Harry Styles Imagines

#79 Bets

Summary: A bet made between Harry and Y/N on a lazy morning is carried out the following night, and leads to a very interesting turn of events. And even another... bet? Never underestimate the power of strong alcohol.

BETS

As he lay peacefully across our bed, I take in the entirety of his beautiful body. Curls messily spread across the pillow, Eyelashes resting gently upon his cheeks, long legs spread not too far apart. This was the man I've loved since day one. In quite the literal sense, he was the embodiment of the word perfection. Not solely because of his looks, but because of who he was. He truly deserves all the love the world has to give because he gives it all of his. That's what initially drew me to him.

His deep dimples and a boyish charm never went unnoticed by me, but the fact that he seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve definitely took the gold. There used to be a time when love, to me, only meant that a girl and a boy liked each other. Over the years, I've learned that it's much more than that; much, much deeper. Since meeting Harry, nearly two years ago, I've learned that the word love alone can't be defined. It doesn't even deserve a definition because it's complicated. But simple at the same time.

My intentions weren't to wake him yet, but is eyes happened to pop open, it would be considered a treat on my part. The mattress sinked down with a barely quite squeak when I take a seat on my side. My new position allowed me to hear his slow, rhythmic breaths both entering and exiting through his nose.

It was on rare occasion that I didn't, but waking up in his arms to him breathing was often times the highlight of my day. Waking up alone to a comforting atmosphere was nice, but this was better. Smiling to myself, I let out a content sigh. It was little moments like this that never failed to make me grateful to be his girlfriend.

A few moments later, a groan leaves his mouth and he lazily turns onto his side. Some of his hair falls into his face, which makes nose scrunch up. He tries to brush it away, but it only falls right back. When a laugh slips past my lips, his eyes tired flutter open.

He blinks hard a few times. "Stop laughin'. S'not funny."

"Well, good morning to you too. It's almost noon, you know?" I say. The bright red numbers on the alarm clock backed up that statement.

"So? At least s'still mornin'." He extends his hand to poke my thigh.

"Yeah. Still mornin'," I mock in his accent. Although, nobody—including myself—is capable of doing it quite like he does. He has a very sexy and distinctive voice.

A smile makes its way across his face. The way his dimples indent in his cheeks makes my heart flutter in adoration. He doesn't have to do much for me to fall in love with him all over again. It's like the feeling of getting a present; each one getting better than the last. It's probably the closest thing to magic I'll ever experience.

"S'not how I talk, love." Little white starts appear to shimmer his eyes, proving his amusement. "Cute, though."

"What's cute is these little guys." I waist no time fitting my index finger into one of his dimples as if it were a mini hole.

He immediately pushes my hand away with an irritated grunt. When he sees me trying to put it back, he quickly grabs my wrist and forces it away from his face. The feeling of his fingers gripping me is tight, but not enough to hurt. Trying to pull away from him doesn't work.