Matilda: A Harry Styles Fanfic

boy in boxers

Harry climbs into bed next to me. He must've changed while I was in his bedroom with the door shut, because he's now wearing a t-shirt and boxers. My gaze travels down to the hardwood flooring, wanting to look at anything else but the boy in boxers next to me. It's incredibly hard not to stare, but I desperately want to be respectful.

The blankets are pulled over both of our bodies. I can feel Harry looking at me, so I meet his eyes with mine. An evident smile appears on both of our faces. Looking into his green eyes makes me feel safe, comforted, and at home. His fucking eyes make me feel safer than I do when I'm at my own house. That's not normal, is it?

"Hey, you." He whispers.

"Hi." My voice is quiet, barely even a whisper.

"You should get some sleep.'' His voice is still hushed, like we're speaking words for only the two of us to hear. It's like our one secret language. Except we're speaking English, which is actually a widely spoken language.

Feeling risky, I decide to say a few words that could be interpreted as flirtatious. "I'd rather stay up and be with you."

"I'd rather you stay up and be with me too, but your health comes first." His fingers lace together with mine, squeezing gently.

"I don't give a fuck about my health."

"Well, you should. It's important."

"No, it's really not. I'm used to not feeling good. I have arthritis and endometriosis.'' I say with a shrug.

He frowns. "That sounds terrible.''

"I'm used to it."

"You, young lady, need to get to sleep." Harry sternly tells me. My heart flutters at his demanding tone. It's almost... A turn on?

"Fine, sir." I joke.

Harry's eyes widen at my words. "Time to go to sleep." I stifle a laugh and adjust, closing my eyes.

Just as I'm about to nod off, Harry starts to talk. "Oh, and Matilda?"

"Yeah?" I ask, my eyes peaking open.

"I prefer to be called daddy."

°°°

A loud, constant beeping jolts me awake. I shoot up out of bed, terror evident in my body language. What the fuck is going on? Harry's presence is missing from his bedroom, so he must've heard the house before I did.

My bare feet carry me towards the kitchen, which appears to be the source of the repetitive sound. I should've put my socks back on. This floor is really fucking cold. It feels like I'm walking on a shit ton of ice cubes.

Confusion takes over my face as Harry, who's frantically waving a hand towel around in the air, comes into my vision. "What are you doing...?"

"The smoke alarms going off." He said in a tone that's oddly nonchalant.

"I noticed."

"Shit, sorry, did it wake you?"

"Yeah, but it's not a big deal. What time is it anyways?"

"8:30pm. Now, mind helping me?" He asks, gesturing to the smoke alarm that's still going off.

"I'm 5'2, what the fuck am I supposed to do?! You're the one who's six feet tall!"