The door to your dorm burst open suddenly out of nowhere, and in the doorway stood your boyfriend Ashton. You’d looked up from where you sat studying on your bed at the sound of the door, and your chemistry textbook went forgotten the second you saw him. You let the book slip from your lap and onto the floor as you held your arms out for him. With a groan, he crawled up in between your legs and fell into your open arms.
Wrapping his strong arms around your lower back, Ash burrowed his face into your stomach. Fighting a smile at the way his legs hung off of the edge of your college-issued twin bed, you slipped your fingers through his silky, sandy curls. Only then did his tense shoulders relax. He was just so big, your boyfriend, and so powerfully built.
“So how’d it go?” you murmured while lightly scratching your fingernails over his scalp.
“Mmm,” he moaned after scooching down a bit so he could nose at your inner thigh. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Oh Ash come on,” you tutted. “The critique couldn’t have been that bad.” By critique, you meant music critique. Ashton was a music major at your shared university, and for one of his midterms he had to perform in front of his class and then receive written critiques on his performance piece.
When Ash didn’t reply to your comment, and instead just tightened his grip on your hips, you continued. “I just can’t imagine anyone had anything bad to say, since you’re so badass on the drums. And the way you just lose yourself in your music babe? It’s so-”
“I said,” he interrupted you before abruptly sitting up. “That I didn’t want to talk about it, y/n.” That was when he chose to dig his fingers into that weirdly specific spot on your sides that had you wiggling away from him to avoid the tickles. Not that you could get too far on your tiny bed.
“Ash,” you complained. “Stop trying to distract me.”
“Distract you?” he batted his big, seemingly innocent hazel eyes at you. “Now where,” he pulled you onto his lap. “Would you,” he leaned in close, his lips hovering over yours. “Get,” he pecked you once on the mouth before focusing elsewhere. “An idea like that?”
You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he sponged open mouthed kisses along your exposed collarbones and up your neck. “Ashton,” you tried to sound stern to get him to stop.
“Okay,” he sighed before pulling his head back to meet your gaze. “No one liked it.” You jaw dropped. “I mean,” he rushed to supply. “They’re all stuffy classical music types anyway so…” Ash trailed off, breaking eye contact.
Reaching over, you cupped his jaw in both your hands and forced his eyes back to yours. “They probably just didn’t get it,” you said only when you had his full attention. “C’mere,” you added before pulling his head down to your chest. “You’re too punk rock for them, babe.” And after rubbing soothing circles over your boyfriend’s broad, muscular back for a while you finally felt rather than saw him smile in response.