Niall groans when she rejects another idea, this one involving her biting her lip or something after saying some lust-filled, naughty pick-up line that would only work if she were too hot for anyone to care if she said something stupid. “You’re delusional, and not the fun kind,” Niall says it like an insult, rolling his eyes, “Anything you do or say will be hot, he’ll be drooling over himself trying to get at you. Honestly, what’s stopping you from just looking at him and saying you want to fuck?”
“Humility,” she replies quickly, “Shame. A general sense of insecurity that’s hovered over me since I hit puberty.”
“Well, fuck all of that,” he answers just as easy, “Tell him to come over and hang paintings for you or something. Or – wait! Wait, say that you want him to teach you how to make those custard tarts I had in Portugal last year. Adam had mentioned something about Harry knowing how.”
or
Harry is jealous, and Y/N is delusional (derogatory)
part 1
part 2
part 3
(19k+ words)
iv.
When Harry first met Y/N, he didn’t think much of her.
Not necessarily in a negative way; he’d been introduced to the class she was in, and nobody stuck out to him. There was no aura of greatness, none of them looked confident, and every single face staring back at him looked scared shitless, and unsettled. From the moment their chef instructor established why Harry was there, he had a feeling he would leave unimpressed, uninspired, and maybe slightly annoyed from the waste of time. He watched them all scramble around for a little while to plate their food, and glanced over most of them a couple of times, except this one woman on the far right, middle station, preparing a lobster dish. Harry had thought that was pretty ballsy, making seafood as the first impression, though they didn’t know it was him who was coming when their instructor said they had a visitor that day.
Then Harry carefully tried all the food. It wasn’t that anything was outright bad, just not spectacular. Nothing that made him want to go in for another bite, nothing that he wanted to chew thoroughly just to pick out the different ingredients they used. Almost robotically, he cut, chewed, swallowed, and went to the next. He doesn’t hum his approval, doesn’t grumble his disapproval, just continues on.
And then he gets to Y/N’s station. He didn’t know it was hers at the time. They were all sitting at the sides of the cooking stations, gawking at him as he tried their dishes, so at first, he had no clue who had chosen to make Shepherd's Pie as their first impression. Still, he sighed a little bit, cutting into it, ready to be slightly disappointed by a lack of flavor profile.
Then he bites into it.
Harry’s Nan, in her prime, used to make Shepherd's pie a lot, one she found in a cookbook from the '60s. She told him the recipe several times, cooked it with him, and even wrote down step-by-step how she prepared it, but from the moment he started finding interest in cooking, he could not make it quite like her. It never tasted bad, per se, just wrong – it was never as good, as flavorful, as warm as when she made it for him. Eventually, Harry had just accepted that it wasn't something that could be replicated. He’d come to terms with the fact that half of what he was tasting was nostalgia; she’d still make it for him if he asked, but she’s older now and has arthritis in her fingers, so he would feel too guilty suggesting it.
Yet here he is, chewing a piece of this random culinary student’s Shepherd's pie, and it’s like his Nan had slipped her version of it right in front of him and he hadn’t noticed. He feels his face pull up (he doesn’t know why he looks so angry when he enjoys food, but that’s just his thinking face), he swallows, and it sits warm in his belly, better than anything that he’d tasted today. The same amount of spices, the perfect ratio of meat and vegetables, the same texture against his tongue, and the roof of his mouth. It’s amazing, and for once, Harry wants to take a second bite.
“Who made this?” He asked aloud, and he remembered how nervous she looked. How she raised her hand, the slight tremble of it, how she blinked probably a thousand times in the span of three seconds, “Come here.” Harry was left wondering if he was really that scary when she came up to him and looked like she was seconds from passing out. He sliced into the side of it, the insides spilling out in the way they would if this were commercial, revealing the steaming insides, “Where’d you learn to make this?” Because he had to know. Something Harry had never been able to replicate in his 15 years spent cooking, this woman had been able to accomplish in what? The hour or two they had to prepare this for him? Did she know his Nan?
“Um – a cookbook, Sir.” Her voice shook a little bit.
Harry laughed through his nose – what a small world, right? His Nan hadn’t been able to find that cookbook for decades, yet this random woman had probably plucked it off a secondhand shelf and decided to try cooking this specific dish. All for it to lead to this moment, when Harry is looking for someone to mentor. Harry had never been one to believe in fate; he thought all of that was very silly. But for the first time, he thought that maybe there might be something in the universe working in his favor.
Did Harry want to mentor someone? Yes and no. He believed that he had a lot to teach other chefs, a wealth of knowledge that he’d like to share and use to cultivate stronger chefs, but in the same breath, Harry knew who he was. He knew the type of person he was and the kind of mentor he was; there was no room for mistakes, no room for bad dishes, no room for complaining, whining, or fussing. He expected them to work the same hours he does, to give their life over to the craft just as he had, and he wouldn’t accept anything less than the intense passion and strive for success. Adam was much more personable than Harry, he knew that, so it was easy for him to find people to mentor and get along with. He was much less picky and much more amicable, and people didn’t run off from him as often as they did from Harry.
In the past couple of years, Harry had 10 different apprenticeships, and only 3 of them had made it past the 5-month mark, and only 1 of them stuck it out with him to the very end (his name was Franklin). Harry never asked them to leave or to quit; they did it of their own volition, and Harry always thought that maybe that was for the best. If they couldn’t handle Harry when he was being relatively nice, then there’s no way they could handle a food critic having a shit day.
So he chose Y/N but his hope was low for how long she might last. The way she looked seconds from dropping right to the ground as soon as he asked who’d made the dish worried him, but with the Shepherd's pie – well, he couldn’t just let her disappear into the abyss of culinary students. Harry hoped, in the back of his mind, that one day he could convince her to make it for him again. To show him exactly how she does it.
To be honest. . he was shocked by her. Y/N was a strong chef – stronger than he’d given her credit for, not only in her cooking skills but in her mental fortitude. To be in Harry’s kitchen, and to be studying beneath him, is not for someone with a weak constitution, he could admit that. Yet she took every critique, every scoff, every scold, and every yell (Harry isn’t proud of those) in stride. Even if she looked a little taken aback, or like she might piss herself, she always nodded firmly, said something cheesy like, “Yes chef, yes sir,” and then corrected the problem. That’s what Harry had always appreciated the most from her was that she corrected the issues he brought to her attention and she never made them again.
He’d been angry when he saw the hair. Even madder when Y/N did not explain herself, merely tipped her head down and let the customer berate her, then when Harry had taken her to the side and given her what he’d thought was the chance to explain herself, she said nothing. Saying nothing is an admission of guilt in Harry’s eyes, so he scolded her and told her not to embarrass him – but there was something a little different this time. This time, the look that stared back at him was filled with something he’d not seen from her before. Something that, if she’d ever felt it when he spoke to her, she was typically good at schooling.
It wasn’t until he’d rounded the corner to the storage room and heard Adam ask if she was crying, hearing her blame it on allergies that just suddenly sprouted after he’d yelled at her – he realized the look was hurt. Harry yelling at her had hurt her that time, and that. . .that definitely gave him some pause. It was the only reason why he decided to investigate it, the only reason why he found out that this guy was a repeat offender. The only reason that he realized Y/N would rather take the lashing he’d given her for something that she’d not even done than to argue with him.
He definitely did some reflecting. Harry had always thought people feared him because they respected him, but he didn’t want anyone to actually be scared of him. Enough that she would hold her tongue when it would benefit her. Harry doesn’t like excuses, sure, but he wouldn’t have seen that as an excuse. And if he’d allowed her to get closer to him, then maybe she would realize that defending yourself from a lying prick wasn’t making an excuse in Harry’s eyes.
Harry was always watching her closely and listening, but he turned his attention to her with up to 150% focus. He already knew that she had a close relationship with Niall, Adam’s apprentice, but he hadn’t realized how close to Adam Y/N was. He wasn’t even her mentor, yet she typically went to him with a lot of the problems that she had, whether they were related to what she was cooking right then, or just a random question she thought of that had to do with a dish from a week ago. Things that she should be comfortable asking him but she wasn’t. He saw how the three of them bounced off one another, how playful they were, how comfortable she seemed when Adam called her name versus how nervous she looked when Harry even glanced in her direction.
Then she nearly passed out, too scared to tell him she hadn’t eaten, too worried that he’d be annoyed with her because she needed to fulfill a basic human need. And Harry felt like shit. Even without the slight, verbal lashing that only Adam could get away with giving him.
“You need to be a little nicer if you’re going in place of me,” he told him, speaking just above a whisper, only so that he could hear him as Harry carefully made peanut butter and jelly, “You look pissed off, and that isn’t what she needs right now.”
“I just don’t understand why she felt the need to lie.”
Adam sighs, “Because you’re scary and you don’t make yourself approachable. Why would she be honest?” He cracked open the jar of jelly for him, sliding it over and shaking his head, “She’s sweet and just wants to do well. Why can’t you see that?”
Harry can see that. He does – he knows that she wants to do well because she does do well. She puts her heart and soul into this just as he does. Maybe he should have spoken to her earlier about what she needed from him. Maybe Harry should have given her the opportunity before that day to tell him that she liked verbal praise, that she wanted to know he thought she was doing well, that he was proud of her. That might have saved them a whole lot of trouble.
So that’s what he does. He isn’t kissing her feet or anything, but he makes an effort to tell her when she does good, and Y/N always looks so pleased with herself afterward. . he feels even more guilty for keeping it from her. Harry hadn’t realized she needed it – she always just did well without him flattering her and continued to do well without it, so he figured it wasn’t a necessity. But Harry remembers how important it is to be told you’re doing well; how nice a tender stroke to the ego could be when you’re trying to find yourself in an industry as competitive as this one. So he tells her when things are good, he utilizes the compliment sandwich technique (he had to look it up), and he tries to become a better mentor for her. And when he notices she’s asking him more questions rather than scouting Adam out, or she doesn’t look as frightened when she asks him to repeat a step in the process of cooking, it feels good.
At some point, his feelings twisted into something a little more...unrefined, as far as mentor/pupil relationships go. He thinks something tickled in the back of his head when he saw the reaction she had to his praise. The soft smiles, the murmured “thank-yous”, how she seemed to have a little more of a skip in her step afterward. When she’d call him over to show him her dish, even if it was something he didn’t necessarily need to see, it was like a bird preening its feathers to show off. Or a puppy wagging its tail when their owner told it it did well.
The feeling only mushroomed into something unignorable when he went out to eat with them. Once Adam had initially asked, Harry planned on saying no – he was pissed off about the boiler and needed to spend some time calculating how this would affect this month's earnings. Plus, he desperately needed a night to himself, to take a bath, do a face mask, maybe fuck his fist and relieve some of the tension that is always residing in his shoulders.
But when Adam mentioned that Y/N and Niall would be attending, he was. . .intrigued. He knew in brief glimpses what they might act like outside of work, just from the conversations that he’d accidentally stumbled upon between the two of them. Harry had a feeling that Y/N was far more exuberant than she acted in the kitchen, maybe much more silly, calmer, relaxed, and settled – he was interested to see it. To see if this tickle in the back of his head is just a tickle and nothing more.
The tickle was more of a gnawing by the end of the night. After feeding her, watching as she ate everything that he gave her and ate it well, he learned that she had a cat and that in her time spent free of work because of the boiler, she planned to hang out with said cat. There was a satisfaction that rang deep in his bones when he fed someone, especially someone he’d felt that he’d stolen a meal or two away from in the past. Harry hoped his carefully crafted wraps were enough to make up for any time that she felt she needed to starve to continue working and please him. And she looked cute, too, with her cheeks full as she chewed. Even cuter when she was drunk, dancing, and grinding on her friend. Even cuter, all panicked, flustered, begging him to let her wash his shirt after knocking his drink all over it.
By the end of the night, it wasn’t even just a gnawing.
He wanted to chew on her.
Y/N was fun. She was fun to tease, fun in her responses, how she stumbled over her words and so clearly was reading into things correctly, only for him to watch on her face as she tried to talk herself out of what she’d very correctly read into. Told him it depended on the context whether or not she liked to be out of control of her body, and god, it took everything in him not to pull the car over and suck on her tongue right there.
She’d always been cute – his cute little apprentice, always dutiful in her job, showing up on time, trying to impress him. Call it cuteness-aggression or Harry’s general dominant tendencies, but he needed to dig his teeth into her. Into her lips, into her neck, into her hips, the soft of her belly, the flesh of her thighs. He wanted to lick her all over, make her sweat, stretch her out, have her beg – everything, all of it. He felt a little bit like he was in heat.
It’d been a long time since he’d gotten to explore kink with someone. Harry knew that she was interested in him, because he’s always listening, and she and Niall are not as quiet or sneaky as they think they are. Maybe to people who aren’t paying such intense attention to them, but Harry might as well be Y/N’s shadow for as deeply as he keeps tabs on her in the kitchen. He hadn’t been sure that she was interested in the dynamics he’s interested in until he took the chance one night, while they were making the cake, and he had her suck the icing off his thumb.
Harry had never met someone so receptive to him before. When she whined because he took his thumb away, Harry could have sunk to his knees for her right there and stuffed his face anywhere she wanted him to. Despite outer appearances, Harry truly isn’t a complex man. The way she let him poke and prod around in her mouth, just because he could, just because she was letting him – he knew then and there he would be obsessed with her.
The build-up is the best part. The waiting, watching her try to figure it out, the realization that overcomes her when she understands what he wants, how easily she plays with him. Y/N doesn’t mind playing the part of his filthy, greedy little puppy so long as he takes care of her, tells her how good she’s doing, lets her fill her mouth up with his fingers, and plays with her pussy. Even when he stops, even when he edges her, even when he’s mean and makes her want and want and want, she’s still so good for him, so cute, so precious, he’s just too delighted.
There’s a trust there that Harry loves. She trusts him to see her like that. Trusts him to decide when she cums and when she doesn’t. Trust him to take care of her afterward, even if she doesn’t know she needs to be taken care of. Harry won’t ever leave her alone directly after they play, no matter how often she offers to get a ride – he could tell it was just a courtesy. She didn’t want to leave his side yet, and he didn’t want her to leave. He’s found recently that he thrives off taking care of her, in little ways. Feeding her and fucking her are the big ones.
Though as he holds her in his arms right now, sleeping soundly with her cheek pushed up against his chest after he fucked her, Harry thinks cuddling might be a big one too.
Initially, Harry had planned on edging them both for nearly a month. The anticipation was one of the best parts for him, and he could tell that Y/N enjoyed it too; gluttons for the swelling desire had begun swallowing them both whole. He had it all planned out, by the week, by the day, by the hour – how long he would play with her pussy until he felt it tighten around his fingers (it was so easy to tell when she was about to cum, her walls squeezing, like it was begging him to stay inside, begging him to keep her full, fuck her until she spasms and twitches and whines, drenching them). He’d decided on a day he’d invite her over to his flat and finally make her cum, and then he’d feed her well, take care of her, let her spend the night if she wanted to, or make sure she got home safely if she wanted that instead.
He had not accounted for Youngjae to come to his restaurant before this happened. He hadn’t accounted for Youngjae to ask to speak with the chef who made his meal, to compliment Y/N so genuinely, to invite her to his restaurant. He hadn’t accounted for the shy, giggly look Y/N was giving someone who wasn’t Harry. And he sure as fuck hadn’t accounted for the thick, oozy glob of something inky and consuming to slip down his throat, acrid and pungent, unavoidable. A feeling Harry hadn’t experienced properly in quite a while.
He was jealous.
On one hand, he feels pride in the compliments she received. To be so enamored by a plate as a chef that you need to speak to the person who prepared it is one of the highest forms of praise in the cooking world. For his pupil to be praised for how well she’s done, he couldn’t be more proud of her, and how far she’s come as a chef.
And on the other hand, he cannot stand it. At this point, Harry knows Y/N. He knows how much she likes to be praised, like a bird preening its pretty feathers. He wasn’t blind to see that Youngjae was gorgeous, so to be complimented by a well-renowned chef, looking like him, and praise already makes you all wiggly and giggly? He wondered if her heart had skipped a beat when Youngjae smiled at her. If her palms got clammy from the nerves of it. If she was thinking about taking him up on the offer, getting pressed over the side of his desk, her face buried into the side of his neck.
The thought was like an invasive plant; the seedling stuffed itself in the soil, an image of Y/N as pretty and cute as she looks, begging to be filled up, and it was someone who wasn’t him making it happen. The plants take root in the grooves of his brain, winding, tangled vines, growing unmanageable and wild. He had to remove himself from the kitchen, stew in his office, and wonder if his ears were as red as they felt, but he was too ashamed to check. What a petulant response to an interaction that was relatively mild. Harry has had her drooling around his fingers, yet he’s irate by the smile she gives another chef when they compliment her? He needed to grow up.
His problem lies in the fact that he is not someone who gets jealous. Feelings of envy have never swayed him – if Harry wanted something or someone, then he’d get them eventually, through dedication and hard work. Nothing in this life drops at your feet; you must put forth an effort for the things you want, and that’s what he does. So there was never a need to be jealous of anyone, for anything.
Yet there he was, his teeth gritted, his mind a frenzied swirl. Weeks and weeks of build-up that Harry would snuff out in a night, and surprisingly, he doesn’t regret even a second of it. Especially not when she begged so pretty for him. When she whimpered out Puppy can handle more – and almost made Harry cum completely untouched. Not when she snores on his chest now, deep in her dreams, limbs twisted around him like a koala. He replays the night over a dozen times in his head, and finds himself content. It’s odd, whatever feeling stirs in his chest – he definitely wouldn’t call it love, and he doesn’t think he’d necessarily even call it a crush. What he feels is something equal parts fond and possessive. As he plays with her limp fingers, slotting their fingers together, Harry is able to come to one conclusion, though.
Y/N was his, Harry had decided. His and his alone.
. . .
Y/N’s warm.
Typically, she wakes up pretty cold. Not just because she has a sketchy furnace or she fell asleep with the fan whipping above her head – she just generally wakes up shivering, most of the time, with Hazelnut huddled against some part of her body for warmth (Y/N likes to pretend that it’s because Hazelnut loves her but deep down she knew it was for survival purposes only). For whatever reason, her room is always a little icier than the rest of her flat, so the cold seeps beneath her skin and leaves her whole body shivering.
Today is different, though – this morning is odd. Y/N starts to come to but doesn’t open her eyes immediately; she lets her consciousness ease in rather than forcing it abruptly. She isn’t waking up to an alarm so she imagines that this is an off day, which means she could be a little lazier in starting her day. Plus, she’s so nice and warm, she’s almost certain it was a dream and she’s hesitant to leave the beauty of it.
Y/N isn’t sure what eventually clues her in that she isn’t asleep anymore. Maybe it’s the way her neck is a little sore, like she’d been in the same position for most of the night. Or maybe it’s the fact that her cheek is not pressed up against her pillow, or Hazelnut’s fur, or even her mattress, how it sometimes is when she wiggles down in the middle of the night. Instead, she’s on something more solid, a different feeling – like skin – and there’s a momentary panic because what the fuck, there shouldn’t be anybody else in bed with her!
Her eyes peel open, and just as soon as they do, the memories of last night flood back into her head. Harry taking her home, Harry splitting her apart piece-by-piece, him finally letting her cum, all of the embarrassing things she said, when he’d offered for her to stay for the come down. Then she fell asleep, and that – he hadn’t offered her to spend the night. He told her she could stay for a little while, sure, he might have said as long as she needed to be polite, but to fall asleep? On him, no less – she just manages to make herself more of a nuisance every day!
Y/N stiffened, nervous to move. Was he asleep or was he awake? Y/N doesn’t know what’s worse: Harry being asleep and her waking him up, trying to sneak out of here and not disturb him, or Harry already being awake and annoyed that she took up space in his bed and stayed glued to his side all night. She was nice and warm, and it was pleasant to her, but what if Harry liked to sleep cold? What if he kept shoving her off of him last night, and she just kept rolling back into his space? The thought makes her want to crawl under a rock. Plus, she’s still stark naked, and like – she is fine with him seeing her like that in the moment, but she didn’t necessarily want her bits out in the light of day. Where were her clothes? Did she take them off in here or had he been peeling them off on the way to his room?
Oh my god, this is the worst! Why didn’t she just stay awake long enough to make it home last night?
If there was one thing about Y/N, it was that she never wanted to overstay her welcome, no matter the circumstances. She likes to be invited directly, or she doesn’t normally do it, too overcome with fear that whoever she’s with thinks she’s trying to make it something that it isn’t. The last thing she wants to be is the sad, desperate girl begging for more in a relationship than there is. Especially with someone like Harry – she does not doubt he’ll be blunt with her, and while that’s nice in the long run, she doesn’t need him to put into words that this isn’t a relationship, that she’s just fun to play with, that if he actually wanted someone seriously it wouldn’t be her. Because Harry needs someone like – well-established, probably? Someone successful already, driven, with more goals than her (she has goals, but most of them are related to things he’s already accomplished, so there’s probably no fun in watching her try to obtain them – like a been there, done that kind of thing). They’d be cool too, to catch Harry’s attention. Could probably hold their own in banter with him, make him laugh, and. . .she needs to stop. Now she’s just stressed out and making herself sad so –
“I can hear you thinking,” Harry’s voice startles her. It’s warm, a little rough from just waking up, her cheek vibrates with it from where she’s lying on his chest still, and it makes her insides twist in something giddy that she’ll have to stuff her face into her pillow and giggle about later, “Enough.”
“Sorry,” she pushes herself up slowly, taking the blankets with her and covering her upper half, and trying not to look so obviously panicked. Y/N attempts to school her face, twisting so that she could look at him – she hadn’t realized how unready she was to see this version of Harry until right now. In the mornings, while she’s sure it looks like she just woke up five minutes before walking into the kitchen, Harry always looks like he’s been up for a couple of hours. Refreshed, his skin is always glowy, his eyes are always bright (for him at least) without a dark circle in sight. Most days, he kind of looks model-ready, and when she started, she’d always wonder if he was about to get interviewed or something, but was too nervous to ask him. She knew now that the answer was no – Harry just took very good care of himself.
(“Fucking prick, I come in and I look like I haven’t slept in days.” Niall complained once.
“That’s because you stay up all night playing Roblox or whatever the hell.”
“It’s League and you know I have a self-imposed 11 PM monitors off policy on work nights!)
This Harry, however, was different. Still pretty, of course, because the universe is out to get her, but a different kind of pretty. His eyes are swollen and puffy, noting that he’d clearly just woken up as well. His cheeks were flushed a little bit, pink just slightly coloring his skin, and his hair was a mess on top of his head. He must have just run his tongue over his lips to wet them, because they glisten in the sunlight (or maybe his lips are just naturally glossy too, because why wouldn’t they be at this point?).
Her strong, intimidating, slightly mean sometimes mentor – looked so incredibly soft. Y/N wanted to press on his belly and stuff her face in his throat, and melt over him like a second skin. If they were together like actually, then she thinks she would. Maybe Harry would even like that. . .she thinks. Or maybe he wouldn’t want that in a partner. But in a fuck buddy, he does like her a little needy, so there’s a chance she could get away with that now, right?
“I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I fell asleep.” She finally speaks, suddenly needing to avoid eye contact at all costs. Instead, she stares at his hand, where it’s resting on his chest, where her head had been just a few moments prior, “I – um. . .” she feels awkward, and sore, and doesn’t know what to do with herself. Should she act casual about it? It’s still kind of blowing her mind that they had sex – that it felt as good as it did. She doesn’t think her hand or any of her toys could ever compare to whatever all of that was.
Harry stares at her for a while. She thought maybe he was just trying to wake up, or maybe he was crafting the perfect way to tell her to leave without scorching her feelings too painfully (who is she kidding? He’d just tell her to go home because he had shit to do or something). Or he could be waiting to see if she was going to finish whatever the second half of her sentence was, though what it was didn’t exist to her either.
A quiet sigh leaves his mouth, “Do you regret it?” He inquired plainly.
Eyes wide, Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever shaken her head so fast in her life. It kind of jostles her brain a little bit, even, “No! No, not at all, oh my god – I could – how could I ever regret something like that?” She twisted to face him more, only one hand holding the blanket up now, loosely, “I mean like – I regret some of the things I said ‘cos I think I may have come off a bit pathetic, but everything you did – everything we’ve done – oh, it’s great. I don’t regret that, I just – feel bad about. . .about imposing my presence on you all night. We have work today, and I didn’t ask to spend the night.”
Harry pushes himself up now too, leaning back on his mountains of pillows, “I told you we could stay like that as long as you needed,” he reminded her, “If that meant all night, then so be it. I don’t mind. Though I think Hazelnut might have.”
(Hazelnut would have something to say about her absence, but since her food releases on a timer, she got dinner last night, and her middle-of-the-night snack so it isn’t like she was going hungry. Honestly, Y/N thinks Hazelnut likes to have the night to herself sometimes, but missing out on her human heater is probably why she yells at her when she walks in after being gone.)
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, assessing his face for any inkling that he might be lying. Y/N doesn’t expect him to lie, of course, and she does expect him to be blunt with her, and honest – but sometimes he does unexpected things too. Like secretly being tenderhearted enough to make her a big slice of cake and call her ex a dick. Giving her his hoodie when she was freezing in a movie theater, also unexpected. Then there was the whole putting his fingers in her mouth thing, and the subsequent edging to follow.
So, maybe he would lie to make her feel better. But if someone doesn’t lie often, then she would figure he’d have a massive tell to suggest that he was. Instead, she finds nothing – his same impassive face that he’s always making, except for the amusement hidden beneath his gaze when he’s looking at her in particular.
“Oh, puppy,” he clicks his tongue, patting her thigh, “Let me feed you, then I’ll send you on your way, so you can get ready for work, hm?”
A clear plan is nice. Harry's offering to feed her is even nicer.
“Okay, that – that-that sounds good.” Y/N nods, “Could I – could you find me my clothes? I’m not really sure where they landed.”
Harry kicks his blankets off, “I’ll just give you something of mine.”
. . .
“Oh my fucking – wait – what are you telling me right now? You spent the night?”
It was the first proper Spring day; the weather was balmy, the breeze was warm, and with the sun hanging high in the sky and beaming pleasant rays like sweet kisses, it coaxed all the bunnies, birds, and squirrels out of their nests, warm in the grass. Niall, for all his ‘curtains-closed-so-it-doesn’t-glare-on-my-computer-screen’ gamer tendencies, does appreciate a warm day. So he made up a little picnic for them to enjoy, with homemade blackberry jam and fresh bread from the French bakery beside his flat. They had cheese and crackers too, which was interesting, the spring time critters in their area of the park. That, or they were nosy and wanted to hear Y/N update Niall.
And Niall was just as floored as she was, about all of it.
Y/N’s face feels hot recounting the events, because Niall wants to know everything. Every minute detail, from positions to an advanced description of Harry’s prick (equipped with a crude drawing Y/N tried on his iPad, which he always carted around in his satchel) – Y/N was giving Niall the nitty gritty.
“I know,” she held her face in her hands, “I’m still so embarrassed about it, and I’m still like – like I keep convincing myself that he only lied and said it was okay so I didn’t cry in front of him or something stupid.”
“Okay, first and foremost, if sex isn’t putting your ass to sleep, then it isn’t good sex. Harry is well aware of that,” Niall has one finger up, then dramatically pulls the second finger – his middle – up with the fingers of his other hand. “Secondly, he was so fucking clearly jealous! Remember when you were blowing me off before? When I suggested it in the kitchen.”
Y/N shook her head, “And I’m blowing you off now too–” she rumpled her lips, “What would he have even been jealous of?”
Niall, who has given up the theatrics of marking each point with his finger, now busies himself with the jam and stares at her like she’s an idiot, “I’m sorry, did you black out and forget a very sexy young chef coming to the restaurant, bringing you out to compliment you, then writing his number on the back of a card offering you to come his kitchen right in front of your CILF?”
“My who?”
“Chef I like to fuck,” Niall continued, “Like, you’re a little dense sometimes but this is crazy. Even Adam noticed Harry was jealous! His ears were bright red, he snapped at everyone for asking you about Youngjae, and then suddenly you broke the weeks of edging the very same night. Like, he might as well have tattooed ‘I’m jealous’ right across his forehead.”
Y/N’s heart is racing at the possibility of it, equal parts giddy at the thought and reluctant to get her hopes up. It’d be kind of fun if he were jealous, she thinks – to evoke any emotion from him is exciting, she’s found, and that would be a new one. But when speaking to a fellow partner in delusion, she’s learned to take most things with a grain of salt – even if Adam seemed to notice as well. Adam and Niall share a singular brain cell on most days, so it wouldn’t surprise her if they started thinking the same, too.
“I don’t know, like besides all of that, he didn’t really act jealous or anything. He didn’t say he was.”
Niall tears into his bread, dips it into the jam, and then stuffs it in his mouth. Though he pushes his bite into his cheek so he could speak around it, “Harry’s a bit too prideful to just admit that, I reckon. The one thing he’s not gonna be honest about is being jealous over another chef.” Y/N rubs the plastic of the cracker package between her fingers, staring at a bunny that has gotten suspiciously closer with each glance she made at it. If she didn’t know any better, she would think it was about to trot on over and snatch the food on the blanket, “Okay, now roll it back to what we were talking about – he offered a chew toy? I’m getting on Amazon immediately and getting you a collar and leash set, he’ll go crazy.”
“Okay, but like what if he doesn’t want to?” Y/N pushes her thumb against her knee, “Like…maybe he got it out of his system and now he won’t want to.”
Niall groans, rolls his eyes, already pulling out his phone, “Shut the hell up,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but everything you’ve described to me does not sound like a man who is planning on one and done. Calling you puppy, edging himself with you, ‘It’s seriously so cute to see a puppy behaving so well?’ That man is obsessed. And he’s possessive too, which is kind of cute,” he sighs, “Okay, I need to go to an actual kink site, Amazon is showing me actual dog collars.”
Y/N plucks a manchego cube from the container that Niall had carefully packaged, laying it carefully on her cracker, “He hasn’t said anything though, and we haven’t like – y’know. . done our thing lately.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you to come to him?” Niall answered instantly, making a grabby hand at the bottle he filled to the top with pineapple juice, “Like, wasn’t he all nervous that you regretted it? He’s probably waiting for you to give a sign that you still want it. Right?”
She guesses she hadn’t considered that. Y/N wasn’t the one to spearhead most of their situations together; she usually let Harry come to her, but if he’d been worried still that she didn’t like what happened, then that might give him some pause. And had the scenario been different, if this dynamic was different, then she might not care about telling him she wanted to fuck him still, and keep his fingers in her mouth, and hear him say all those filthy things again. But it was Harry, and she’s like. . predisposed to being nervous no matter what it is involving him.
“How would – I mean, how might I go about that? You’ve got more experience in this department.”
Niall peered up at her, “Interesting way to subtly call me a little slutty, but yeah, you’re right,” Y/N reached out and slapped his leg, “And lucky for you, I love an operation title. So, operation: seduce Harry into fucking you again so that he knows you aren’t regretting it after the last time – commences today.”
“God, that’s a mouthful,” Y/N complained.
“And hopefully your mouth will be full of Harry by the end of the week.”
Niall and Y/N spend the remainder of the picnic deciding what she should do. Niall has always had an intense, vivid imagination, so the plans he makes always come with plenty of detail and every potential scenario that may arise from them. Which is why, instead of having the cute, one-hour lunch they had planned, they spent 3 hours finding different positions on the blanket, attempting to get comfortable on the lumpy ground, snacking until the food he packed was gone, and going over what she should do. The tentative title of “operation: seduce Harry into fucking you again so that he knows you aren’t regretting it after the last time” gets shortened to Operation: Seduce Harry and she spends 10 minutes convincing him he does not need to make it a notes app bullet pointed list.
They go through a variety of different ideas. Y/N cornering him in his office after everyone leaves, popping a button on her shirt, and revealing something lacy and sheer underneath them. Adam convincing Harry to go out with them again, Y/N asking if he wants to dance together, grinding and gyrating on him in a way that could only mean she was looking to get him hard. Stumbling into his lap, hand landing on his prick, giving him a soft squeeze and a wink. Y/N sending him a photo of her neck with a collar fixed around it that’s heart pendant says yours, fingers twisted around a leash, also in the photo.
All of the ideas Y/N would rather walk the plank out at sea than actually do. The fact of the matter is, Y/N is not good at seducing, or flirting, really, for that matter – so each one of these ideas is shoving her out of her comfort zone. And when Y/N is shoved out of her comfort zone instead of gently nudged, the outcome is not something spectacular; she just ends up making a fool of herself. So she refuses each idea that Niall, who – had he been in this situation, would have just messaged something out of pocket like are we going to fuck again or what? – came up with.
Niall groans when she rejects another idea, this one involving her biting her lip or something after saying some lust-filled, naughty pick-up line that would only work if she were too hot for anyone to care if she said something stupid. “You’re delusional, and not the fun kind,” Niall says it like an insult, rolling his eyes, “Anything you do or say will be hot, he’ll be drooling over himself trying to get at you. Honestly, what’s stopping you from just looking at him and saying you want to fuck?”
“Humility,” she replies quickly, “Shame. A general sense of insecurity that’s hovered over me since I hit puberty.”
“Well, fuck all of that,” he answers just as easy, “Tell him to come over and hang paintings for you or something. Or – wait! Wait, say that you want him to teach you how to make those custard tarts I had in Portugal last year. Adam had mentioned something about Harry knowing how.”
That. . wasn’t a bad idea. Of all his ideas so far, this had been the one most like her. One that would be the least likely to spark any warning flags in Harry’s brain – especially if she could just send him a message, that he’d hopefully just respond to, then not bring up when she saw him later. Niall encourages her to message him while he’s sitting there so that he can help her draft it up, but there’s not much to draft so she suspects he’s just being nosy. Making sure that she goes through with it, instead of going home, chickening out, pretending that their conversation never happened.
Hi Harry!
Would you be able to come to my place sometime soon? There’s something I want to learn how to make.
There isn’t an immediate answer, but Y/N doesn’t expect one. Most of the time, Y/N wonders if Harry even remembers he has her number, let alone a phone, so she’d expect a response hours from now. Hell, maybe even tomorrow morning. If it extends beyond that, however, she’ll assume that he hates her and never wants to touch her again, so she hopes he doesn’t wait that long. Unless that was his version of letting her down easy.
Y/N sets her phone face down on the blanket, puts her face in her hands, and does a little yell. Niall’s hand is warm on her shoulder when he reaches out and squeezes.
“Please, he’s g’na trip over himself to get to your place,” Niall assures her. “Do you have another sundress like this one? If not, wash this one and wear it again if he doesn’t reply tonight – your tits look great in it.”
. . .
Approximately 16 hours later, Y/N’s ringtone stirs her awake.
She’s confused, of course, because at first she thinks it’s her alarm and she knew for a fact that the color of the sky did not equate to the time her off-day alarm would be ringing. Then, as she further drags herself into consciousness, she recognizes that she’s getting a call, and that Hazelnut was using her thighs as a launchpad to jump off the bed, nails digging in faintly through the blanket. Y/N pats around for her phone on the mattress, blinking blearily at the screen and seeing the contact name Harry Styles.
Her eyes widen, and she sits up so fast that black spots dot her vision. Was she not off today? Fuck! Did she oversleep her real alarms? Oh, god, he was going to kill her –
“I’m so sorry, Harry, I must have overslept, but I’m going to literally run out of here and –”
“Slow down,” Harry cuts her off, clicking his tongue, “You’re off today.”
The relief flushes through her fast, her adrenaline spike halting almost instantly, “Oh,” her heart is hammering – doesn’t he know calling her stresses her out? She swears she had mentioned that to him one day, or maybe she had just told him it was when he messaged her. Whenever Harry contacts her in general, she thinks her heart rate goes from a resting beat to a post-marathon speed in three seconds flat. “Is everything okay?” She settles for resting her face into her palm, trying to un-dizzy herself. Y/N had no business sitting up as quickly as she did, and she’s almost 80% sure she is walking around an undiagnosed anemic (at least undiagnosed by a medical professional; Niall diagnosed her himself when he caught a glimpse of her soft palate and said it looked relatively pale).
“You tell me,” Harry answered and continued in response to Y/N’s confused sound, “There’s a message from you yesterday.”
The memory of it floods back into her head instantaneously, her face feels hot, and she fumbles and stumbles around her thoughts and then her words, because what the fuck! He was supposed to message her back, not call her, is he crazy? The act alone suggests that he has no consideration for the social intricacies of someone as nervous as Y/N.
“Oh, yeah, I – um, was wondering if you could help me hang some paintings that are. . .that are too high up for me to reach.”
Harry is quiet for a second, besides a soft hum on the other end. Y/N takes it as a hum like he’s thinking about it, maybe, but then learns that it might be more a confused sound sparking from his throat because, “I thought you said you wanted to learn how to make something?”
Fuck.
Fuck! How the hell did she screw that up? Harry definitely set this up somehow. She isn’t sure how, exactly, but she knew this was a carefully orchestrated plan to make her look like a big, stupid idiot. Embarrassment flares hot in her chest, warping its way down her belly, curling in a not fun, and horny way. No, this is pure, white hot shame, as she clears her throat, almost sputtering over her own spit, “Oh, yes! That too – two for one, kind of deal, if you’re. . .if you’re willing to help?”
This time, when Harry hums, it sounds amused. Her shoulders sink – he’s onto her. Lying about the reason she wants him to come over feels more desperate than if she had just emptied all of her thoughts into a message and sent it to him. At least then he might see her as bold, opposed to cowardly. Something she and Niall forgot to consider was how bad she was at lying, especially to Harry, who always seems to be able to see right through her. Even a phone call away.
“Sure, I suppose we could make that happen,” he finally replies; Y/N swallows thickly, suddenly reminded of her morning breath and how soaked in sleep she feels still, after the abrupt yank from her dreams, “What did you want to learn how to make?”
“Um, these one custard tarts from Portugal.” Y/N at least remembered that, “Adam said you knew how to make them.”
A delighted sound filters through the phone now, and she wonders if his face is as expressive as his voice seems to be through her speaker. What kind of face was he making now? Was it his same impassive glare, or was it softer? Was it how soft his gaze looks right after he wakes up? It’s crazy that this is something Y/N knows now – that she’s aware of how puffy his face gets from sleep, and how soft he looks because of it. She’d like to see it again, honestly, and to properly enjoy a morning cuddle without second-guessing every decision she’d ever made in the world.
“The one Niall liked?” He inquired, but before Y/N could investigate how he would know that, Harry continued, “Yes, I can make them. I’ll show you how. Are you free this evening?”
“Yes!” She agreed, nodding her head though he couldn’t see it, “Yes, I am, you can come whenever.”
Niall would have rolled his eyes at how eager she sounded, but Harry merely puffs a laugh, “I’ll come around 5 then. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes,” she nodded again, to nobody in particular – maybe Hazelnut who is showing off her flexibility and licking the fur over her calf, “That’s great.”
“Good, I’ll see you then.”
He hangs up the phone and Y/N takes a moment to put her face into a pillow and scream. That. . .could have gone worse. Almost went completely south because she’s stupid, but at least she was getting him over here. The first part of the operation, while clunky, meant that she could shift into the second part, which was an everything shower and to wear one of the five different outfit choices that Niall had given her. Y/N thought it’d be odd if he came over and she was just hanging out in a sundress, because she knew for a fact she did not give the vibes of someone who still dressed nice when they were at home alone. If Y/N digs through the memories of the last few months and her inevitable info dumps she drops on Harry now and then, she’s certain that she told him she immediately switches into comfortable clothes when she gets home from any outing. And while that piece of information about her was inconsequential, and most anybody would probably forget about it, Harry has a habit of holding onto things that other people would throw out of their heads.
The shower experience was long and intense, as it always is when she has to exfoliate, shave everything, oil down, steam open her pores, etc. At first, she’s sweating in the hot water, pelting her skin, then she’s shivering because her water heater might only hold three gallons. That’s how it acts anyway, when ten minutes into the shower the water goes lukewarm and Y/N has goosebumps pimpled all over her body. By the time she comes out, she feels like she’s shed a layer of skin reptile-style, raw and new and soft. She didn’t shave her private bits, only because Niall had made an offhand comment about how Harry seems like a guy who enjoys the hair – and with things like kinks and interests, Niall is spot on in his reads. They’d only been friends all of one week before he correctly guessed that Y/N had a thing for being praised. Only a month before, he narrowed his eyes across the table at her and said, “You like being humiliated, don’t you? Seem like the type.”
Y/N chooses something simple to wear – just a shirt and some soft, linen shorts. Beneath them both, she wore one of her prettier sets; something she’d bought after her ex when she had the intentions to get back out there, fuck her way through the town, forget about that emotionally cheating prick. Of course, that didn’t necessarily happen. Instead, she cried on Niall’s sofa into a bowl of coddle he’d made for her, watching a romance anime, and wishing she could wipe that bastard from her memory (while Niall, simultaneously, offered to wipe him from the face of the earth).
Maybe Harry would think she looked cozy and cute – those were the vibes she was hoping to achieve, rather than unkempt and rumpled, which is how she usually looked on her off days at home. Hazelnut had been following her with her eyes all day, a judgmental gleam cased in the narrowed, snake-like pupils. Something that said: Who are you trying to fool right now? He’s going to take one look at you and know that this isn't normal for you. To that, she ignores her because what the fuck Hazelnut? What a grumpy thought, you’re cat-ness is really showing today.
Y/N started getting ready too early, so she finishes getting ready too early, which means the rest of the day is spent agonizing over every detail of this plan. The truth is, she did have some pictures she wanted hung up relatively high, but was too scared to get on her step stool and do it herself. So at least she wasn’t like. . totally lying to him. And maybe she had no interest in learning how to make these tarts, but it’d be a good skill to have in her back pocket. She’s still delighted by the fact that Harry is good at making pastries as well as savory foods; a true all-arounder in the chef world.
Hazelnut is sleeping in Y/N’s lap while she chews away at her nails, forcing herself not to look at the clock, only to be startled out of her skin when there’s a knock at the door. Her kitty, who has absolutely had it with her over-anxious energy today, jumps out of her lap and trots into the hallway, toward Y/N’s bedroom, no doubt. Y/N peels the blankets off of her and wonders if she’s going to black out as she opens the door, revealing Harry, his hair slightly mussed from the wind, in a soft, worn-looking shirt with a band Y/N didn’t know on the front, and jeans. Had she seen him in jeans before? Probably. Definitely not these jeans though, tight around his thighs in a way that makes her swallow hard; spit dragging down her dry throat.
He smiles at her, gentle and small, “Hello,” he greets her, shuffling the bags in his right hand to his left, then raising them, “I brought the ingredients.”
Good, because I didn’t even think to buy anything at all, and pretend that this was real, “Yay,” Y/N grinned, ushering him in, “Um, come on in – is the weather nice?”
“Mm,” Harry hums, “Very.”
Ideally, Y/N would have started to strip or whatever the hell Niall’s next step in the operation was, but at the first sight of Harry, any hope of following the plan had gone out her cracked window. Billowed between her curtains first, got all messed up, then slipped out into the evening air. Her heart rate is already picking up a little too quickly for her liking.
Instead of enacting the rest of the plan, Y/N somehow ends up learning how to make these Portuguese tarts (Pasteis de Nata is what Harry tells her they’re called). It’s a more intricate process than she had imagined, which is both good and bad for her situation at hand. The benefits lie in the fact that it would make sense she’d need help learning how to make this, from forming the dough, to making the syrup without overcooking or undercooking it (the temperature had to be precise – 100 degrees C, and thank god Harry brought a thermometer with him). Harry is a little less stern when he’s teaching her this – she doesn’t know if it’s because it isn’t something that they’re making for the restaurant, or if it’s the change of scenery.
Y/N would have thought she’d be more self-conscious about Harry in her kitchen. It’s a small thing, nowhere near the size of his own, and with ten times fewer supplies than he had, but Harry adapts to it easily. Even handles Hazelnut worming and weaving between his ankles well, clicking his tongue sweetly at her. For a moment, Y/N forgets that she had ulterior motives altogether, focusing on the complex process, making the custard, cutting the set dough, filling the muffin tin carefully.
By the time Harry slid the tin into the oven, he turned to face her, “Alright, while those bake,” he began, then looked into her living room, “Where is it that you want these paintings hung?”
“Oh,” she tries to busy herself filling one of the many mixing bowls with hot water and soap, “You – we don’t have to do that! Sorry, I can just ask Ni later and –”
“I don’t mind,” Harry cut her off, looping around her counter, “Come on, show me.”
Honestly, it feels a little surreal for Harry – critically acclaimed, Michelin star having Harry Styles – to be carefully balancing on a step stool and asking if her tiger painting looks level from where she stood. A couple of times she digs her nails into the meat of her palm, considering that this may be a dream of some kind, but the bite of pain reminds her that this is very much reality. Even more so when the oven beeps and Y/N goes to remove the pastries, the heat when she opens the door flushes over her face and upper body. They smell good as she sets them carefully on the stove, her mouth watering.
She expected Harry to still be in her living room, but instead she turns around and he’s standing in the kitchen behind her. “Ah!” Y/N’s yelp echoes against her walls, then she cringes at her voice – the neighbors heard, probably, because the walls are paper thin. They were a little crabby too, so she’ll probably get a passive-aggressive mention on it next time they share an elevator ride, “Are you – be honest, did you go to ballet school or something? You move quietly as a ballerina.”
“Do you know a lot of ballerinas?” Harry tilted his head, his eyes dragging down her body in a way that wasn’t very secretive at all. Y/N isn’t sure if the warmth that flushes through her is still from the oven or not, but it feels just the same, and her heart, that had settled some at this point, kicks up again.
“A few,” she answered, though she doesn’t know if he cares or not, “I met them like. . .forever ago. They were my ex’s friends, so I don’t see them much anymore, but they used to walk around like they were floating.” Harry’s eyes are still dragging over her, and Y/N stupidly keeps talking, feeling more and more flustered by the second, when his gaze lingers on her legs, “They were nice, but I always got the feeling they didn’t really like me? But maybe they just knew I wasn’t – um – going to be around for long or something. I dunno.”
Harry steps closer to her, his hand propped on the counter, “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me. Okay?” Y/N feels pinned under his gaze, breath feeling heavy in her chest when she holds it. She nods, slowly, only twice, and Harry continues, “Why did you really invite me over?”
Ah. Of course, Y/N had suspected Harry knew she was lying from the moment she fucked up on the phone call but he’d just given her a little bit of grace. Played into her ploy for the hell of it, maybe to be nice, but had done both of the things she’d asked of him. Though he knew there was something more, Y/N did not doubt that if she kept the lie up for appearances, and told him this was all she’d wanted, then he’d leave with no questions asked and no hard feelings.
She swallows again, thicker, and wonders if he can hear it when she does. Her mouth opens, but she can’t figure out what to say – if only she’d taken up Niall on his offer to speak into an earpiece for her.
Harry fills in the quiet space, “Unless that was all,” he offers, “Then I can leave.”
“No!” Y/N snaps from whatever embarrassed daze she’d been relegated to at the question, explosive in her answer, taking a step closer to him, “No, I don’t – I don’t want you to leave, I’m just. . .bad, at this,” she exhales, shoulders slumping, “I’m so bad at this.”
Concern dribbles over his features, “At what?”
Y/N motions between them, “This – seducing you, or whatever,” now that the can of worms had been opened, Y/N pours them out, a conglomerate, slimy, wiggly mess of words that she has no hope policing, “I can only do it when I’m like, horny beyond sensible thought. Like a – y’know. . .”
Harry finishes for her, “A dumb little puppy?”
Something in the air changes, heavy, inviting. She blinks at him, then answers a breathy, “Yeah,” because how could she disagree?
Harry hums low in his chest, that contemplative sound he makes sometimes (Y/N could probably make a soundboard of all Harry’s different hums and meanings – something that only months upon months of studying under someone could provide you the ability of). At the same time, he takes another small step further. They’re less than an arm's length apart – maybe a forearm? There’s a low clicking of his tongue, how he was doing it for Hazelnut earlier, and Y/N feels herself shudder; she liked when he treated her like she was just a little pet. Something he just keeps around to keep him company sometimes; one he thinks is cute, and honorary – a bratty little thing that he can’t help but be fond of when they nuzzle up against him. At least that’s how she hopes he sees it, rather than a pet someone dumped on him and feels more like a pest. Y/N likes to pretend that the latter isn’t an option for now.
“I’ve had my face buried in your cunt,” he begins, “My fingers and my cock, both have been inside of you. I made you squirt last week, and yet you’re still nervous about telling me what you want?” His fingers smooth the hair from her face, a soft exhale leaves her lips at the feeling of it, he skims his nails across her forehead, before he flicks them there. Y/N pouts at him, reaching up and batting his hand away, “Bet you think I’m mean, hm?” Harry goads and Y/N falls for it, nodding, still frowning, “I reckon it’s time I show you what mean really is, yeah?”
She watches as he reaches into his pocket for something, “What–what do you mean?”
“I mean,” he reveals a thin, silky sliver of fabric. . .oh my god, “That good puppies don’t lie to their owners, don’t you know that? Only bad puppies do that. I need to correct the behavior.”
Something hot sizzles under her skin; his mouth is just filthy. Does he practice saying this shit or does it just come to him at the moment? It’s crazy, how all he’s done is flick her in the forehead and speak, and she’s ready to fall to the floor in front of him, take his pants with her, mouth at his cock. Is this how everyone who has been with Harry feels? She’d be hard pressed to believe otherwise.
“Okay,” she breathes out again, eyes leaving the dark blindfold, “I get it.”
“Yeah?” He smiles, “Good. Why don’t you show me to your room?”
If Y/N wasn’t so horny that she was dizzy, then she might be embarrassed about him being in her room. The only men who have been in her room are Niall and her ex. Niall doesn’t count because he’s Niall, and her ex used to make fun of her decorations because he’s a huge dickhead, so she kind of overthinks it when people come inside.
But Harry doesn’t give her much time to think, actually. He peels her top off before Y/N even realizes, and comes face-to-face with the pretty pink bralette she wore. It was sheer, with a lace trim around the cups that was kind of itchy but easy to ignore. There’s a flower lying over where her nipple is, hiding the top of it, but her areola peeks through, and Harry is staring. He bites at his bottom lip for a second, another contemplative look, before he hooks his fingers into her shorts, “This is a pretty little set,” he murmurs when he wiggles her bottoms down, seeing the matching underwear, “Did you wear it for me?”
“Yes,” she replies, shy about it, looking away.
Harry reaches up, runs his thumb over her bottom lip, and dips into it but never fully tips inside of her mouth. Instead, his other hand finds her shoulder, giving her a small press, and Y/N gets the picture – he wants her on her knees. After she’s set on them, hands in her lap, heart roaring in her ears, the loudest thumps it could possibly give, Harry takes the blindfold and carefully twists it around her eyes. Her vision is cut off instantly, nothing but the dark material in front of her, obscuring any chance she had of seeing what’s next.
Y/N is kind of confused about what’s going to happen, until Harry jobs her memory, “I warned you about this, a little while ago,” he murmured, “What I do to bad puppies. How I show them how mean I can be.”
The realization dawns on her, an intense wave slams through her of both arousal and dread, and it must show on her face, because Harry puffs a laugh that sounds all too sinister with her eyes covered, “But wait I –”
“Uh-uh,” she hears him undo his zipper, listens as the fabric shuffles and drops, and she can only imagine what his cock must look like. If he was fully hard already, or if he was still a little soft. The color of his prick – if it was that pretty, flushed pink that it got last time she was able to see it. Does he leak a lot? Y/N feels more desperate now than ever to know, “You don’t lie to me, ever, okay? You should know by now that I’ll give you what you want when you want it. You just have to ask me.” He sighed, and she didn’t know if it was because he’d finally twisted a hand around himself or because he was exasperated with her – she can’t see, to be able to tell, “And if it takes this to teach you that, then so be it.”
Y/N’s mouth waters when she hears a cap pop open, the squeeze of a bottle, the wet sounds that follow it, and her fingers dig into her thighs. This is already more cruel than anything Harry has ever done to her, and it’s been approximately ten seconds, so she assumes it’s only going to get worse.
“Y’know,” Harry starts, because seriously, his vocabulary ranges from intellectual musings on the art of cuisine and the filthiest, smuttiest thoughts Y/N has ever heard come out of someone’s mouth, second only to Niall on one of his tirades, “This isn’t too new, for me – touching myself to you. The only thing different is that you’re right in front of me.” His voice is awfully measured for someone touching themselves and Y/N isn’t sure if she’s supposed to respond or not. He didn’t tell her she couldn’t.
“Did you. . .would you, before we started this?”
Harry clears his throat a little, “Mm, no, not before,” he admits to her, “After though – the first time you let me poke around in that pretty mouth, I went home and fucked my hand. As soon as I walked through the door,” Y/N’s breath feels sticky in her lungs, she wonders how close he is to her face – he sounds close, but she could just be imagining things, “Dropped my pants, spit into my hand, then humped into it – haven’t done something like that since my early 20s. Felt all buzzy and good, like something was sizzling beneath my skin,” the next sigh is clearly more of a moan and Y/N wiggles in her spot, readjusting her hips. Her knees are already a bit achy from the position, but that is the least of her concerns right now.
“That’s – wow,” she breathes, “I started having wet dreams again, about you, when – after – it was like every night. I thought I was g’na go crazy. You were haunting me like an incubus or something.”
He chuckles, low in his chest, “Poor baby,” he murmurs, “Couldn’t get me out of your head, hm?”
“No,” she answered honestly, which is surprisingly a lot easier to do when she can’t see him, “You’re all I could think about, some days. All I can think about.” Was that too much? Maybe not – Harry moans after she says it, and she can hear the slick sound of his hand speeding up, getting wetter, “Could you tell me what you think about me? When you’re touching yourself, I wanna know what turns you on. What fantasies do you have?”
“Naughty little thing,” he practically purrs, and it sounds like the start of a tease – like he’s going to tell her that’s classified information, or how puppies don’t need to worry their dumb little brains about things like that – but he surprises her, “I have a lot of them. Too many to go through – some of them filthier than others – ahh,” he groans, and she can imagine him tilting his head up, squeezing around the tip – it’s probably leaking by now, if he was a leaky person. She’d do anything to taste it. “Do you want me to be honest, honey? It might be a lot.”
“Please,” she begs, “Anything, I – I don’t think you could say anything that’s too much, ‘cos I want so much, I want anything – I want everything, you could. . .could do whatever to me. And I’d like it – even if it's gross.”
Harry coos, “So cute,” before he finally tells her, “The puppy thing isn’t just a nickname for me,” he admits, the sound of his hand slows down, like he’s wringing himself out, knows that he’s going to be too worked up not to cum while he talks about it. Y/N’s toes curl in anticipation, her fingernails bite into her thighs – from the introduction alone, she has a feeling that Niall has probably been right about something, “I think you’d be so cute with a leash and collar – maybe with a pendant that has my name on it, so if you get lost they know who to return you to. Would reserve a whole day for it – wake you up and have you cockwarm me but not let you cum, so you’re needy all day. Have you follow me around on all fours? The couch is a reward, but I’d let you curl up all pretty near my feet, and when you’d start whining because you’re needy, I’d – fuck –” his hand speeds up again, “I’d let you hump my leg. Let you pant and drool all over me, but if you get too loud I’ll give your mouth something to do – whether it’s my fingers, my cock or a chew toy. Jesus – and all you’d have to do is be pretty all day. Don’t need to think, just need to. . .need to let me decide for you.”
Y/N feels like she might combust, the blood in her veins roaring through her body, her arousal clinging to her underwear. It’s too much in the way that Y/N wants it – needs it. Had never considered actually being a puppy for him until then, but it sounds. . .it sounds nice, being out of her head. Cock drunk and stupid with something in her mouth. A whole day of just letting Harry decide for her. Maybe he’d let her crawl into his lap. Maybe he’d pet her, rub her back, scratch her scalp, coo and murmur at her like she really was just his little, sweet pet and. . .
“Yeah,” she nods, sitting up a little higher, a little straighter, “Yeah, that, that sounds good, I’d like that. Wanna be a dumb puppy for you, don’t want to think.”
Harry groans, and it reverberates through her even from this distance; it feels as if he were pressed right up against her. “I’d get you a tail plug,” he keeps going, encouraged, “Fuck it into you. Let it stretch you out all day. If you were a naughty thing, then I’d take it out and only fuck your other little hole while you whined and cried about it. Oh, and sometimes I just want to. . want to tie you up and see how much you can take. How many orgasms can I wring out of you, until you’re spent, so exhausted that you can’t stay awake.”
“I’d let you fuck me after I fell asleep,” she tells him, “You could keep going, I wouldn’t mind, I’d like knowing that you were doing it – that you did it – when I woke up the next morning.”
This little tidbit is rewarded by Harry giving her his fingers. His thumb finds her bottom lip again, only this time he does dip it in toward her tongue, lets her nip and suck at it, “Yeah? You want me to fuck that messy pussy while you sleep?” She moans around his thumb, nodding, “What am I going to do with a filthy puppy like you?”
“I want it,” she murmurs around his thumb, feeling the way he moves her around with the fingers of the same hand cradling her jaw, “Please, let me taste, I wanna taste –”
“This is a punishment, Pup,” he reminds her, but she can sense him stepping closer, hear his hand clearer, feel the warmth emanating from his body, “Only good girls get to taste my cock.”
Something twists in her chest, a whine leaves her mouth as she moves forward, closer, “Please,” her mouth is still full of his thumb, “Please, I need it, I’ve been dreaming about it, don’t be – don’t be mean –”
“Aish, shhhh,” he says between a mix of a chuckle and a moan, “Take what you’re given, baby. Take what daddy gives you.”
But Y/N needs it – she needs it so bad. Especially after he says something like that – when he calls himself that – when it’s something Y/N didn’t even know she was into until right then. It makes things 10x more serious for her – she feels more desperate than she thinks she ever has. Her underwear is so wet that it’s uncomfortable at this point, and she’s so worked up she thinks all it would take is for him to barely press a knuckle to her clit and she’d cum. Her hands, that had been good, sitting in her lap, now reach out and blindly grab for him. She finds his legs, the skin of his thighs, she thinks, a little fuzzy from the hair. The muscle is thick and begging for her teeth to dig into it, it tenses under her grip, but he doesn’t make her take her hands off of him.
“So needy,” his tone is placating, as he tickles under her chin, “Silly thing –” whatever else he was going to say is clipped off by another sound, a rasped, “G’na cum for you,” falling from his mouth. Y/N feels so worked up and so incensed that she isn’t actually seeing it, that she could scream. She wants it – would he let her taste that at least? Or was that considered a treat too? Y/N sticks out her tongue just in case, wishing she were feeling it against her tongue, stroking the inside of her cheek, filling her mouth up too full so that her jaw aches as badly as her knees.
A reedy sound leaves him, “Look at you,” she wonders what debauched version of her he’s seeing right now, and if she needs to be concerned or not. Suddenly, she feels his index finger swipe against her cheek, “You’re crying, Puppy. Do you need it that badly? Want daddy’s cock?”
Y/N hadn’t realized she was crying until he said it. Now she feels the sticky, wet on her cheeks, the salty taste of it when they drip down to her lips, onto her tongue. It’s like. . .so serious right now, for her. Niall had told her once about how he cried during sex, and how afterward he felt silly, but in the moment, everything seemed so intense and he just wanted so much, that all he could think to do was cry. How, in the moment, it felt so serious, his desperation, and she finally understands it.
Then, she feels it, the very tip of his cock resting against her tongue, “Don’t close your lips around it,” he warns her, “Just let me – fuck, fuck, just let me –”
Let him what, she doesn’t know, but Y/N fights every urge to close her lips around the head and suck him into her mouth. Still, she drools at the taste of him, the precum salty on her tongue, the tacky feel of the lube, her whole body vibrates when he groans long and drawn out, the tip throbbing once against her tongue before he starts to cum. It’s warm, there’s a lot of it – it’s not as bitter as some that she’s tasted before. Harry eats so cleanly, it makes sense, but it carries that musk and headiness that only he could have. It pools on her tongue, drips down her lips, probably over his thumb that he uses to hook around her bottom lip and keep her jaw open, and Y/N is rueful of any of it not savored. But he didn’t tell her to swallow it, and she’s exercising immense self-restraint right now.
Once Harry finishes, breathless, inhaling and exhaling loudly, “Swallow for me,” he orders, and Y/N wastes no time, bringing her lips together and swallowing it down, warm in her belly.
The thing was, Y/N had been so good at exercising her self-restraint when her eyes were covered, but she was not prepared for the sight before her when Harry removed the blindfold. It slips away, off of her face, and it takes her a second to readjust to the lighting in the room. She blinks several times, working the bleariness from her gaze, and then Harry comes into focus. His cock, softening, wet at the tip with precum and cum and the lube he’d been using to make it wet and messy from the jump. His skin is flushed pink, and looks soft, and Y/N is like. . she’s only a human, okay? She can only tell herself no so many times before she has to give in.
She leans in without thinking, takes the tip of his cock into her mouth, then swallows him down to the root. Harry seems omnipotent about a lot of things regarding her, but he clearly had not been expecting this, if the startled squawk that left his mouth is anything to go by. He stumbles backward a bit, probably sensitive, and when the back of his knees hit her bed, he drops down on top of it. Y/N follows after him, greedy, wanting, mouth open, and taking him back inside.
“Oh fuck,” he cried out, his hips bucking into her mouth, and it’s good – to see him lose it like this. To feel him get harder in her mouth, even though he’s probably overstimulated and sensitive, but he doesn’t yank her off. Doesn’t even scold her yet, just spreads his legs and lets her have her way. Y/N appreciates it, and the noises he makes, the choked off whine that has her buzzing. His hand carefully rests on her head, once again, pushing her hair out of the way, “Just like that, Puppy.”
Harry’s lips look so swollen, like he’d been licking and gnawing at them the whole time her eyes were covered. Y/N wants to stare at him while she has her mouthful of his cock, but cross eyed really isn’t a good look for her, and the thought of Harry seeing her at the angle of her looking up from beneath her eyebrows almost stuns her out of whatever brave daze she’d found herself in. So she just imagined how pretty he must look – she caught a glimpse of it, the way his brow was furrowed, how he almost looked like he was in pain, but the moans were denoting that he felt good.
To make him cum again doesn’t take very long. He twitches in her mouth, against her tongue, then against her cheek when she presses it up against the inside of it, letting him see the bulge of it outside of her mouth. There’s less of it this time, but still a good amount, something for Y/N to swallow down greedily, to lick off her lips after. When she pulls off of him, she fully expects to be chastised for doing that without him telling her to, but Harry doesn’t look mad. More so amused, a little fond – again, like he’s staring at a dog who just doesn’t know any better but still might be cute.
“Come up here,” he offers, and Y/N has sense enough to be a little careful of his cock when she crawls into his lap. Harry flops himself onto his back and brings her with him, laughing when she squeals, “So fucking filthy, aren’t you?” His hand still finds her back – he unclips the bra, but it doesn’t seem like he means to do anything with it. Just get it out of his way as he starts to tickle her back, light caresses along the knobs of her spine, tracing the curves and dips, the point of her shoulder blades. Y/N melts into him, nuzzling her face into his throat. Her cheeks are wet from her tears and her mouth is wet from spit and cum, but he doesn’t seem to mind, only coos a sound and keeps rubbing her back. “You won’t cum tonight, for that little stunt you pulled,” he murmured, and Y/N kind of figured as much. . She’s just pleased that he doesn’t seem upset about it. More humored than anything, “It felt good though, Sweetheart. You’re good with your tongue – can’t wait to feel it when you aren’t trying to overstimulate me.”
Y/N giggles against him, sinks into the feeling – this warmth, the buzz in her bones, the hum across her skin.
“Do you know what subspace is, Pet?” Harry inquires, and Y/N shakes her head, melts further into him, head full of cotton, “Mm, okay. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
She nods and closes her eyes.
. . .
“I fucking knew it, I’m always right!”
Y/N’s neck is sore from how she has it craned, keeping her phone squished between her ear and her shoulder to talk with Niall, because her hands were full. It’d been a long while since Y/N had done a solo shopping trip, mostly because she knows she talks herself out of getting most things, but if she goes with Niall, he’ll convince her everything is a good idea. And listen, sometimes you just need someone to agree with everything you pick up, so she’d rather go with him.
Today, Niall had a doctor’s appointment at noon, a lunch date with his cousin at 2:30, and a dick appointment at 6 PM because he liked to be on League by 9 to at least get an hour in before bed. They had an extra day off, courtesy of Harry having business to tend to (meetings and the like) today and Niall complaining enough that Adam finally agreed to let him have some time off too. This wasn’t special treatment gifted to them by Y/N’s throat goat antics, however, Harry always gave her a free day if he wouldn’t be in. And Niall always got a free day if he was fussy enough.
It feels like it happened a week ago, despite being last night. Harry reminded her before he left that she’d have the day off, so to take it easy and enjoy her day off. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another soft one to her temple – he was always very gentle with her after they did something together, which she thought was nice. Especially when she finds out she’s been going into some version of subspace this whole time, Harry explained to her once she’d been pulled out of it for the most part. It’s why he always makes the effort to stay, why he’s so careful with her. Up until the moment they part from each other.
So she slept in today, but she woke up kind of antsy, and wanting to spend money, so here she was – on a street full of shops that she really didn’t need to be going in and out of, but was anyway. Niall had originally called to tell her that his blood work looked divine, then Y/N promptly info dumped the entire night before to him. The whole time he was gasping and yelling, she wondered if he was in his car or if he was out in public – there was no shame on his end, and she guesses not hers either, if she’s sharing this in public. At least she’s kind of whispering though.
“Good think I already made the purchase and it’s getting sent to your house – collar and leash. I’ll let him pick what chew toy he wants for you, though.”
Y/N’s face feels like it’s going to burn off, “Enough – send me how much I owe you though.”
“It’s on the house, from one kink freak to another,” he answered easily, “Risky move jumping his bones like that though, I’m surprised he even allowed it. Reckon it’s because you look so cute and pitiful when you cry.”
“Thank you?” Y/N says it, unsure, “Anyway, we’re always talking about my shit – who is this dinner time dick appointment you’re meeting up with?”
Niall makes a noise like he just remembered that was happening, “Oh, yeah, he’s nobody special,” he tells her, “His personality reminded me of this character I like in an otome game. Speaking of, I need you to download it – there’s a character who is like a level 1000 yearner. He’s got your name written all over him.”
Y/N snorts, pleasantly surprised that Niall’s request of her isn’t something to do with his balls – but before she can entertain the idea of downloading, someone says her name. The familiarity of the voice makes her spine go ramrod straight, tension immediately builds in her neck, and Niall’s voice fades into murmurs of background noise. Y/N turns to her left, and like a demon that had resurrected from the mud and soil of a swamp, she sees Rowan – her ex – jogging across the street to get to her. Y/N should have pretended like she hadn’t heard a fucking thing and kept trucking it, but of course she full body stopped then completely turned to look at him, so pretending was out of the question.
“Ni,” she cut him off, from whatever tirade he’d started, “Let me call you back, yeah?”
She hangs up before he can question her and Rowan is close enough to hear her, “Hey! Was that Ni on the phone? Tell him I said what’s up!”
If he knew you’d bothered to speak to me, he’d probably teleport here and beat your ass – is what Y/N wanted to say, but instead she forces a smile, “Sure, I will,” before an awkward, “Hey. What-uh-what’re you doing out here?”
Rowan tilts his head – he cut his hair shorter, since she’d seen him last, and dyed it blond – something he used to swear he would never do. Y/N guesses people change, though. It suits him well enough, and seeing someone blond with brown eyes is always pretty rare, so it’s an interesting look, “What you’re doing, I imagine. It’s nice to shop during a weekday, when it isn’t as crowded.” He smiled, “I’m looking for a gift. Remi’s birthday is in a couple of days.”
Y/N knew that already, only because she and Niall had done an extensive deep dive into her socials after she found out about the whole “emotional cheating” situation. What she doesn’t know is if Rowan is legitimately just an idiot and thinks nothing of it when he brings her up, or if he’s trying to get a reaction out of her again. That bitter ex-girlfriend that he craved to have, it seemed, when he used to go out of his way to try and work her up. Get her angry – make it seem like he was something that needed to be sought after, fought for.
“Fun,” she replies as warmly as she could make it, “Give her a happy birthday from me.”
Y/N is about to make an excuse, pivot on her heel, and fuck off out of there, but Rowan is too quick – he always has been. “Ah! I just – can’t believe my luck today. I was just thinking about you this morning. . was going to message you but. . .” You never answer, is left unsaid. “Let me take you for a coffee? I’ll be quick, I promise, I just feel like. . .I feel like I need to talk to you. I don’t like how things ended. Closure and all that.”
She blinked at him – what the fuck? What closure did he need? He fell in love with his coworker after spending three years making Y/N insecure about stupid shit. Y/N, to his face, had been super chill about the whole thing and only requested that he leave the stuff she’d left at his flat in a box at her door. There was no closure to be had, in her opinion.
But if she said that. . .she knew how it would come off. So she sighs, relents, “Okay,” she answers, “But I really don’t have a lot of time.”
Rowan seems relieved, nodding, “I’ll be quick,” he promises again, then nudges his thumb in the direction he came, “I was about to go in there before I saw you. Their lattes are good – you still like caramel, right?”
It was awkward. You would think that after spending three years of your life with someone, seeing them again wouldn’t feel like meeting up with a stranger, but it does. The last time she spoke with Rowan like this, Y/N had barely started culinary school, Harry was someone she knew in name alone, and she still washed her clothes in a big mess of colors rather than separating the blacks, lights, and whites – so it’d been a while. There are huge gaps in time to be filled, and if they had actually ended things on a good note, Y/N wouldn’t mind learning what he’d been doing since they last saw each other like this. Instead, she doesn’t give a fuck, and would rather tell Harry that sometimes she pretends he’s holding her when she’s trying to fall asleep alone.
If Rowan senses the tension, he doesn’t act like it. His fingers run along the rim of the mug he has, “I – honestly? I just wanted to apologize,” he starts, hitting the ground running like he always did, “How I – what I did and how I did it were unfair. How I told you – I look back and kind of cringe at it. I probably sounded like a huge dick.”
You are a huge dick.
“That’s alright,” Y/N replied, “It was a long time ago. We were younger.”
He grimaces, “Still, sometimes I think about you and I just wish we could’ve kept in touch properly. But I know it’s my fault that we didn’t.” Rowan licks over his lips, then pulls the mug to his mouth, taking a small sip and wincing when the heat of it hits his tongue, “I’m not asking for you to forgive me, or anything. First and foremost, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for. . .well, I was never the best partner to you. Being with Remi has made me realize this.”
If Y/N were more spiteful, she’d probably say something like, “Pray tell how being with your new girlfriend has opened your eyes to your poor, lowly ex, whom you ridiculed, and made feel silly and gross and unimportant, and unloved. Explain why I feel more of a connection with my boss who calls me puppy and has me suck on his fingers, than I ever did with you, in the three years wer were together. Why stay with me so long, if it was only going to take six months to upend it?”
But she didn’t do that, because she’s a cool ex. Not the crazy ex guys they are always talking about, just normal, and that’s all. Not at all annoyed by him, or his presence. An apology is nice, sure, but he’s about three years too late, and she isn’t interested in patching anything up or being invited to the wedding. Especially when she has the feeling that this is an elaborate ploy to something greater – something that will benefit him.
“It’s all good,” she tells him instead, nodding her head, “I’ve moved past it.” Harry would probably click his tongue and call her a liar if he were here. Feed her bottom lip into her mouth and click his tongue at her. Silly puppy, what reason is there to lie for?
“Ah, well – I’m glad I could say that to you finally. All that being said, how are you? How is working at like, the most fancy restaurant in the world?” He grins at her, “You’ve always been such an amazing cook, you deserve to be at such a good place.”
Y/N nodded, “I’m good. It is really nice, and the people are kinder than I would have expected – the staff, at least. The people coming in can be a bit smarmy sometimes, but they’re just rich, so – you know how that is.”
“Ugh, yeah,” he agrees, like he’s ever been in the service industry his entire life, “It’s pretty busy there, isn’t it?” Y/N hums, nodding, taking a small sip of the latte — it’s overly sweet which means it’s just her type, “Do you guys ever do events?”
Here we go, “Hm? Events?”
“You know, like birthdays…wedding receptions…stuff like that?”
Something sour sits in Y/N’s gut as she looks at him, quietly for a moment. Enough time passes that it’s slightly uncomfortable, but she thinks he deserves it – this had been nothing innocent, as she suspected. Rowan didn’t want to make up with her because guilt had been eating away at him; he wanted to make up with her because he wanted a favor. Events in their restaurant are few and far between, because Harry hand-picks which ones he’s willing to do. During the wedding season last year, they had 5 receptions out of the 95 that requested it. They have an “event coordinators” number listed on the site, but it literally just rings in Harry’s office. He goes through his messages at the end of the day and ignores most of them.
“We have an event coordinator,” she tells him, “Try giving him a call?”
“Ah, that’s the thing,” Rowan gives a slanted smile, one that she used to think was cute way back when, but now she thinks is oily, “I’ve called but can never get through. I was wondering – if it wasn’t too much to ask for – would you be willing to put in a good word for me? Um, the reception would be this summer, sometime – our previous venue accidentally double booked so we’re kind of crunched for time.”
That’s not my problem, “Oh,” she replied lamely, “I see. Well –”
Y/N doesn’t know what excuse she was about to make, because she sure as fuck was not about to be a server at her exes wedding – but she doesn’t have to know. Not when, like an angel cast down from the sky in the form of Youngjae, appears at their table, all dimples, “Y/N!” He says it so cheerily, like they had plenty of history together and not just one successful meal.
“Oh, wow, what perfect timing!” Y/N is quick to get to her feet, “Thank you for meeting me here, I was just finishing up my coffee. Ah, anyway, sorry Rowan, I’ll give it a try, but we’re pretty booked up so it may not work. I’d look into other venues. Thank you for the coffee, have a good rest of your day.”
Y/N doesn’t think before looping her fingers around Youngjae’s wrist and guiding him out of the cafe. He goes with her easily, thankfully, and continues to walk with her until they round a corner, out of sight of the windows and the door of the cafe. “I’m so sorry,” she rushes to say, twisting to face him, “I was in the worst, most awkward conversation ever and needed to leave. Your timing really was perfect.” She grimaces, “But I’m sure you were in there getting a drink or something – um, can I pay you back for it?”
He’s still smiling, shaking his head, “No, that’s fine, I wasn’t ordering,” he motions behind them, “I own this building, so I was just checking in for the day.”
Eyes wide, Y/N gapes, “Oh? You own this one?” He nods, “I guess I didn’t realize you owned multiple – multiple chains?”
“Yes, though this is more of a family endeavor,” he replies, “May I ask what the awkward conversation was? Or is this a secret?”
She snorted, reaching up to knuckle at her eyes now, tired from doing everything in her power not to narrow or squint at everything Rowan said. What a crazy bastard – even if they’d ended things on beautiful terms, it is completely inappropriate to ask your ex something like that. Inappropriate and stupid – it’s one thing if he’d just go behind her back to do it, it’s another thing to try and wrap her up in it. Why the fuck would that have been a good idea?
Y/N explained the situation to a shocked and equally appalled Youngjae. It’s nice to see his reaction, because part of her wondered if she was overreacting, but the way his mouth is pulled into legitimate distress makes her feel a bit better, “That’s horrible,” he replies, “Do you want me to ban him from the cafe?”
This makes her really laugh, this time, startled out of her by the absurdity of it. Youngjae seems happy with her reaction, his dimples reappearing quickly. It makes her think about Harry and how she wishes she got to see his dimples more often, the deep little craters are so cute.
“No, no, that’s okay. He’s always been stupid, I’m just somehow surprised by it still. It’s been a while since I’ve even spoken to him.” She sighs, waving her hand back and forth in the air, batting the interaction away, “I’m sorry for that – for getting you involved and then. . .then telling you about it. I feel very silly.”
“It’s silly to feel silly,” he told her, “Now that we’re together, though, I do have a question? If you’re willing to answer?” Y/N looked at him, waited for him to continue, “You haven’t accepted my invitation yet, to my restaurant. I’m wondering if you’re not interested in Korean cuisine?”
Her eyes go wide again, “Oh my god!” She all but cries out, “Oh my god, I’m the worst – I completely forgot about that,” she hides her face in her hands, “We’ve been so busy and – you know I was wondering why I had a dentist appointment card in my purse but I just kept moving past it.”
Youngjae laughs, good-naturedly, warmly, “Ah, that’s good then! I was worried I may have come off too strong before,” he tells her, “I should have had one of my cards with me, but I hadn’t been planning on enjoying my meal as much as I did. Are you free today? Perhaps you can come with me?” He motions down the street, “It’s close by, just a small walk.”
Y/N looks at her watch and well – what the hell, she didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day. He did save her bum, and it’s not even like this is her repaying him for it. Y/N’s unsure why he wants to visit his restaurant so badly, but chalks it up to chefs just liking to show other chefs what they can do, and teaching younger chefs what they could become. It only benefits Y/N, in the end, to get additional experience, especially in a type of food she’s never had much experience in, besides barbeques. And even then, somehow she manages to evade grilling most of the time.
“Sure!” She answers, “Why not? That’d be fun.”
. . .
It is a lot of fun.
Youngjae is more like Adam in his approach to teaching; he’s silly and playful, and makes a lot of bad jokes that make Y/N laugh. He shows her the kitchen, their pantry, their cooler, and refrigerators. Introduces her to his staff, who scold him for getting in their way, and he only laughs about it and steps to the side. If any one of Harry’s staff had scolded him for getting in their way, he’d probably put their hand in a boiling pot, so this was an interesting dynamic to witness. Whereas Harry ran things with an iron fist, Youngjae seemed to be more tender-handed – both worked in their own way.
As promised, he does show her a recipe: sundubu-jjigae, a soft-tofu stew. Despite being more relaxed by nature, he is just as methodical as Harry in preparing ingredients, showing her how to cut, where to cut, where you could be more liberal with spices, seasonings, and sauces, and when it pays to be more reserved. He demonstrates how to prepare the anchovies, the pork belly – how he increases or decreases the amount of each ingredient needed based on how big of a serving they’re making. It’s one of their more popular dishes, so they have to make a lot of it every day.
The process takes a little over an hour – it probably would have been shorter, had he not had to stop and explain so many things to Y/N, but he seems delighted to.
“Is this your new student?” One of the chefs inquires, hip leaning against the counter, watching carefully like she was also learning how, “Miss. Y/N?”
Youngjae smiles but shakes his head, “Harry Styles is her mentor,” he tells them, and a steady gasp pulls from the chef’s chest, and a younger man nearby, “And that man is a bit scary, so I’m not looking to steal his virtuoso. I had one of her meals and it was so delicious, I’m still thinking about it,” he tells them, stirring the soup idly, and Y/N’s face feels hot with embarrassment and pride, “It reminds me of when I ate Mr. Styles’ for the first time, which says to me you absorb like a sponge – those are the best people to share skills with. I like to teach, and it is good to have multiple things in your repertoire. I believe so, at least.”
By the time they finished, when Y/N took her first taste, she gasped. It was good – Y/N had had it before, but now she was having the World’s 50 best restaurants version of it, made from the very owner himself. She’s buzzing, because she feels like she learned a lot today, and food is delicious, and she thinks she’s very lucky to be able to learn so many amazing things. Especially when an older woman pulls her to the side, “I’ll show you how to make mandu,” she tells her, “It’s very easy.”
Y/N spends a few uninterrupted hours there, learning, trying to utilize her sponge-like qualities that Youngjae had just said she had. She almost doesn’t realize her phone is buzzing in her back pocket until it’s about to go to voicemail. Then, when she slips it from her pocket, she sees Harry’s contact and is thoroughly surprised. She guesses she has been here for a while – he’s probably finished all of his meetings. Still, she wouldn’t have thought this meant he would contact her at the end of it.
“Hello?” Y/N holds her finger up to the woman she’s speaking with, promising to be right back, “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Harry countered.
Y/N shrugs, then realizes he isn’t there to see it, “Oh, I dunno, you never really call me,” she explains, “At least not unprovoked.”
Harry hums, she can hear the jingle of his keys on the other end of the phone, “Are you home? I’ll come over. I’ve finished for the day.”
She’s surprised, really, because if they aren’t working Harry rarely has seen her two days in a row, “Oh!” She’s surprised, looking again at her watch, checking the time, “I’m with Mr. Youngjae right now, but I should be home after that!”
It’s quiet on the other end. More than quiet – silent, actually, eerily so – until Harry speaks again, “I didn’t know you were planning on that today.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t really a plan or anything,” she explained, “It was crazy, but I ran into him at a cafe when my ex tricked me into having a coffee with him so –”
“Your ex?” Harry repeated, cutting her off, “The one who messages you periodically and asks for dinner reservations?”
Y/N snorted – she’d forgotten she told him that, and was thoroughly surprised that he remembered, “The one and only.”
Harry is quiet again, before he hums – this hum, in particular, Y/N doesn’t know if she’s ever heard before. It’s short – a staccato noise. Y/N doesn’t even know if she could classify it as a hum, but she does, “I see,” he finally replies, “You’ve had a busy day.”
She scratches her forearm, “Yeah, a little,” she tells him, “But I’d – I’d like if you still came over. I can message you when I’m home, m’just about done here – I’m learning how to make mandu.”
Another short hum, “Yes, I’d like to see you after.”
“It’s a date then!” Y/N exclaims, then realizes what she says, and backtracks instantly, “Oh, I – um – I mean. . . I mean it’s a plan, then, haha,” she swallows hard, “Okay, I need to get back. I’ll message you!”
She hangs up, heart doing a weird little stutter. How exciting for her – she’d kind of thought the day was going to be ruined once Rowan showed his dumb fucking face to her, but it’s shaping up to be quite nice. Harry sounded a little odd on the phone, but she wondered if he was just feeling awkward about seeing her two days in a row. It’s new for him, for sure – maybe they could eat together, in a couple of hours. Maybe he would make her cum, after withholding it last night. Y/N kind of hopes he does, because then the chances of her going into subspace are greater, and the chances of getting a cuddle out of him are greater too. Harry’s a great cuddler, but she knows she’ll only get that at the end of the night.
The options are endless, really, what they’ll do.
Y/N is smiling as she walks back into the kitchen.
. . .
Harry is crashing out.
He never really understood the phrase when he overheard Niall and Y/N saying it (then Adam, subsequently, who always ended up using whatever weird phrases and lingo the two adopted for the month), if they touched wet food, or if Niall lost a rank in his League game, or if Adam had to sous vide another steak after a group of 10 executives came to eat one day. All of those feelings must have equated to what he feels right now, though, like he’s spinning out of orbit. Like he’s an alien spaceship, careening towards earth, slamming into some random farmland against his will. Sparks flying, pieces of shrapnel everywhere, and there he sat in the middle of it, overwhelmed, and consumed by the feeling.
It was one thing to hear that Y/N had seen her ex today. Harry didn’t care about that much; he cared in the way that he feels bad she had to see him, because he had picked up how difficult the dynamic between the two of them was, and he knew how it ended was shitty. He also knew that he never left her alone, so she must have been annoyed, to some degree. Harry hates that for her, and that for her off day, she had to waste even a little bit of time on him.
But to learn that Youngjae – pretty-eyed, nice teeth, dimpled Youngjae was the one to swoop in and save her? To learn that she had been with him since, learning something under someone else, not within reach of him. . .well, he’s seething, if he’s honest. The thick murk of jealousy sits in his chest and sinks to his stomach, as he imagined it. How sweet Youngjae must be to her right now, how he must be praising her, how Y/N is getting that twinkle in her eye and that sparkle in her veins when someone tells her she’s doing well. He’s well aware of what that praise shifts into, if Y/N’s attracted to someone, and hell, there’s no way she isn’t attracted to him. Even fucking Harry is attracted to him! And they’re probably alone, all snuggled up in a kitchen, giggling between each other, and –
Wow, he seriously can’t even think about it. It’s making his teeth hurt, probably from the way his jaw is set and tensed. He’s already outside of her place – he’d waited all of 30 minutes, but he was just driving around aimlessly and mad, so he thought it’d be safer to just park it somewhere. He doesn’t have to wait for long – he sees her walking to the building and feels like he’s going to faint because no way Youngjae got to see her in that pretty of a fucking sundress before Harry could. It’s a purple-ish pink, and flows in the wind, blowing up, almost high enough for her bum to show but she was too quick for it to actually show anything. Did that happen when she was with Youngjae too? Did he see her bum? Or, worse, did he see that cute, embarrassed look on her face? The one that makes Harry hard?
He waits for 15 minutes so he feels less pathetic about immediately showing up. Y/N messaged him a little bit after he’d seen her, a home! :) – that shows she’s just so painfully unaware of the turmoil he’s going through. He could tell over the phone as well, listening to how excited she sounded to be learning how to make mandu. Harry needs to get it in check before he gets in front of her door, or else. . .or else. . .he’s not sure what would happen, but he doesn’t know if he’ll like it.
Harry knocks on the door and struggles not to immediately crowd her space. She smiles when she sees him, though her brows are raised a bit, “Oh, you’re fast!”
“I was around,” he explained, and conveniently left out that “around” was right outside, in her parking lot. Hazelnut eyeballs him from the couch arm she’s propped on, with a look that says she knows something is up. Y/N always talks about the cat giving her looks, and he could only imagine that this was one of them. He understands more why Y/N is always so shaken by them.
When he steps in, closer to her, he sniffs the air a little. “Are you wearing a new perfume?”
“Hm?” Her head tilted – very puppy-like of her, and his prick does twitch in interest, but he reels himself in for a moment, watching as she tilted into her bicep and sniffed, “No, I’m not?”
“You smell flowery today,” Harry notes.
“Oh, do I? That might be Youngjae then or something – he kind of smells like a garden and we hugged before I left.”
A garden? You’re fucking joking.
Harry closes the door behind him, steps further into the flat, and further into Y/N’s space. He is unable to keep up pretenses for longer than those fifteen seconds, before he’s sliding a hand to the side of her neck, “How do you feel about marks?”
“Like love bites?” She rephrases, and Harry nods.
“Yeah, sure. How do you feel about them?”
Y/N shrugs, “I mean, I don’t mind them but – ah!”
He wastes no time, doesn’t hear her but that lingers in the air afterward. Harry fixes his lips around a tender, sensitive bit of skin where her shoulder and throat meet and bites down. The feeling of it makes Y/N jump, jerking back but Harry holds her still, and she doesn’t complain apart from a little whine. Soon enough, she’s craning her neck to the opposite side, giving him more room to do it. She’s so obedient, it makes him dizzy, or maybe that’s just because he isn’t breathing how he has his nose shoved up against her. He licks over the skin he’d chosen before suckling on it, holding her still, making sure it’s something dark and glowing, a pretty bruise that she’ll wear on her throat until it eventually fades. One he can press into, one she could see in the mirror and remember he gave her.
It’s pretty when Harry looks at it. Even prettier when he runs a thumb over it and she jumps, sucking in a wet gasp.
“You have a no hickey policy,” she finally says, and Harry hums, bemused, “At work. That’s – that’s what I was going to say – I like them but you. . .you remember, you almost ripped Ni a new one when he showed up with one on his neck and he sweated his makeup off.”
Harry vaguely remembers that. He couldn’t be bothered with the full memory, though, as he continues to run his thumb over the bruise.
“Remind me to give him an extra break,” he replies, “How many of these do you think I can give you?”
had me on edge the whole time omg TOOOOO GOOD!!!! harry is not the only one crashing out rn
