon.”
He helps you sit down on the bed, and you rest your head against the wall.
“Hey, hey— don’t sleep yet.”
“Why?” you whine.
“Gotta get you comfy,” he explains, tugging your shoes off. He quickly goes to the dresser before pulling out pants and a shirt.
“You need help changing?”
You frown and nod.
“Alright. I won’t look, love. Promise.”
True to his word, Harry turns you around so your back is to him as he helps you get out of the tank top. He quickly slips the t-shirt over it.
He lays you down on the bed and slaps a hand over his eyes as he pulls your skirt down and helps you into the pants.
“Alright.. better, yeah?”
You nod, lying on the pillow. He helps you under the covers that smell like him and gives you an extra blanket.
“M’kay. Gonna sleep on the top bunk, yeah? Just say my name if y’need me.”
“Thank you,” you mumble.
“‘Course.”
He moves to walk away, but— “Wait, Harry—“
He turns back to you, “What’s wrong?”
You lift a hand up and run it through his hair. “I was right. It’s soft.”
He laughs.
“Go to bed, babe.”
“Sir, yes, Sir.”
He knew you’d probably be embarrassed in the morning, but he wouldn’t tell you that he enjoyed how touchy you got when drunk.
You didn’t plan on telling him that you’d slightly sobered up on the drive home and just played the drunk bit up as an excuse.
New bot, I hope I did it right. I tried to focus on his comfort and not exactly user's symptoms, because I think every woman probably has different symptoms and this way everyone who has PMDD hopefully can use this bot. I feel very sorry for everyone who has to go through this every month. 💓
Harry Styles 2014 | 🌀 You habe PMDD and he takes care of you
summary: your ex boyfriend— someone you never want to talk to again— is searching for you at a party. trying to do anything to deter him or get away, you spot harry, and a plan comes to fruition.
warnings: cheating ex, surprise kiss, sexual tension, partial mentions of sexual stuff, love/hate relationship, protective! h, fluff, cuddling and lots of kissing
a/n: I’m sorry but this gif actually has me in a chokehold. his jawline, his chewing, his FROWN. literally melting 🫠
———
There was never a day you thought you’d be b-lining to Harry of all people.
Especially not with the intention of once getting there, that you would be slamming your lips against his.
However, you already know you’d rather face a pit of blood-thirsty snakes then be forced into a conversation with your asshole of an ex boyfriend.
Who you know is currently seeking you out, because when you’d caught glimpse of him scouring the groups of people inside the kitchen, after coming back from the bathroom— your stomach dropped, and someone tapped your shoulder.
“He’s your ex, right?” The girl had said this with a light scrunch of her nose as she looked over to him. Her face riddled with a sense of disgust you couldn’t relate to more If you tried.
You had nodded, to which she replied, “Well, he’s asking everyone if you’re here and where you are. Going by his personality I’m assuming you’re gonna want to avoid that.”
You’d never wanted to hug someone more then her in that moment.
At the information she’d so kindly shared with you, your first priority was getting out of the house.
The front door wasn’t an option since he is near the only hallway that leads it it. So out through the back patio, where a smaller group of people were mingling by the fire, was easily your best option.
You knew this was where he’d be likely looking next, so you ran out the door. Unsure if you are about to just find a way to jump the fence and make your escape or…
Either way, you knew if he managed to talk to you, you’d be getting an unwanted earful of advances.
He’d beg with his nasally voice for you to give him a chance, and then go on about the same bitter ending you’d both faced. To his own fault, of course.
He was talking to multiple other girls over the damn state while you were together. And once you found out, it confirmed your outlook on his person.
He of course was charming and nice at first. But it was almost in a sleazy way when you think back to it. He’d yelled at you when you bought up his adulterous habits, and you never looked back after that.
Once you were outside, you were considering your options, but you spotted a person on the other side of the decking.
The second your eyes locked on Harry, it was a done deal.
If you were to seem like you were in another relationship, he would be much more likely to back off. Much more likely to never contact or try to find you again.
He was petrified of other men. Always felt so inferior around them. So this would be perfect, if you could just make it work.
All your past with him fell from the forefront of your mind as you practically ran in his direction. Maybe you had argued countless times over college projects and he could be a bit of an ass, but you still knew you could trust him.
He was leaned against the wooden beam of the patio, skin casted with a warm glow from the fire a few feet away, down on the grass.
He had a signature frown. One that creased between his brows and pouted his pink lips. Creating his almost intimidating persona. Protective in a perfect way.
“Harry.” You state frantically, moving at a pace you’re not used to, shoes hitting the wooden decking hastily.
His scowl deepened as he heard his name, being pulled from his intense train of thought.
“What—” He looks honestly pissed off, but when his gaze snaps to you, it softens a tiny bit. Still annoyed, but just a sliver less.
Also confused at your frantic and rapidly approaching frame, which is now suddenly breaching the usual metre-wide distance you both would maintain on any other day.
“Y/N? What are you—“
You plant your hands on the side of his face, and the look of surprise in his eyes is evident.
His cheeks are warm and smooth under your palms, “I need you to just go with this okay? Can you do that for me?”
He is struggling to make sense of the situation, let alone get a sentence out without being interrupted.
“What do you—“
“I— I’ll explain later just—“ you take a final glance over your shoulder, and see your ex inside still, but seemingly headed for the sliding door to come outside.
This drives the final surge of adrenaline you need to tug his face to yours, melding your lips together. His are puckered in tense shock, and a noise of surprise sounds from the back of his throat.
His hands jump to your hips, gripping them like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer, or push you away.
Your mouth moves against his, and he reciprocates with a sense of hesitation.
His own brain is in absolute overdrive. The interaction far to short to go from being people who merely tolerate one another to people who are currently kissing.
And somewhere inside of him he acknowledges the feeling of how warm your lips are pressed to his.
He senses your urgency now though, hands tensing around his jaw at the sound of the access door getting slid open.
Parting his lips, he impulsively drags his tongue over your bottom lip. You sigh a sound of almost gratefulness at his action.
Harry turns his body swiftly, pressing your back into the railing, his lips moving harder against yours.
“Y/N! Are you bloody out here?” A grating voice sounds, and he quickly picks up the pieces of the story he was missing.
The voice also pulls him out of the half trance he’d gotten himself in. Your mouth so warm, he genuinely forgot his own name for a second.
One of your hands slide down to the neck of his black shirt, securing it in an anxious grip.
The pace quickly picks up, him plastering himself to you as close as physically possible. Clashing mouths as he shadows your body with his.
“Oi, mate!” He ignores the yell, and is met with the footsteps of this guy coming closer.
“Have you seen—“
Harry pulls from your mouth, turning his head to look at the dickhead who you’re clearly attempting to get away from. And who just hypothetically interrupted someone’s makeout session— which is just fucking rude anyway.
“Do I look like I have?” Harry scowls, an angry tone over his voice.
The guy frowns, an ugly look casting upon his features, he steps closer, “No need to be a fucking di—“
He moved just close enough to see you, frowning, making sense that you were just essentially making out with someone, “Y/N I—“
“Can you fuck off? We’re in the middle of something here, that you’ve just so kindly interrupted. Read the room you twat.” His sentences come out harsh, and it’s clear he means it.
Your ex tries his luck a final time, “look I just want to talk with—“
And Harry interjects it again, “She’s not interested.”
You stay quiet, and at this he gets a disgusted look. It appalls you that he thinks you owe him anything.
There’s a stare down between the two men. But you can see in his face he’s intimidated. Also humiliated, that you’ve seemingly moved on with someone else, and that he’s clearly got no shot at winning you back.
“Fucking ass.” He hisses, and turns around, storming down the patio and back inside.
Harry turns back to you, shielding your frame with his. A sigh of relief passes through you.
You look a little shaken up, and he loosens the grip he has on you slightly. Both your lips still puffed and shining from the exchange you unexpectedly shared.
“Thank you…” you pant out, not sure if you’re out of breath from the situation or because of Harry.
The reality of what just happened comes pelting down on you both.
And it’s quiet a moment as you both clock over in your brains that you just practically made out. It takes a second for him to break the silence,
“So, stalker? Ex? Random guy who can’t take no for an answer?” He quizzes.
Feeling embarrassed, you purse your lips— but are able to to taste the remnants of his own mouth on yours. “Ex.”
“Ex?”
You nod.
“You sound surprised. Didn’t you think I could land anyone?” You scoff, trying desperately to bring back the usual snarky vibe between the two of you.
“No, not at all. Just that he was clearly batting above his level. He was a proper dickhead, and that’s rich when it’s compared to you.” You thank god he plays back into your banter.
But he pries further, “What exactly did he do to you?”
“Long story.” You attempt to brush it off, but he has none of it.
“Love, y’just came over here and slammed your bloody mouth over mine, and now you’re not going to tell me why?”
“But—“
“No,” he interrupts, still very close to you as he shakes his head, “No buts. Y’said you’d explain after.”
A sigh rattles out of you, feeling a little pathetic you’re telling Harry you got cheated on.
“He cheated on me. Like with multiple girls.”
To this, his face immediately drops.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
He fights the overwhelming urge to go hunt him down and lay a hand into the side of his fucking face. An absolute scumbag.
“What a pathetic excuse for a man.” He scoffs, “Lucky to have even got a pretty girl like you, and he blew it.”
You flush, another brief wave of quiet falling over the two of you. His compliments throwing you.
You quietly speak again, “I’m sorry about the… kiss. Didn’t really get as much consent as I’d have liked.”
You did feel guilty, you don’t usually go forcing your mouth onto unsuspecting men.
“No, it’s okay. You did it for a reason.” He shakes his head at your apology, and in all honesty, he enjoyed it.
Somehow it meant more than many of his others have. And he can’t quite pinpoint why.
“I… I carpooled here so, I think I’m gonna call an Uber and go home ‘cause…”
You had no interest in sticking around, incase your ex comes back— and you don’t want to spend the rest of your night glued to Harry’s side, because you doubt he’d want that.
“You’re not catching an Uber home.” He scoffs aloud, fishing his keys from his back pocket, “I’ve only had one drink, I’ll be fine to drive, so I’ll take you.”
“Harry, no. You’ve already done plenty for me tonight, I’ll be fine—“
He grabs at your hand, lacing them together and beginning to walk you down the patio.
“I’m driving you home.” He states, leading the you inside.
He clutched your hand tight, eyes forward and uncaring of the heads that had turned your way.
You on the other hand had burned up at the curious— and quickly jealous— eyes.
Harry was by no means a whore. There were plenty of rumours of him sleeping with certain girls. Mostly outlandish stories that eventually fizzled out to nothing.
He’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but it’d been a while since. And he’s maybe had one actual fling over the last couple months.
It just seemed he was harder to get. And many women tried their luck around the school. Yet to no avail.
You cast your sight down, walking behind him out the front door. Relishing in the quiet surroundings of the front lawn, free of prying glares.
He unlocked his car that was parked on the side of the road, and he opens the side door for you to get in. Chivalry mustn’t be dead.
Once you’re both in the car, you fight the urge to say again that he really doesn’t have to take you, because it’s clear there is no other option on his end.
So instead, you let out a tiny thank you, and he nods while starting the car.
However, your self restraint only branches so far— matter-of-fact, you weren’t even out of the street— before you blurt out, “Everyone was staring.”
He veers his gaze momentarily to you, then flicking it back to the road. Silence stretches a moment, and he recalls the heat of your lips pressed to yours with no real prompt.
And when he thinks of it, the image doesn’t leave his head. It unwillingly transpires, into something that bubbles into the pit of his stomach.
He had to blink it away, grounding himself when he hears your nervous swallow.
“I— what?” He’s confused at what you mean, while you kissed? When you walked out?
“When we walked out.” You reply, and he makes sense of what you’re talking about.
“People will always stare. They’re nosey.”
“I know.”
There’s another breath of silence, until he laughs, so suddenly that it almost makes you jump.
“Where am I going?” He asks, still chuckling as he realises he’s literally just driving aimlessly.
“Oh.” You sputter out a laugh as well, rattling off the side of town he needs to start driving to.
You wish you had more to say to him. That’s conversation usually flowed easily— filled with the sarcastic retorts it usually is. But now all that sat between you was a thick, hot slab of tension.
It wasn’t bad— not by any means— but it was easy to tell both of you were stuck in your own head. And you fear you’ve fashioned a permanent problem between the two of you.
Your voice only cut through the quiet once you were a few blocks away from your house.
He hummed acknowledgements to your each set of directions, and before you knew it, you were pointing out your house to him.
As his car pulled to a stop in the driveway, he didn’t hesitate to turn off the engine and get out.
Confused, you follow suit anyway, but wondered if he was about to walk you to your door.
And you weren’t wrong. Somehow, the guy who seems hardly like a gentleman, is waiting to walk the maybe 15 steps with you from his car to your front door.
You get your keys from your small bag, looking at him with an undeniably curious gaze as you meet his side.
He follows in sync by your side, hands in pockets. All the way up the patio steps, and he falls to a stop when you do, still next to you.
“Thank you for driving me home…” you smile, and can feel an unwilling red colouring spread over your cheeks.
“Was nothin’. Glad you’re home safe.”
“Were you seriously worried about me?” You frown, yet it’s undeniably endearing his concern for you.
A tiny scoff sounds from him, “Obviously?”
“That fuckin’ twat of an ex you have hardly seems like a good person. And who’s t’say he wouldn’t follow you home from that party and…” he stares off in thought, jaw clenching.
“Harry.” You state, stepping forward, wrapping a single hand around his wrist.
“Thank you.”
His distant gaze was snapped away at your touch. He’s never really considered himself an overly violent person, but your ex was easily about to change that.
And he hardly can pinpoint why. Or not yet.
The only thing he knows he wants to do again in sudden clarity, is kiss you. It almost shocks him, because he hasn’t felt an urge as strong as this in forever.
“Can— I need you to just go with this.” He mutters, being the one now very suddenly invading the gap between you both.
He’s mimicking what you said when you kissed him, yet you don’t realise “I’ll explain later.”
His hand cups the side of your jaw, and he leans to brush his lips against yours, a breath of relief fanning out his nose after finally feeling the contact.
You’re stood on your porch, and Harry is kissing you.
And somehow you’re all the sudden kissing him back.
Not because there’s someone you’re running from. Not because you have to. Because you want to.
He pulls you closer to him, allowing his teeth to graze your lower lip. Causing your hands to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.
You both play a back and forth game. Full of lips against tongue and tongue against teeth.
Until you’re both panting and running out of new places to map out with your hands.
“Care to explain?” You retort gently, stricken of breath.
He hums in the back of his throat, barley a rumble as he trails his mouth along your jaw, and down to the base of your neck.
“Is this enough of an answer?” He asks, sucking the skin between your two collarbones between his teeth.
Your knees almost give out at the sensation, and even the pressure behind his harsh mouth.
A near whimper comes from you, and he licks over the slightly bruised spot before he pulls back.
He cocks an eyebrow, expectant of your answer, despite having such a skilled mouth you’re pretty sure you forgot your own name for a second there.
“I— yes. That was… plenty.” You nod.
“Did it because I wanted to, and y’have an incredibly hot little mouth.” He provides anyway, a laugh coming from him as he pecks your cheek. All gentle, all loving.
You’re lacking for words completely, and can only lean your head against his broad chest. Unsure what exactly you’ve sparked between the two of you this evening, but simultaneously not caring of the future right now.
“I’m also probably not going to be able to stop thinking about it…” he whispers.
“Stay.” You blurt out, and then clarify a few seconds later, “The night.”
He chuckles at this, “Are you trying to get in bed with me now? Moving very quickly, sweetheart.”
You flush, “Not everything is about sex, you fucking addict.”
“So you were inviting me to stay the night so we could cuddle?”
“I was.” You affirm, despite not being opposed to his idea either.
Grabbing his hand, you lead him to your front door. Unlocking it and making quick work of sneaking him inside without the one of your three lovely housemates hearing.
All the others were luckily out at varying parties, and the only girl still home— Grace— sleeps like a log.
“You seem like a bit of a professional at sneaking people in.” He smirks, kicking his shoes off and leaving them in the corner of your room.
With only the lamp turned on, he’s lit with a warm glow, and he looks beautiful.
“Comes naturally when you live with housemates that are like your best friends. They wanna know everything.” You go to your cupboard, pulling out a jumper to change into.
He watches as you pull it over your head, yet managing to unclip your top and bra off underneath it.
“Impressive.” He nods at your easy change.
“I’m taking my pants off.” You state, “and not in a sexual way, perv.”
He lets out a defensive laugh, “I’m not a perv! You’re the one stripping off.”
You unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs to change over to sweatpants. His gaze strays around your room and you smile at his respectfulness.
Once you’re changed, you sit on the edge of your bed.
You lock eyes, and he gives a sly smile, not waiting to tug his shirt over his head and unbutton his own jeans.
You cover your eyes, sarcastically scoffing, “yea well, I didn’t plan on getting fully naked, but you go right ahead.”
“No different if we went swimming, darling. Still have my underwear on.”
You don’t get to reply as his hands tap your knee, “Budge up.”
You uncover your eyes, being met with his toned chest and calvin klein briefs.
Obliging silently, as he gets under the covers with you. The two of you rearrange until you’re comfortable.
Your head perched on his side as you cuddle into him, arm over his abdomen. His own arm curled underneath you.
“This is… an awfully weird situation we’ve ended up in.” You laugh. Because you’re cuddling in your bed right now, and if you told yourself even yesterday that would be happening, there no way in hell you would have taken it seriously.
“Guess it is.” He shrugs, turned his head to look down at yours.
“Still hate your guts.” You whisper.
“Mm, i don’t think I ever even hated you.” He muses.
You laugh, “Is that so?”
“Seriously,” he nods, “you’re too pretty. And even though you’re annoying, and can’t admit when you get a project question wrong, i think I have a little bit of a soft spot for you.”
“Gross.” You say, but he can hear in your tone— and the way it nearly shakes— that you actually are a little worked up over his minor confession.
“Cmon, you can’t even admit you like me a tiny bit?”
You shake your head, blushing profusely as you try to hide it.
He tugs you further up, so he can look at you properly, “You’re blushing though. Like you always seem to do when I get a bit sappy. Which is my most recent observation of you.”
He doesn’t let you respond as he presses another kiss to your lips again. And you smile into it unwillingly.
He pulls away mid-kiss, letting you whine a little at the abrupt ending to it.
“Admit it, and we can keep kissing.” He says, and it draws an eye-roll from you.
But he somehow knows it will work, because you quickly crack under his ultimatum, “Fine! Yes. I like you— just a little bit.”
To your response he laughs, murmuring against your lips, “I’ll take it, I suppose.”
He presses another kiss against you, and you press back again.
It becomes another makeout session, but despite being the third one of the night, it’s the first time hands can skate against mostly bare skin.
Which his own palms find their way under your jumper, and one cups gently at your breast, flicking over your nipple while his tongue dips into your mouth.
That’s as far as it goes for tonight though.
He kneads the flesh there softly, until you’re panting into his mouth with a heat budding between your legs.
Somehow there’s an unspoken not tonight agreement.
And you know that despite how needy you feel for him, it’s definitely for the best. And you’re still shocked you made it this far with him.
You roll into him further, chest rising and falling quickly as you sigh out to him, “I lied.”
“When?” He sounds completely unconcerned, despite your risky sentence starter.
“Before, when I said I only liked you a little bit.”
He chuckles at your response, “How was that a lie, hm?”
“I like you more than a little bit.”
“You’re sweet, darling.” He strokes his thumb against your ribcage, “so do I.”
To this you smiled. Eyes growing heavy at his rhythmic touches and soothing voice.
And his gentle words are the last that you hear before you fall asleep against his chest.
Both filled with a warmth you haven’t felt in a long time.
