ada

your typical aries friend

[1800titz]

FETISH MASTERLIST

The one in which there's an interesting blog focused on a niche genre of soft-core pornography, two next-door neighbors in an apartment complex with paper-thin walls, a simple case of misinterpretation, a man that runs from intimacy like there's an award waiting at the invisible finish line, and a pet bunny called Snuggles.

The early access spanko fic ♡ | get ahead here

wattpad alt | PATREON MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 1 ←→ wattpad alt

the pilot episode feat. a simple misinterpretation of consensual kink as violence

“I called the police on you,” she tells him, utter dismay lacing the words together.  “You did, yeah.” Harry still remembers the blank expression varnished along the officer’s face— the kind of emotionally vacant stare reserved for department store mannequins. The echo of the distant, metaphysical NOPE that definitely rode along his brainstem the moment the curly-haired brunette mentioned “it’s a kink thing,” and the way his partner, hands allocated to his holster belt, started very obviously examining his own shoes.  “I thought—“ Y/N stutters, her wobbling voice sounding squeezed from her trachea, “I thought—“ “You thought you were living next door to a criminal,” Harry supplies. When he tilts his head, a rogue curl flops over his forehead.

CHAPTER 2 > coming 04/21/25 OR access here

[catchymemes]

[jawllines]

“Good puppies deserve treats, no?” Harry suggested and though Y/N’s perked up a bit at that, she was still untrusting, one hand still gripping the microfiber cloth she was using and the other balancing her against the counter behind her. 

“My last treat wasn’t much of a treat.” She grumbles and Harry hums again low, understanding. 

“It may seem like that now,” his voice is low and smooth, but not in the forced way her ex always tried to make his, “But the payoff is much sweeter than if I just let you cum the first time, yeah? You’ll see.” Harry promises, “And you know you can stop this any time you want, correct? All you have to do is say the word.” 

or

Harry is an edging demon and Y/N's (kind of) good at listening

part 1

part 2

(18k+)

iii.

There’s a word for what Y/N’s feeling right now.

She can’t think of what it is, but she knows there’s a pretty word for it. The only way she could describe it is that it’s the same feeling she gets when she goes to a concert and borderline dissociates when the artist comes on stage, struck with the realization that they are a tangible, real person and not just an image on her screen. Or like when she swam with dolphins in secondary school, and the mammals chirped at her, made her feel safe somehow, even let her be lazy and do most of the work swimming when she got tired. Out-of-body, but in the same breath, so present and in the moment that she’s a little overstimulated. So many sensations and feelings occupy her at once that her cells might be filled with sizzling bubbles.  

So being in Harry’s flat is kind of like that. Someone she’s idolized for so long inviting her into his space, letting her see how he lives, and how he decorates. Honestly, Y/N had imagined a lot of greys, whites, and blacks; dark colors, cold lighting, and perhaps not the most inviting environment. It had always seemed like he’d only used his flat to sleep and that was it, so she figured he didn’t need to enrich the area with anything in particular. Maybe there wouldn’t even be a bed? Maybe he was a vampire or something and stayed up all night and all day with no need to sleep. Perhaps that’s why he’s so good at cooking, with centuries of practice under his belt. At least, that’s what Y/N had always thought. 

And she’s pleasantly surprised to find she couldn’t be more wrong. Everything in Harry’s flat is very. . .warm. At first, it didn’t appear that way: The flat building he lives in is right around the corner, maybe a 10-minute walk in total from the restaurant, but Harry has his car because the weather isn’t pleasant enough to walk in just yet. It’s one of those complexes that just looks expensive from the outside, with balconies on every other floor of the unit encased in what looked like glass railings. The name is written on the top of the building, just beneath the roof, illuminated by a white, glowing light. It’s tall enough that she has to crane her neck up to look at it. 

The inside is ritzy as hell, the lobby’s centerpiece an indoor fountain sitting beneath the most elaborate-looking chandelier Y/N has ever seen. She doesn’t get much of a chance to gawk at it because Harry is directing her to the elevator without a single pause in his step. Y/N’s legs burn to try to keep pace with him – for some reason, she has no inkling of a doubt that he would have left her had the elevator come without her at his side. 

Part of her expected him to live in the penthouse (because why wouldn’t he?) but they stopped on the 14th floor, and Harry’s flat was the one all the way at the end. Her heart was racing the whole time, wondering what they would do, wondering what it would look like in there. The keypad is a code that unlocks the door and when they stepped in, Y/N – who had been waiting to stick out like a sore thumb here – was instead embraced by the warmth of a furnace that actually works with no threats of failing. Automatically she notes his lighting is very warm and there are more decorations than she would have ever thought. She’d like to go through and scrutinize every single thing on his walls, from the artwork to the photos, but she feels like she needs to follow him after he kicks his shoes off at the door. 

The sofa is big and plush; the kind of sofa that you’d take the best naps on when you have a cold, she thinks. There are blankets folded neatly and hanging over the sides of it. Two bookshelves in the wall bracket the TV with slatted wall panels behind it adjacent to the couch, and to the right of that are floor-to-ceiling windows that have an overview of the city in a way Y/N has never truly seen. Because even though his living room screams warmth, it still exhibits a certain amount of wealth to it. 

Y/N is still marveling at the setup, and the fact that the walls are painted what seems to be a lighter version of steel blue when Harry clicks his tongue to grab her attention, “What are the big eyes for?” He inquires, and that is just another hint of how well off Harry is – for him to even wonder what Y/N was gaping at just screams that he is used to a lifestyle like this. 

“It’s just – wow,” she told him, then motioned toward the door, “You – you saw my flat, didn’t you? What wouldn’t I have big eyes for? All of this is so nice!” 

“Thank you,” he hums after a second, “But I think I’d rather your eyes be on me, Puppy. Isn’t that why you came?” Then he tilted his head, blinking at her, “Right?” 

She opens her mouth to respond but all that comes out is an, “I. . .” that trails off because Y/N is really good at talking until it comes to speaking with Harry. Then she’s a stumbling, fumbling mess. Still, somewhere in her brain, she manages to get her head moving enough to nod, and agree without having to put it into words. As enticing as it was to see his flat and see how a man who speaks so little of his personal life lives – she came because he asked. Because she thinks that might put his fingers in her mouth again. Because maybe he’ll decide that weeks of edging is just too much and they should probably get things going. . right? According to Niall, Harry is chomping at the bit to get inside of her, so maybe there was a little truth to that. At least that’s what she was hoping. 

“Though I was able to defend you today, I still don’t feel as though it absolves me of my mistake,” he continued, loosening the first three buttons of his top. Y/N is suddenly hyperaware that she is wearing absolutely nothing appealing or even remotely cute. Plus she’s in cotton panties that. . .probably have seen better days, with worn elastic that snaps at her hip when she puts them on, and a bralette whose only job is to keep her nipples from greeting everyone without a wire digging into her side. Nothing spectacular or sexy, and she sadly was not of the group of people where anything she wore just turned into something spectacular or sexy. “So I wanted to give you a little treat.” 

“A treat?” Y/N perks up a little at it, and it does make Harry smile – a dimpled thing, she’s confused for a second until she realizes that she probably did seem like a dog. 

“Yeah Puppy, a treat,” he repeats, “Can you be good for me?” 

Y/N nods again, “I’m always good.” 

“Always, huh?” Harry motions for her to come closer, “I guess we’ll see about that.” 

Y/N ambles closer to him tentatively, stepping around the coffee table until she is standing in front of him. Harry reaches forward, pulling at the bottom of her top so that he wiggles them from the waistband of her trousers. The fabric rumples only a little bit because Harry is relatively neat about it, moving around her body so he untucks it all. His fingers skim and graze her when he does it and even through the material goosebumps and shivers threaten along the trails of everywhere he’s touched. Y/N likes it when he touches her so much, no matter how insignificant the caress. 

The tips of his fingers skate along the waistband of the trousers, along her skin beneath the shirt as he finds the button. He pauses here like he’s giving her a chance to stop him, but when she instead just watches with bated breath Harry pops open the button. Drags the zipper down, then tucks his fingers in her belt loops and starts to slide them down. Y/N handles that pretty well, albeit a little lightheaded from holding her breath, she steps out of her trousers and thanks whoever is watching out for her in the universe because she’d just shaved her legs the night prior. 

It’s when he reaches up for her underwear that she does have a brief panic, a sudden memory from her ex flickers in the back of her head, and Y/N grabs Harry’s wrist without thinking, “W-wait,” she says suddenly, but Harry is patient with her – doesn’t look annoyed or frustrated by her, which soothes some of the anxiety racing through her veins, “I – do you want me to shower first?” 

The thing is, Y/N was lucky if her ex ever wanted to be face-to-face with her cunt for even a second. He was one of those guys who fully expected blowies, but didn’t like going down on her because “it just didn’t do anything for him” and. . .well, Y/N had let it slide. She didn’t need to be eaten out – it’s something that she’d always wanted for sure but had decided it wasn’t worth it. Especially when he always made a big deal about it the couple of times he had tried it for her, he’d have her shower beforehand, but then complain that she tasted like soap, and he’d flick his tongue maybe four or five times before saying he just “couldn’t wait to be inside of her”. So she stopped asking and he never offered. 

Y/N doesn’t necessarily think Harry is trying to eat her out, probably, but for a moment she wonders if her ex was always so weird about showers because he thought she smelled bad. Or maybe she tasted bad? She wasn’t sure – she’d smelled and tasted herself before and it was okay, but it was coming from her body, so she didn’t know if that affected it. Niall had assured her that her ex was just an idiot, and had offered to sniff her panties or something to make her feel better, but she snorted and hit his shoulder instead. Now she was kind of wishing she took him up on the offer. 

Harry doesn’t look disgusted with her though, and he’s on his knees in front of her after helping her out of her bottoms. He doesn’t look relieved that she brought up a shower either, like maybe he’d been wanting to ask but didn’t want to seem rude (which would have been hard to believe from Harry because he has never worried about seeming rude ever). Confusion is what seeps from his gaze, brows knitted, mouth in a small frown. 

“Why would I want that?” 

Her face feels hot, as it always does when she’s with him, and she feels another sense of alarm fill her chest. Oh god, he’s going to think she was just expecting him to eat her out! Which she totally wasn’t, but if her bottom half is naked she expects that he was going to do something with her cunt and that memory of her ex ambushed her brain like a leopard. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean – like I wasn’t suggesting that you have to – just – I mean, my ex would –” 

Harry’s thumbs dig into her thighs, where they sit, his fingers still curled up in the waistband of her panties, “I’m going to eat your pussy,” he says bluntly, and Y/N thinks she could have passed out just from that, “And when I do it, I want to taste you, not soap. So Puppy, I’m going to take these panties off and you’ll sit on the sofa for me, and unless you don’t want that, then you’ll do what I say. Okay?” 

With the same eyes, she’s sure she walked into his flat with Y/N agrees, swallowing thickly when he slips her panties off her legs in a slow, careful drag. He guides her to the couch, has her sit down, and situates himself between her legs. Then promptly yanks her to the edge of it, so her bum sort of felt like it was one wrong move from toppling over. Y/N squeals at the change in position, how easily he’s able to maneuver her how he wants, pushing her thighs up until Y/N gets the hint to curl her hands beneath her knees. 

How exposed she is kind of makes her want to crawl under a rock. There was no build-up, really because Harry is constantly keeping her on her toes. She certainly didn’t think much more would happen tonight than her sucking on his fingers again and maybe finally getting to dry hump him, but this is great too. Really, really great – like more than great. There were still nerves there, a welt of anxiety sitting in her chest that he might not like it, or she’ll find out she does taste or smell bad and her ex had just been kind(-ish) enough not to say anything outright. 

Harry was close enough that she could feel the sigh he let out from his mouth, washing over her while his fingers started below her knee and drew intricate designs down it. Along the skin, skims and grazes that make the muscles twitch. The visual of her mentor, the man who only a few months ago she could barely ask a question without having to spend two hours working up the courage, with his mouth right next to her pussy –- was kind of crazy. Another surreal moment, where she has to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t passed out on the kitchen floor at work with Harry trying to fan her awake, or in her bed having another horny nightmare where Hazelnut sits on her chest and tries to suffocate her before the good part. 

He slides his fingers down all the way to her pussy, spreading her lips apart. This is something she doesn’t think anyone has ever done to her before, looking at it the way he’s doing, like he’s got all the time in the world. It’s a rather intimate thing to do, right? Everyone she’s ever slept with kind of just skips to sticking it inside of her, and it’s usually dark or under the blankets so they aren’t really drinking it in the way Harry’s doing. He blinks slowly, kind of like a cat, then purses his lips and blows a stream of air over her. 

Y/N can’t help the way she throbs in response to it, clenching around nothing, and his stream is interrupted by a small chuckle, “Yeah?” He hums, “Aren’t you naughty, having your pussy in my face like this? You want my tongue?” 

“Yes,” she tells him, “Yes please.” 

Harry hums, “Tell me when you’re about to cum.” 

If someone had told Y/N even twenty minutes ago (when she was well aware that she’d be going to Harry’s flat) that this would be the position they were in, she wouldn’t have believed it at all. Maybe Harry was feeling as desperate for her as she was for him, to skip what she thought would be weeks more of teasing. Or maybe he really did just feel bad about not believing her all those weeks ago when that prick lied about her hair being in the food. 

Whatever the reasoning, Y/N wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

The first pass of his tongue is silky, pressing between her folds carefully, lightly. Y/N throbs against his tongue immediately, her toes curling, and the grip behind her knee tightens. This was – a lot already. His mouth was warm and wet against her, the way he kept her pulled open made her feel extra sensitive, and the fact that it was Harry made her dizzy. 

The second pass of his tongue, he hums against her, then gets a little closer. With his first lick his tongue was stretched out, so she could see what was happening, but now his lips close around her more. And with the third lick, his lips are fixed around her, like he needed to be pressed tight. Then his hum sounds a little more like a moan, and it vibrates through her – her knees click together. In any other position, her thighs would have squeezed tightly around his head, but she can’t like this, and her heavy breaths turn to whiny sounds. He slips his hands to rest on the back of her thighs, no longer holding her open but sucking over her folds while he lathers his tongue up and down, swirling it near her clit. 

His nose digs into her mound, the skin soft from where she’d waxed and his fingers dig deep into her flesh. Y/N had not taken Harry as someone who would be as into it as he was, but he seemed more than pleased to be where he was. Flicking the engorged button with his tongue, pulling it between his pursed lips to suckle at it in short bursts only to let go and drag his teeth against her skin. Y/N has never felt anything like this before, “A-ah,” she cries and ruts her hips into his face, “That’s – fuck,” words escape her, she doesn’t even know what she’s going to say. Should she praise him, would he like that? Or maybe her inability to form sentences and her whining were enough. 

After she ruts into his face, he pulls her down impossibly closer to his mouth, his fingers digging into her bum to pull her further. Harry grabs for her hand – or at least that’s what Y/N thinks is happening – and she locks her fingers with his, slotting them between each other, knuckle to knuckle. It feels like he laughs against her before he pops away for a second, strands of spit and her juices stringing from her lips to his, “Cute,” he laughs, “Wanna hold my hand?” 

She misses his mouth on her, and responds with a frown, “I thought – I – isn’t that why you gave me yours?” 

Harry doesn’t stop smiling, and honestly, if she’d known all she would have to do was take her pants off for him to smile this much then she would have walked into the kitchen without pants a year ago. He doesn’t respond to her, only fixes his lips back around her and starts licking again. Her orgasm builds fast once he’s reattached his mouth, and Y/N feels herself throbbing against him already. There’s nothing she can do to stop her hips from moving, riding against his tongue while he licks her, “I’m close,” she mewls, shuddering, the grip on the back of her knees getting tighter, “That’s – right there, please, m’g’na cum, m’gna cum.” 

And just before she does – when she’s right on the edge, where only a couple more seconds and a few more flicks of his tongue would have pushed her there. . . 

Harry pulls away. 

It looks sinful, really, and filthy. His lips are wet and red, and his chin is glistening too; his face is flushed, and it crawls down his neck, disappearing beneath the fabric of his shirt. Y/N would gush over it more if he hadn’t just done what he did. 

No wonder he’d been smiling so much – he knew what he was about to do, and it was downright demonic. A horny nightmare come to life. 

“No!” She cries out, “Why – why didn’t you let me finish?” 

“Good pets don’t do anything they aren’t told to, right?” He drags his fingers along her thigh again, “I never told you to cum, Sweetheart.” 

Y/N should have known he would be evil. Harry has given her no indication that he wouldn’t be operating with a cruel framework in bed. Distantly she remembers Niall telling her that he edged one of his exes for weeks, and she fears that she’s the next target. Especially when he ignores her whining and huffing by fixing his lips back around her cunt and running his tongue softly up her folds, enough to make her gasp but nowhere near as intensely as he was doing it before. He still held her hand, letting her squeeze it tightly, but his opposite arm came to circle her waist. She wonders why until he presses a sucking kiss over her clit and her hips jump forward – or try to, at least, but he holds her down easily. 

She gets closer quicker this time, her toes curling, and part of her wonders if she should keep it from him. If she should just cum, see what happens – it couldn’t be that bad, right? In the smut she’s read, she has always wondered why they don’t just cum anyway, or touch themselves and lie about it, it never made any sense to her. If you want to cum that badly, then just do it, right? 

But before she could even fully commit to that, on the very border mere seconds from tipping into her orgasm like diving headfirst into a volcano – Harry pulled away again. The look he gives her this time is less mirthful. It was something different. . .something she’s seen before, like when she once minced onions instead of brunoising them. Maybe a little less severe than that time, because she remembers getting yelled at for it, but there’s a disappointed gleam that she hadn’t seen from him in a while. It makes something quirk in her chest, a frown already melting over her mouth. 

“I thought you said you were going to be good?” He inquired, using one hand to spread her open, undoubtedly watching her hole twitch and wink at him, like she was grasping at the orgasm that slipped through her fingers – beckoning his tongue back, “You were about to cum again, weren’t you?”  

“Yes,” she nods, “I was really close.” 

Harry hums, “You’re supposed to tell me when you’re that close, yeah? Were you trying to be naughty? Cum all over my tongue with this filthy pussy?” He leans in and lays the flat of his tongue over her hole where she’s slick, dripping from his spit and her juices. Her hips try to buck again but Harry keeps her still, and he’s so strong she barely budges which is just. . .so hot for some reason. Y/N kind of wants him to lay on top of her, manhandle her however he wants and keep her in that position, even when her muscles ache from it, “I’ll have to train you more than I originally thought.” 

“Please?” She tried, and Harry has never been someone to fall for any amount of her poor puppy dog eyes, but he’s also never been 10 centimeters from her pussy either. There was still hope that maybe that was the kind of change necessary for him to take pity on her when she pouted her lip and blinked widely at him, “I really, really want to cum, please.” 

This makes Harry laugh which. . .honestly, might have been more menacing than if he scowled at her. He leans forward, slurps her clit into his mouth, and tongues over it just enough to start working her up again. Was it really that easy? Y/N thought there was hope, sure, but she’d been certain the hope was at the same percentage of your chance of pulling the card you want in a GACHA game without spending money. Maybe Harry would be sweeter with her than she thought? Maybe this was him teaching her how he liked to be begged? 

She doesn’t know, and if she’s going to be real, she doesn’t care much either. Not when he’s licking at her the way he is, alternating between quick flicks of his tongue, and these deep, warm, wide presses between her folds. Y/N does better at keeping her hips from moving but her orgasm approaches fast, warranting her squeezing his hand tightly, her breath coming out in a shudder. He doesn’t try to hold back his drool; instead, he lets everything pool out against her, a warm bath that sends her spiraling in the best way. Y/N’s more mindful this time – she’ll tell him that she’s close because obviously, he could tell – and maybe she’d get rewarded for being good. 

“I – again,” she swallows hard, “I’m close again, Harry, I’m g’na –” her thighs tense up, she can hear her heart thudding in her ears, and feel her pulse everywhere. It’s so good, and she still can’t get over the fact that it’s Harry between her legs, looking up at her through glazed eyes, her thighs closing in around his head, pressing into his cheeks and –

“No, no, no!” Y/N is almost frustrated to tears when he pulls away again, and she can only recognize her features pulled into something of sheer distress. Harry’s chin is shiny with his spit and what she was leaking onto him, as he kisses along the inside of her thighs, his lips soft and wet, but his teeth mean when they dig into the flesh. The pain is brief but she still squeezes his hand tightly, “Why do you keep doing that?” She inquired, exasperated, and it made Harry chuckle against her skin. 

“I think once my new puppy has been properly trained, then she’ll get to cum,” he slips his arm from around her waist, and his fingers from the notches between hers, but grazes his nails along her belly, a small smile hinting at his lips when she flinched from it (she’s more ticklish than she cares to admit), “How does that sound?” 

Y/N’s orgasm has completely receded, leaving her wet and sticky for no reason. 

“Horrible,” she replied. 

 Harry only laughed, removing himself from between her legs, finding the underwear she had on, and helping loop them around her ankle. Y/N can’t look him in the eye because obviously she can’t, after all of that, and he allows it for now. while she hikes the fabric over her bum, shuddering at the cold, wet, very unsexy feeling of it pressed against her again. Her heart is still all over the place, racing, and thudding, overexcited and embarrassed, stuck between crawling its way up her throat or hiding behind her ribcage. 

He finds her bottoms and hands them to her, “I’ll call an Uber,” Y/N only says it out loud so that Harry doesn’t think she misunderstood what this was. To save them both from the humiliation ritual that is someone trying to suggest you leave after sex. Before she and her ex actually became official, he would not so subtly yawn really loud, stretch his arms out, mention how he needed to wake up early the next day, and ask if she would be okay getting home alone or if she needed him to call her a ride.  And somehow Y/N was always embarrassed, even though she didn’t want to spend the night at his flat because his taste in decor was shit and the vibes were horrible in comparison to her cute flat. Still, the fact that he thought, that she thought, that she would be staying – was enough to make her start scrambling out of the bed as soon as they finished messing around. 

(Sure, once feelings managed to develop between them he started getting clingy and wanting to cuddle, but the stress of those first few months would forever be ingrained into her.) 

So no, she wasn’t expecting Harry to offer her the sofa for the night, or beckon her to go snuggle up with him in his bed. Honestly, she wasn’t even expecting him to walk her to the door if he didn’t want to. Altogether, she didn’t know what to expect from Harry, so she’d made herself comfortable with expecting nothing relatively quickly. 

But Harry scoffs as soon as she says it, running his thumb over his bottom lip, “I’m driving you home,” he tells her, shaking his head, “How many lousy lays have you had, Puppy? I’m starting to get sad.” 

                                                        .                             .                            .

“You’re jumpy today,” Adam commented as he shuffled behind Y/N, squeezing between her and Niall to get to the sink. He wasn’t lying – she was rather jumpy today; all he’d done was barely graze her shoulder to let her know he was coming up behind her and she startled, like a cat accosted by a loud sound. A couple of people in the kitchen had noticed her unusually unsettled demeanor today, but most had chalked it up to the general anxiety everyone feels when their Spring menu comes out. There’s no room for mistakes, even on the first day, and Harry – while relatively mild-tempered for the last month or so – is still a perfectionist. Nothing short of flawless would leave this kitchen. 

Then there was earlier, Niall had started talking when she didn’t realize he walked up to her while she was bent down for the flour, and jumped, thunking her head underneath the counter. Niall immediately cupped his palm over the back of her head, somewhere between laughing and worried, inquiring if she was okay as he guided her back to stand, “Oh I know that knocked your brain around a little. Quick, I’ll reorient you – if your deluded bestie says the waiter who served him at dinner last night was lowkey in love with him because of the eyes he was making the whole time, what would your response be?” 

“When’s the wedding?” Y/N offered and Niall grinned. 

“She’s fine,” he patted her arm, then looked across the kitchen – Y/N turned her head slightly to see Harry and Adam watching from afar. One of them with concern overwriting his previously laughing face and the other staring impassively, with the smallest, tiniest, barest hint of what might be a smug little smile. It was one of those blink and you’ll miss it kind of things because in the next second his face had no hint of anything at all.

And after that, she all but yelped when she rounded the corner in the storage room to find Harry in there as well. He must have snuck in after her because she hadn’t heard the door open again. There must’ve been an ingredient he forgot to tell her is what she figured, as she praised herself for not dropping a gallon of chicken stock from her full arms down onto her foot. For as imposing as Harry’s presence is, he has the keen ability to float around like a mouse in the walls of a mansion. It’s what makes her wonder how much he sees and hears without her realizing since she doesn’t always know he’s around until he makes his presence known. 

Unlike the others, Harry merely hummed without comment on it. Instead, he muttered something along the lines of, “Don’t drop anything on your way to the kitchen,” before reaching down to grab the San Marzano tomatoes. 

The reason she’s so jumpy is Harry, and he must know that which is why he isn’t overly concerned about it. As of late, if there’s even the slightest change in Y/N’s baseline he found a subtle way to comment on it, but there is no need to when he knows precisely what has her in a tizzy. On top of that, he finds it funny too – at least that’s how he acted this morning. 

It had been a week since Harry had invited Y/N over to his flat. A week since he yanked her to the edge of the sofa and cruelly edged her with his tongue, before driving her home. A week since he told her, “Don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to,” before she got out of his car, the hum of the engine and the blast of heat through his vents did nothing to cover up the borderline distressed, “Huh?” that left her mouth. A week since she had listened to him for some reason, and ignored every urge she had to slip her fingers beneath her waistband and finish what he started. 

Seriously, Y/N had never been interested in edging before. Had barely been interested in this type of dynamic beyond the occasional smutty story or poorly produced porn with a little bit of build-up acting. So this was very new to her, being told what to do as far as masturbating was concerned. Despite the novelty of it, it did feel like second nature to just do whatever Harry told her to do. Maybe if it was her ex telling her not to touch herself, she would have told him to go fuck himself instead, but with Harry. . .albeit reluctantly, she agreed to it. 

Y/N just hadn’t realized how much that would bleed into her normal life. She’s always been someone who gets off semi-regularly, even if it was just a quick one before bed, or if she wanted to ease some of the tension in her bones before going in. It became a little more frequent once Harry had started stuffing his fingers in her mouth and plaguing her horny nightmares, so to go from having an orgasm at least once every one or two days, to going cold turkey was a lot. Especially when the only thing that has been replaying in her head is Harry eating her out. That wasn’t even in the back of her mind, it was actually right at the forefront, making sure to linger and loom when she should be focusing on anything else. 

Doing her laundry? Bam! – Harry digging his teeth into her thigh. Buying cat food? Bam! – Harry licking so deeply into her that the tip of his tongue slips inside. Sauteing onions? Bam! – Harry pulling away with an evil glisten to his eyes and his fingers laced between her own. 

It’s on a constant, inflating rotation in her head, tormenting her with every waking moment. That’s why she’s so fucking jumpy – every time someone touches her or says her name while she’s thinking about it, it feels like she’s been caught with her hand down her pants or something. Some days are worse than others; when there’s a clear memory of her wet dream once she wakes up, always leaves her a little more pent up. This morning, in particular, she woke up with the sticky insides of her thighs and the impression of a dream Harry fucking into her dented along her eyelids. Y/N can admit that she reached her hands down on impulse, but her fingers had barely made contact with her slit before Harry’s words tumbled back into her head. The skin is scorching beneath her touch, and her clit begs for any amount of attention that isn’t just the fabric of her underwear. Instead, she forces her hand away from her pussy with an extraneous amount of effort, tilts her face into the pillow, and sighs. 

There’s a part of her that just wants to listen. To know what it’s like to do as he says and get rewarded for it in a way that’s not just a low hum, or a tender stroke to her cooking ego. To feel his fingers in her mouth again, his hands on her body, his lips on her skin – to know that he thought she deserved it, his well-trained puppy. Y/N wants to be good for him so he keeps making her feel good; part of her wonders if he maybe would have let her cum last time had she not been trying to cum without telling him. Probably not but there’s still a part of her that couldn’t help but think that had she been perfect for him, he would have taken mercy on her. 

So just about everyone comments on how jumpy Y/N is except for Harry because he must know exactly the reason. As always though, during work hours he keeps it relatively casual, without discussion of their dynamic or what they might do outside of it. He doesn’t even actually message her regularly either, or contact her much beyond one text suggesting she come through the front doors rather than the back because they hadn’t salted the sidewalk in the alleyways yet. 

That might be what drives her craziest though – part of her thinks she might have just hallucinated the whole thing in a horny-induced haze. At least until after shift, when Adam and Niall have finally trailed out behind one another, leaving Y/N and Harry to finish the final wipedown. 

There’s the clean-up that the whole staff does for closing, the secondary clean-up that Harry, Adam, Y/N, and Niall participate in, and then there’s the tertiary clean-up that Y/N and Harry do. It seems a little intense, and Y/N isn’t sure that hospitals are even this serious about disinfecting, but this is something that Harry finds unnegotiable. Y/N wishes everyone were as serious about it as Harry was, considering they are prepping food for people, the baseline should be as extensive as this, but he is one of few. They are a health inspector’s dream though and it’s always a quick visit when they come.

So on this tertiary wipe down it’s just her, Harry, and Y/N’s all-consuming want suffocating her. Y/N thinks she might be the only one who feels the tension between each other when they’re alone because Harry ambles about the kitchen, as relaxed as ever. Y/N still believes she could jump right out of her body, and like a Pavlovian response, being alone with him has started to make arousal pool low and deep in her belly. Which is stupid, because it’s not even like they do something each time that they’re alone. 

When Y/N is wiping down the burner, Harry’s voice appears from her side, along with a firm grip on her side that makes her jump even worse than she had been all day, “You make it a little obvious that you’re on edge.” Where his fingers lay on her hip, his touch scorching through the fabric, searing onto her skin. The way her heart increases reminds her of a joke she’s been seeing online a lot (by “seeing online” she means Niall sending her around 20 videos a day to fulfill his quota making sure she’s in the know)  – how her nervous system couldn’t necessarily tell the difference between one thing in the other. As far as Y/N’s fight-or-flight is concerned, she could either be near her mentor who’s mercilessly edging her, or on the back of a Land Cruiser with a leopard chasing behind it. A flush runs through her body, somehow cold and warm, and the thud of her heart threatens to rattle her ribcage to pieces. 

“Oh,” Y/N replies lamely, turning to face him more, “Really?” 

Harry’s thumb carefully strokes along her hip, still searing through the clothes, “Mhm,” he hums and she swallows thickly – he looks good today. He always looks good, but for some reason, he’s even more appealing right now – maybe because it felt like she was starving for it, for something, anything. To finally have him in such a filthy way only for it to be snatched from under her on the same night would call for a fanfic of their relationship to be tagged ‘Hurt/No Comfort’ if you asked her. “It’s cute, how badly you need it. Tells me that you’re listening well though, aren’t you?” 

“Listening and suffering,” she allows herself to complain, brows furrowed, trying not to allow his gaze to bewitch her. His hair is getting longer, she could tell even though he gels it back because, by the end of the day, the hairs beside his ears start to curl up. Y/N also wonders if he’s using a new skincare product because his cheeks have looked so smooth and soft lately, and his face has just seemed brighter. Either he splurged on a luxury brand or just the act of torturing Y/N is enough to rejuvenate him. Even his eyes seem a little more luminous, glowing, like seriously they’re reaching Bella finally turning into a vampire in Twilight levels of looking generally healthy and good. Is he sucking the life force from her? Maybe she and Niall weren’t that far off with him trying to prep her into stew. 

The remark makes him smile, and even if she sees it a little more often now, each one still stirs her up inside. 

“Good puppies deserve treats, no?” Harry suggested and though Y/N’s perked up a bit at that, she was still untrusting, one hand still gripping the microfiber cloth she was using and the other balancing her against the counter behind her. 

“My last treat wasn’t much of a treat.” She grumbles and Harry hums again, low, understanding. 

“It may seem like that now,” his voice is low and smooth, but not in the forced way her ex always tried to make his, “But the payoff is much sweeter than if I just let you cum the first time, yeah? You’ll see.” Harry promises, “And you know you can stop this any time you want, correct? All you have to do is say the word.” 

Y/N knew that. She knew that if this was too much for her, Harry would actually take pity on her, she thinks – or maybe he just meant that they would stop everything altogether. So actually, Y/N didn’t know anything for sure, she just knows that she doesn’t feel pressured. Not once had he ever indicated that if they didn’t continue with something like this, then Y/N would be assed out of a mentorship. All she knew for sure was that Harry didn’t give her any slimy vibes like that, and for now, that’s all she needed to know, even if some other things were uncertain. 

A little part of her (a large part of her, actually) wants to press her nose into the chest of his shirt and nuzzle there. Harry’s always been the type that you could tell was built, even if you never saw him shirtless – which she had, briefly, and she knew for a fact that every muscle in his body looked biteable. An image flickers in her head, of Harry fucking her from the back, with his arm looped around her neck and his bicep within ‘inviting teeth’ range and she feels a trickle drip into her underwear. 

“I want to keep going,” she reassures him, nodding, “Even if you’re mean about it, I want to – I want to show you I’m good.” 

“Even if I’m mean, huh?” He repeats, mirthfully, then adds, “I haven’t even shown you mean yet, Sweetheart.” 

It’s the first nickname he’s used apart from ‘puppy’ and it seriously makes her head spin, even if it was meant to come off as condescending. She shivers – Y/N wants his fingers in her mouth again, but she doesn’t know how to articulate it – doesn’t want to ask, but just knows that she needs it or she’ll combust. Honestly, she’d prefer his prick but he’s still being stingy about showing her and she knew better than to request something like that right now. Especially when she has a feeling that down the road, that will be one of the ‘treats’ that she gets, maybe – if she’s really a good puppy for him. Should she start barking? Wait – she should ask Niall to buy that collar and add a bell or something. Or is that more of a kitten thing? Is Harry into all types of pet play or just calling her a puppy? Also, did that mean he saw her more like an overexcited, panting dog rather than a demure, needy kitten, because how is she supposed to feel about that –

“Your brain is too loud,” he tells her, sliding one of his hands from her side, and then hovering two fingers over her mouth. Could he read minds? It’s something Y/N should be more concerned about but she splits her lips and lays her tongue out for him to rest his fingers, waiting patiently for him to tell her to keep going. He likes that she remembers, she thinks, because he gives an approving sound in the back of his throat, “You can suck.” 

It’s such a heady feeling, having her mouth full of him. Even though she’s had him nose-deep in her pussy, this still has the same effect on her; the same intense, all-encompassing arousal that zips through her vessels. Arguably worse than before now that she knew these fingers would be filling her other places too. And the thought of Harry having two fingers in her mouth and maybe two fingers inside of her at the same time is just – wow. 

“If I were going to show you how mean I could be, then I’d take you to my office right now,” he began, his words sounding honeyed, despite the context (Y/N just likes to hear him talk), his voice sweet enough to lick off his tongue and get a cavity, “I’d have you sit on the desk and edge yourself in front of me. Fill yourself up with your fingers, rub at that needy button, all while you whined for my tongue, whined for me to make you cum. I’d sit between your legs, keep your thighs spread, and if I saw that your greedy little hole squeezing around your knuckles I’d take your wrist and pull them right out.” Y/N moans around his fingers, at first just from his words, then from the way he slots his thigh between hers and Y/N’s hips giving an aborted thrust. The friction is enough to make her eyes roll back, and she rocks her hips again off habit. Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t scold her, just keeps talking, “Even when you whimper and whine like a poor little puppy, I’d hold your wrist until you stopped throbbing and then I’d cover your eyes, and make you listen to me fuck my hand.” 

The sound that leaves Y/N is guttural, when he tenses his thigh, makes the muscle firmer for her to grind against. Humping his legs like this is really not helping the puppy allegations in the slightest – neither is the drool pooling around his fingers and dripping down her chin – but it’s hard to care right now. Not when she grinds down, spreading the slick that had been dripping out of her against her panties, mushing it back into her slit. It makes everything slippery, warm, and messy, and Y/N likes messy right now. Wants it messier, even – wants Harry to spit on her cunt then make her rub against his bare thigh. She wants to feel how warm his skin is, how wet it would get beneath her, feeling the fine hairs on his leg, squeezing around him. 

Y/N has never been much of a grinder – she tried if she ever wanted to do something a little different masturbating. Pillows, bunched-up blankets, the edge of her mattress – but nothing ever felt as good as she wanted it to. Her legs always got tired, and the urge to cum never propelled her through the burn enough that she kept going. If anything, she might get tired and decide to stop trying altogether. 

But this is so different. It might be the fact she hadn’t cum in a week, it might be the fingers in her mouth, it might be that it’s Harry, and he’s close to her, and smells so fucking good, even after being in a kitchen with food all day. Maybe it’s everything about this moment that makes it feel so good she doesn’t care about the ache in her thighs or the sliver of her brain that feels humiliated to be rutting against him like an actual animal. If he’d let her cum like this, then she’d take it – she’d make sure to cum pretty for him too; stare into his eyes, moan, and suck on his fingers like she wishes she’d be sucking on his prick. 

“Such a sweet little thing,” he sighs, his thumb caresses her jaw where it sits outside of her mouth, as she sucks and licks and whines, “I bet you look so pretty when you cum.” 

Okay, he seriously might read minds, but she doesn’t even care about that. She wants to cum – she needs to, and maybe if she seems desperate enough, he’ll let her. The speed of Y/N’s hips increases, and she wonders if he can feel her throbbing through their layers of clothes. Her eyes squeeze shut, warmth pooling through her abdomen, she nods even though she knew her baseline cumming is not very pretty, but when she puts the effort into making it pretty then it was. She could be pretty for him, so pretty for him, and so good, and so wet, that he would barely have to stretch her he could just slip right in and – 

“No!” Y/N whines around his fingers when his thigh is pulled away, trying to follow him but Harry presses against her hip bone and keeps her still against the counter. As pitiful as it is, when she opened her eyes this time they were glassy, tears threatening her waterline. The thing was, Y/N is always easy to get watery-eyed but when she is in the right headspace, she can stop them from happening. It’s how she was so good at keeping her tears at bay when Harry would yell at her before. But that was with thorough preparation and intense concentration, neither of which she had at this moment, as he slid his fingers from her mouth. 

Harry seems. . .pleased, like some horny demon that feeds off edged-induced tears. He pouts his lip at her, and while it’s definitely in a mocking way, she still lets herself be comforted by the way he pets her, still caressing her jaw with his thumb while he cradles her face in his hand, “Poor Puppy, you were close, weren’t you?” He already knew the answer to that, but she nodded anyway, and a small tear trickled from the corner of her eye. Y/N half expects him to lick it up but he’s not feeling that devious yet, she supposes, “We’re almost there, yeah? Just wait a little longer and I’ll make you cum.” 

The conviction and sincerity in his voice are what make her believe him, and do bring a little relief, even though she doesn’t know what almost there means. Almost there in another week? In two weeks? In three? Would it be tomorrow? Would he feel pity for her later tonight and message her that she could cum? She isn’t sure, but she still feels like she’s a little floaty, lightheaded, and so desperate that another little tear leaks out. Y/N’s frustrated but so turned on that she could probably scream about it. Harry looks like he knows every single thing she’s feeling.

“I’ll drive you home after you drink some water,” he tells her, after a little while, “Okay?”

                                                                  .                            .                          .

Harry is very tender with her, in his very Harry way, when he drives her home that night. 

He warms the car up before she gets outside, makes sure she drinks a full bottle of water before they make it to her flat, and asks her what music she wants to listen to on the way there. Y/N thinks if they were a little closer, he might have offered to walk her to her door, but instead, he tells her to let him know when she gets inside. 

“You were good today,” he tells her, “Both in cooking and being cute tonight.” 

Y/N feels all warm and fizzy when she walks up to her flat like there are champagne bubbles in her vessels. Hazelnut greets her at the door with a scream and she picks her up, cuddling her close to her chest. For now, the cat allows it, because she’s hoping this will lead to an extra dinner or treat since she’s being so sweet (that’s Y/N’s fault, she definitely created a monster). Once she messages Harry, she gets a response almost instantly – he must not have left yet. 

Let me know if you need anything. Have a good night. 

                                                                      .                     .                      .

“Okay, realistically if we were in the omegaverse then I would be an Alpha.” 

Y/N thinks that even though it’s noon, it’s probably entirely too early for Niall to be bringing up the omegaverse. It was something he’d discovered relatively recently after stumbling across it online and he’s been obsessed ever since, sending her quizzes like “What omegaverse secondary gender are you” and “How would your slick taste if you were an omega?”. Then he’d bring it up periodically when the brain worms were a little too hard to ignore and he had to theorize about their lives with heats and ruts, and the injustice he knew omegas would probably face in their day-to-day (he’s very passionate). 

Still. . .what is she going to do? Not entertain it? She couldn’t ignore it, not only because he would just continue talking about it whether she was responding or not, but for the very fact that he made such outlandish, flawed, baseless statements like I would be an Alpha. 

“Ni, I know we thrive off delusion, but that’s even too far for me,” Y/N is poking her fork through slices of pineapple and praying the stringy bits don’t get stuck between her teeth all day or she might go crazy, “You? An Alpha?”

Niall seemed legitimately offended, mouth falling open, “What? I so would be! I took like five different quizzes and all of them said it. And my scent would be like pine needles and teakwood. Ooh, actually, I want my scent to be something a little different – like chocolate, but it’s rich, so it omits the omega-ness of it. My ruts are semi-regular and very mild.” 

Y/N shakes her head, swallowing the pineapple in her mouth, “There’s no way. You’re definitely an omega, I’ve seen your room, you literally have a nest of blankets on your bed. You would smell like caramel and honey, and you have intense heats, every two months, so someone needs to help you through them,” she pokes another pineapple piece, “And you’re like obsessed with being full in real life, so omega you is a knot-loving-size-queen.” 

“Wow, you think only omegas can like nesting and being full? You would be an omegaverse traditionalist,” he scoffs, “Unlike you, I know there’s a whole subsection of omegaverse with non-traditional dynamics so nesting and being full are in! It's a new wave! Get with it.” He peels the tomato off his sandwich (that he orders, but the sandwich shop guy has it in his head that Niall loves tomatoes even though Niall has never ordered a tomato on a sandwich in his life, but he can’t be arsed to correct him), “I’ll accept the caramel and honey though, it would make me more inviting to others. You however, are like – super omega vibes. Don’t even fight me on it,” he puts a hand up to stop her, when she opens her mouth to dispute him off habit, “You smell like peaches though, but honeyed peaches so we both have honey and we’re besties because of it. You take suppressants to regulate your heat but they’re pretty normal, nothing too crazy. Definitely a size queen,” he rolls his eyes, “And you need someone there to cook for you because you’ll try to survive off granola bars and half-drunk water bottles, Ugh, I’m getting mad at you just thinking about it.” 

Y/N scoffs, “Hold on, what makes you think you’d be an alpha then, Mr. New Wave?” 

“Obviously my huge dic–” 

“What’re you guys talking about?” Adam appears, ambling in, “Why is Niall talking about his dick? I thought Y/N banned all ball talk from you during lunch break.” 

Niall is not even remotely pressed when he answers, “We’re talking omegaverse dynamics. You’d be a beta, Adam.” 

“Now that I can agree with,” Y/N nods, “Total beta.” 

Adam’s brows furrowed, “Why does it feel like I’m getting insulted?”

“Probably because you are,” Harry ducks his head in, two containers in his hand, and heads toward the microwave. 

“Noo, they’re like super necessary if we’re talking pack dynamics. Someone has to keep a cool head while everyone else is heat-crazed and shit. You’re a total peacemaker in real life,” Niall explains, “Plus you add the variety! If there were only alphas and omegas in the world, it would be insane.” 

Y/N adds, “You know, some verses even have betas going through pseudo-heats.” 

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Harry turns away from the microwave, “What are you talking about?” 

Adam frowns, “They’re saying I’m a beta, Harry, but honestly I feel like I’d be an omega, right?” 

Harry’s brows furrow, “Excuse me?” 

“Harry would be an alpha,” Niall states fearlessly. 

“Well, yeah,” Y/N and Adam say it simultaneously, but Adam is the only one to go on and say, “I don’t even think that’s debatable, right? He just gives off energy.” 

Harry sighs, “This is why I don’t eat in here,” and the moment feels very much like when they went out for dinner that one time. Y/N thinks it’d be fun to do it again. Maybe they could go back out for Korean barbeque and Harry could cook for her again because truthfully, she liked being doted on at dinner, even if it meant he was stuffing her for stew Hansel and Gretal style. 

As she’s reminiscing, a container is carefully placed in front of her. She blinks at it, confused, then looks to the side to see Harry reaching back into the microwave for the second container he brought, “Wait, what? Is this – ?” 

“Mhm,” he hums before she can answer, “Tomato Barley soup with roasted chickpeas. It may be added to the Spring menu, depending on reception,” he turns to face them again, and Harry locks his gaze with her, “You can share with Niall. Tell me what you think later.” 

Harry takes his food and leaves, presumably to eat in his office, while Adam reaches over for the tomatoes that Niall isn’t going to eat. Niall makes eye contact with Y/N next, then nods his head firmly, “Yeah, see? You’d definitely need someone to feed you during your heat. Very omega of you.” 

Adam nodded, “Agreed,” he bit into the tomato, murmured something under his breath about them using too much vinaigrette, then looked at Y/N, “Babe, there’s a new movie and I think you’d like the main guy – do you wanna come see it with me?” 

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, tentatively taking a sip of the soup and it’s good, of course, because everything Harry makes is good but it feels extra special that he singled her out to try it. Even if he said she could share with Niall, he only brought two containers: one for him and one for her. It tastes especially delicious for that reason alone, “What is it about?” 

“Yeah, you fucker, and why can’t I go?” Niall interjected. 

Adam scoffed, “I asked if you wanted to go too, but you said you hated rom-coms and they weren’t as good as they used to be.” 

“Well, both of those things are true but I can’t handle the FOMO so I’m coming too.” 

Adam grinned, like this had been his plan all along, “And there can’t be just three of us, so Harry has to go!” He seemed excited, “I’ll tell him I already bought the tickets.”

“Are you sure he’ll come too?” Y/N inquires, “He doesn’t strike me as a rom-com kind of guy.” 

“Please,” Adam snorted, “He loves them. Even if he didn’t, he’d come since you’re going.” 

                                                               .                        .                     .

Y/N never knows what to wear to the movie theater. No matter what the weather is outside, the inside of the theater is ungodly cold, enough that it’s hard to focus on the movie and not how she’s shivering out of her bones. Which wouldn’t be a problem if the temperature outside was still icy and snowy like it had been, but this week had been suspiciously sunny and warm for late February. She presumes it’s the fake out that they always experience before another strike of brutal winter weather, but instead of awaiting the cold, she embraces the warmth as much as she can. 

The problem is, the weather was warm enough to wear shorts during the day; the sun was staying out longer and there was just something about that that made it necessary for Y/N to start stripping off unnecessary layers. So she had worn shorts, soft linen that rumpled in the breeze, and a long sleeve to try and find a happy medium. But one step into the theater she knew she’d made a dire mistake. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Niall assured her, “Just ask Harry if you can sit in his lap and warm up there.” 

“Shut up Ni.” 

Y/N had been debriefing Niall on each edging episode (the last one in the kitchen having happened only three days prior) because. . .well, of course she was. And it has led Niall further into this rabbit hole of believing that Harry is obsessed with her and she could do no wrong in his eyes. Even Y/N isn’t that deluded yet, so she brushes him off, because there’s absolutely no way Harry would be cool with her crawling into his lap during the movie. Maybe if they were at his home, and even then, she’s sure he’d say something like “Good dogs wait to be invited up on the couch” or something to that effect. 

Adam and Harry came together, so they were waiting for them at the front, just before the ticketing person would scan them through. As always, Adam grins at them like a proud mentor ready to take his ducklings to see a movie while Harry seems as impassive as always. He’s wearing a hoodie today, and it looks big, soft, and warm. Ideally, she would just crawl right up under the bottom and snuggle up there, suffocating against his body. That’s what she wants to do right now at least. 

“I hope you’re strategically hiding a blanket somewhere,” Adam says when they get close enough, “You’re g’na be freezing in there, Ladybug.” 

“Ladybug?” Niall furrowed his brows. 

“I’m trying something new, Ball Smasher.” 

“Ball Smasher is NOT going to be my nickname when she is Ladybug.” 

They’ve become a spectacle within t-minus 3 seconds but Y/N doesn’t really think anything of it. Instead, she turns to Harry, and smiles gently, awkwardly a little but that isn’t new, “Hi Harry.” 

“Hi Ladybug,” he replied, teasing, “You have a lot of nicknames don’t you?” 

Her face feels warm. Harry is probably referring to how he calls her Puppy, or at least that’s what she’s guessing, and the sneaky glint in his gaze suggests that he is that fiendish to do it right now. The other two are arguing over the nickname Ball Smasher though so neither of them notice, and the college student scanning their tickets looks like they’d rather be anywhere than where they were. 

Y/N for sure thought Harry would be scolding her for the theater food she was about to consume, but he didn't. Actually, when she’s unsure whether she should get pretzel bites or nachos, Harry suggests she gets both, then slides his card over before she can pay (so Niall demands Adam pay for his too). And when he’s the only person who doesn’t need to have a wee before the movie, he lets Y/N slide her purse onto his forearm and holds her food. When Adam tries to pawn off their food on him too, Harry levels him with a stare, “There’s a free bench over there,” he nods his head, “I’ll keep an eye on it.” 

All four seats are grouped, and Y/N had been wondering how they would sit. In seats J1, J2, J3, and J4, they order it by Harry on the far left, Y/N beside him, Niall next to her, and then on Niall’s side sits Adam. She’s a little stressed because that means she’s the only one who can really speak comfortably to Harry, but she doesn’t even know if he does that. Y/N is someone who, try as she might, cannot help but make little comments throughout the movie. If the film is particularly crazy and she and Niall are on one, then they’ve practically got a constant stream of thought going, so they just hope and pray that nobody is near them in the theater. It’s why if they can’t wait until it’s on streaming services, then they need to go when most people have already seen it. 

Harry seems like someone who would absolutely hate that shit. So she feels a little tense at his side, even when he sets up the table for them to share. It’s interesting to see Harry eat nachos and greasy pretzels when she typically only sees him eat refined meals or things he’s cooked. Harry doesn’t seem to mind it though – doing as the Romans do in Rome, is probably how he sees it. As the previews start, Harry shuffles a little closer to her, leaning over the armrest, whispering just low enough for her to hear while Niall already animatedly chirps at Adam what he thinks of the plot.

“Act as you normally do, Puppy. Don’t change because I’m here.” 

Y/N is staring at him with eyes that are probably begging him to tell her if he reads minds or not, because what the fuck? How many times is he going to be right on the nose about what is going on in her head? And quell any doubt or worry that is swimming around in there? 

She nods, blinking at him just as she bites down into a pretzel. Harry leans back into his seat and turns toward the screen. 

It is actually. . .not as scary as she was imagining. Y/N kept picturing Harry leaning over when she laughed at something with Niall to tell her to shut the hell up, or he’d kick her out of the movie himself. An outlandish thing, because Harry would probably just quietly stew and glare at her every so often to let her know his disapproval and then scold her for it later. Harry doesn’t seem to mind their little bits of chatter here and there and even leans over to mutter things to her below his breath. The theater is relatively empty apart from a couple a couple of rows ahead of them, so they don’t have to worry much about that. 

The main actor is. . .really cute. Cuter than most male leads in rom-coms, Y/N feels like, and it absolutely makes sense why the main actress is obsessed with him as she is. He’s covered in tattoos, his hair is long, and he’s kind of grumpy, but he is so intensely sweet with the female lead that Y/N is low-key smitten as well. It’s one of those movies that makes you feel giddy, and even the resident rom-com hater Niall thought it was cute. Grabbed her wrist and squeezed it when the male lead smiled for the first time, dimpled and cute, and even Harry gasped when the female lead kissed someone else. It’s all over the place, the story is crazy. 

At some point, the temperature in the theater is really starting to get to her. She stretched the shirt she was wearing out as much as she could to hide her knees up under it, but it didn’t do much. Y/N had almost resigned to her destiny of leaving with frozen bones when suddenly the screen blacked out. Actually, everything is blacked out, and she’s confused why Niall hasn’t yelled in outrage until realizing she’s the only person that anything changed for. Once her head pops out from the neckhole of the hoodie that Harry had been wearing, but when she looks over, he’s not looking at her. Instead, he’s fixing his rumpled undershirt, before leaning back in the seat, goosebumps pebbling his arms. 

“Harry?” 

“Wear it,” he tells her, “I can’t focus with how cold you are.” 

It doesn’t make much sense, but Y/N takes it. She slides her arms into the hoodie and appreciates the warmth that envelopes her, from the thick material and the way Harry’s body has been heating it. It smells good, like him, and reminds her of his flat. Warm and cozy, vanilla scented; she tries to be inconspicuous about dipping her nose underneath the neckline and taking a deep breath. Maybe she could get away with keeping it for a while if she pretended to forget it was his. 

“Thank you.” She murmurs and Harry nods. 

The movie ends, and they all hate the ending, especially Niall because, “I do not give a single shit if it’s his dream job, they were supposed to be together.” He’s outraged, huffing, “It’s such a cop-out! They were planting seeds for a sequel since the moment they suggested he had a dark past in a gang and then didn’t delve deeper into it.” 

“Yeah, I kept waiting for him to turn around and run back to her,” Adam grumbled, wiping at his eyes which he claims are only misty from leaving the dark theater and entering a bright hallway, “Stupid. I hate when there’s unresolved plotlines too.” 

Y/N would probably be more worked up over it if she wasn’t so happy and warm in Harry’s hoodie. She keeps dipping her nose into it, taking little, greedy inhales just in case he decides he wants it back. They get to the parking lot to split off, and Harry doesn’t say anything about it. Only tips his head toward them, “I had fun,” he tells them, “If you ever take me to a movie that doesn’t end with the main duo getting together though, I’ll have something to say.” 

“See you two at work,” Niall waves, already linking arms with Y/N and pivoting them toward the direction of his car. He lowers his voice, and dips closer to her ear, “Okay Alpha has chosen omega mate, he gave you the hoodie for his nest.” 

“Enough,” Y/N pulls the sleeves of the hoodie over her palms, “But like. . .if we were in the omegaverse, do you think Harry would have a huge knot or. . .” 

“I knew you were a size queen.” 

                                                                  .                          .                             .

There’s a lot of buzz in the kitchen. 

They have famous people come relatively often to their restaurant because Harry is who he is, the food is good, and there’s always a general feeling of opulence that lingers in the air. ‘If you have money, you eat there’ kind of thing; for birthdays, job promotions, movie deals, and award wins – if it’s something to celebrate, then people like to come here. So every so often there will be a random politician who’s been making headlines lately, a seasoned model who just walked the runway in a garment worth 50,000, maybe an actor who is set to win an Oscar, or a musical artist who just won their first music award. 

The amount of kitchen chatter about it depended on the person. The politician might not get much hype, but the actor definitely had a lot of people buzzing and chittering, nervous and excited, wondering if their food would make a good enough impression for them to come back. Even Adam gets caught up in it sometimes, all giggles and laughing, joking about how he’s going to take the copy of their receipt and sell the signature online. 

Today it’s a little different because the person everyone is chattering about – is another chef. His name is Young-Jae, a Korean chef relatively new to the scene but making big strides and headlines in the culinary world lately, and just recently won a place on the World’s 50 Best Restaurants. He’s been the talk of the culinary world lately, in the same way that Harry typically is, so everyone is buzzing, excited from the moment he called last week to make the reservation. 

With who he was, Y/N expected Harry to be making the plate. Not that she didn’t think she could, but typically with high-profile people they have the chefs who’ve already established themselves prepare their meals. So when Harry brings the meal ticket with his name and table number, Y/N is startled.

“Oh?” Y/N tilted her head, “Me?” 

Harry stared at her, “. . .Yes.” He furrowed his brows, “You’re covering this section, why wouldn’t it be you?” 

“Just – he’s like a big deal right?” Y/N scratched her bicep, “Isn’t that like – shouldn’t you do that?” 

Harry sighed, “You’re going to cook this plate. You are a competent, strong chef and if I didn’t believe that you could do it then I wouldn’t have suggested it. Now,” he patted the ticket, “I don’t know why all of you are so worked up about him, you are all also chefs. Get to work.” 

So, Y/N gets to work. She’s nervous as fuck, because despite what Harry’s saying he isn’t just any chef, he’s like. . .really good. Y/N knows that when Harry visits other restaurants the staff is just as nervous, from what Y/N’s heard of old friends from culinary school and Niall’s endless grapevine of gossip. Unless you’re a culinary god, chefs get nervous to cook for other chefs, because they know how intensely they’ll scrutinize a dish. 

Y/N tries to be precise in every dish that she makes, but she tries extra hard for this. Red mullet with chili and garlic, she’s only made it a handful of times before but each time Harry has tried it and given her the angry face and an acknowledging hum. So it gives her a little bit of a needed confidence boost, even though while she’s flipping the cut of fish on the pan, she’s definitely trembling. Harry looms over her every once in a while, but she thinks it's more for her benefit than his own. After a couple of times of her looking up, eyes darting around trying to find him and then locking with him from across the kitchen, he tends to just come to stay beside her. 

In the end, she feels happy with the plate. Lightheaded, like she might pass out, but still pretty happy. She sends it out then waits anxiously to be called out there and upbraided for sending out a shitty plate or something. Niall even said it looks like she’s waiting for them to call her out and have her march off the plank on a ship. Y/N tries to be normal and relaxed, but she’s already jumpy and tense from being keyed up with no orgasms for the last couple of weeks, and now this. It’s been a while since she’d been this stressed over a plate. 

“Y/N,” the waitress comes up to her after 15 minutes, looking slightly on edge, “Um, Chef Young-Jae wants to speak to you.” 

She feels like she’s going to pass out. Harry, who had been tasting the coq au vin that Niall was making, looked up and over, tossing the spoon into the sink. He seems like his hackles are raised, everyone in the kitchen has gone from chattering the usual kitchen chatter to going intensely quiet. Oh god, what are they gonna do to her out there? Was it bad? Did he hate it? Why did the waitress look so concerned? Did he seem angry out there? 

Harry doesn’t mention that he’s going with her, but when she looks to her right and sees him, she feels a little more calm. If there is legitimately something wrong with the dish she doesn’t think he’ll yell at her like he used to, but then at least he’ll be there too. . .maybe, hopefully, teach her how to not make the same mistake in the future. Maybe he’ll even comfort her a little bit? That would be nice. 

Young-Jae is waiting patiently; he doesn’t seem to be angry but he doesn’t seem to be overjoyed either. Y/N’s heart is thudding a thousand beats a minute, swallowing hard because. . .he’s hot. Like, incredibly good-looking, cameras do not do him nearly enough justice. When she gets closer to the table, he turns his gaze onto hers, and she seriously thinks she is either going to start floating on the spot or she’s going to launch herself out of the window he’s sitting beside. 

“Hello,” he greeted her, and his voice was soft – he didn’t sound mad?“Are you the one who made this meal?” 

She swallowed hard, nodding, her hands clasped in front of herself which could not scream I am not confident right now – more than it already was, “Yes Sir,” she told him, “It was me. Was it. . .to your liking?” 

“Was it to my liking?” Young-Jae held his chin, his index finger right beneath his nose, and Y/N is certain that he was about to say something like fuck no, I hated that shit! “It was the best I’ve ever tasted.” 

Y/N’s eyes, from where she’d cast them down to the floor in front of her, dart up. They’re wide, blinking, “Wait, pardon me?” 

Young-Jae grins, nodding his head, “I could tell there was a lot of. . care, put into this. I have eaten a lot of goatfish but this by far has been my absolute favorite. Your technique is next to perfect, the flavor is unlike anything I’ve tasted before, I’m. . .I’m absolutely enthralled.” 

“Holy shit,” she speaks without thinking, then covers her mouth, “Oh – oh my god, I’m sorry I’m just so surprised I – thank you! Thank you, that means a lot coming from you.” 

“Of course,” he is actually really fucking cute, especially now that he’s complimenting her, “I always like to compliment whoever prepared my meal when it speaks to me and this one truly did. How long have you been here?” 

She feels frazzled, “I – well, I started here a year and – I think 6 or 7 months ago?” She motioned to Harry, who still stood at her side, in a much less defensive position than he had been prior, now just his typical guarded self, “He’s my mentor.” 

Youngjae gives another big smile, and what the fuck, he has a dimple too! His hand was covering it before, but now he rests them in front of himself, “I should have known that you were the one to teach her,” he holds his hand out, “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Styles. You have taught her very well.” 

“I know,” Harry gives him a brief smile and shakes his hand firmly, “I’m glad you enjoyed her dish.” 

When he turns back to her, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. In his wallet, he takes out what looks like an old dentist appointment reminder card and flips it over, scribbling his number on the back, “I would love for you to come visit my restaurant, whenever you can. If you’re interested in Korean cuisine, please come. I can teach you some recipes of my own.” 

“Oh, thank you,” she takes the card, gripping it tightly, smiling brightly, “Thank you so much! This is – wow, this means a lot. I hope you come to visit us again soon.” 

Young-Jae’s teeth are really nice too, and that dimple again – maybe she has a thing for dimples, “Of course, I will.” 

The thing is – Y/N is on cloud nine! Only a handful of times had she been called out to speak with a guest and typically it wasn’t for a series of compliments and then an offer to visit their restaurant and learn their craft. Especially by someone so amicable – she wouldn’t have thought that he was as big as he is, had she not known exactly who he was. He felt easy to talk to, and he was cute, and he liked her fish! She’s so giddy, it is written all over her face as she and Harry step back into the kitchen, everyone eying her wearily at first before she spoke. 

“He was super nice!” 

There was an array of questions being thrown at her, like what did he say? How did he act? Was he as friendly as everyone always says he is? Did he like the food? Is he coming back? All things Y/N could have answered relatively quickly without disrupting the work flow but Harry cleared his throat before she could even begin. 

“Ask her these questions on your own time,” he ordered, “Right now, you’re on my time. Get back to work.” 

Niall, who Y/N knew had probably stealthily slid out of the kitchen to listen (Adam was stirring his coq au vin, so he presumed he told him to keep watch over it), “Someone is jeallllous,” he whispers in her ear, snickering, “His ears are red.” Y/N looked over, where Harry was stepping into his office, and Niall was right – his ears were bright red. She only catches them for a moment before the door is clicked shut and he’s hidden himself away. “Ugh, I live for this drama.” 

There was no way Harry was jealous – he must have just walked past the steam of a pan or something. She’s seen his ears get red because of that before. But not once has Harry ever given her the indication that he could feel something like jealousy when it involved Y/N. Hell, he doesn’t even act like he’s possessive of her or anything! So she couldn’t imagine that he felt any amount of envy in her interaction with another chef. He deals with her interacting with Adam just fine, and he seemed perfectly nice to Young-Jae as well. Honestly, Harry seems like the type of person who believes emotions like jealousy are beneath him; immature and pathetic. Even if she accused him as a joke, she’s certain he’d unintentionally hurt her feelings by questioning what he had to be jealous of. Y/N is like. . probably a dime a dozen to him. Any woman would let him edge her, let him call her puppy, they’d probably roll over and bark too, and he’d be just as happy. . .

. . Okay, so she just made herself kind of sad with that thought, but she isn’t going to dwell on it. This feels good; an important chef who isn’t just her mentor who knows she cries when he’s mean to her now thinks that her food is delicious. He stood nothing to gain from telling her and stood nothing to gain from offering to teach her. He was just doing it to be nice, and that tickled Y/N right to the marrow. 

The rest of the day goes by like a dream. Harry eventually returns from his office and helps her with the first fish en papillote order they got since it was added to the menu. Just to refresh her on some of the things, since they hadn’t practiced making it for a couple of weeks now. He doesn’t seem to be acting out of the ordinary at all, just the same old Harry – she would say he was being quiet, but quiet is just his baseline so that doesn’t tell her much either. 

They cook, they clean up, and the others start dispersing, Niall winks at her when he heads out the door because he’s Niall and always assumes she’s going to get lucky. 

After she has scrubbed the stove, she turns to toss the rags in the hamper and Harry is to her immediate left, “Ah!” She yelps, taking a step back, “Oh, wow, you’re so quiet on your feet sometimes!” 

“I’m taking you home tonight.” He told her, but then added a gentle, “Okay?” 

Y/N’s brows raised – she hadn’t been expecting an invite tonight. Normally, his invitations are only extended when they don’t have work the next day but she guesses since they have a later start anyway, he doesn’t mind. Whatever his reasoning may be, Y/N knew she was either going to cum tonight or be tortured, but. . .the potential of maybe cumming is enough that she agrees without even a glimmer of a second thought. 

                                                              .                    .                  .  

Things feel a little tense.

The drive to Harry’s flat is quiet, but that isn’t unusual. It’s more so the vibes that he’s giving off; whatever is diffusing from his skin is something that doesn’t seem elated by any means, or even horny for that matter. She didn’t know what it was, but it was something that left the air around them sticky with it. Like someone was trying to pour honey into her lungs, each breath she took felt more unsettled. 

By the time they were walking up to his elevator, Y/N had convinced herself that he was about to call all of this off. He invited her over but he never actually told her what for, and didn’t allude to anything suggestive. Maybe he wanted her at his flat so he could let her down easily? That she wasn’t what he was looking for, and that they played around a few times but those times weren’t enough for him to want to keep going, or fuck her. Maybe he found someone much better suited to the dynamic than she was. Someone better, more experienced, didn’t whine and complain about not getting to cum. 

Sticky like honey in her lungs turns to sticky like tar. She’d understand if he did want to call it off. Y/N would be sad, for sure – she liked these pockets of intimacy that they shared. Liked that he was so open with her this way, all the things he would say, how he’d praise her. She even liked it when he degraded her, said things that felt humiliating, and stole her orgasms from right under her nose. But again, at the end of the day, Y/N is one of a million, rather than one in a million. So many people covet after him, he could spend this extra time with, and sleep with anyone he wanted. Why would he trouble himself with his mentee? 

Y/N slouches into his flat, bracing herself for a conversation that she didn’t want to have at all. She just hoped he was kind of nice about it – maybe he’d give her tomorrow off if she cried. It would be hard to see him so soon after being rejected, so – 

“Are you okay with kissing?” 

Y/N blinks at him, “Huh?” 

Harry takes a step closer to her, away from his door where she had been kicking off her shoes a bit to the side in the foyer, “Kissing,” he repeats, “We haven’t yet. Do you like it?” 

“Oh – yes,” she agreed, “I do like it. A lot, actually but I thought – I thought you didn’t want to do that with me?” 

He pauses, standing right before her, “Did I ever tell you I didn’t want to kiss you?” 

“Well, no but –” 

Her words are stolen from her by Harry’s mouth. 

This was a surprise; from going to theorizing that he was about to end whatever this dynamic was between them, to his lips pressed against hers is a bit of a whirlwind. Enough that it takes her brain a few seconds to catch up, registering that Harry is kissing her in the first three seconds, and then finally responding to the movement of his mouth in the next two. Y/N can’t remember the last time she was properly kissed – she doesn’t count the drunk ones she and Niall share at all. She means a real, honest-to-god kiss, from someone interested in sleeping with her. His lips are soft where they slot between hers; her upper lip is tucked between both of his and with each push of his mouth to hers he sucks on it gently. 

Harry’s hands hold her face, positioning her head just how he wants it. He tilts and guides her as he starts to deepen it, introducing his tongue with a little, sweet flicker against the seam of her mouth. Y/N opens up for him without hesitation, and Harry wastes no time slipping it in. At first, he’s surprisingly tentative with how he strokes their tongues together. It’s soft, careful, like he’s introducing them to each other, and had Y/N been in a different state of mind, she’d probably indulge in a sweet, sort of shy kiss like this. 

But as it stands, all she has to do is smell Harry and she’s keyed up to 100. Plus, she’s just so ecstatic that this conversation wasn’t him ending things. So her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt and grip it tight, pressing forward and kissing him deeper. For once, she’s the one to catch him off guard, a sweet, new sound leaving him, humming from the back of his throat. His fingers slide from her face to her throat, and one hand trails to the back of her head while the other slips to her hip. He holds her tightly, slips his fingers into her hair, and grips it firmly. Gone is the shy kiss he’d been giving her almost instantly. Now he’s sucking on her lips, licking her tongue, pulling that between puckered lips, and sucking at it gently. 

It gets messy, and Y/N’s already moaning but when he shoves his thigh between her legs again and she’s able to grind down on him, the moans turn more wanton and needy. Harry tries to pull away for a breath and she chases after him blindly, trying to find his mouth again, only stopped by the grip he has on her hair. 

“No, please, please,” she begs, “Keep kissing me, please – kiss me how you eat me out, spit in my mouth, I want it –” 

“Filthy fucking tongue,” he murmurs, “Open you’re mouth.” Y/N opens wide for him and stretches her tongue out for him. Harry spits into her mouth, then pushes his tongue back against hers, swirling it around, feeding it back into her mouth but the second kiss doesn’t last long at all. This time he withdraws and nips at her bottom lip, looking at her with lidded eyes, “Want to know how I know you’ve been a good girl for me? How I know you haven’t touched yourself?” He inquired and Y/N waited for him to answer, humming softly in question, “Because each time we do this, you get more and more depraved and needy. It’s seriously fucking cute seeing a puppy behave so well.” 

Harry guides her to his room, setting her in front of the bed, “Keep being good for me, yeah? And I’ll make you cum.” Y/N thinks her heart skips a beat, pure excitement trapezing through her, “Take off your clothes Pup – all of them.” 

She wiggles out of her bottoms and nearly rips the buttons of her top trying to rush out of them. Harry chuckles warmly at her display, watching as she gets down to her bra and underwear. Y/N only hesitates for a couple of seconds with her bra, trying to remember if this was the first time Harry has seen her tits or not. Now is as good a time as any, she supposes, so she unclips the bra and lets it slide off her arms. Her underwear is next, and she kicks out of it, though she can feel how her juices clung to the fabric. 

Harry urges her onto the bed, climbing in after her. He has a hand on either knee and spreads her open, cooing when he looks down at her, “What a messy little pussy,” he murmurs, before sitting back on his heels, his knees digging into the mattress below him. Harry maneuvers her easily enough, that her bum and lower back rest on the slant of his thighs, and she grabs the back of her knees, keeping herself open for them, “I still want you to tell me when you’re about to cum, okay?” 

She already feels breathless, the position leaves her feeling extra vulnerable and exposed, but Harry keeps looking at her cunt like he wants to bury his face in it so it feels worth it. 

First, Harry takes the pad of his thumb and strokes down her slit. He rubs it against her hole for a little while, just barely any pressure, like he’s playing with what’s leaking from her. Every so often he’ll pull his thumb away a little bit, watch as it clings to his finger before he goes back to rubbing over it. The move makes her pulse around nothing, clenching and squeezing – he gives a breathless laugh, “Just begging for me to fill it up,” he murmured, and she doesn’t know if it was to her or himself. Scared to break the trance she’s in, she says nothing, just watching intensely as he slid his index finger from the top of her slit, down to her hole. 

He sinks it in slow, steady, like it’s his first time every fucking her with it. Y/N mewls, tensing her core muscles so that she doesn't react and tries to buck into him. Nothing was going to stop her from cumming today, especially not a jerk of her muscles. So she’s patient as she could be when he sinks one down to the knuckle, lets her stretch around it, accommodate him. 

Then he pushes into her g-spot and her eyes nearly roll back. 

“I can – I can do another,” she tells him, “I promise – I promise I can do another, you don’t have to – you don’t have to be slow with me, I like when it burns a little.” 

Harry doesn’t respond, and at first she thinks he isn’t going to listen to her, but then when he pulls his index finger back, he wiggles his middle finger beside it. His fingers are long and big so this stretch is a little more, but nothing horrible. Her hands are getting clammy from where they sit beneath her knees, so she repositions them, but it makes her spread out a little further for him. It makes his view better too, she guesses, because he coos again, “Look how hungry she is,” he murmurs, “Sucking my fingers right in. Your poor pussy is just begging to be fucked, Puppy,” he wiggles in a third, drools down so that she’s even slippery with his spit and Y/N’s eyes flutter closed. 

The noise that leaves her is whiny as she tells him, “I’m gonna cum,” her hands dig into the flesh of her thigh, and she shakes with the strength its taking her not to try fucking his fingers, “I – if you keep moving I’ll cum.” 

Harry stills his fingers inside of her and she can feel the stretch even more intensely when he isn’t moving, “Hmm, I’ll give you a choice, Sweetheart,” Y/N honestly doesn’t know if she is in the position to be making any choices right now, but she forces herself to open her eyes that she hadn’t realized she shut. He stays still waiting for the little twitches and pulsations of her pussy to subside as her orgasm ebbs away, “You can either cum for the first time since we’ve started, from my mouth and fingers,” he slowly loops his thumb around her clit, reminding her how engorged it already is, begging to be touched, “Or you can cum from my cock. I’ll let you decide.” 

It really isn’t much of a decision that has to be made.

“Your cock,” she answers, “Oh please, please – I need that, I need you, I wanna feel it I’ve been – I’ve been thinking about it for so long,” she pouts her lip, “Dreaming about it but I can’t even see it in my dreams, it’s so annoying. Want it so bad, I can take it – I can handle – Puppy can handle more, please.” 

Harry makes a sound close to a growly kind of groan, “Fuck,” he slips his fingers out of her, then reaches for his belt, unbuckling it with the speed and dexterity of a man who could chop 20 carrots in one minute. The dark wash of his trousers always made it difficult to make out his bulge, but when he slipped those down, she saw a pair of grey briefs that hid absolutely nothing (not even the wet spot he’d leaked into them). 

He’s big – fucking, mouthwateringly big, and when he reaches below the waistband and pulls his cock from beneath the fabric, Y/N could have gasped. It’s big and it’s pretty; the head is flushed red and glistening with precum, pearly as it hits the light, the shaft is smooth, the skin looks soft and the only bump is a pretty, long vein that runs down the left side of it. His balls sit nice and nestled, looking swollen and full. Harry strokes himself once then squeezes at the base, shivering with it. 

“I didn’t touch myself either,” he admits to her, reaching toward the nightstand and pulling the drawer open. He reveals a condom and lube, tearing into the foil with deft fingers, “I’ve been edging myself with you, yeah?” 

For some reason that makes all of this hotter. There’s a sweat building up at Y/N’s nape and probably a sheen on her forehead, though she’s doing relatively little work. Everything feels warm, like he’d cranked the heater on to 90 degrees and then they ran in place, in his room, over his vent. Y/N watches him slip the condom on, then pop the cap of the lube, drizzling it over his shaft with one hand while he spreads it out with the other. Normally Y/N would argue that she was wet enough that he wouldn’t need it, but with the size of him, she wouldn’t be complaining. 

Harry presses the tip against her but doesn’t press in at first. He pauses, stuffs a pillow beneath her bum, and then scoots closer. It makes the angle better for them, so when he starts to ease the head inside of her, he’s got a better view of what’s going on. 

The stretch is a lot, even for just the tip. Her toes curl hard as her walls make way for him, and he presses more inside of her, slowly, inch-by-inch with his gaze trained on her face, looking for any signs of discomfort or any hint that she might want to stop. Y/N is certain that there is no indication anywhere on her face that she wants to stop, even when she feels so full that she’s certain the tip might be nudging at her throat. Her walls fight to squeeze but he keeps her so spread open that they can only try their best. 

Harry keeps her pinned at the hips, but he stretches over her body. At some point, he lost his shirt so they were pressed together skin-to-skin for the first time and Y/N revels in it. He’s warm, but he isn’t sweaty yet, and his skin feels soft when she carefully starts to touch him. Her fingers skate along his shoulders, pressing into the broad muscle, feeling totally encompassed by him and his body. Harry’s big and beefy, because for some reason a chef needs to have a body fit to wrestle with. He could move her and pin her however he wanted, and she’d have to stay there until he decided he was finished, and she loved the thought of that more than she imagined. 

He distracts her with kisses. Nothing as filthy as the first, but soft, long presses of their mouths while he gives her ample time to stretch around him. It was good – it almost felt like she was cockwarming him which was a fun thought. One she didn’t know if she’d ever get to indulge in, so she indulges in it for the few minutes that she can right now. 

The first roll of his hips is so subtle, Y/N almost doesn’t realize that it happened. She probably wouldn’t have if not for the moan squeezed out of Harry’s chest, when the kisses fall off and he tips his face down into her neck. The next roll is a little more intense, much more noticeable, and when Y/N isn’t wincing in pain or crying out, Harry does more. Each fuck of his hips is accompanied by the squelch of her pussy, how slick she was, and the soft sound of Harry moaning. It was nice to hear that he was just as worked up as she had been – that he’d been edging himself too, the whole time. 

Harry sets a steady pace as he feels the waters out, and he’s at just the right angle that he rubs up against her g-spot with each stroke. It’s too good – mind-numbingly so. Harry has his grip on her hips and starts to pull her down to meet him each time, decreasing the amount of time it takes for him to bottom out. Y/N’s legs loop around his waist, “Can I help?” She asks, “Can I move – can I move mine?” 

He chuckles again, and it vibrates through her whole body, “Sure, Puppy,” he murmured, “Whatever you want. You’ve been so good, you deserve it.” 

It’s not much help, but Y/N is glad to not be forcing her muscles still when all they wanted to do was meet each one of his thrusts. His fingers dug into her flesh, leaving grape-sized indents as he snapped his hips into her. Y/N can feel him throbbing through the condom every once in a while when he goes particularly deep. A sheen of sweat starts to glisten over his skin, and his hair is falling out of the gel that had kept it all prim and proper. Unruly curls start to emerge from beneath it and Y/N is obsessed already. She needs to see them freshly washed, with his hair fluffy, and his cheeks flushed from the heat of his shower. 

Harry leaves one hand on her hips, but the other he reaches to her face, and cradles her cheek with it. With the pad of his thumb, he strokes her bottom lip and a shudder runs down her spine when she realizes what he’s about to do. Sinking two fingers into her mouth, Y/N sucks at them greedily, even pressing forward to take them deeper. Harry pets her tongue and she drools around his knuckles much quicker this time, already having trouble swallowing the spit in her mouth. 

“Just need something in this sweet little mouth all the time, huh, Puppy?” He murmured, “Might have to get you a chew toy.” 

There is something about it. How degrading it is, how if anyone else heard him saying that it would be humiliating, how Harry says it with such conviction like he knows her and what she needs better than she even does. All of it together sends her spiraling, but a random bead of panic starts to slither through her veins. Her fingers grip his biceps, digging into them, “I’m  – Harry,” her eyes feel wide and wild, she’s speaking around his fingers until he pulls them out enough for her to hear him clearer, “I’m going to cum if you don’t stop, I’ll – I’ll cum –” and somewhere in her head she remembers Harry telling her she could, but to go so long without it – it almost doesn’t feel real that he was going to let her. Was it a trick? An elaborate ploy? Was he going to pull out of her again? Or maybe ruin her orgasm? 

Harry seems like he understands, nodding his head and shushing her, “I know, baby,” he murmurs, collecting her hands by the wrists and stretching them above her head, pinning them there with only one of his. He fucks into her a little quicker, his face closer to hers, their noses pressed into each other, “It’s okay, you did so good. Such a good girl, you can cum for me, yeah? Cum all pretty for me, I can’t wait to feel it.” 

Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever understood in stories when they said their vision blurred or their hearing fuzzed out. She’s had good orgasms but not earth-shattering ones by any means – not from her exes or herself. Something that took the tension out of her muscles but then she was able to come back from relatively calmly. 

This was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. The sound she makes is guttural, deep from her belly as she arches into him as much as she can in this position. Her legs are twisted so tightly around his hips that she’s surprised he can keep moving while he fucks her through it, but he does. Tears beaded up in her eyes and slipped down her temples before she could try to do anything to stop them. Her eyes are squeezed shut as the pleasure, white-hot and staticky, slices through her. And the force of her orgasm alone, plus the sudden addition of Harry’s fingers to her swollen clit, pushes Harry’s cock out of her. She hears herself squirt more than she sees it, both the sound and Harry’s pleased reaction to it. 

He slows his fingers down, rubbing over her whole pussy instead while she twitched and trembled, whining and oversensitive as she started to come down from it. Somewhere she was able to muster enough strength to lift her wrist, now that Harry wasn’t holding onto them anymore, and reach between them. Harry had already slipped the condom off, and Y/N wrapped her fingers around his shaft, but Harry must have known that she wasn’t going to be a ton of help right then. So he loops his fingers over hers and fucks their hands, moving them up and down over his cock only a couple of times before he’s starting to cum too. It’s loud, and pretty how his mouth falls open, his skin flushed down his neck a rosy red. There’s so much of it, white and scorching as it shoots from the tip, all over her belly, one shot going as far as her breasts, and a lot of it oozing and pooling over their fingers together. 

Y/N is floating – like seriously, she feels like she might be levitating right now. She’s exhausted and sensitive all over, only able to watch as Harry reaches back into his nightstand for baby wipes. Despite his gentle warning, “It’s going to be cold, Sweetheart.” She still jumps when it touches her skin, carefully cleaning up all the cum he’d emptied onto her. He uses two to get it off of her, then crumples them up and tosses them in the waste bin, before collapsing beside her. 

“I’ll –” she starts, trying to find the words, “I can leave soon if you – if you want me to.” 

Harry, in a move more tender and soft than she would expect from him, holds out his arm. 

“What I want you to do is come closer,” he explained, “I’m not sending you away after that. Let’s come down together, and if you want to go then you can, but for now, we’ll stay right here.” 

Y/N wiggled closer to him, then paused, checked to see if that was too close and when he stared at her with his arms still held out, she wiggled even closer. All the way until she was pressed up against his body, back to skin-to-skin, as he envelopes her in his arms. Y/N nestles herself close, hiding her face in the area where his neck and chest meet, and he doesn’t seem to mind it. 

“We’ll stay just like this,” he promises, “For as long as we need to.” 

Content and safe, Y/N starts to fall asleep almost instantly. 

[jawllines]

Did she hear him right? 

“Huh?” 

“Do you like feeling out of control of your body?” Oh, so she had definitely heard him right. 

“I mean like. . .like I guess it depends on the context?” Her mind is whirling, spinning wildly, flinging around, knocked off its axis, and careening like a piece of rock flying through space. Why did she say that — why did he ask that?

Harry laughed – it’s a real thing; something she’d only briefly heard a couple of times when they were out with each other last week. This one doesn’t last very long, but it truly is a gleeful sound, as he shakes his head quietly to himself, “Depends on the context, huh?” He repeated, and Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen him so amused. It makes something twist in her belly, low and deep, that she’d rather ignore. 

or

Harry thinks Y/N is cute and Y/N is having horny nightmares

part 1

(18K+ words)

ii.

“He said what?” 

Y/N has always believed that there were people who liked sitting on the floor and people who avoided it at all costs. She had always been a floor sitter, for as long as she could remember. When she was younger, she’d play on the floor with all her stuffed animals and dolls. Then she got a little older, and laid on her stomach over the purple faux fur rug she begged her parents for (only for her cousin to spill wine right in the center of it on a summer visit) while she pretended to do homework and study, but listened to music and daydreamed about her crushes. And when she was in college, she’d have her legs spread out on the floor surrounded by notes she actively ignored while stalking her (now ex) boyfriend online. Then she went to culinary school, and there really weren’t a lot of options to sit on the floor in the kitchen, yet somehow she always found herself with her bum on the linoleum after cleaning up, waiting for her food to be finished in the oven. 

And now she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom overanalyzing every interaction she’d had with her boss. 

The thing is, she knew the whole point of her taking home his shirt to get the stain out was so that her spilling the drink on him didn’t plague her every thought this whole break they had – but that actually did very little to help. It wasn’t just spilling the drink that tormented her, but every waking moment she spent thinking about the whole night. From the second Harry plopped down in the booth across from her, to the moment he’d let her door swing shut behind him. Each memory twists, spins, and dances along the forefront of her brain to the sound of Beethoven's 5th Symphony because she’d recently heard it in a commercial and it’s stuck in her head. The music swells, crescendoing, Harry’s carefully curating a lettuce wrap and making her eat them, then there’s a lull of sweet violins and he’s smiling at her dancing with Niall with his drink in hand, and they start beating on the kettle drum around the time Harry’s pulling his shirt off, saying she flusters easily, calling the side he saw of her cute. 

Just a month ago, Y/N would have expected cats to pose a coup against the government and throw the whole country into a state of chaos and fish-flavored treats before believing that Harry would have ever even thought anything about her existence. Apart from annoyance, at least. Despite Harry going out of his way to email her professor and let her know that he wanted Y/N to study under him, she often wondered if he even liked her. Technically, you didn’t have to like someone to work with them or to teach them. He’d seen promise in her and seemed like he wasn’t particularly fond of her as a person, but she’d accepted that with relative grace for the last year. Again, there were moments when she wished for a closer relationship with him but she’d given up that dream about five months in when he still hadn’t referred to her by name and Adam and Niall were already sharing inside jokes.

So to think now that he had smiled at her with dimples and called her cute? It doesn’t even feel real. 

The morning after, her head was throbbing and she was convinced that the mushrooms Harry had cooked on the grill were actually psilocybin and she’d had a psychoactive hallucination for the rest of the night (because that had seemed more likely than any of what she was remembering). Then she sees his shirt, soaking in her sink where she’d left it the night before, and it feels a bit more tangible. Her face feels hot because now she’s completely sober and embarrassed over every single word she uttered. Then it feels like her cheeks might melt off when she thinks about how she saw his bare torso, and how she knows his nipples pebble quickly when he’s cold, and how he has laurel tattoos leading down to his dick like it’s a prized possession. 

With a face hot enough to melt ice, she diligently works to get the stain out of his shirt. There’s a concoction of many different laundry agents that her mum had to teach her when the grass stains from playing outside turned into the blood stains of an angry uterus. It works well to get the brown liquid out of the shirt, maybe even making it whiter than she started. For a quick, pathetic second she wishes she hadn’t started soaking it last night so she could have pressed her nose to the fabric and seen what it smelled like – but then she wipes that thought from her brain and pretends she never had it.  

The rest of the day she forced herself to tidy up, do laundry (that wasn’t Harry’s), and go grocery shopping in preparation for the threatening snowstorm. She prepped a roast that she would throw in her slow cooker the following morning, then snuggled with Hazelnut and a hastily made sandwich. Every couple of minutes an image of Harry from last night doing something flashes through her brain like a strike of lightning that she’s desperate to ignore. It could have been worse though, she decided, that maybe her brain had finally taken mercy on her and stuffed this down into a locked box. 

Until Niall called her just before she started to get ready for bed. 

“Okay, I think I’ve allotted us both plenty of time to get over the hangover,” he started, “Now what happened when you and Harry left the club?” 

So that’s how Y/N found herself stretched out on the floor, phone pressed to her ear, Hazelnut taking it upon herself to sit heavily on Y/N’s chest and make it a little harder to breathe. She’ll blame Niall for prying open the box she’d just tried locking and sealing (even though she did a poor job of locking and sealing it in the first place) because it’s incredibly hard to act like it didn’t happen when she’s recounting it to Niall. Niall, who gasps at everything, from Harry opening the car door for her (a tiny gasp and a murmured, “He totally wants to fuck,”), to him peeling off his shirt, (a louder gasp, another murmur, only this time a question, “Oh my god, did you guys fuck?), to him more or less calling drunk-easy-to-fluster Y/N cute. 

“He said what?” 

Y/N covers her face with one hand, “That the side he saw of me last night was cute.” 

“Oh my god,” she can picture Niall’s face, mouth ajar, his hair pressed from his forehead by the fluffy polka dot headband she forced on him – she’d just heard him spit the toothpaste out of his mouth, so she knew he was washing up for bed, “Y/N he is trying to fuck you. This isn’t even me being delusional.” 

She swallows, “I mean, it’s a little delusional, all he did was compliment me,” she plucks at her bottom lip, sighing, readjusting her hips with a grimace because they hate the floor sitting agenda, “If you can even call it that. Now that I repeat it, it sounds like he was making fun of me.” 

The faucet turns on, on Niall’s end, “If Harry were any other man, I might believe you and think it was just a compliment,” he sounds like he’s drowning while she speaks, so he must have moved on to washing his face, “But he isn’t just any other man. This is Harry – I don’t think he does or says anything that isn’t deliberate. Taking off his shirt, saying you’re flustered easily, calling the side he’d seen of you cute – this man wants you to slobber on him. Or maybe he wants to slobber on you. A mutual slobbering.” 

Y/N laughs and the movement of her chest annoys Hazelnut enough to peek her eyes open at her but not to move off, “I don’t know, I just keep replaying like every moment and hating how I responded and reacted. Like. . okay, let’s say we aren’t being delusional and he does want to sleep with me – I definitely blew it. I was not sultry or seductive and I sounded like a dumbass.” 

“Honestly, I don’t think that’s what he wants at all,” she could hear him splash more water on his face, “Not to speculate, but I think he wants someone easy to fluster and cute – both of which you are. I don’t know much about him besides that he scares the fuck out of me, but from how he was last night, he just seems like the type to tease and taunt. He probably went home and got off thinking about your face after he said it.” The water turns off, “What kind of car does he drive? Was it nice?” 

She knuckles at her eyes, “It was so nice – some kind of SUV, but it had seat warmers and drink warmers. And he didn’t ask what I wanted to listen to, but he picked a playlist that had a suspicious amount of artists I listen to.” 

“He’s probably stalking your socials,” Niall deduces, “Or he’s listening when we think he isn’t. Think about how many times we’ve been talking in the kitchen with him around. He probably knows more about you than you think.” Niall sighs, “Alright, babe, I need to put on this face mask and get ahold of Adam – he called like 3 times while we were talking ‘cos he wants me on League. You should probably start looking for toys around Harry’s size to train, ‘cos how long has it been since you’ve slept with anyone? You’re practically a virgin now.” 

“Oh God, goodnight Ni.” 

Y/N clicked off the phone, flopped it down on the floor beside her, and made no move to get up. Hazelnut doesn’t either, barely even stirring when Y/N covers her face with her palms again and groans. Delusions aside, it was a little helpful to have spoken it out loud – the thoughts had been vibrating, pushed up against her skull, ready to seep through her ears had she kept it to herself any longer. Niall had put more things to think about in her head though – the possibility that Harry wanted to sleep with her, for one. 

There’s no way – she knows there’s no way. . .but. . .but like, was there a way? 

No. No there wasn’t – she’s being silly. The other night Harry was just looser than he was when he was in the kitchen, that’s all. Adam had even said he was excited for them to see who Harry was outside of his role as a boss, so maybe this is just what he was like. He’d been kind to Niall too – he certainly hadn’t been feeding Niall as diligently as he was feeding her, and maybe when she would look over she’d catch his gaze more often than Niall did but he was looking at the both of them, right? Just watching his subordinates have fun. No thoughts other than being able to relax and show a side of himself that he doesn’t allow outside of the kitchen. His attitude must have just been softened by good food and his glass of whiskey, or whatever. Or maybe it was all about the vibes – which had been immaculate that night – he might have just been in a good mood too. 

He probably just felt guilty because she told him that he was scary and that contributed to her whole passing out thing. And, despite prior interactions and feelings before he’d started being the tiniest bit more gentle – Harry was someone who had a heart and a conscience. There’s a chance that he didn’t necessarily want to come off as scary, but his austerity and desire for structure and success made him come off that way. 

So, once again, she tries to carefully pack away the night and the thoughts of him looking at her in any way other than his apprentice that he’s become at least the tiniest bit fond of. Or, at least, one that he cares about even a little. 

If she goes and looks at eight-inch, silicone dildos – well, that’s her business. 

                                                              .                           .                            .

Snow blankets the ground by the time she goes back to work. 

The weather had been all over the place the last couple of days, so she was happy that they had them off, even if it meant she couldn’t do much with her time but rot away inside. Clouds couldn’t decide whether they wanted to spit out freezing rain, sleet, or snow until they settled for big, fluffy white flakes that refused to melt along her window panes. Sometimes a random, intense gust of wind would rattle the glass and pique Hazelnut’s attention but otherwise, her flat had decided to be kind to her and withstand the intense weather. Her furnace stayed warm and her water heater kept running, and even though a few times her service was a little spotty, things remained in relative working order. 

Being stuck inside did very little to soothe her overactive brain but each day that passes, last Friday seems like a distant memory. Something closer to a dream – at least that’s what she’s going to pretend like it was. And after a near treacherous time getting from her flat to the restaurant in the still icy cold weather, all she could think about was how to warm her frostbitten hands. Despite coming in later in the day, the sun did very little to warm anything where it was hidden beneath the clouds. Y/N finds herself wishing hopelessly that she was back in her bed, pressed up against Hazelnut’s warm little body, but no matter how many times she closes her eyes, she opens them to see nothing but practical snowy tundra in front of her.

Because the universe has something against her, the first person she sees when she steps through the door is Harry. He doesn’t drop to the floor and kiss her feet like Niall seems to think he’d do, but he does give pause when he usually wouldn’t. Head tilted, eyes curious, “You seem cold.” 

Y/N can barely get a laugh out, her lungs frosted over and stiff, “Yeah,” she agreed, “It’s freezing outside.” He continued to stare at her, and. . .well, yeah, things have changed but haven’t really. The stare he levels her with makes her mouth move while her brain tries to catch up, turning into a fumbled, rambled mess of words, “That’s um – I don’t really like driving when it's snowy and icy like this, so I have to take the subway here. And they haven’t really taken care of the sidewalks well enough, so there’s still a lot of snow to walk through and I don’t have snow boots so my shoes are like. . .like sopping wet, so I’m pretty cold, yeah. I’ll warm up soon though, being here – s’always hot in here.” 

Harry looks displeased, brows knitted, “You don’t have boots?” 

“Um, no? I’ve never really had boots for the snow since we – it doesn’t get that bad, that often.” 

They are quiet for a moment, an awkward tension thick in the air. Y/N was stupid for even considering that Friday night might change their dynamic because this is much of the same. Weird breaks in the conversation, uncomfortable periods of heavy silence, and Y/N feeling stupid after every word she spoke. It must’ve been the shots and the presence of Niall and Adam who very rarely let the mood get unpleasant. It had nothing to do with her, with Harry realizing anything – yeah, maybe he found some aspects of her cute, but she’s also still not entirely sure she didn’t hallucinate that. 

“You’ll be with Oliver today,” he changed the subject abruptly, motioning toward their saucier standing at a station she rarely gets time at – it would be good for today, considering all the different, intricate sauces and gravies they have on their seasonal menu around dinner time, “His shift ends soon. When he leaves, I’ll take over with you.” 

That’s all he says before pivoting on his heel and disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Y/N to trek to the coat room so she could disrobe her winter garments. 

The day goes as a typical day goes – the evening is busy, busy, busy but Oliver is nice and helps remind her of the basic principles Harry had taught her about sauces. How to get the right consistency, the proper flavoring, and what to do if it doesn’t turn out right the first time. He’s not much of a teacher but in this case, Y/N doesn’t need a teacher, just a guide – that’s the only reason why Harry would allow her to be following someone else. The first part of her night goes relatively fast with the number of people desperate to eat their food after being denied it for several days. She thinks the second half of the night slows, but only because Oliver is smiling at her regretfully when he tells her he’s clocking out and Harry will be covering the rest of his shift. 

It isn’t bad – it’s the same as before, which should be good, but Y/N can’t help being a little bummed about it. For all she’d convinced herself that Harry didn’t want her like that, there was a sliver of her that still hoped that she was wrong. That Niall had been correct in his interpretations and Harry was actually chomping at the bit to slobber on her, or with her, or mutual slobbering – whatever he’s said. That he pulled off his shirt in front of her because he wanted her to think about it for days and days and days. That he was teasing her because he wanted his dick inside her too. 

Alas, this wasn’t a movie. Or a show. Or a book. If it was, then she thinks the setup for them to have a riveting, whirlwind romance is there but sadly, this is real life. Harry was nice to her because she was drunk, had recently called him scary, and she’s pretty sure he knew she was crying when he yelled at her last time. 

Being the same as before meant he was still making an effort to encourage her more, which is nice. Y/N guesses she’s most glad that he isn’t trying to prove to her that their dynamic hasn’t changed by being rough with her again. When he tastes the bordelaise sauce she prepared, he nods his head, “It’s good,” he complimented, “Add a bit more pepper and it’ll be better.” 

She still feels like she’s glowing when Harry verbally compliments her food, no matter what the compliment is, it’s much better than just a grunt and a pissed-off look on his face. Y/N tries not to show too much that she’s gleaming, but she feels the stretch on her cheeks long after he’d disappeared to answer Adam calling for him. Like being praised by a kitchen deity; or a kiss of favor by a kitchen king. 

Harry’s freshly washed, unstained shirt has been folded neatly in her bag all day, waiting for the perfect time to hand it off to him. She knew better than to do it in front of the other staff because gossip runs through this place like a grease fire, difficult to snuff out. Y/N might have been saved for the fact that the number one runner of the rumor mill, in charge of oiling all its gears, is Niall – but he’s a sucker for a good story. If someone got him going, he’d probably reveal his whole theory about Harry wanting to sleep with her. 

It’s easy to find the time to give it to him because she and Harry are always the last in the kitchen. Everyone cleans up, but Harry specifically delegates her to help him with storing what’s left, putting in orders for the inventory diminished by their day of work, and tidying after they’ve tidied. A double tidy – to make sure everything is actually clean. 

On a normal day, Y/N would be whining about this, but it does allow her to hand him his shirt after they’d finished. 

“Harry?” She called to him, still feeling a little weird not referring to him more formally while they were here. Harry hums from where he was tucked away in the office so Y/N ambles her way over. She reaches into her bag and has it set out on her hand before he even turns around from the file cabinet he’s digging in, “I – your shirt,” she says, very intelligibly, of course, “I have it.” 

When he turns around, he seems surprised – like he must have forgotten about it, “Oh?” Tentatively, he takes it from her hand, unfolding it. An impressed look twitches at his eyebrows, “You really got the stain out.” 

“You didn’t think I would?” Y/N pressed, pulling her bag more firmly over her shoulder. 

“I didn’t know if you could,” he countered, carefully folding it back up, “Brown liquor is notoriously difficult to get out of clothes – a white shirt at that. Are you sure you don’t want a career in dry cleaning?” 

Y/N huffed a laugh through her nose, eyes rolling as she turned on her heel, “Very funny. Goodnight, Harry.” 

“I hope you aren’t planning on taking the subway again,” he mentions before she can get too far. It does make her pause, twisting back to face him, head tilted because. . .well, how else was she supposed to get home? “It’s dark and even colder than when you came in. You’d be lucky to make it home without a cold.” 

She tugs at the end of her scarf, “I – well, I don’t really like spending money on Ubers though, and their prices skyrocket in this kind of weather, so –” 

“So I’ll take you home,” he answers definitively, “Let me get my coat.” 

Harry disappears toward the coat closet before Y/N can even register what he’s suggested. Or rather, what he told her was going to happen. There had been really no room to argue and, honestly? Y/N wouldn’t have argued, to begin with. The thought of trekking through the snow and ice while a thin layer of frost formed over her eyes seemed horrific, and she’s certain her toes almost froze to the point of snapping off on the way here. She couldn’t even find it in herself to do a polite, pretend denial of it. One of those, “Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that? Really? Okay, only if you’re sure!” Instead, she just follows Harry out to his car and tries not to eat shit on the pavement when her feet catch on the patches of ice. 

He pops the car door open for her and waits until she’s fully seated before shutting it and walking to his side. Y/N realizes that she’s much less suited for a car ride when she isn’t a couple of drinks in, so her blood is sort of roaring in her ears. Harry shivers when he gets in and keys the engine to life. 

It’s quiet while they wait for his car to warm up. Y/N wondered if it would be too awkward to ruffle around through her purse and grab her phone, so she could at least look kind of busy, and not seem as socially inept as she did right now. Or maybe Harry just thinks she’s tired – which isn’t a lie. Y/N is sleepy; it weighs heavily on her bones, especially after having so much time off. It’s hard to return to being a productive member of society when she’d lounged around with Hazelnut for the last few days. 

“Why didn’t you ask Niall to bring you home?” Harry inquired, finally, piercing through the silence. 

Y/N hums, shifting in her seat, pleased by the seat warmer melting heat into her bum, “He and Adam were g’na have one of their League nights, so I didn’t want to make them wait for me.” It’s true – Y/N’s always there earlier than everyone and later than everyone because Harry is her mentor and those are the hours Harry works. That would’ve meant an additional 30 minutes eating into their weird little cult video game thing, and at that point, they’d try to drag her with them to make sure they didn’t lose any more play time. Y/N loves them but she doesn’t need to be involved. 

“League?” Harry sounds confused and Y/N sighs – maybe he does hear a lot in the kitchen, but he blocks out a lot too. Y/N wishes that was an option for her, but Niall will just debrief her on everything anyway, so it’s better to listen for the first go around. 

“League of Legends,” she replies, “Their game that they go bananas over – don’t ask me to explain it, I don’t understand a thing and Ni will go on about it for hours if you let him. Once we tried ecstasy together and he made me listen to a 40-minute spiel about this show based on it. The show was good though, so I get it.” 

Y/N doesn’t realize her slip-up until Harry hums softly, “Ecstasy, huh?” 

The blood drains from her body, flushes from her face, down her chest, through her belly, spinning out of her legs, and through the bottoms of her feet. Oh my god – how the fuck did she let that slip? Maybe she could’ve said that when she was drunk and could use that as an excuse, but now? Completely sober? What if Harry gets rid of her on the spot? Pushes her out of the car? No chef training under him is going to have experimented with ecstasy a year ago. 

“Oh, I – um – that’s – that was a lie.” 

“A lie?” He repeated, “You know how I feel about liars.” Her face pulls into a look of true and utter distraught panic, opening her mouth to explain herself, but she’s cut off, “Just kidding,” his face does not suggest he’s joking at all, apart from the tiniest twitch of his mouth, “I don’t care what you do and try, as long as you don’t come to work impaired by any measure,” he slows to a stop at a light, then briefly turns to face her, “Understand?” 

She nods, eyes wide, nervous, “I – yes,” she tells him, “I’m sorry for – still, I didn’t mean to tell you that. And I don’t want you to think I do it regularly! We just wanted to see what it was like – or at least I did, the last time Ni did it was in UNI during a rave, and I definitely get why people do it at raves because – yeah. But I haven’t done it since.” Y/N kind of wishes someone would shove their hand over her mouth to make her stop talking (Harry, preferably, but she thinks that would probably make her moan). She’s just stuck in the perpetual need to impress him, and finding out that she and one of his other learning chefs did ecstasy and then talked about a video game for 40 minutes is like. . .not impressive at all. 

Harry’s gaze darts around her face like he’s looking for something. Or maybe he’s just registering that she’s freaking the hell out. Whatever it was he finds, he turns back to the front and slowly eases the car past the light once it turns green, “I won’t judge you,” he finally says, “I’ve done it before.”

Y/N had never once learned anything personal about Harry in their time together. Everything she knew about him was based on old interviews and untested hypotheses because picking his brain was impossible. He was someone who believed that work was for just that. . working; there was no time for gossiping, sharing anecdotes about each other’s lives, discussing interests, and through that somehow decrypting their political ideologies. So Y/N knew nothing about him, except for the amount of salt he thought necessary to add to certain dishes and his preferred method of slicing onions. 

So this was – riveting information, actually. A tidbit – a small sliver into Harry’s life that she’d never been granted before. She takes it in, and – greedy as she is – wants more. 

“You have?” She turns to face him more, “That’s – that’s crazy! When did you?” 

Harry pulls right, driving down a relatively quiet street. For a Thursday night, there wasn’t as much hustle and bustle as usual, but that makes sense with all the snow. Nobody wanted to risk breaking their front teeth on the pavement because of poorly shoveled and salted walkways, “My second year of culinary school,” he replied, “After a particularly grueling semester. Someone in my class offered it to Adam, who then offered it to me.” 

“That’s – whoa,” she says, very intelligibly, and she thinks she hears Harry puff through his nose an amused noise, “Did you ever do it again?” 

He shook his head, “No. I don’t like feeling out of control of my body.” Then, he tacts on, “Do you?” 

Y/N stilled, blinking at him. 

Did she hear him right? 

“Huh?” 

“Do you like feeling out of control of your body?” Oh, so she had definitely heard him right. 

“I mean like. . .like I guess it depends on the context?” Her mind is whirling, spinning wildly, flinging around, knocked off its axis, and careening like a piece of rock flying through space. Why did she say that — why did he ask that?

Harry laughed – it’s a real thing; something she’d only briefly heard a couple of times when they were out with each other last week. This one doesn’t last very long, but it truly is a gleeful sound, as he shakes his head quietly to himself, “Depends on the context, huh?” He repeated, and Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen him so amused. It makes something twist in her belly, low and deep, that she’d rather ignore. 

“Why do you – um – why do you ask?” Her face felt hot. 

There was a smile on his lips that she’d never seen before – taunting, goading, before he answered simply, “No reason,” with a pleasant-sounding sigh, even though Y/N thought that there was definitely a reason, but there was certainly no way that the reason is the reason that she was thinking about. Because if it was then. . .then that would mean that maybe her and Niall’s grandiose delusions had more accuracy than they originally thought. And if that were true, then that would mean Harry is thinking about doing the naughty, despicable, filthy things that Niall has been prophesying for weeks now.

The rest of the ride is quiet, though it’s not very long – just five minutes of Y/N fidgeting with her fingers in her lap before they pull into her complex. Harry remembered the way from the last time he dropped her off – she’d only realized at the end of the trip that she didn’t have to direct him once. He pushed the car into park, then turned to face her, still seeming humored, his eyes tickled with an emotion she doesn’t see often from him. So infrequently, in fact, that she didn’t know what emotion it was. . .just that it wasn’t the typical, aloof gaze that he normally leveled her with. 

“Thank you,” she gathered her purse in her lap and gripped the straps like they’d keep her from saying something stupid, “Have a sweet night, or good dreams, or – have, um – christ,” the grip hadn’t worked, “Have a good night.” 

Harry nodded politely toward her, “I’m sure I will,” he replied, “You too.” 

As Y/N took the elevator to her floor, walked to her door, ambled her way through her flat while she started shedding layers, and made her way to the bathroom (all while Hazelnut slithers around her ankles), her mind raced. Niall had heard from his friend’s, dog’s, cousin’s, owner’s sister (or whatever) that Harry was a freak, hadn’t he? That he was into different kinky dynamic play, how his dick is huge, he edges people for weeks, he fucks nasty. Did he actually want to do that with her? Why else would he ask a question about her opinion on feeling out of control of her body? 

Or – fuck, did he really just want to know if she did other drugs? And then she accidentally made it weird saying it depended on the context. Like, seriously – what other context could there be? Drugs, alcohol, or giving your body to a kinky sadist and letting them make decisions over it? She seriously thought her face could melt off from how much heat it held, despite the way glacial winds battered against her cheeks while she walked to the front door. 

Of course, she updated Niall, after her shower, when droplets of water were still clinging to her skin and she avoided stepping out of the bathroom because she knew it would be freezing. 

Ten minutes later, she gets a reply (probably in the middle of a snack break, or a piss break – they have one scheduled in every thirty minutes of their gaming). 

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!!! 

He might as well just tell you he wants to fuck at this point, he’s being so obvi 

Should you show up to work in a collar and buttplug or would that be too much? 

                                                         .                            .                             .

The thing is – Harry is a professional. 

There are no lingering gazes or suggestive questions during work hours, nor are there references or insinuations that they’d ever spent even a moment together outside this kitchen. Again, unless being scrutinized by the razor-sharp eye of the deluded, their relationship dynamic hasn’t changed by much. However, Harry is much more giving with compliments, or soft praises to encourage her. She roasted a rack of lamb the other day and when Harry tasted it, accompanied with a careful hum and a pissed-off face, he verbalized, “This is good,” with a nod of his head, “It can be even better next time. We’ll work on the seasonings together.” 

So that’s nice – because Y/N doesn’t necessarily want to be the source of kitchen gossip. For example, when one of the servers that used to work there started hooking up with Vivian, their saucier, only for Vivian to find out the server had a wife.  Then she found out at the beginning of their shift one day, promptly cried about it to the other kitchen staff (the kind of inconsolable sniffles that were hard to stop), and as Y/N recalls, Harry had said something like, “Take the day to compose yourself, we don’t need tears in the sauce.” Which. . .could he have been nicer about it? He sure could have, but the more she grew to know him, the more she realized that this was Harry being nice.

(He’d run the sauce station that day, had Y/N follow him around like the imprinted duckling she acted like, and – mysteriously – the server quit a couple of weeks after that.) 

The moral of the story was – if people were fucking at work, they kept quiet about it. As long as nobody brought the drama and theatrics of their relationship into the kitchen, and so long as their meals never paid the price of the emotional toil an argument in the break room could have – Harry didn’t care what anyone did. Though Y/N isn’t sure if he knows who is rendezvousing with who. He doesn’t care to concern himself with petty things like that – or so Y/N thinks. It’s just the vibes he gives off. 

Does he give off the vibe of someone who would fuck an employee? Well. . .Y/N and Niall have differing responses to this question. If you ask Niall, Harry is frothing at the mouth to stick his hands down Y/N’s pants in the pantry room and make her beg for him to spit on her tongue. If you ask Y/N – yeah, Harry kind of does seem like he’s into that, but she couldn’t be positive that he wanted it from her. Or, maybe he might, but he’d realize how inexperienced she is in kink and that could be a turn-off.  Who wants to have to teach someone how to fuck the way they like it? That’d probably be so aggravating, especially for him. Up until recently, she thinks he barely liked teaching her anything to begin with and that was the basis of their relationship. 

“You’ve clearly haven’t read enough corruption kink literature,” Niall flicked her ankle, Y/N’s foot resting on his thigh while he carefully brushed the nail polish over her pinky toenail (Y/N helped him get rid of his calluses and ingrown nails in a very grueling “at-home-spa” day last week, so this was his repayment – he was surprisingly very serious about it and doing a great job), “I’ll send you some recommendations.” 

Y/N sighed, dropping her head against the back of her couch, and narrowly avoided landing on Hazelnut (who lifted her head and glared momentarily before going back to sleep), “He’s been – like, you know how he has me come in on off days to practice?” Niall hummed a small nod, “Beyond a few subtle things I’m definitely reading into, he doesn’t mention anything crazy at all. I’m starting to feel like he just wants to fuck with me.” 

“Fuck with you, fuck you – it’s the same difference,” he shrugged, pressed the brush back into the bottle and dunked it a few times, “Harry is a serious guy, yeah? He’s not going to interrupt prep or cooking with clear signals that he wants to blow your back out. It’s why he only does or says shit kind of blatant outside of that environment – his personal and work life are separate.” Niall tilted his head to the side, “I’d say you’re one more outing from the work setting away from him having you call him Daddy, but that’s just my hypothesis.” 

With her unpainted foot, she nudged his knee and ignored him when he clicked his tongue, scolding her for it, “Shut up,” she sighed again, “Ugh, I want to fuck him.” 

“In due time,” he murmured wisely, “Now stop moving your damn foot before I paint the whole toe.” 

Niall did have a point and it did stand with Y/N’s – Harry is a professional through and through. There’s no way he would hint anything at work, right? At least definitely not during working hours. She guesses why she’s frustrated, is because there aren’t many opportunities that involve her and Harry outside of the kitchen. So they’re basing all these theories off the whole two times something kind of happened, and it would probably be an outstanding amount of time before they were alone outside of the restaurant again. 

Unless Adam could convince him to come out for dinner and drinks again, but – well, Y/N doesn’t see that happening any time soon. 

                                                                    .                         .                       .

Y/N was in a bad mood. 

It was mostly hormonal, she knew that; this morning she woke up to her period which had been looming over her with threats in the form of symptoms. Her breasts were tender, her lower back ached, and the fatigue was so intense it was hard for her to stay awake for more than a couple hours at a time on her off days. Plus she was horny and hungry, in equal, large, thought-consuming amounts which was the biggest red flag (no pun intended). Still, she could have had an LED sign light up on her ceiling that said YOU’RE PERIOD STARTED!!! and she still would have worn the same shocked, annoyed expression when she wiped after peeing. 

Thankfully she’d only bled in her underwear, but still, she was annoyed that it forced her hand to start laundry. And all she wanted to do was eat a breakfast sandwich, take a bath, and crawl back into bed but she needed to be at work in a couple of hours. There were errands she needed to run, Hazelnut had a vet appointment, and she thinks she promised her neighbor she’d change the batteries in their smoke alarm (it was an older couple, who had no business standing on a chair to reach it). A list of things that were daunting on a normal day, but even worse today, and she had to work a busy shift on top of that. 

Things have been hectic at work lately – it always is after the holidays, so they’ve been running around like crazy. Even Harry and Adam have had to jump in even more than they already do, preparing dishes, cooking the meat, sauteing vegetables, and the like – because they’ve been getting slammed. Both during the day for lunch and at night – Y/N wonders if the rich were trying to quell their seasonal depression with fancy meals or something. So she knew that having a nice, easy night wasn’t promising, and while she woke up in a foul mood already, that did nothing but worsen it. 

Then, to add icing to it, her ex messages her again and she should really just block the dumbass’s number but something in her heart won’t let her. So there was that too. 

Still, she goes about her business in the morning and when she gets to work, she puts on that she’s doing just fine. Y/N had always been a firm believer that you shouldn’t make your bad mood other people’s issue, so she tries to keep it to herself as much as she can. And she’s good at it too – only Niall notices that she’s more grumpy than normal, and it wasn’t for anything but the sound of her laugh being just a touch different. Niall is very in tune with the people he considers himself close with, so a tonal shift of any kind has his brain dinging. He seems to know the root of the issue before Y/N could disclose it (sometimes she wonders if he has a tracker on his phone to keep up with her dates) because at lunch there’s a piece of chocolate and two paracetamol waiting for her in the breakroom. 

Everyone else doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong either, save for Harry, maybe. It feels like his eyes are more keen on her today than they typically are on her, following her around the kitchen. Or maybe he’s just in super mentor mode and is making sure her dishes are being prepared correctly, even in the fast-paced environment of a dinner rush. Either or, every time she looked up his eyes bore into her with the same apathetic glare he always had and she always darted her gaze away quickly (could he at least look a little happy when he saw her? Why did he always seem so unimpressed?). 

For the most part, he leaves her be, too busy with his own shit to have time for any additional hovering than normal. He sticks close by so he can taste or correct a technique, but far enough that Y/N can zone out a bit – fall into the methodical structure of making mass amounts of potage aux legumes and let the rest of the night zip by. He’d barely spoken to her today, but once two hours ago, when he tasted the soup. 

“The taste is good,” he told her, “The consistency could be smoother but this isn’t a bad start. Try pureeing less at a time and it will improve.” It does take a knock at her confidence but he rebuilds it rather quickly the next batch she makes when he stirs it and hums approvingly. 

By the time the end of the day rolls around, she’s dog-tired. The exhaustion only weighs heavier in her bones when Harry grabs her attention as they are cleaning, “Stay after tonight.” That is all he says, and she immediately wants to flatten her face into a pillow and scream but instead, she nods and replies, “Okay.” with little fuss. Despite how extra fussy she feels. 

Soon enough, Niall is squeezing her shoulder and telling her to message him when she gets home, and Adam is threatening Harry to not stay here too late. Really, this is no different than any other day – Harry typically expects her to stay until he tells her to go, but a request like this must mean he’s planning something. She just couldn’t figure out what, considering his normal “teaching her something new” days are the days the kitchen’s closed. Y/N thinks she’d be more annoyed about staying if Harry were anyone else but – well, it’s Harry, after all. Even in a foul mood, she is appreciative of any extra time he wants to give her to instill some of his knowledge. 

They finish tidying – or, Y/N finishes tidying. She wasn’t sure what Harry was doing until she turned around to find that he had a variety of ingredients out, some in their respective measuring cups, some still in the packaging. The confusion must show on her face, because without so much of a hum to question him, Harry is explaining what she’s looking at, “We’re going to make a slice of cake.” 

Y/N tilts her head, “A slice of cake?” 

“A big slice,” Harry nods resolutely, “Do you like chocolate?” 

She blinks, his eye contact undeviating, “I – yes? Yes, I do.” 

“Good. Let’s begin.” 

It’s. . .weird. Y/N’s very confused because Harry has never given any indication that he’s interested in desserts at all. Of course, she knew that he was capable of creating pastry dishes, but he always seemed to prefer savory dishes – his owning a restaurant like the one he does was proof enough of that. A weird fact that she’d picked up about chefs in general is that once they find their flavor they tend to stick there. A chef who prefers searing steaks and curating the perfect plate for dinner typically fumbles through baking a cookie made from scratch. She’s unsure why that is, but it has happened enough times for her to make note of it. 

Harry, as always, seems to be perfect at all things. He moves around, showing her what order to add the ingredients, the consistency it should be after mixing, and how to perfectly melt the chocolate – all with the practiced ease of someone who bakes every day. Maybe he does when he gets home, but she hardly believes that. 

Harry just belongs in the kitchen. Every aspect of cooking, of baking, of creating something delicious for people to consume and enjoy – seems to be a craft that he’s perfected somehow. Y/N knew that if culinary school hadn’t worked out, she would use her business minor to do. . .something. Having a degree would make it easier to get hired at some random skyscraper building, doing desk work 9-to-5. She would’ve made do with that – it wasn’t her dream by any means, but she could still find happiness somewhere, even if it wasn’t at work. There were still holidays to cook for her family, friends who wouldn’t have survived off more than the fries in her university cafeteria, and neighbors who appreciated her replicating old school dishes from their childhood. 

But Harry? No. . .there was nothing else he could do. He didn’t fit anywhere else – or at least, she thinks he is too stubborn to fit anywhere else; his heart, his body, and his spirit all belong near pots and pans. At least that’s what she thinks – she’s honestly quite sure he’d agree. 

It doesn’t take too long, and when he slides it into the oven to bake (she’d never seen a tin that was cut into multiple slices before – and they only filled up one of the six), she wonders what they’ll do while they wait. 

The answer is clean up, which she should’ve seen coming, but that only takes a little while. As she’s wiping off the soap suds from her hands, Harry is prompt against the counter they’d been working on. The area they’d utilized is wiped down, sparkling, and smelling faintly of the cleaner he orders in large shipments (the boxes are heavy, Y/N knows firsthand). She doesn’t know what they’ll do – hopefully not stare at each other for the remaining 15 minutes of the bake time  – so she searches for questions about the baking process to fill in the empty space. 

Harry beats her to it. 

“How is your mood today?” He inquires, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the counter. 

“My mood?” Y/N repeats, and he nods, “Oh. . .well. . .I mean – why do you ask?” The question seemed kind of cryptic to her. Did she have a huge blood stain on the back of her bottoms? It sounded like the kind of thing you ask someone before you potentially tell them something that would put them in a poor mood. How is your mood today? Because just so you know, I’ve been staring at a blood spot the size of a small country on the back of your pants, just so you know – it’s probably been there since about midday. 

“You were different today,” he tells her, “You’re typically more bubbly. You seem to be in a poor mood – am I right?” 

Y/N is shocked. Like, legitimately – if anyone had told her a couple of months ago – or, arguably, even last week – that Harry would notice any sort of change in her mood, she thinks she would have popped a lung from laughing so hard. Because the very idea of Harry paying enough attention to her to even recognize what her baseline was is hard to believe. So hard to believe that it’s actually kind of hilarious, the thought – like imagining a llama baking a cake. 

She stares at him for probably a little too long to be normal, the gears cranking and turning in her head before she finally thinks to reply, “Oh!” Y/N shakes her head, then realizes it looks like she’s disagreeing with him so she fixes it to a nod, and in the end, her head just looks like it’s wobbling and knocking her brain around (it feels like it too), “I mean, yeah I wasn’t in a great mood today? Was it that obvious? I thought I was doing a good job hiding it.” 

“You did well,” he countered, “I was just paying close attention today.” 

Y/N’s breath catches in her throat, “You were?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, “Is there something wrong?” 

She sighs, shoulders sinking, “No, not really, just – tired, I guess? It’s like. . .personal or whatever,” she says, but then motions to her uterus and forgets that she’s trying not to be blunt and continues, “My period, so like I’m just tired. And my ex messaged me which was annoying, then I had a busy day so there was just. . .a lot stacked against me today.” 

Harry’s mouth opens around an “Ahh, I see,” before the oven beeps. He holds his finger as if telling her to put a pin in the conversation before he goes to retrieve it. Harry brings it to the counter they were at to cool. “And it’s been busy today, so I’m sure that was no help.” 

She shrugs, her face feeling hot when she realized she might have been too open, “It’s – that’s life I guess. Sorry for telling you that, by the way,” she wanted to melt into the ground, form a puddle that he mops up then pours down a drain, “You probably didn’t want to know that.” 

“I asked you, didn’t I?” He rebuts, “If I ask then I want to know the answer. I appreciate your honesty.” Harry pulls the icing that they made closer to them, “This is my second time hearing about your ex. Why does he keep messaging you?” 

“Ugh,” Y/N flops her body further against the workbench, groaning, noting that the pressure of the edge pushing against her lower abdomen is nice – Harry’s big ass hand against it would be nice too, probably, and warm (she would be imagining that later while she was in bed), “It’s stupid because he’s always just asking me for restaurant recommendations, or wondering if I can get him a table and a discount here, like – he’s so annoying about it.” 

Harry hums again, thinks for a moment, then replies, “Pardon my language, but why don’t you tell him to fuck off?” 

Y/N laughs a little, humorlessly, “I – I’m not sure,” she plucks at her fingernail, “Maybe then because that makes me the bitter ex-girlfriend? We ended things mutually with no hard feelings. . .or, like – he thinks it was no hard feelings at least.” 

There were plenty of hard feelings, actually, Y/N was just good at pretending that there weren’t. They had dated for three years, the longest relationship she’d ever been in and the most serious she had ever felt about another person romantically (at least next to her long-standing celebrity crushes – that was an untouchable love that no man in her life could ever come close to). Y/N thought things had been going well, enough that she was starting to wonder if they should talk about moving in together. There had never been any glaring red flags that something was going on, that his eyes were wandering, that when he was with her he was thinking about his new coworker who understands him on a deeper, personal level than their relationship could have ever gone – according to him, at least. 

Y/N remembers how it felt with her hands in his, the way he stroked her knuckles, how he made a big deal of looking empathetic like the situation wasn’t his fault, to begin with, “I never physically cheated,” he promised, “But emotionally. . .emotionally I haven’t just been yours for a couple of months now.” 

“How long?” She’d inquired, her voice steady as she could have made it. She wanted to cry but she didn’t, because. . .well, Y/N knows how to hold them in, you know? And she’d rather feel them burn behind her waterline than let this stupid fuck see her upset. 

“Six.” 

She remembers pulling her hands away, slipping them from his grasp, with a soft frown, “Okay,” she wanted to shove him off the chair he was sitting on, “Thanks for letting me know.” 

It probably hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting. Part of Y/N thinks that it hadn’t been the reaction he wanted either; who didn’t want their girlfriend to grovel at their feet? Beg to be chosen? Remind him of all their time spent together and why he shouldn’t throw that all away. That’s the reaction he wanted – to be sought after and fought for, but she didn’t give him that. And she thinks, maybe, every time he just pops up and asks her about recipes to impress someone, or to get him a reservation and money off at a high-class restaurant – he thinks he’ll get that big reaction. Almost like he wants to feel justified in what he did – his bitter ex, he had to break up with, it just wouldn’t have ever worked, like see how hostile she got when he just asked a question? 

Harry watches her, as she relives the moment, with furrowed brows, “What a prick.” 

Y/N laughs, “It’s fine, it’s whatever,” she waves her hand, “This place is way too ritzy for him to afford anyway, so at least I don’t have to worry about him showing up.” 

After the cake cools, Harry carefully transfers it to a decorating board. He shows her how to spread the icing so it’s a smooth finish, where to add the slices of strawberry, and the appropriate and classy amount of whipped cream to dollop on top. “Ready to try it?” Y/N nods, probably the most enthusiastic she’s been all night. Harry only grabs one fork, and she’s confused – did he not want to try it himself? Or was he going to indirectly kiss her again so she could think about it like a loser for two weeks nonstop? 

Harry slices into the desert, a spot that has the right amount of ganache icing they made, that shows off the fluffiest most moist part of the cake, it gets some of the strawberry and some of the whipped cream too. She’d never witnessed someone so methodically get every aspect of desert into one bite, nor had she ever had them present it to her either. Hovering near her mouth, waiting for her to part her lips – which she does – so that he can slip it inside. 

For as careful as he was getting all the right parts of it onto the fork, he was not very careful in the transmission – or maybe Y/N’s coordination is just worse off than she thought because some ended up on her lips and chin. 

But the cake is delicious; what she’s chewing and swallowing down is divine. As she looks for a napkin she whines, “That’s so yummy,” with a frown, “It’s a waste to have to wipe any of it from my chin.” 

She expected a huff from his nose, maybe. The way he shows he’s a little amused by her before taking to the rest of the cake and having a bite for himself. 

Instead, Harry’s hand raises to her face. 

Y/N freezes – like a predator has just spotted her in the forest foraging for seeds. She can’t read him (could she ever?) exactly, as his fingers carefully cradle her jaw. Her breath sticks in her throat when the pad of his thumb swipes over the mess on her chin in a way that’s almost too tender for how fast her heart races. Has he ever touched her before? Have Harry’s fingers ever gotten anywhere near her face? 

She’s dizzy when he swipes it up, over her bottom lip, resting carefully at the seam of her mouth. It’s his turn to still, waiting quietly, patiently, for her to make a move, but Y/N is seriously frozen! Her brain is not computing a single bit of stimuli right now and she thinks she’s malfunctioning, blinking at him, not pulling away, not getting closer. 

Harry wears the tiniest, smallest smile at the corner of his mouth, “Open,” he orders, and Y/N’s lips part automatically – did he plant a chip in her brain or what? His thumb sinks between them and rests on her tongue, sweet from the chocolate, salty from his skin – his skin – that she’s tasting, because his thumb is in her fucking mouth! “Suck.” 

Was she really doing this? Yes, absolutely. Somewhere, hardwired in her brain is the desire and need to listen and enact every instruction he’s ever given her. Even if that instruction is to suck on his thumb while the rest of his fingers splay out over her jaw, and her heart was hammering like a rabbit's, and the gleam in his eyes resembled a wolf’s. 

Y/N is tentative about it; honestly, it’s probably way less porn-y than it could have been. She wishes she had the wherewithal to bob her head, make it sexy, something for him to remember and dream about later – that would make him want her more. But it isn’t like that. She is shy, the way she curls her tongue around his knuckle, how she pulls him deeper into his mouth with careful each careful suck. The icing is long gone by now, but she doesn’t want to let go or look away from him and how he stares at her mouth. 

The only thing that gets her to let go is when Harry starts to pull away, and even then – she grazes her teeth along his knuckle when he withdraws. A whine bubbles in her throat when she swallows thickly, wanting more, but it’s like Harry reads her mind. With one hand, he grabs her wrist as if to keep her still, and with the other, Harry pulls a slice of strawberry from the cake and offers it to her, holding it at her mouth. This time he doesn’t have to instruct her to part her lips, she just does it, and he seems pleased as he feeds it to her. Watches her chew, rubs his thumb along her bottom lip, and once she swallows, urges her mouth open again. 

She opens up as wide as he wants her to and lets him carefully prod his fingers inside of her mouth. Harry uses his index and middle fingers, sliding against the ridges of her teeth, petting the inside of her cheek, and sliding down her tongue again. When he does that she tries to close her lips around him again but he clicks his tongue, “Ah ah,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t tell you to do that, did I?” This time she does whine, pitiful and needy. Something wanting curls low in her gut and she thinks she might pass out because she really hasn’t taken a proper breath in like three whole minutes. 

But she lets him explore her mouth and feel what he wants to feel, and she isn’t sure what his motive is. Maybe just to prove that he could – perhaps just to see that Y/N would do anything he told her to. 

Eventually, he finally pulls his fingers from her mouth. With the ones not wet from her spit, he caresses her cheek with his knuckles, sighing, “Hm, it’s time to go home,” he murmured, “You had a long day.” 

What? That was it? Wasn’t he supposed to. . .Y/N doesn’t know, she thinks he was supposed to like –bend her over the table and fuck her or something, right? That’s usually where these things go, don’t they? The hot, sexy mentor throws his sweet little mentee down and stuffs her full. . .or something like that. 

Harry must notice her confusion because he laughs – a bright sound from him that’s rare to hear. She’s used to the puffs through his nose and the mild look of amusement, not something so outwardly jovial, “What is it?” He inquired, “Expecting something else?” 

She blinked at him.

“Oh, uh….no?”

“Okay then,” he nodded, “I’ll pack up this cake for you.”

                                                                 .                        .                       .

Y/N hasn’t stopped thinking about it. 

She doesn’t think anyone in their right mind could stop thinking about it., honestly. The ghost of his fingers still weighs in her mouth, poking and caressing all the spots hidden from his eyes. His gaze, staring at her curiously but knowingly, all in the same glance – like he knew she would let him do it but wondered how far she would let him go. And Y/N isn’t coy; there’s no cat-and-mouse game with her. She would have taken anything he put into her mouth without a second thought, probably, just because Harry was the one telling her to. 

Did he like that, or was that a turn-off? This was only one of many questions plaguing her every waking thought, along with her subconscious, that had been unhelpfully supplying scenarios in her dreams, all of which ended with her legs spread and needy. A recurrent theme in every naughty dream is that she can’t see Harry at all, but she knows that it’s him – she could feel him, his aura, the true, honest-to-god vibe that he just emitted from being near. And just as soon as he’s about to come into view, crawl up her body, unzip his trousers, and finally let her see what the hell he’s been hiding in there. . .she wakes up. 

It’s a cruel joke, and one she has a feeling would make Harry a little giddy. Honestly, it's more like a nightmare, really. A horny nightmare.

She hadn’t told Niall about this recent development yet because it had suddenly gone from fun, delusional daydreams to horny, lingering nightmares. How was she going to explain to Niall that Harry had poked around in her mouth but then didn’t fuck her? Honestly, she was like. . a little embarrassed about how easily she gave in. How much better would it have been had she trailed her tongue around his knuckles, grazed her teeth against the skin, hummed, and maintained eye contact but with a twinkle that bespoke her playful, confident demeanor? Harry probably would have had no choice but to fuck her then. . .like it might have been a need at that point, had she really pressed forward and been sexier. 

The next day, Harry is painfully normal. Not even a glimmer in his gaze would suggest he even made a cake with her yesterday (one that she had already consumed when her belly was aching with cramps and her mind was aching with questions), let alone shoved his fingers in her mouth. Y/N tried her best to act the same: indifferent and calm. But when Harry stands beside her, when he tastes the soup she was preparing and murmurs his praise, when he accidentally touches her arm as he’s reaching for the ladle – goosebumps pimple all over her body. She stiffens, her heart races, she thinks maybe she could pass out, and her mouth feels significantly empty (and she’s significantly upset about it). 

But nobody else seems to notice. The person would have been her delusional partner in crime, but when lunch comes around, and all he has to talk about is the Grammys and how he’s been farming for gold in League – well, Y/N knows she’s not being obvious. At least not to anyone but Harry, who could probably smell the tension on her when he was within 400 meters of her, like a shark sniffing out blood in the ocean. 

All she received as acknowledgment for the night before was a question right after lunch when Y/N had just left the storage room carrying two large containers of chicken broth. They’re balanced on top of one another, and she keeps them stable with her hands and her chin on the top of the second container. 

“Did you enjoy the rest of the cake?” He inquired, appearing out of thin air and taking them from her easily, holding them close to his body “Or are you saving it?” 

Y/N’s face felt hot at the memory, especially when she admitted, “I finished it already.” 

“Ahhhhh,” he seemed pleased, “Yeah? It must’ve been really good then.” 

She nodded, her breaths felt thin in her throat, “Yes,” she agreed, “Thank you again, for that.” 

Then Harry tilted his head,  “Which part?” Either he’s just a pro at pretending to be aloof in all situations, or this particular situation didn’t leave him as giddy, breathless, or frazzled as it did her. She’s more inclined to believe the latter as his gaze sits still upon her, undeviating, and. . .well, he didn’t look like he cared much what her response would be.  

Before she could answer, Adam came barrelling out of the kitchen, “Y/N!” He’d exclaimed, and he seemed so frantic that it had Y/N’s heart kicking in her chest – what could be wrong? “Please settle this between Niall and I. He’s making an absurd claim that my leather club pants are outdated and tacky but –” 

“That’s because they are,” Nill emerged after him, “When was the last time you saw someone in leather pants for a night out, and it wasn’t a Groovy 70s-themed event?” He tossed his arms up, “Just buy a fitted trouser if you want to show off your ass! Ask Harry where he gets his.” 

Harry had disappeared from her side in the fuss, so Y/N never got to answer – though she didn’t know what her answer would be. Thank you for noticing I was in a bad mood? Thank you for making me a slice of cake under the guise of teaching but you actually just wanted to do something nice for me? Thank you for saying my ex was a prick? Thank you for putting your fingers in my mouth and then implanting what will easily be months worth of wet dreams? 

Other than that, he hadn’t brought it up, and it had been a full week. Y/N was going crazy thinking about it over and over and over again, mouth feeling painfully empty. Every time she swallowed, she imagined the weight of Harry’s fingers on her tongue, how much space he’d occupied, how she thought he would’ve kept going even if she started drooling all over him. Y/N hadn’t even thought about actual dick-in-vagina penetration with her ex as much as she was thinking about Harry putting his fingers in her mouth, like – seriously, she’s feeling a little pathetic. 

Still, she persists through her days, cooks, cleans up, pretends like she isn’t itching to crawl into his shirt, and refuse to leave. . .let’s Niall talk about his campaign in league with Adam (whatever the fuck that means). Y/N figures that either something will happen or. . .it won’t. She sure as fuck wasn’t going to bring it up – like, what if he regretted it? Maybe he thought about it and decided it wasn’t what he was looking for. Maybe he wanted something different, someone different, someone prettier, who was sexy and didn’t ruminate about a two-minute situation for seven days. 

Y/N is kind of abandoning all hope one night when everyone had left the kitchen, and only she and Harry remained. It was quiet, reminiscent of how it was just a month or two ago, with Y/N stuck in a loop, wondering what Harry was thinking when he was silent like this. He made his way around the kitchen, tidying, marking things off on his sheet, carefully storing what could be preserved. 

There are so many thoughts roaming around in her head that she’s barely paying attention to what she’s doing, which technically shouldn’t be a problem because she’s just cleaning. But maybe when she’s cleaning the stove she should be just a little extra careful. Even if it’s been a while since it’d been on, a burner that’s been scalding hot all day typically takes quite a while to cool down. The light near the dial warning of its heat was still illuminated, but Y/N wasn’t paying any mind to that. So she isn’t extra careful like she should be and she ends up accidentally burning the side of her finger on the burner grates. 

She flinches, cursing low to herself and gripping her finger. 

“What happened?” Harry, who had just been across the kitchen, was suddenly at her side when Y/N turned to toss the wash rag in the sink. She’ll admit that it made her yell, startled by his agility and wondering if he should have looked into being a private detective, or a spy even. His eyes widened at the volume of it, echoing through the kitchen. 

“Shit!” She breathed out, holding her fingers from the pain, then both of them held to her heart, feeling it slam against her chest, “Harry, you scared me!” 

Harry is firm but gentle in the way he reaches out to her; his fingers slide down her forearm to get a grip on her wrist before guiding her to the sink. He twists the faucet on, and a soft, cool stream flows from the nozzle. When Harry can identify which finger she hurt, he carefully pulls it to sit beneath it. At first, Y/N hisses, her body jerking, but Harry’s grip on her is so steady that she barely even budges and that. . .she’s real enough to admit that it does something for her. But what doesn’t do something for her these days – she’s really easy to work up lately, and she knows the man holding her so tightly right now is the one to blame. 

“You need to be more careful,” he scolds her after a little while, and when Y/N turns to look at him, she realizes his face is much closer than she thought it’d be. Her gaze darts back down to her finger as she clears her throat, “You aren’t normally clumsy like this. Are you alright?” 

She nods quickly, “Yes, yeah, sorry I just – got distracted,” she shrugs, “I’m a little tired.” 

Harry stares at her for a moment, holding her finger beneath the water – it really isn’t necessary for him to stand there but she wasn’t going to complain about him holding her hand. Even if this is a little more clinical than how she’d like it, she’d take this – how big his fingers looked compared to hers, the way they swallowed her hands up when they’d move from her forearm, stretching out over her knuckles. They’re warm too, and surprisingly soft. She’d expected more callouses from him, but they were smooth like he’d used a sugar scrub on them. And because her pervy brain couldn’t do anything but haunt her, she tried to remember if they felt that soft in her mouth too.

“You’re always saying that,” he clicked his tongue, “How tired you are.” Yeah, Y/N guesses she says that a lot, but the thing is – she’s never said that to Harry directly before. To complain about being sleepy in front of Harry would have been like trying to piss him off on purpose. It’s just a rule of thumb not to whine or moan about how busy you were or how tired you are to Harry. Honestly, it was a rule of thumb not to speak unless spoken to when it came to him during work hours. The only person to break this regularly was Adam, and Y/N was second to that, only because she had just recently gotten comfortable calling him over to ask questions about the dishes she was preparing. 

So how Harry had been hearing her complain about being tired, she wouldn’t know. That’s something she only thinks about or fusses with Niall over. Maybe she’d said it once or twice to the other staff in the kitchen this week because it had been extremely tiring, but she couldn’t imagine speaking loud enough that Harry would have heard her. 

“I’m just having trouble falling asleep lately I guess,” because my sexy as fuck mentor is all I can think about, and it’s haunting my dreams – Harry hums again, “Even when it’s busy here and I’ve been running around all day, I just kind of. . .stay awake when I’m home. Hazelnut doesn’t help, she loves playing until late. I have to tire her out.” 

Harry smiles a little, at what Y/N believes to be the thought of Hazelnut, but then he opens his mouth, “It seems like you need something to tire you out too, hm?” 

It was a loaded statement to make, and Y/N is immediately reading into it.  

So she could either stumble over her words, or she could try something – to propel this further. To make him understand that she wanted this too if he did – that it’s all she can think about. That she wants his stupid, dumb, soft fingers filling her mouth again. Pressing at her gums, the back of her teeth, stroking along her tongue, making her feel dumb and needy because she wants it to be his cock so badly, but she’ll take whatever he gives her. 

“Are you. . .are you offering?” 

It could have come out more confident, for sure, but the message comes across clearly. Harry, once more, allows a smile to twitch at his mouth when he looks at her – a brief thing that makes her insides stir up as he slips his hands from hers.

“That depends,” he answers, turning off the faucet, “Are you a good girl?” 

Y/N’s breath feels like it leaves her lungs but she somehow manages to speak, “I – yes,” she pouts her mouth, “You know I am.” 

Another hum, “You’d let me fill up your mouth with my fingers again?” It’s his only true mention of it happening, and Y/N thought she wanted him to be direct about it, but her heart slams against her sternum hard enough that it might crack it. Her ribs rattle with each beat, and all the blood in her body is surging this way and that. Every cell in her body shivers and vibrates in anxious excitement. 

“Yes.” She agreed urgently. 

“What else would you let me put in your mouth?” Harry goads, but Y/N doesn’t mind playing into it. She’s never been one to play hard to get, really, and maybe that makes her look extra desperate and extra pathetic, but she doesn’t care if it gets her what she wants. Right now, she’ll look as pathetic and desperate as she needs to, if that’s what Harry likes – if it’s what finally pushes him. 

Y/N wheezes, practically, “Anything.” 

That does make Harry chuckle, the smile returning only this time much bigger, and she sees that dimple again – honestly, she might scream if he doesn’t fill her mouth up quickly. Harry’s palm is soft when it cradles her cheek tentatively and slowly before he introduces his thumb to the corner of her lips, “Anything, huh?” He repeats, pressing down into the tender flesh of her mouth, firm enough that it pushes her bottom lip against her teeth, “You’d let me fuck my fingers in your mouth right here again if I wanted, right? You’d drool all over them like the messy, greedy little puppy you are. Open your mouth.” 

A sound leaves Y/N, something like a whine and a gust of breath leaving her lungs again, and she’s so worked up she feels herself squeeze around nothing. She parts her lips instantly and feels strings of spit stretch and snap with her mouth as it opens and Harry slips his thumb inside of it. Y/N should wait for him to tell her to suck again, probably, but she can’t help it – she wants to, so badly, and she’s been thinking about it, and his thumb actually feels really good in her mouth. Does she have an oral fixation? Wouldn’t have that arisen at some other point in her life? She isn’t sure and she doesn’t care either, not when Harry’s tender hold turns a little sterner.

“I thought you were good, hm? Who told you to start sucking?” He inquired but he makes no move to make her stop, and only huffs a laugh when she whimpers around the thumb in her mouth, “Looks like you wanted this badly, hm? This is what’s been keeping you up at night.” He doesn’t say the last sentence like a question, more like a statement, and he’d be right so there’s nothing for Y/N to pop off and correct him for. She nips around his knuckle, and pulls his thumb in deeper, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands – so one of them – the one that isn’t burned – grips onto his wrist to keep him from moving it. 

Harry does start to slip his thumb from her mouth, but before she can protest it, Harry slips his index and middle finger into her mouth. Now the sound Y/N makes is a little more gleeful, a content hum, and really, since when is she into this? Y/N has never had the urge for something to fill her mouth up like this before, but she needs it more than anything – maybe it’s just because she’s ovulating. She’s always been a bit ravenous during this part of her cycle, and Sabrina Carpenter’s lyrics have started making a lot of sense over the past couple of days, so that would add up. But she needs this more than anything right now. 

Embarrassingly enough, Harry must be able to tell, if the way he murmurs, “You really like this, hm?” is anything to go by, “You’ll need training, won’t you? To be a really good girl for me. I’ll teach you how I like my puppies to act. Do you like the sound of that?” 

She nods, her mouth full, her eyes threatening to close, her cunt clenching around absolutely nothing and leaking into the cotton covering her. The whole thing should be extra humiliating, but it only turns her on more. A puppy, huh? That’s what he’s into? Y/N could do that – she could wag her tail and bark too if he wanted, she’s just as big a pervert as he is – she might be an even bigger one.

Harry seems. . .endeared? Fond? Y/N doesn’t know if she’s just seeing things, but she hopes that’s what he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t seem disgusted or annoyed, at least, and that’s reassuring to her. 

“You’ll need to let go of me for a second,” he murmurs, “We need to go to my office.” 

It’s with a mighty sense of will that she’s able to pull away, ultimately more embarrassed now that she wasn’t actively doing it. Harry looks at her lips for a moment longer than she was expecting before guiding her to his office. Y/N had only been in here a couple of times before, one of which when she first came here, Finley by her side as Harry told them all the things he didn’t like and all the things that they would do. When he outlined their schedule, when he was so scary Y/N was regretting accepting his offer, while she wondered if she had what it took to be a chef studying under him. 

And now he’s pulling her in here, pushing the door closed behind them, and offering his fingers back up to her mouth. Maybe Y/N is a greedy puppy, because she takes them back in and this time she does bob her head once, pulling them deeper, down to his second knuckle. Her throat convulses at the intrusion, rejecting it, and it makes her shudder as she withdraws some. The saliva in her mouth is on another level right now, but Harry doesn’t seem to care at all. She wonders what he’s thinking about – wonders what he wants from her. Was he getting off on this too? 

Y/N looks down, but her view is obscured by his hand. Even if it wasn’t, he uses his other hand to tilt her chin up, “Ah ah, eyes above the belt, Pup,” and the nickname – wow, is it possible for her to cum untouched? She kind of thought stories like that were bullshit but the curl of arousal in her belly is so intense, it feels like there’s no way that it isn’t a possibility. 

Harry’s free hand moves from her chin, down to her top. The black button up she has tucked into her bottoms is carefully pulled up from beneath her trouser band, and the button of her trousers follows shortly after. Harry works with a precision only someone with experience could move with, dragging the zipper down, pulling the fabric out, entirely. The tips of his fingers graze along the delicate waistband of her underwear, before he stretches the elastic and slips his fingers in. 

When he feels how wet she is, he cusses. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” it’s the first time he’s sounded truly affected by anything, and Y/N bristles with it, humming around his fingers, “Such a messy pussy. All from sucking on my fingers?” Her hips move without her say, bucking into his touch – his fingers are cold in comparison to her scorching insides and she wants more of them. Wants him to rub her clit, wants him to tuck them inside of her, wants to ride them while he sits there with them still and makes her do all the work. She wants, and wants, and wants so viciously that it feels like she might go crazy. 

Harry plays around in her wetness a bit, slipping his fingers through it between her folds before slipping the pad of it up to her clit. It’s swollen, flicking beneath his fingers before looping soft circles over it. Y/N moans, her brain fizzling out for a second, all soap bubbles from the sink filling the grooves. It’s the only thing that’s gotten her to stop sucking this whole time, her mouth falling open around it. She wonders if he could feel her pulsate and squeeze around nothing if he liked it, if he liked how she felt. She wonders if he’s hard, and she wants to touch so badly she doesn’t know what to do with herself. 

“There you go,” she shivers, his voice is placating like he really was talking to a greedy dog. It’s humiliating in the best way for her and makes her leak more – could he feel that? “Poor thing, all this worked up over a little treat. How cute.” It’s the first time he’s called her cute since after the Korean barbeque, and Y/N is suddenly reminded of that entire night. How he’d made sure she was fed, how he took care of her after, drove her home, calmed her panicked drunk self about the stain she’d left on his shirt. How soft we were with her led to all of these delusions that might not have been delusions in the first place. He did want her, at least in some way. Maybe not in all the ways Y/N wanted him, but still, something was better than nothing. Maybe she could fuck this out of her system and actually sleep without her subconscious bullying her. 

It goes from feeling good to feeling really good in just a couple of spins. How all orgasms do, it’s building, and building, and building, until suddenly things are feeling great, and there’s a point where there’s no turning back. That’s where she was at – her teeth dig into his fingers, which is not helping the puppy allegations in the slightest, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind it. He seems amused, tickled, and a little too joyful for someone who hasn’t even gotten touched yet. This alone should have rang alarm bells in her head, but it didn’t, because her head was full of cotton after her brain finished melting from her ears. 

So when Y/N knows it would only take a couple more circles of his fingers before she would cum, and he pulls his fingers away – well, she’s shocked. Shocked and horrified and appalled. The look must be written all over her face because Harry’s biting down on a huge smile then, dimples and all, slipping his fingers from her mouth too. 

“Wh-why?” She asks, and the distress is palpable – enough that Harry even gives a small, pitied laugh while he thumbs at her bottom lip, “I was almost – I almost –” 

“Mm, I wasn’t ready for you to do that yet.” He tells her, and Y/N frowns – nobody had ever snatched an orgasm away from her before. Honestly, her ex just seemed stoked that he could get her there every once in a while. Y/N hasn’t even done that to herself.  

“But I was!” It sounds whiny, even to her own ears, and Harry still seems pleased with himself. 

“I thought you were a good girl, yeah?” He rubs his fingers, wet from her spit, on his shirt. The fingers wet from her, he merely drags his tongue across right in front of her because he hates her guts and he wants her to suffer before continuing to speak, “Good girls wait for their treats. Are you going to be a well-behaved puppy or not?” 

Y/N feels frazzled and overwhelmed and so needy she could scream. She’s starting to think that maybe she was right from the start – maybe he was just fucking with her. 

Still, she relents, “You hate me,” she accuses him, but Harry just laughs again, like she’s just the most amusing thing in the world. Probably like when you’re watching your dog look at its reflection for the first time or when you put them in socks and they walk funny. Harry takes it upon himself to rebutton and zip her pants while she pouts, her arms crossed over her chest, “You really do, I knew it.” 

Harry doesn’t bother to tuck her shirt in, “You’re fussy when you’ve been edged,” he murmurs, “Poor thing.” He calls her again and plucks at her bottom lip again, only pushing on it until she sucks the pout back into her mouth, “Alright, let’s put some cream on your burn and bandage it.” 

The contrast between what they were doing five minutes ago and what was happening now – honestly, was kind of funny. If Y/N was in the mood to find humor in anything, then she’d be laughing, but she’s still feeling a bit huffy over it. She rubs the cream on her little burn while Harry cuts a sliver from the bandage, then helps her loop it around her finger carefully, “Take it off in the morning and air it out,” he murmurs, but then slips the cream and the rest of the bandage in her pocket, “If you do this for three days then it should heal up nicely, and barely scar.” 

“Okay,” she nods, “Thank you.” 

Harry looks like he’s thinking about something when he’s staring at her, watching as she tucks her shirt back in at least a little bit and addresses her hair that had been smashed between her head and the wall, so her bun was all fucked. When she’s finally halfway righted herself, she finally looks back at him, blinking, waiting for him to speak. 

“Be careful on your way home, Puppy,” is what he decides on, and Y/N feels her face get hot all over again, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

                                                                     .                    .                      .

“Why in the f-u-c-k am I just now hearing about his fingers in your mouth?” Niall is staring at her across the table at a Greek restaurant where she should definitely not be explaining this story. She couldn’t help it, though, because her brain-to-mouth filter is nonexistent when it comes to being with Niall, even when they’re in public. And all Niall had to do was say, Any new Harry stories, I need something to preoccupy my time with – and she was explaining everything. 

She did cower beneath his glare, a little, “Because I kind of felt pathetic and stupid because he wasn’t doing anything about it afterward, and he wasn’t bringing it up so I was like – well, guess he decided that I was ugly and – ow!” 

Niall, who had kicked her from underneath the table, is staring at her with crossed arms, “Call yourself ugly again and I’ll kick you harder.” 

Pouting, she reaches down and rubs at her shin, “--and I was like. . .licking my wounds a bit. But then he did it again so –” 

“He did it again?” Niall exclaimed. 

“So I was like – well, I better tell Ni,” she finished, then nodded, “It was – Niall, it was crazy! I’ve never been so horny in my life, which is insane, because it was after I burned myself so –” 

“Okay, hold the fuck on,” Niall’s pretenses of keeping his language somewhat appropriate for a dine-out setting are lost almost immediately, “Start from the beginning of the night, after I left with Adam.” 

Y/N does – she explains it all. From he burning her finger, to Harry sending her off with soaked panties and stuff to treat her wound, and everything that happened in between. Niall is good to tell stories to, even if they aren’t very interesting ones because he’s a very active listener. He gasps, he asks questions, his eyes widen, his brows furrow, his mouth falls agape in shock and he scoffs at the right moments too. By the time Y/N finishes the story, you would’ve thought Niall had gone through it as well, with how flustered he seemed. 

“Oh my god,” he’s holding his head in his hands, “I can’t believe you were getting felt up while I was begging Adam to wax my ass for me.” 

“Please, Ni, nobody wants to see your balls from that angle when they aren’t planning on fucking you.” 

“Oh my god, he is a fucking freak, my sources were correct.” He ignores her, then his head darts up, “Wait, so showing up to work in a collar and a buttplug wouldn’t have been too much! God I understand kinky fuckers so well, it’s like my brain is hardwired for it.” 

“Your brain is hardwired for it, because you’re also a kinky fuck. Did you forget?” 

He ignores her again, “Wait, so how do you feel about the puppy thing? Is it a turn on or do you actually hate it?” 

Y/N had been mulling over this for a couple of days now, “I think if anyone else did it, I wouldn’t like it,” she explained the conclusion she’d come to at 9PM one night, when Hazelnut was lying on her belly, purring, her eyes shut but her right paw kneading her nails just below Y/N’s breast, “But with him it just like. . .feels right? Like I couldn’t imagine him treating me any other way.” 

“You’re so right, this is like – this makes perfect sense for him,” he nods. 

“What do you think I should do though?” Y/N asks, her hands squeezing around the glass of water she’d been preoccupying them with, “Like – how should I be sexier? What would make it hard for him to keep his hands off me?” 

Niall is good to ask, not only because he knows how a guy’s brain might work but because he is sexy. He’s coy and flirty, and every person that he sets his sights on to date ends up obsessed with him. When he’s dating someone, or even when he just has a fuck buddy, he’s always covered in love bites and hickeys, and they’re messaging him nonstop while he ignores them in favor of snapping those medieval torture hair ties with the balls attached to them on Y/N’s head (when she wanted to try a ‘cyberpunk’ hairstyle that didn’t even work out). If anyone knew how to lure Harry, it would be him. 

“Don’t do anything differently,” Niall tells her instead, shaking his head, “Clearly, whatever you’re doing does have him worked up.” 

Her brows dip, “But I feel like I just come off like a. . .like a. . .” 

“Big virgin dummy?” 

“Hey!” 

“Maybe Harry likes big virgin dummies,” he teases, pulling his straw to his mouth, taking a sip of whatever fruity lemonade he’d ordered, “Listen, Harry is like. . .at the risk of sounding cliche, not like other men. I don’t think the same tactics would work for him. If he wants a “dumb little puppy” to train, then you fit the bill, Sweetheart.” He slides his drink away, “Not to say that you’re dumb or that you even come off as dumb. But you clearly space out when he’s trying to talk to you, listen to what he says, and have this cute deer-in-the-headlights look about you. Plus, you’re good at your job and followed his lead when he acted like nothing happened between you two.” Niall leaned on his hand, “You’re probably pretty interesting to him.” 

Y/N runs her thumb over her brows to relax them, “Okay, if you’re sure,” she replies, "I'm like, worried I’ll make the wrong move and he’ll snap out of whatever spell I accidentally cast on him – hey!” He kicks her again. 

“You’re cute and funny, there was no spell involved,” Niall scolds her, before a smile pulls at his cheeks, “I can’t believe he’s going to edge you! I’m so giddy right now, I could squeal.” 

She hides her face in her palms and shakes her head, “Stop! I’m so – not giddy about that! I know he’s going to be mean.” 

“That’s the fun part isn’t it?” Niall pulls at her wrist, “No stop hiding, we need to look up collars and measure your neck when we get back to your place.” 

                                                                 .                        .                      .

Another week of nothing passes. The air outside is still cold for the most part, but they’ve come to the part of winter where there’s a fake promise of spring for a week or two. Just before the area plunges back into the icy tundra that torments them until the actual solstice. Still, Y/N enjoys it while she can – opens her windows, and accepts the fresh, warm-ish breeze, and the sun that blares through the glass.

So she starts her day in a pretty good mood. She and Niall are back on the mornings now, but this day in particular Harry isn’t coming in at 5 AM so he relieves her of her 5 AM duties as well. He will be seeing her promptly at 6 AM, however, which. . .okay, yeah, it’s only an hour but an hour is still an hour! Plus the sun was so pretty the day before, Y/N sat outside and soaked it up so she’s high on vitamin D and vibes. 

It must show on her face when she walks in, and Harry instructs her to start preparing the vegetables for the day (they’re already washed and waiting for her on the cutting board). 

“You’re awfully cheery this morning,” he made note, and Y/N shrugged.

“Is that a bad thing?” She asked. 

Harry looked like he was considering it, before shaking his head, “Carry on then. Be in a cheery mood.” 

So she does. She even kind of hums a little until Harry side-eyes her, and then she stops humming. Even with the new development in their dynamic, Harry is still intimidating as hell and kind of scary, so she doesn’t want to annoy him or bother him. By no means did she believe that him having his fingers in her mouth and his hand down her pants gave her any special treatment. If Mora gets a glare when she starts singing and cooking the steaks, then Y/N sees herself as no different. 

They move harmoniously, as they always do. Adam and Niall come in loud and bright like they always do. Everyone else filters in; the mood is light and airy, and Y/N is excited to start cooking. 

The good vibes continue until around 2 PM when there’s a complaint about Y/N’s plate. And the vibes diminish entirely when she walks out to speak to the customer to see what’s wrong, and she sees the same annoying prick that is always there bothering everyone. She hadn’t seen him since the last time he’d come and stirred a fuss. When Harry initially yelled at her, and then she went and cried in the food storage closet. Y/N still remembers how horrible it felt to be accused and scolded for something that she hadn’t even done, and she has a feeling that the same thing is going to happen again today. Because no amount of being a cute, dumb puppy is going to stop Harry from being upset when the state of his business is questioned. 

“Oh, what a surprise,” the man says, this time with a different woman sitting across from him, “It’s you again. You think they’d have put some sense into you since the last time.” He raises his hand, this time another piece of hair, another color so far from her own that she could have screamed over it. The only thing that is a little confusing is she doesn’t remember plating this. Y/N was supposed to prepare the seared salmon, but Harry had told her she was needed in the sauces to help Niall. She’d been a little confused but didn’t question it, because any chance to hang out with Niall in the actual kitchen was pretty fun but they’re always at different stations. 

So Y/N didn’t make this one, because she hadn’t made salmon today, but it must have come from her station for the waitress to come get her. 

The manager is at her side, opening his mouth to apologize again but another presence emerges to the left of them. Y/N turns to see Harry, her heart hammering – was he going to remember that she hadn’t prepared that dish? Or would he have forgotten? This is. . .not a good look, being in the same position as she had been before, even if this time it definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, could not have been her fault. The piece of hair was long in length – longer than Harry’s, and the wrong color too. But he hadn’t noticed the color last time – he’d probably been so mad at her that he was blinded by it. 

“Thank god you’re here,” the man shook his head, looking disturbed, “Another piece of hair. You should really look into monitoring the women who –” 

“You planted that.” Harry cut him off. 

The man stops, blinking. 

“Wh-what? That’s absurd?” He exclaimed, “Why would I have done that?” 

Harry has the same, impassive look on his face that he did the last time they were in this position, but this time he shrugs, “You tell me. Why would you plant your date’s hair into a dish that I prepared?” 

The color drains from the man’s face, “What?” His eyes darted between Harry to Y/N, “When I asked the waitress she said –” 

“She said that chef Y/N made it,” Harry filled in the blanks, “But the thing is, Sir, I’ve been hearing a lot about you since you’ve been here last. How you’re always bothering the female staff, how you seemingly only enjoy the food and leave a good tip if it was a male chef, or if you had a waiter as opposed to a waitress. How you’re always here with different women who look uncomfortable in your presence. So I imagine that you saw your food, asked who cooked it – as you always do –  heard it was a woman’s name, and thought that you could get a free meal again, correct?” 

“Excuse me –” The man was red now, bright red, looking enraged, but Harry continued. 

“But I had the hostess alert me when you came in, and I made sure that I was the one to prepare your plate. This –” he plucks the hair from the hands, holding it between his fingers, then holds it up to his head, “Is not my hair. It’s not the same length or the same color, and I was the one to cook the fish, plate the dish, and have it sent out to you. It’s not the same color as your waitress; hers is bright pink, and Chef Y/N has never come into contact with your plate. This does, however, look very similar to your date’s,” Harry holds it out now toward the woman who looks embarrassed to be sitting across from him now, and it is a perfect match – if he dropped it onto her shoulder, nobody would have questioned where it came from, “You planted it.” 

“I – I did not –” 

“I don’t like liars,” Harry takes another step closer, withdraws the plate from the table, “And I won’t stand for you harassing my staff anymore. Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” 

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, which is unusual for this time of day, with this amount of people seated and eating. Y/N is staring, wide-eyed, and flustered by the whole situation when Harry pivots from the table, “Y/N.” He says her name and it startles her from her trance. She’s worked with him long enough to know that this means he wants to speak to her, so she trails after him, her heart slamming against her chest. 

Harry drops the plate onto the kitchen counter and directs Y/N into his office. Adam catches her gaze, looking distressed – he must think she’s about to get yelled at again. Honestly, maybe she was – Y/N doesn’t know. 

He closes the door behind them and Y/N tentatively sits in the chair across from his own at the desk. Harry doesn’t sit though, instead standing beside her, his arms crossed – oh she was definitely getting yelled at –

“I’m sorry.” 

Y/N is confused instantly. 

“Wait, what?” 

Harry takes a deep breath, “I don’t want you thinking that the only reason I did all of this is because of the change in our dynamic,” he explained carefully, “And I want you to know, going forward, how I treat you will not change no matter if we are friendly outside of the kitchen or not. I know you understand this, yes?” Y/N nods, eye gaze locked onto his own, “But after last time, I inquired about this particular customer and heard a lot of stories that I wish would have been shared with me before. Then you cried – and for all I’ve yelled at you, you’ve never looked like that afterward. Never seemed so distressed or sad either, it’s when I first got a feeling that something was off. So I wanted to apologize to you because you deserve it. I should have heard you out and asked you what happened instead of assuming the worst and berating you.” His gaze is softer than she’s ever seen before, despite how angry he just was – it melts her insides and makes her insides swirl with an emotion different than the usual, horny demon that tries to overtake her, “So I’m sorry.” 

“Oh – it’s,” she raised her hands, “It’s okay, I –” 

“It isn’t,” he replied, “It isn’t okay at all. I’m sorry.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, nodding, “I – okay,” she replies, “That’s – I accept? Honestly, I forgot about it like a couple of weeks ago, so I promise I’m not holding onto it or anything! So I accept your apology.” She answers, and she doesn't necessarily know what to do with her hands so she holds out one of hers for him to shake. Y/N isn’t sure why – she’s just a loser, and panicking, and her boss was just really fucking hot out there, so she isn’t sure what to do with herself. 

Harry entertains her at least, and meets her hand with his own, shaking it once, “Alright,” he agreed that it was settled on, “Are you okay? I know the situation was uncomfortable.” 

She smiles, nodding, “Yeah, it was – it was kind of uncomfortable, but you were really cool out there,” she told him, “Like, badass and cool. That dick has had it coming for a long time, and you told him off so it was. . .it was pretty cool.” 

This makes Harry laugh, and he doesn’t let go of her hand. Instead he squeezes hers, warm against his palm. 

“You’re cute,” and even if he’s said it before, it still makes her shiver, that he thinks her bumbling and fumbling through her words and sounding stupid was in any way endearing, “Do you have plans tonight?” 

Y/N shook her head, “Nothing besides – well, Hazelnut and I may watch a movie.” 

“Tell Hazelnut you’ll need a raincheck,” Harry told her, “You’re coming to my flat.”  

[jawllines]

“You want verbal praise.” It didn’t necessarily sound like a question, but Y/N still nods anyway, “Why haven’t you said that before?”

 

Y/N is blinking at him again, confused, “Because you’re kind of scary? And I thought you’d. . .I thought you’d be annoyed with me.”

 

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, taking it away with a soft popping sound. Y/N is worried that she accidentally offended him, but he only nods his head, his face twisted up in a way that tells her he’s considering what she said, “Alright,” he finally said, “I’ll do my best to give you verbal praise if you do your best not to lie to me. I don’t like liars,” he motioned toward the foil, “Now eat, I made that for you.” 

or

Y/N wants to be a chef and Harry is her grumpy mentor

(16k+ words)

i. 

Y/N is not going to cry. 

She isn’t, she really isn’t. Tears burn up her cheeks but she has become seasoned enough in the last year and a half to blink them back even when the reprimand is brutal. She chokes them down, straightens the wobble in her voice, and bites the fleshy part of her bottom lip so it doesn’t quiver. Y/N takes all criticism, all admonishments, all the scoffs and disappointed glares in stride. She nods curtly, replies tersely, and fixes the problem. 

Then once all that’s done, she finds a quiet corner and cries. If she can wait longer, she’ll go home, scream into her pillow, take a hot bath, and maybe let a tear or two slip out, but she gets over it quickly. She went into this knowing what it might be like, so she tried her best to let most of it brush off her shoulder, just as she’d been advised to. Take the (harshly put) advice, channel the anger and upset into making not even just the next meal better, but the next plate – and never let them see you cry about it. 

So Y/N isn’t going to cry, she’ll make damn sure of it. Maybe it was harder today because she didn’t sleep well last night, but that was her own fault – the show she was binging was getting too good to stop and it was 1 AM before she realized. This morning she woke up seconds from chattering her teeth from the glacial-like cold the air in her room took on, only to find her furnace wasn’t working. The water from her shower greeted her in icy slaps to her skin so she found her water heater was just about as useful as her furnace currently was. And she was late this morning because she’d missed the subway, and she stepped in something sticky so her shoes kept squeaking with each step, and just before she walked in she checked her phone and saw a message from her ex that she promptly ignored, but in the middle of ignoring that she ran into Niall who spilled his lukewarm latte down the front of her shirt – 

The day had just been pretty shitty already, is the problem. The last thing she needed was a rich prick complaining about the taste of his food when questioned about it. Don’t get her wrong, she typically takes complaints from customers as a learning experience to grow and nurture the outcome of future meals – but this particular dick does this with all the female staff, he’s noticed. Either the waitress was rude (because she didn’t answer his advances), or the hostess was unprofessional (because the flower tattoos on her forearm were somehow offensive to him), or the whole establishment was filthy (because there was a hair laid delicately on top of his beef wellington). 

One look at the hair and Y/N knew for a fucking fact it wasn’t her own. It wasn’t the same color at all, or the same length – actually it looked quite similar to his date sitting across from him, who seemed. . .relatively put off by the show he was putting on. He can’t do things discreetly, thriving off the attention delivered from the spectacle he makes of himself in these situations. That’s why he announces it particularly loudly and demands to speak to the chef who made the meal, and when Y/N isn’t giving him the reaction that he wants (beyond a gentle apology and an offer to remake his plate), he demands to speak to a manager. Better yet, he demands to speak to Harry Styles himself. 

Harry Styles isn’t a manager. Harry Styles, back in his early twenties, joined the group as one of the youngest chefs to receive two Michelin stars. Before his 30th birthday, he’d gained eight more, was on the cover of Time Magazine, had received critical acclaim and praise from some of the most refined chefs in the world, and quickly became the enemy of any restaurant on the same block as one of his seven locations across the globe. He was skilled beyond reason, a true culinary god born from a spark of heat on a carbon steel pan, someone to look up to, study beneath, attempt to emulate, and then fail because his mastery is something untouchable. He was almost perfect in every way. 

Almost. 

Harry didn’t have the best temperament, his personality was scored with bad-tempered moods, and his attitude left much to be desired. He wasn’t personable, rarely smiled, and the inflection in his voice was typically nonexistent if not for him scolding you. Y/N is unsure why he’s so serious – from what she’s read and heard his childhood was pretty decent, and his love life was nonexistent but he seemed relatively content about it, he was rich which – Y/N knows money doesn’t buy happiness but it surely allows you to live comfortably. She’s sure he must have faced hardships at some point, but he doesn’t talk about it.

So studying under him is a privilege just as much as it’s a thorn in the ass. It’s difficult to become his apprentice – he’s had a total of 10 apprenticeships in the past couple of years and only 3 of them made it past the 5-month mark, and only one of them actually finished out the three years. The fact that Harry is such a coveted culinary artist that the waitlist to apprentice under him stretches long before he’s even reached 35 is something to be noted. And every day Y/N is both endlessly confused and grateful that he chose to take her under her wing (she and another aspiring chef, Finley started together but Finley left pretty early on, after the first time Harry tasted a soup he made and told him it was shit and to start over). 

Harry Styles isn’t the manager, but he runs his kitchen so precisely and so strictly that if someone’s asking to speak to the manager, you can bet your ass that he’ll be present at the table as well. Much to Y/N’s chagrin, that is, she stands there while the patron stirs a fuss holding up a hair that was the wrong color to be hers. If Y/N was apprenticing under Adam, the other chef in the kitchen (second in command and much less intense, but still really good) then she would have told him it seemed like the fucker just had his date pull a piece of her hair out and lay on his food. Harry has all of his staff wear their hair slick back, pulled tight into a bun if it is long enough to, with a black headband stretching over part of her scalp. Even those with short hair are expected to have hair nets on, and they’ve not had a problem with hair in the food. The whole thing was just hard to believe, especially with who it was coming from. 

Alas, Adam was not Y/N’s mentor, Harry was and Harry doesn’t like excuses. So instead of defending herself when he nods at her toward a small alcove before they return to the kitchen, he remarks, “I’m not teaching you for you to embarrass me.” She merely dips her head and agrees, “People come here to enjoy their meals without the fear someone’s fucking hair is going to be mixed in. What’s next, huh? Your fingernail? A band-aid?” He clicked his tongue, “Never again. Quality control must be done on every single plate after we plate it and then again before we send it out to the floor. If this happens again, you can kiss the rest of this apprenticeship goodbye. Do you understand?” Y/N nodded again, “Now get out of my sight.” 

In comparison to all the other lashings she’s received in the past, this was relatively light, but it affects her just as poorly. Maybe even worse than some of those times, because Y/N could admit that the times she’d been scolded before, those mistakes were her fault and she knew it was something to learn from. What the fuck could she learn from a prick messing with the food for the sake of being an asshole? It hurts worse because she knows she didn’t do anything wrong, but she’s still getting yelled at, and she’s exhausted, and the day has been long, and she thinks she’s a week off from her period which is when she feels the most emotionally frazzled. 

Still, she waits to find her quiet corner – deeper into the restaurant, in the food supply closet there’s a space between two of the racks that forms a corner. She squeezes in there and lets the tears burn down her face quietly, scrolling through her phone for a second to try and get over it. It would help if she could get the disappointed glare from his face out of her head. His eyes are a light green but they always seem darker when they’re narrowed, and his manicured eyebrows seem more daunting when they’re furrowed. His hair is on the shorter side, neatly gelled and styled, and there’s a mole to the left of his lips that she’s never seen pulled into a smile except for a couple of photos from an interview a few years back. 

Y/N’s there for about five minutes before she thinks she should get back. Niall finds her just as she’s easing her way out of her crying corner with a pitied expression on his face, pouting his lip out at her. “Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbles, knuckling at her eyes, “I’m fine.” 

“You just look like the saddest small animal in the world when you cry. Like a pound puppy or summat,” he reaches into his back pocket and produces a pack of tissues, pressing them into her hands, “Why didn’t you tell Harry that dick planted the hair? That clearly wasn’t yours.” 

She shrugs, taking a tissue from the plastic wrap and wiping her eyes with it, “It doesn’t matter,” she sighs, heavy and dejected, “Like he’ll believe me over a customer. It’s better to just let him fuss at me then get over it.” 

Niall is still frowning as she blows her nose, taking the pack back and slipping it into his pocket, “Still, it’s fucked,” he checks his watch, “Only two more hours to go though, yeah? Do you wanna stop by that one burger place on the way home? We can eat our feelings, and maybe discuss how you’re going to learn how to do laser hair removal so you can zap away some of my pubes.” 

Niall was learning under Adam, who was good enough to gain Harry’s respect but still managed to be lax and pretty easygoing. One time, when they first started (Niall started just a month before Y/N did), Niall had made the wrong dish entirely and sent it out to the table. When it was brought back, Adam shrugged, and told him to make the right one, “But do it quickly so that this one is still warm and you can eat it.” In comparison, if Y/N had done that, Harry might have had her hung, drawn, and quartered. 

“I’m begging you to just learn how to wax,” Y/N straightened out her top and apron, rumpled her lips, and set toward the door, “And I’m begging you to learn how in a way that doesn’t involve me seeing your balls.” 

“What do you have against my balls?” Niall presses the door open and almost mows someone down immediately. The squawk that echoed through the hall (drowned out by the neighboring clank of pots and pans) told them before they saw that it was Adam, who caught himself on the door and held a hand to his chest. 

“I hope you weren’t in the food supply closet trying to show off your balls Ni,” Adam recovered quickly, shaking his head, “That’s bad for business. Hey, Y/N – oh my god, have you been crying?” 

“What? No,” Y/N lies and she’s thankful she did because Harry rounds the corner in hot pursuit – she hopes for the salt inside the storage room and not his lowly apprentice, “I have bad allergies this time of year, sometimes they just act up. Itchy eyes and all that,” she waves him off, “I took some medicine though.” 

Adam looks wary, but smiles goodnaturedly, “Ah, yeah, okay I get that. If you need anything just let me know, yeah?” Because Adam knows that his head chef is kind of a dick, and rough with his apprentices not only because he works with him, but because he learned right beside him, from the same man – Harry’s grandfather. They grew up together, which is why he’s the only person in the kitchen not tiptoeing around Harry. It’s also why Y/N could never let him know that Harry upset her, because he wouldn’t have a problem bringing it up to him.

(Which is what happened to Finley, who – after confiding in Adam that Harry was a big meanie – Harry found him, pulled him to the side, and asked, “Did you think tattling was going to make me go easier on you? Honestly, you just pissed me the hell off.”) 

She smiles, nods her head, and when she inevitably makes eye contact with Harry (whose scowl has relaxed minutely) she gives a curter nod, before ducking away. Niall stays back with Adam and Harry doesn’t yank her back by the collar to yell at her some more, so she hurries off. It’s only a couple of more hours, just like Niall said, and hopefully, in that time, she could redeem herself even remotely. 

It can be hard. Y/N signed up for this sure, but not directly – not really. The culinary school she’d been attending had many chefs come to speak to them, some from smaller establishments and some from bigger chain restaurants, offering them apprenticeships and speaking about life after they graduate. Nobody had expected Harry Styles to show up one of the days, closer to graduation, and nobody expected him to pick anyone to be his apprentice – least of all Y/N – but she remembered the day clearly. How he bit into her shepherd's pie (what Y/N had been embarrassed about making now that one of the most masterclass fine dining chefs was coming to taste their food), and his face pulled into one that Y/N had misinterpreted at the time as disgust. She found out soon after that when Harry enjoys a dish, he looks pissed off about it. 

“Who made this?” He asked and Y/N felt her heart drop to her stomach when she raised her hand, blinking a million times a minute like her eyelids might help her fly away if she tried hard enough, “Come here.” 

The room had been quiet; silent enough that you’d be able to hear a soap bubble pop as Y/N weaved through the tables to where he stood. He was at the space she prepared it at, his hand lying on the counter while his other hand held the fork. Harry sliced into it with the side of the utensil, motioned at the inside of it, how it falls out slowly, “Where’d you learn to make this?” 

“Um – a cookbook, sir.” Y/N was lightheaded, and she kind of thought she might pass out in a second if he didn’t stop staring at her so hard. 

Harry huffed a laugh through his nose, and at the time, it felt like humoring a god, “Yeah?” He must have been in a good mood, “What is your name?” 

“Y/N, sir.” 

“Y/N,” he repeated her name back to her, then brought another forkful to his mouth – it was the only time he’d gone back in for seconds, “This is good.” 

“Oh, really?” Her eyes went wide, “Thank you, I – I mean, yeah. Thank you.” 

It wasn’t some grandiose request for her to study under him. Actually, Y/N thought he’d just been in the mood to give at least one compliment, until her instructor emailed her that he was interested in having her as his apprentice.

Anytime he scolds her, or is mean to her, or kind of rough – she vividly remembers the moment. It brings her some comfort, on the days that she’s certain he hates her and her cooking and thinks she’s useless in the kitchen beside him. That, at the very least, the shepherd’s pie recipe she used to read out of her Nan’s cookbook from decades ago was enough to make him take a second bite. 

“Y/N,” her name is called as soon as she steps foot in the kitchen, one of the waiters smiling at her, “An old bloke from table three legitimately said ‘send my compliments to the chef’ over your seared tuna.” 

That soothes the sear over her heart for now at least. 

                                                                   .                           .                         .

Y/N and Harry do not speak to each other. Or, well – that’s a little dramatic. They do speak to each other, but it’s nothing beyond the matters of the restaurant and cooking. When Y/N sees Harry, bright and early for Mise en place, she is barely spared a ‘good morning’ before he discusses what the specials for today are and what needs to be prepared outside of the norm. Y/N’s there early enough some mornings that she’s helping him unload the trucks and of course, that’s something they’re doing in relative silence. And then he speaks to her to scold her for something, usually, or to tell her that she did well which can be few and far between and is – at most – a small nod when he tastes a sauce that she’s made or cuts into a fillet and checks the tenderness. 

But they don’t talk about life. Harry has no idea what Y/N does when she leaves the restaurant and she has no idea if he even lives outside of this kitchen. He doesn’t know that she’s got a cat named Hazelnut or that her ex messaged her the other day asking for restaurant recommendations and she doesn’t know if he has any pets or if he’s ever dated someone in his life. While Adam and Niall knew the intimate details of one another’s scrotums, Y/N couldn’t even tell you what Harry’s favorite color was – but she guesses that’s okay. They don’t have to be best friends for Harry to teach her properly, and honestly, it’s probably for the best that he’s a dick. There’d be no way she’d be able to focus on anything if he was nice to her – because nice and attractive in the animal side of Y/N’s brain flashes alarm symbols that scream SUITABLE MATE!!!!! and that’d probably be a mess. 

With all of this being noted, Y/N is well and truly shocked when she shows up at 5 AM to sharpen knives and chop vegetables, and Harry speaks to her beyond a perfunctory greeting. 

“How are your allergies today?” 

Y/N blinked at him, stilling where she was pulling off her coat like a bunny who’d just been spotted by a predator in the wild. She’s like, almost halfway certain that he isn’t speaking to her at all, but they’re the only two in here – Adam and Niall don’t turn up for another hour. 

“My what?” 

Harry has a clipboard in his left hand, his fingers around the base of his favorite ballpoint pen – he must’ve been doing inventory checks before she got here, “Your allergies,” he repeated, “Your eyes were red yesterday – you told Adam it was your allergies acting up.” 

This honestly might have been the most words Harry has spoken to her without any food being involved. Y/N’s struggling not to seem like an idiot but she’s certain she’s staring at him like he’d grown a second head, and he might as well have. In the mornings, she gets orders and maybe a grunt of approval now and then if she fulfills them as he intended. She has never been asked how she slept, what her commute was like, if she’d eaten breakfast – none of those routine questions you ask someone to start the flow of social interaction. 

Yet here Harry is, questioning her about allergies she lied about. Y/N does get seasonal allergies sometimes, but typically when one season is beginning to melt into the other. It was too far into winter for her to suddenly have itchy eyes, with all the pollen dormant, waiting to really destroy her come spring. Anyone who had allergies could kind of guess that and Y/N has the horrifying thought that Harry has allergies, and knows that she was lying. Even if he didn’t have allergies, he probably already knew she’d been lying – she was relatively certain that his eyes had a second setting that was programmed to see right through her. 

“Oh, uh – better,” she swallowed thickly, praying that he only thought she was being awkward because they didn’t do casual conversation like. . .ever, “They’re better. I took medicine though.” 

Harry eyed her quietly and Y/N shuffled beneath his gaze, wishing he would look away from her. Y/N had always thought she wanted a relationship akin to the one Niall and Adam had with each other, but she’s finding quickly that she wouldn’t be able to handle it well. At least not now, when they’d already established their dynamic as begrudging mentor and feeble mentee. 

“Brunoise the carrots and celery, and tourné the potatoes. I already have them prepped.” 

That’s. . .different. Not the order to start cutting but the fact that Harry had already washed and prepped the vegetables for her. That’s normally a job he leaves for her while he tends to more important matters like inventory checks, delegating tasks for the others when they come in, or even prepping some of the other ingredients for their plates that day (he prepares his meat very precisely and particularly, and he hasn’t shown her exactly how yet – Y/N knew it was going to be something that took her weeks or maybe months to master in his keen eye and she wasn’t looking forward to it at all).

So Y/N is kind of sketched out but she’s learned to not look a gift horse in the mouth when it comes to Harry. If he was in a good mood, then she would accept it graciously and do everything in her power not to muck it up. 

Being in the kitchen with only him is more peaceful than one might think – at least for her it was. Most of the time Y/N doesn’t even think what she’s done is enough to piss him off, but a collection of small things by multiple people. It’s just a matter of the wrong mistake at the wrong time when Y/N does something little and stupid that grates his nerves and sends him right over the edge, but had she been the first one to make a mistake, he probably wouldn’t have cared as much. Y/N’s only scientific backing for this hypothesis is that Harry seems to be more at ease in the morning. Maybe that’s just because the day had only just started. Y/N likes to pretend it’s because he feels more at ease when it’s only the two of them in the kitchen. 

Niall and Adam arrive after an hour and a half of Y/N silently cutting vegetables, just in time for the meat prep which is admittedly her least favorite part. She likes to pawn off some of that job onto Niall who does it so long as she listens to his escapade and offers meaningful commentary, which she’d be doing anyway but he didn’t need to know that, necessarily. Harry had told her the ingredients he wanted in the marinade and went through the steps rather quickly but Y/N had scribbled it down (he’d slid her a notepad and let her have his pen. . another small grace that he typically didn’t offer). 

“Fuck sake,” Adam shivered as he pulled off his winter coat, “Harry isn’t it a bit rude to have a woman come out in this weather this early? Reckon that’s like – a fuck you to chivalry or something.” 

“You could take her place in prepping then,” Harry replied coolly, not raising his eyes from where they were fixed on his inventory sheet, “Be here by 5 AM.” 

Adam grimaced, then looked at her, “Sorry Babe, I gave it a go. Don’t think he’s willing to budge.” 

“I’d just like to state for the record that Y/N has never requested Adam to get her out of anything,” Niall said loud enough for Harry to hear across the kitchen, “He did this of his own free will without the consultation of my client.” 

“What’re you, her lawyer?” Adam snorted. 

Niall clicked his tongue, “I’ll have to be if you make damning statements like that.” 

Y/N laughs though she does glance over at Harry, who mostly seems to be in his own world. He typically is, when Adam and Niall are going back and forth. However, today – and maybe she’s just hallucinating it – but he has the tiniest of smiles twitching at the corner of his mouth. Like. . .barely there. It was so invisible that nobody could tell he was smiling if she took a picture and held it up side-by-side with his normal face. So maybe he wasn’t smiling at all, but it was a fun thought to have at least. The idea that he might be even remotely interested in kitchen antics apart from business was always kind of fun to pretend now and then. 

“Y/N,” Harry’s voice sliced through the kitchen, “Get back to work.” 

She hadn’t realized she’d been idle with a potato in her hand since Adam and Niall walked in. Her eyes widened as she set it back down on the cutting board, “Oh, oops, sorry I will,” she replied before grabbing the knife again. Adam and Niall were headed to the hand-washing sink before they started their task. Y/N, once again (and she’ll do this several times throughout her shift), wondered what it would be like if she and Harry had that type of relationship. Where they came in together (Y/N thinks they honestly drive each other sometimes), relaxed and laughing. Comfortable in each other's presence whether that be in the kitchen, goofing off in the stock room, drinking after work. One time Y/N messaged Niall and his response was Sorry, Adam and I were bowling what do you need — like, it’s crazy! Y/N can’t imagine Harry doing a recreational activity with her without someone threatening him — and even then, he might still say no. 

What would he be like outside of work? Does he laugh at things? Like – has this man ever had a belly laugh in his life? Does he watch movies? What genre does he like? Has he ever binge-watched a TV show? Does he cuss at the screen during footie games? And what color are his sheets? Does his house look like someone lives in it? Does he think about her outside of work? Does he remember why he chose her to apprentice under him in the first place? 

She has to shake her head free of all the questions – she could ask a billion and go crazy with no real answers. Some days Y/N wishes he’d accidentally dropped a journal or something that she could dig through to get a better understanding of him, but it has yet to happen. And she thinks if she asked him any of these questions he’d glare at her and tell her to mind her fucking business and organize the seasonings on the rack by name and color.

Maybe one day she’d learn more about him. 

                                                                      .                       .                       .

“I’m just wondering like – has he ever made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Niall inquired idly when he and Y/N were hiding in the break room for the 15 blissful minutes of peace they were afforded. They had to take their lunch, not actually around lunchtime – either a little bit before or a little while after since noon was a busy time of day. They’re smack in the middle of the business district, so plenty of workers – mostly the bigwigs who can afford the high prices of their meals without overthinking about it – come around for their 30 to 60 minutes allotted for lunch to have steak flambeed at table side. 

Y/N was, funny enough, warming up a frozen meal to scarf down. For as much as she loves to cook, she rarely has time to do it for herself anymore. She can’t even remember the last time she ate a full meal that she prepared, now only able to take little sips and bites to make sure the sauce was to taste or that the meat was tender. Around holidays she can work her skills for potlucks and family gatherings, but otherwise, she’s eating cheap little meals to stave off hunger pains and keep her bank at least partially appeased. 

There wasn’t a lot of time though – she had ten minutes before needing to go back out there while Niall chewed through his peanut butter and jelly, swiping at the grape jelly that stuck to the corner of his mouth, “S’like, I can’t imagine it. I feel like he was 4 years old eating coq au vin.” 

She snorted, watching the time on the microwave, “Yeah, most likely,” she sighed, “If he made one though it’d somehow taste like it cost a hundred quid to make.” 

“I agree,” Niall nodded curtly, “He could probably piss on the bread and it’d still taste like gold.” 

“God, you’re so gross–” 

“Y/N,” Harry peeks around the door. His voice always startles her, especially when he refers to her by name. He spends so much time catching her attention with a matter of grunts and staring until she makes eye contact, that she’s surprised he even remembers it sometimes. This would mark the second time this week that he’s referred to her by it though, and a part of her is reeling because of it. Even though he’s only saying her name to tell her, “Since we’re short today, I’ll need you to step in and run Freya’s station.” 

Freya is their garnish chef, always plotting out the most perfect plates and adding them intricately. It’s a job that goes unnoticed by many, but Y/N has always been able to appreciate how beautiful she’s able to make even something as simple as a salad appear. Half of the restaurant experience is to appeal to a visual appetite, going hand-in-hand with how it tastes. Something could taste delicious but look like shit, and you’d lose one of these customers in a blink of an eye. Freya makes sure that this isn’t something to worry about. 

Y/N actually spent a couple of weeks following Freya last month, and her plating game had been upped tenfold. She can only imagine this is why Harry wanted her to run her station, but still. . .it feels like a kiss on the cheek from a god. For him to show any amount of trust in her to run a station speaks to the growth in their relationship as apprentice and mentor; when she’d first started, Harry barely even let her hold a knife without him hovering. 

“Oh! Oh my god, yeah, I’ll do that.” She agreed, taking her phone and sliding it into her pocket. 

Harry gave a short nod, “Good. I need you there now,” his eyes flickered to where Niall sat, his hand frozen in a pack of pretzels, “Have you eaten?” 

“Yes,” she lies, and when Harry pointedly looked at the microwave, now beeping, she motioned toward Niall (and made sure to step on Niall’s foot a bit to keep him quiet, though she’s certain he wouldn’t speak out of turn to Harry ever), “That’s his – he’s really hungry today.” 

Harry eyed her for a moment, and she guesses he decided it was not worth investigating before turning on his heel and leaving. Niall looks at her, brows raised, “Holy fuck, he’s letting you run a station? That’s like next level.” 

“Shut up, you’ve run stations before,” she replied, sneaking her hand in his bag of pretzels and grabbing a couple. Y/N probably shouldn’t have lied about eating but she was worried that he would find someone else to run it if she wasn’t quick enough. Plus, what if he thought less of her for trying to feed herself over the general public or something? She could hear him scolding her now, something like They eat then you can eat – your hierarchy of needs matters very little in comparison. 

“Yeah, but that’s because Adam is Adam, but Harry is Harry,” he stressed, “Don’t mess it up, he’ll never trust you again.” 

“Thanks for the upbeat pep talk, Ni.” 

“I mean, you’re gonna do great! I’m proud of you!” He cheered, fist in the air to rally with her, “Um, but do you think he heard me say the thing about him pissing on a sandwich? Because he showed up like 5 seconds after that.” 

Y/N doesn’t bother answering him more than a squeeze to his shoulder then sets off to go run the station. Her stomach growls at her but in her head, she chastises it and tells it to suck it up. She’d gone plenty of days skipping lunch to work, even before she was even a chef, so she was used to it – she wished she’d had a better breakfast in preparation, but she was praying that the two pieces of toast with peanut butter and her fiber infused yogurt would do her well. At least until her next break. 

She’s got this though! She’s going to prove to Harry that he can rely on her, and their relationship will be better because of it. Maybe they could have even a sliver of the camaraderie that Adam and Niall share. Y/N has lofty hopes, she knows, but it’s what pushes her. She’ll do her best – no, she’ll do even better than her best. 

That’s what Harry expects of her. 

                                                               .                         .                      .

What Harry doesn’t expect from her, is for her to nearly pass out two hours into taking on the assigned role. 

How the restaurant is set up is like this: they serve lunch and dinner. Every two weeks she and Niall alternate between working the lunch shift or the dinner shift, though somehow Y/N still gets stuck coming in early a lot of the time to do prep work – but after prepping she’s free to leave. Ideally, if Finley had stayed then he would be working the alternate shift of her and he’d be doing it but that didn’t happen. Y/N doesn’t think Harry flips – she imagines that he’s there all day every day, except Mondays and Tuesdays when they’re closed. Adam, who is a hard worker but not willing to break his back or sacrifice too much of his life, has another chef who works under him, and he garnered Harry’s approval. She is who runs his side of the kitchen during dinner if he’s on the lunch shift, and vice versa. 

So this week, in particular, Niall and Y/N were on the lunch shift. Both shifts have their own complications and their own menus. Both can tend to be busy as well, though usually, lunch is a little slower than dinner, nowhere near as hectic as it gets from 5 PM to 8 PM. That being said, getting dishes out in an appropriately timed manner is imperative, because people need to get back to work after their lunch break is through. This means that if there is an influx of customers, it’s fucking brutal. 

And today, when Y/N was finally trusted enough and given the task to take on Freya’s role, it was fucking brutal. 

She did it though! Y/N was actually so good, if she was able to stroke her ego, she did much better than she thought. Everything looked pretty, it tasted nice, and things were plated and sent out in record time with the help of two other kitchen staff (Max and Gretal). Harry had come over to see how she was doing and didn’t say a word, which – for him – is the same as high praise. If he doesn’t speak sometimes it’s because there’s nothing to correct. He thought it looked good, even if he wasn’t saying it aloud, but Y/N knew he wouldn’t send out a plate that he didn’t approve of. 

It was just – once the rush had settled, Y/N’s vision went spotty and she almost fell right into the stove. 

Not a great look at all, and she’s horrifically embarrassed. She wasn’t sure who saved her from slamming into the boiling pot of soup until her vision righted itself, Adam looking at her with the same wide, panicked eyes he had when he caught her crying, “Jesus Christ!” He cried out, “What happened?” 

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly, “I just – um. . .I think I need to eat?” 

So she was directed not to the breakroom, but to an abandoned little alcove far down a hallway. Nobody ever comes here, and Y/N needed a minute to lick her now very tender and mortified ego. There was something inherently embarrassing about people seeing her nearly fall and though she knew reasonably nobody was going to point and laugh at her, she still couldn’t shake it. She felt silly and the thought of people remembering this every time they saw her was enough for her to want to smother herself. 

Adam had told her he would bring her something to eat, just to hold tight, and left her with a juice box. They don’t have kids come here often, but if they do, their limited kid menu does include apple juice. She slurps through the tiny straw and feels the threat of a headache tickling around her temples. She’s sure Harry isn’t even going to register how well she did today because there’s no way this wouldn’t completely overshadow it. At the very least, she’s thankful that she didn’t actually tumble into the stove – she probably would’ve ruined the soup boiling on it and Harry would have her head. 

She wasn’t sure how long she was sitting there before the door leading into the hallway opened, the wind it created, and the subsequent clearing of the sounds in the kitchen that it’d been muffling giving it away. Y/N had prepared herself for a doting Adam, worried and fretting, making him promise not to fuss at Harry over this. She was ready to eat, get herself right, then return and finish the rest of her day. 

What she wasn’t ready for, was Harry coming around the corner instead. 

Y/N’s heart drops to her stomach – well, it first speeds up to a thousand beats per minute and then drops to her stomach. Maybe even lower than her stomach? Down to her ass, more like. The threat of sweat building at her nape was true to her fight or flight response because he doesn’t necessarily look pleased with her. Plus he’s holding something in his hand – probably a contract promising to never try and work under him again because even the sight of her name after today might disturb him. 

Upon closer inspection, Y/N realizes instead that he’s holding something wrapped in foil. He comes up to her and surprisingly doesn’t immediately start yelling, instead staring down at her for a second. Y/N blinks at him, and he blinks at her, wordlessly. 

“Um, Sir?” She held the juice box tightly in her hands, “Are you here to scold me?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, lowering down until he was squatting in front of her. This position was way less menacing as he held out the foil-wrapped mystery item, “Why do you talk to me like I’m your headmaster in school?” Y/N took the foiled object tentatively, “And why did you lie?” 

“Huh?” 

“You lied about eating,” he nudged his head toward the kitchen, “And almost took out the chestnut soup.” 

Y/N grimaced, struggling not to shrink in on herself, “I’m sorry,” she frowned, “I’m – I hope that the kitchen doesn’t suffer not having someone run Freya’s station, but the others should be able to take care of it.” 

He sighed, annoyed, “I don’t give a shit about Freya’s station,” Y/N’s mouth fell open, “I care about why you lied.” 

She shuffled, nervous, her heart still racing, “I just thought. . .I thought if I’d told you I hadn’t eaten yet it would annoy you,” she explained, swallowing thickly, “You’ve never offered me to run a station before so I wanted to jump on the opportunity and show you that I can do well.” 

Harry stares at her hard, unrelenting, and Y/N feels like she’d rather have passed out into the soup. Anything to get away from this intense gaze he has, piercing right through her, like he’s trying to peek into her very core. She doesn’t think he’s ever looked at her for this long if he’s not chastising her for a mistake. Even when he’s teaching her something, he’s mostly staring at the food, at her hands, scrutinizing the deftness of her fingers and the techniques she uses. 

“You should never sacrifice your health for the sake of someone else,” he finally replied, pointing his index finger at himself, “Not me,” and then he pointed where the dining area sat behind the walls, “And not them. You should always come first, no matter what the circumstances are.” He rested his hand on his knee, still squatting to her level, “I already know you can do well, you don’t have to prove that to me.” 

Y/N frowns a little, “But I do,” she answered, and she would blame it on being lightheaded and dizzy later, her talking back to him instead of taking the compliment, “The only time you speak to me is to scold me, so how am I supposed to know you think I’m doing well? If I have an opportunity to make you acknowledge me, then I’ll take it.” 

“You won’t survive this career if you’re only working for my acknowledgment.” 

She groans because he’s missing the point, “That’s – not it,” she huffs, “People eating my food and finishing it is enough acknowledgment for me, sure, but you – you’re my mentor! And you’re one of the best chefs there is, if you tell me I’m doing well. . .it just feels good, is all. Sometimes validation is nice and there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

Harry takes some time to stare at her again. The scent of his cologne is slithering around her, something vanilla and warm which is a surprising choice for him but welcomed by her nares. His skin is clear up close, and she thinks the rumors about him getting laser hair removal on his face might be true because there’s not a speck of hair or even the hint of a shadow along his jaw or upper lip. He somehow doesn’t have frown marks for someone who looks pissed all of the time, but she guesses he’s always looked pissed with his lips pulled into a straight line. Their black button-up dress code is the same, but Harry always looks more expensive than everyone else, and he rarely wears the apron anymore, unless he knows he will be completely hands-on with a dish. His trousers were nice too, and she knew the shot of his bum from the back might be glorious, but now wasn’t the time to think about that. 

“You want verbal praise.” It didn’t necessarily sound like a question, but Y/N still nods anyway, “Why haven’t you said that before?” 

Y/N is blinking at him again, confused, “Because you’re kind of scary? And I thought you’d. . .I thought you’d be annoyed with me.” 

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, taking it away with a soft popping sound. Y/N is worried that she accidentally offended him, but he only nods his head, his face twisted up in a way that tells her he’s considering what she said, “Alright,” he finally said, “I’ll do my best to give you verbal praise if you do your best not to lie to me. I don’t like liars,” he motioned toward the foil, “Now eat, I made that for you.” 

Her brows raised, peeling the foil back carefully to reveal a peanut butter and jelly, carefully constructed and sliced into two triangles. Her gaze flickers back to him, then back to the sandwich, “You made this for me?” He nods, and Y/N can’t help the little smile that pulls at her mouth, “Oh wow, thank you. It looks yummy.” 

“I didn’t piss on it, but it should be good.” 

Horror writes itself all over her face, the realization that he’d heard Niall say that. Then she wonders how many other things he’s heard when he just appears out of nowhere, and she gets a little nervous. Before she can say anything, he snorts, pats her knee, and then finally stands (she’s impressed by how long he’d been squatting in front of her), “Eat, and then when you feel less dizzy, head home, I’m giving you the rest of the day.” 

“But –” Y/N tries but Harry clicks his tongue and interrupts her. 

“If you get lightheaded again and actually take out the soup, I will be pissed. But I’m in a good mood right now, so take advantage of it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Y/N lets her shoulders relax, hovering the sandwich over her mouth, “Okay,” she replies, “Thank you, Sir.” 

He sighs, heavily, “Please, enough with that. You’re making me feel like an old man. Just call me Harry for fuck sake.” 

                                                            .                          .                        .

There are several cooking techniques that Y/N has started to get the hang of and several that she has still yet to master. Honestly, there were quite a few that she hadn’t tried yet, because her kitchen and supplies at her flat didn’t provide the best space for experimentation. Like, practicing flambe on her electric stove would set off her fire alarms and probably the sprinkler system, and since the wiring is so dodgy at her complex then her neighbor’s sprinkles would start raining down on them too. So it was just all around safer to keep that for a more open space with a more seasoned chef watching her do it. 

Y/N is unsure if Harry goes by a schedule or if he just decides to teach her new techniques when he feels like it. It always seems a little random; sometimes the skills she’s learning aren’t even put to use until a month or two after she’s learned them. It might just be whatever day Harry wakes up and feels a little more patient than usual, he must decide that’s the best time to do it.

Now, considering that he’s running a business and there’s very little time during the work day for him to sit and train her on different cooking styles and techniques, he usually calls her in on an off day. If Y/N had a more active social life it would probably matter to her that he expects her to drop everything and come at his command when she gets a message on a Monday. Instead of having brunch with some friends, however, Y/N had gotten out of bed to shower and then went to her sofa to continue lying down. 

Productivity on off days is something exclusively reserved for nice weather, or at least Y/N thinks so. As soon as it’s cold outside, she is exempt from having to leave home for anything short of getting food, and she doesn’t have to feel bad or lazy about it. Who wants to be out in the cold? Especially days like this, when the wind slices bone deep and the sky looks thick and heavy with the threat of snow. Y/N thinks she’s better off in here, within the confines of her flat that now has a working heater, and her cat Hazelnut snuggled on her lap. 

When her phone buzzes in her hand, it yanks her attention from the show that she’d been going in between watching carefully and ignoring to scroll through Twitter. Y/N blinks once, twice – three times to make sure she isn’t hallucinating that the Harry Styles she’s seeing from her notification isn’t a hallucination. 

Are you busy? 

Y/N presses herself from where she’d been stretched out on the sofa, disturbing her cat just enough to side-eye her but not enough to get up and move. 

Is everything okay? 

She thinks it’s an appropriate question, actually, even though it isn’t responding to his question. The last time Harry messaged her was eight months ago and it was a simple You’re late – when she woke up after snoozing her alarm for 20 minutes then got caught in an intense morning thunderstorm. He doesn’t contact her often, since he sees her 5 out of the 7 days a week. So this makes her nervous, sweat dots against her palms while her teeth worry her lip between them. 

There’s no response for three minutes, and Y/N is staring anxiously at her phone the entire time. 

Come to the kitchen. 

Y/N can only assume he means the one at his restaurant, and can only assume that he’s about to lay into her about something. She doesn’t know what would permit a house call other than him telling her she was useless and would never make it in the culinary world. That he couldn’t even find something to pretend to find praiseworthy, and that she would need to find another mentor, out of his sight, and nowhere within 100 kilometers of his kitchen. 

There’s a frantic way in her movements as she throws the blanket off of her lap and stands up, Hazelnut grumbling a meow up at her, annoyed, “Sorry,” she murmured but ultimately tripped over herself grabbing for her purse and shoving her feet into her shoes. There was no time to get in different clothes, fear kicking her into gear – it’s not like she’s eager to get scolded and kicked to the curb, but she knew not knowing would drive her insane. It was better to face her fear head-on, which means facing Harry head-on, and praying that it’s something simple to be yelled at for. Like, maybe she didn’t clean a pot well enough? Or did she leave a burner on and burn half the kitchen down? No, no, hopefully, she just left the pantry unlocked and it irritated him. Or she left the freezer open and everything thawed and now they have no meat for the rest of the month. 

From the time it took her to get into her car and drive to the restaurant, Y/N had conjured a thousand different scenarios as to why Harry would be contacting her. None of them were even remotely soothing to her brain and all of them left her in a state of slight panic, which she’s sure is showing all over her face when she stumbles inside. Harry is casually leaning against one of the counters, looking down at a piece of paper with a furrowed brow. It looks like the inventory sheet – had she used too much of the garnishes when she took over Freya’s station last week? She did feel like she was using an insane amount of parsley. 

“Um, Sir?” Harry’s gaze flickered to her, and Y/N felt like she wanted to crawl underneath the counter, into a pot, and hide, “What – why did you – um, did I do something?” She is breathless, and it’s clear no matter how much she tries to control it. Her chest raises dramatically with each inhale and Harry blinks at her, head tilted. 

“What?” His brows relaxed, “Did you run here?” 

She cleared her throat, “I mean, I rushed here, yeah,” she explained, then motioned toward him, “I was worried because – you never contact me on off days.” 

“So you automatically assumed you did something wrong?” 

“You were being cryptic!” 

Harry sighs, shaking his head, “No, you haven’t done anything,” he replies, “Though your immediate reaction screams guilty conscience to me. I wanted to teach you how to cook en papillote – have you heard of that before?” 

Y/N’s shoulders sink, all the tension zipping from her bones at once and she’s just as relieved as she is irritated. He couldn’t have just told her that? She did all that panicking just to find out he wanted to teach her how to cook in parchment paper. God, if they had a closer relationship, she’d be tearing into him right now – if he were Adam, she’d be fussing and grumbling and telling him that he owed her a day off and a drink or maybe a shot of Ativan directly into her bloodstream. 

Instead, she nods,  “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never tried it.” 

Harry hums, and finally Y/N looks down at the counter before him. There are vegetables prepped, lemons already sliced, and what looks to be a halibut already descaled and deboned. A medium-sized baking tin sits beside his drumming fingers, along with parchment paper, “It’s a blind cooking method,” Harry continued, saying, “The parchment paper traps the moisture and flavor that would otherwise evaporate while you’re baking it. It’s ideal for fish – it’s one of my preferred ways to prepare it.” 

“I – yeah,” she swallows, “I’ve never tried it but I’ve heard good things about it. I think what makes me nervous is not being able to see it.” 

He agrees with another hum, “You don’t cook fish often,” he says it as a statement rather than a question, “It’s a good thing to have in your repertoire; no matter the type of cooking you decide to venture into, from culture to culture, fish are always a big part of it.” 

So, Harry shows her. By no means is he warm and fuzzy about it – when Harry teaches it is with a rigid sort of preciseness that leaves very little room for error. Harry shows her, step-by-step, piece by piece how to slice the vegetables, season them, and arrange them delicately around the fish. He shows her where to slice so the meat cooks thoroughly, how to wrap the parchment around it, what she should feel for, what it should smell like, and how she should know it was done cooking without being able to visualize it. 

The scent is mouthwatering when he pulls it from the oven and as he peels back the folds of parchment, revealed is the cut of fish browned and the vegetables steaming. Harry slides the fork inside and it goes so smoothly that Y/N knows it must be tender, and slices off a small piece with the knife, making sure to soak it momentarily in the juices that had gathered at the bottom of the dish. He pulls it to his mouth and purses his lips to blow over it, the steam disperses from around it. 

In a move that Y/N did not expect, he doesn’t bring the bite between his lips – he holds it out to her. 

There are barricades between synapses as her neurons try to communicate, forcing them to dance and dip around each other. Something is misfiring as she stares between him and the fork, and it takes him raising an eyebrow at her before Y/N’s lips finally parted, her mouth opening for him. She doesn’t lean in to take the bite between her teeth, instead letting Harry guide the fork inside before she curls her lips around it. 

It’s delicious because there’s never been something Harry has cooked that hasn’t been delicious – but she’s caught up in the process of him having her try it. In the past, Harry barely offered her a fork to try what he’d prepared when he was teaching her, but now he’s feeding her. Watching her with keen eyes as she chews, waiting patiently for her throat to bob with a swallow, “It’s good, yes?” He phrases it like a question but it sounds like he knows because of course he does – it’s always good. 

Y/N doesn’t know why her heart is speeding up behind her ribcage, startling it to a rattle. Her insides felt like gossamer-winged butterflies were licking her insides with each flutter, knocking against each other and bouncing off her organs. For the first time since she’s shown up here, she realizes that Harry is dressed for his off day as well. With an off-white, linen long-sleeve, and brown linen slacks, he seems soft and well-rested, like he should have woken up in the French countryside during the early summer months. The gaze he held was still unrelenting and intense but somehow more gentle than she’d ever experienced before. 

“It’s yummy,” she answered, finally, acting like she hadn’t just ogled him before responding. 

Though no smile graces his mouth, he huffs a soft breath through his nose, and it’s as close to a laugh as she usually gets from him. “Yummy,” he repeats, amused, “Let’s see if you can make it yummy as well.” 

So she does as he tells her. Harry watches and guides her through the steps he’d just given her, correcting her technique or adding more seasoning where he deemed fit. At some point when she’s slicing into the fish, he’s plucking at his bottom lip and she almost cuts her finger staring at his mouth before getting a grip. Y/N is a little ashamed of herself – he hasn’t even been that nice, but he’s being a whole lot more amicable than he’s ever been. He hadn’t scoffed or sighed in the face of her messing up, not even once; instead, he gently redirected her mistake. Y/N wonders what her experience would have been like so far if he’d always been like this with her – if she would be a better chef because of it. 

When it’s time for them to try hers, Harry cuts two pieces off this time. One for him and one for her, only he offers her the fork first and once she takes her bite, he uses the same fork to place his bite in his mouth. Y/N is fully aware of the rudimentary nature of her thoughts, but like. . .wow, they used the same fork. That’s like. . .indirectly kissing, is what the 15-year-old in her brain reminds her. 

“How does it taste?” Harry asks like he doesn’t have the same piece in his mouth. Y/N had been too focused on the whole fork-sharing thing to pay much attention to the taste, but he clues her in with just enough time for her to have something to say. It was alright – not as good as his, but she had never once thought she’d be able to imitate the taste of things he’s made. There’s a sneaking suspicion she and Niall share that Harry possesses some special cells on his fingers that make everything taste ten times better than the average person. All he’d have to do is peel and slice an orange and eating it would probably have the same effect that snorting cocaine has on the body. 

Y/N shrugs, “It’s. . okay,” she tells him, maybe selling it a little short so he didn’t feel the need to humble her, “I think it could be better.” 

Harry hums thoughtfully, she thinks to agree with her, but he slices into the halibut again and this time stabs his fork into a cherry tomato, roasted brown around the edges. Then he takes another bite. . .Y/N could have fallen over from the shock of it. Harry is notorious for one bite then dropping the fork and either grunting his approval or grunting his disgust (two different types of grunts that Y/N has grown expert in differentiating). There were silly rumors (started by Niall) that Harry sustains himself from the single bites he takes to test meals. It’s what had made him take a second bite of her shepherd’s pie so important when they first met. 

“I think you sell yourself too short,” he says after swallowing, “Do you know why I chose you last year?” Her head barely moves when she shakes it, staring at him with wide, dumbfounded eyes. Harry had never alluded to a reason – he rips into her day in and day out, enough where Y/N herself couldn’t figure out why he would choose her over everyone in her class. Most days she thought it boiled down to him liking shepherd’s pie, “You are a good cook, that’s why. I wouldn’t have chosen someone bad at cooking to study beneath me,” he explained, “For your first try, this is good. Your next try will be better, and the time after that, I expect you to take your own spin on it. Do you follow?” 

“Yes, Si–” 

“Ah.” He cuts her off. 

“Harry,” she corrects herself, “Yes, Harry.” 

Y/N almost wanted to wipe her eyes to make sure her vision wasn’t blurry when she saw his lips pull into a small smile. She pinched the meat of her palm beneath her thumbnail to make sure she wasn’t dreaming though, and idly wondered if sudden onset hallucinations would warm someone’s permanent state of straight mouth into a smile. But she thinks it’s real – honest to god, a real smile, big enough that she doesn’t have to squint and wonder if a muscle in his cheek spasmed. 

“Good,” he set the fork and knife down on the counter, “Are you busy today? Would you like to try again?” 

                                                                .                            .                             .

There’s a shift so subtle in their dynamic that only two highly delusional people would notice it (her and Niall). 

To the untrained eye, there had been no change at all, but Y/N and Niall, who maybe spent entirely too much time hyper fixating on his every move knew that something had changed. The crease in his brow gets just the slightest bit less crease-y when she does well, and the pitch to his hums and grunts are diminutively higher when he is pleased with what she’s done. Things that would have made him scold her harshly or fuss at her for being careless, his reaction is much milder. Now instead of a disapproving glare, it’s a disapproving glance that doesn’t last very long. He doesn’t pull her off to the side to tell her that she overcooked the pasta and how if she wanted to continue on she better learn how to manage her time better so things like this didn’t happen – he merely clicks his tongue, dials the flame down or maybe even pops it off the stove if she’s preoccupied with something else. 

That’s not all though, because he’s always somewhere looming but his presence seems much lighter to her now. Much less oppressive and scary, where knowing that he was hovering behind her watching her like a hawk felt like being a rabbit stalked by a fox. The change is more like an instructor on standby in case their trainee needs them. . .closer to the way Adam hovers around Niall even when they aren’t discussing who footie teams are trading or comparing pube grooming techniques. Only instead of talking about sports and pubes, she and Harry don’t really speak but still. . .it’s nice not to be so worried around him all of the time. 

At first, Y/N thought this was purely her brain deluding herself into thinking she and Harry were closer after several Mondays when he’d called her into the kitchen for teaching. But during break one day, when she and Niall had escaped the building to fight past blistering winds for this new hazelnut latte at a cafe down the street, Niall brought it up unprovoked. 

“Has Harry been like. . .minutely nicer to you lately?” His cheeks, nose, and ears match the same bright red of someone who’d been trapped in an unforgiving snowstorm for an hour, but he’s hellbent on not seeming dramatic about the weather. Mostly because Y/N and Adam had both chastised him for going out without a scarf and hat but with a coat that barely did anything to shield him from the onslaught of wind (he had a date after work that night, and was convinced that he did not need to lug around all his winter gear because it would damage his “vibes” or whatever the hell excuse he made). 

Y/N had whipped her head around so fast that she thinks it might have spun 360 degrees, “Oh my fuck, yes! Have you noticed?” 

So they discuss at length the changes that both of them noticed, some things that Y/N didn’t know because she couldn’t have her eyes on Harry all of the time. Apparently, he is staring at her with much less discontent when she’s not looking and once, Niall had even seen Harry pluck a piece of fuzz off her shoulder. It must have been so delicate that Y/N didn't feel it because she sure as hell didn’t know this happened. Then Niall shares that Harry had asked Adam what Y/N and Niall get up to outside of work and her body is overrun by giddiness that he’s even remotely interested in her life. 

“He wants to hit it,” Niall said, shoulders sagging with relief when they stepped into the cafe and heat was blaring, “And I think he fucks nasty too, like – I’ve heard some things.” 

“Shut up, no he doesn’t – like, not with me,” she shook her head, “I think he’d rather put his hand in a boiling pot of water. What have you heard though? And why the hell haven’t you told me about it?”

Niall gasped, scandalized, “I just found out about him fucking nasty! I only started doing some investigating after I decided that he wanted to hit it raw with my bestie in mind,” Y/N’s face feels hot but she’ll blame the sudden warmth of the cafe on her previously cold face, “Anyway, you know Juni? So her sister married this girl, Laina, and Laina’s cousin knew a guy who –” 

“Niall, this is a lot to follow.” 

“--well be patient, dick, I’m getting there,” he clicked his tongue, “She knew a guy whose sister dated Harry like a while ago. 5 or 6 years? She showed me the photos and everything.” Niall’s eyes were wide, the gleam in them one he only gets when he’s so stupidly excited about something he can barely contain it, “Apparently his dick is huge and he’s a freak. Like dom shit, I’m pretty sure. They did loads of kinky stuff and played into the dynamics, apparently one time he’d edged her for three whole weeks once.” 

Something curled inside her, stirring interest in her gut, “Holy shit.” 

“Right? It adds up, he seems like the type.” 

“I. . .literally can’t deny that at all, he definitely seems like he would fuck someone until they cried,” she can’t help that she almost said it wistfully, absently wondering if they were being too loud but the pop song bumping through the speakers and the typical sounds of a cafe drowns them out for the most part, “I don’t think with me though. I mean, I’m delusional, but not enough to think that him finally being relatively kind to me, means he wants to sleep with me.” They paused briefly to order their drinks, and Niall added on a scone for them to split at the last minute, but continued as they walked down toward the pick-up counter, “Whenever I almost passed out in the soup, remember how me and him had that conversation? I think he just feels bad.” 

Niall pulled his sleeves down to cover his palms, “Do you have those hand warmers you’re always lugging around?” Y/N shook her head, “Ah shit – anyway, you know I can’t get over Adam going to make the sandwich for you before Harry demanding that he be the one to make it.” 

“I think it’s because he wanted to corner me.” 

“God, you talk about him like he’s hunting you down sometimes,” he retorted, then seemed to consider it for a moment, “Which. . .maybe he would want to, but in a bedroom instead of a restaurant and with less clothes.” 

Face scrunched, Y/N slapped his shoulder, “Stop it! I’m like – don’t put that image in my head, I’ll go crazy.” 

“I know we were pretending like you didn’t think he was hot for the sake of workplace humility, but I for one saw this coming from a mile away,” Niall stepped over to the side, letting an older woman shuffle by them for the straws at the end cap, “Your taste in men seems to be hot bullies.” 

“You’re not wrong, but we can’t entertain this for longer than this break and then we have to squash it. It’s nonsensical and he’s definitely not looking at me in that way,” their drinks are set on the counter, along with the scone, “Besides, I think he sees me as an annoying kid he has to deal with.” 

“Babe, he’s not that much older than us,” Niall reminded her, then flinched when the latte burns his tongue, “Ah, fuck – he does act like a grumpy old man though. I’d kill to see him at a club or something.” 

Y/N would probably offer herself up as the one to kill if she saw Harry in whatever his version of going-out clothes is. If he wore pants that stretched over his thighs tight or a shirt that stretched across his chest and showed just how built he was underneath all of his clothes. How would he wear his hair? Would he slick it back or wear it unruly? And what kind of jewelry would he wear? In a few interviews she saw him sport rings, and she’s seen a necklace around his throat a couple of times. He doesn’t seem like the flashy type thought – god, she doesn’t know. She shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. 

The thing is – of course Y/N has had a big, fat, stupid crush on Harry. He’s her mentor, and he’s amazing at something that she loves, he always smells like vanilla and amber, plus he’s nice to look at. Y/N would have had to possess the mental fortitude of a monk to be able to completely deny it. Instead, she shoved the feelings down deep into the recesses of her mind to only be dabbled in every so often when she had a couple of drinks before she locked them back away. 

Was it sad that all it took was for him to be even a minuscule amount nicer and she was ready to kiss him on the mouth? Yeah, it was, but it’s not like anything was going to come of it. She’d squeal about it in her bed later pretending that he was actually obsessed with her and thought about her nonstop and then she’d go to work the next day and pretend to be normal. This is light work – easy shit because she’s been living in slight delusion since secondary school and she finds it makes life ten times more bearable. 

“Let’s make this walk count,” Niall looped his arm around her elbow, and to an onlooker, it might seem like a sweet gesture to be close as friends, but Y/N knew it was because he was so cold his bones were probably shivering, “How big do you think his dick is?” 

“Like six inches soft, and eight when he’s hard.” 

                                                          .                              .                             .

Whenever Niall and Adam go out for Korean barbecue, they always let Y/N tag along, especially if there were drinks to follow. Y/N personally loves going with them because Adam, without fail, always ends up doing all the grilling while Y/N and Niall get to pluck pieces of meat from the tongs and gorge on the sides. It’s fun because Y/N never gets the princess seat at any food establishments among her other friends and her family. Culinary school and then working in a restaurant have always equated to kitchen lackey at any events where food has to be prepared or served. It turns out that when you’re with other chefs, the older one typically takes responsibility for the cooking for some reason and Y/N is not about to question the dynamic (at least not until the day she is the older chef, then she’ll spout something about respecting your elders). 

Tonight it was a Friday, and they had a rare weekend off thanks to one of the kitchen's boilers acting up. Harry has never been a “get it repaired and hope it lasts until next winter” kind of guy, he’s just going to replace the whole boiler, but last minute and over a weekend meant it would take some time. While it put their star chef in a sour mood, everyone else was quite happy about 4-5 days off paid, because it wasn’t their fault. So Niall invited her along for a celebratory dinner and drink and Y/N, of course, was going to oblige. 

It was just them at dinner, but a couple of the other workers from the kitchen would show up for drinks. For now, Y/N is sitting beside Niall in the booth while Adam starts cracking his knuckles, prepared to slave away over the grill for his two subordinates. “Thank you boiler,” Niall says into the air, hands clasped together, “Proud of you for refusing to stick it out for a second longer, I appreciate you.” 

“Is the boiler here with us?” Adam inquires, engaged. 

“He's speaking to its spirit,” Niall reaches over for the dish holding the cucumbers, making an annoyed sound when Y/N stabs into one while the plate is midair on its way to him because he’d already eaten like six of them at that point.

He yanks it closer to himself,  “Shit, relax, they’ll bring more!” 

Adam clicked his tongue, “Then you ought to give her the whole plate of those, and make sure she’s fed.” 

Ever since Y/N’s slight passing-out mishap, Adam has been very concerned about her eating habits. If she even looks like she might have dissociated for even a second too long, he’s at her side with a granola bar or a bowl of sliced fruit. He makes sure she’s out of the kitchen for lunch and doesn’t let her return even a minute before the allotted 30 minutes, no matter what the state of the kitchen is in at the moment. She would suspect that it was something that Harry might get pissed off about, but every time she comes back in, he levels her with a slight, scrutinizing gaze – like he’s trying to see through her when he asks, “What did you eat for lunch today?” To make sure she isn’t lying. 

It’s sweet – Adam’s concern feels like a big brother’s caring love, while Harry’s concern kind of feels like a witch plumping up her protein for soup, but the sentiment is still kind. Plus, it has Niall rolling his eyes but pressing the braised potatoes over to her in exchange for the cucumbers. Y/N accepts it, “Your hand will remain forkless for another day.” 

Adam’s phone buzzes on the table just as he’s laid the first strips of beef down on the grill, sizzling loudly, and he picks it up with the hand not gripping the tongs. A smile breaks out over his lips, “Perfect timing! Harry’s here,” he tells them gleefully, “He’ll take over the cooking, and for once I get to just eat.” 

Y/N’s heart nearly stutters to a stop, “Harry’s here?” She repeated and Adam was still smiling. 

“Yeah! You’re shocked, right? I didn’t think he’d want to come either, but when I mentioned going out with you two he said he’d try to stop by,” Y/N might pass out, “So fun, I’m excited for you two to see him outside of his restaurant-boss mode he’s always in.” 

Before they could discuss it further, and before Niall could do anything other than pinch his nails into Y/N’s thigh, the bells hanging on the door chime over the music and the chatter of other patrons. Y/N looks over to see Harry scanning the area, finding them once he locks his eyes with her own. He’s casual in a very Harry way – he’s in maroon pleated trousers with a white t-shirt tucked in neatly, everything still looking particularly pressed and put together in a way Y/N could only hope to strive for. His hair isn’t gelled back like usual, but loose and soft, his curls threatening to sprout in little wisps around his head though the length of his hair doesn’t allow it to be too unruly. 

“Hello,” he greets them, scooting in beside Adam, right across from her, “Sorry I’m a bit late, traffic was shit.” 

“That’s fine, man,” Adam claps a hand on his shoulder, and holds out the tongs, “You can repay us by cooking some of this meat! Get some of the chicken bulgogi on there, that’s what Y/N’s most excited for.” 

Y/N expected some pushback, a bit of grumbling, maybe a glare that shut the whole place into silence – but none of that happened.  Instead, Harry takes the tongs and gets to work, laying the chicken around the edges of the grill and then flipping the strips of beef Adam initially laid down. Y/N is staring; she doesn’t mean to be, but it kind of feels like seeing a tiger walk along the side of a highway. Even if it’s still a food-related area, seeing Harry outside of his restaurant, participating in something that’s not technically the same realm of dishes he prepares – is crazy. Enough that Niall nudges her knee and holds out the cucumbers with raised brows as his nonverbal cue to stop staring before she starts drooling or something stupid. 

“What’s the estimate on the boiler?” Adam asks, and because his hands are unable to stay idle for long, she finds him using the second set of tongs to pick up the beef and start cutting it with the scissors into smaller pieces, “And how long?” 

Harry flips the chicken with one hand and eats some of the rice with his other – Y/N knew he could multitask, but not this well, “Enough that I wanted to scream over it,” he replied coolly, despite the context, “It should be here and installed by Wednesday, but we won’t be able to open up until Thursday or Friday.” He looked up between them, “By no means act disappointed on my account. It’ll be a nice little break.” 

Niall sighs, plucking a piece of brisket from the grill and dropping it into the little dish of ssamjang, “Okay, thanks, I was not going to be able to act sad about it – a break will be pretty nice. I might like – read a book or something.” 

“You’ll have to learn to read first Ni,” Y/N found her voice just for that remark, hoping to not seem too weird and off-putting by just eyeballing her boss and being awkward. Adam snorts, Niall steals a cucumber from in front of her, and Harry’s gaze shifts to her, smiling a little. 

“So Niall will learn to read,” he reiterates, adding vegetables to the grill, “What will you do, hm?” 

Y/N feels hot because they’re in front of a steaming grill, in an already warm establishment – for no reason would any of the warmth flooding her body have anything to do with Harry, and how nervous she was to be speaking casually with him, about her plans. 

With a swallow, she answers, “I – uh – probably hang out with my cat?” Could she sound like more of a loser? “I’ll catch up on shows too, maybe – um, clean?” 

“You have a cat?” Harry starts to tong the chicken onto her plate, “I didn’t know that.” 

I didn’t think you even knew my name like seven months into working with you, so of course you didn’t know I had a cat. 

Y/N doesn’t say that – she does nod instead, “Yeah, her name is Hazelnut. She’s really sweet.” 

“Her name suits her then.” Harry replied, “Try the chicken.” 

She scrambles for her utensils before realizing they are already in her hand and takes the piece into her mouth. Of course it’s cooked perfectly – the marinade she couldn’t credit Harry for, but how well it was cooked she could. Then he plucks a lettuce leaf from the plate and places some of the beef, a few of the vegetables, and the pieces of kimchi on top of it. Y/N thinks he’s constructing this for himself, while Adam is adding more to the grill (simultaneously feeding a whining Niall) but then he curls it up and stretches his arm across the table, “Now try this.” 

During the duration of their meal, everyone chatters idly. Harry does eat, or at least Y/N thinks he does, but she’s so distracted by the fact he somehow took over as the one grilling for her. He’d choose the pieces of meat to give her, always the best-looking ones, and he’d construct little lettuce wraps and flagged down the waiter for more cucumbers saying that he wanted to try them (since she and Niall hoarded them all), but doesn’t eat but one of them and pushes the rest of the bowl over to her side of the table. 

Harry is not a warm and fuzzy kind of guy, but he is making sure she’s well-fed. Up until Y/N is full and feeling entirely too sleepy to go out and get drinks. The rest of the night seemed much more suited for a bath and crawling into her bed, but she knew Niall was not letting her flake on drinks. Especially since, as Niall alleges, “Adam is a horrible wingman, and everyone just thinks we’re dating so they aren’t hitting on me.” 

“Are you coming for drinks?” Niall asks Harry after they’ve finished and to Y/N’s absolute shock, he doesn’t roll his eyes and say shit like clubs and drinking until late are beneath him (which, if he had said that, he wouldn’t have been lying).

Harry’s eyes slide to her, and Y/N always feels so pinned to the spot under his gaze, that she doesn’t know what to do, “I suppose I could come for a little while,” he answers, “If you don’t mind drinking with one of your bosses.”

Adam scoffs, “Please, as if that’s ever been a problem for these two. They damn near drink me under the table each time.”

                                                                   .                         .                         .

The drinks help but also make whatever turmoil trapezing through Y/N a little worse too. 

After the bouncer hit on her while they were coming in – something that usually made her feel giddy and primed her for the night, felt slightly embarrassing with Harry there – she took two shots almost instantly. It helped to soothe her nerves just a bit, enough that when they find a table she doesn’t feel rigid and tense. One more shot after that and she’s loosey-goosey and knows that she’s in a sweet spot where only one more would get her tipsy, but right then she just had a nice buzz. Floaty and warm, tickling her veins with the promise of something sweet. 

Another shot and she’s ready for Niall to take her to the dance floor. He and Adam are in a relatively heated debate over some footie league drama when a song off the BRAT album comes bumping through the speakers. If she and Harry were closer then maybe she would have dragged him out there and been silly, but she’d rather place both of her hands on a burner than drag Harry to the dance floor. Niall comes easily anyway, telling Adam that it isn’t his fault he’s so fucking wrong but his shoulders and hips are already moving to the music. Y/N briefly makes eye contact with Harry as she leads them off, but darts away just as fast. 

“Adam is such a dumb dick, he knows they shouldn’t have traded Alfie,” he all but yells over the thumping bass, “By the way, Harry’s been looking at you like he’s starving all night. And why does it seem like he’s trying to fatten you up for a soup, Hansel and Gretel style?” 

It’s easy enough to ignore him a little bit by grabbing his hands and making him move with her, especially when the song switches from bumping, cocaine, bass tones to something they can roll their bodies together to. They always do this when they’re out, usually with Adam nearby standing watch like a bodyguard ready to push any unwanted attention elsewhere. Or to encourage welcome attention – whichever the coin fell. Now Adam is with Harry, so they just vibe with each other – Y/N has no plans to go home with someone tonight, and Niall always says he does but puts forth 10% effort at the beginning and then abandons the idea for the rest of the duration. 

All things considered, Y/N’s having fun. She feels loose and happy, she ate enough that she doesn’t feel like she needs to stuff her mouth with bread so she isn’t just surviving off vodka shots and vibes. Niall’s hands are all over her, smoothing up and down her sides, grabbing her hips, laughing when he accidentally hits her boob trying to fix her hair when it got mussed from an intense headbanging to a Rihanna song that probably didn’t warrant headbanging. 

They did one more shot and Y/N knew she was good for the night. Her bones buzz and her vessels feel warm and they make their way back to Harry and Adam. Y/N can look Harry in the eye now, which is more than she can say for herself earlier, and she smiles at him, “Hi again,” it doesn’t feel as awkward as it would have been before, and Harry seems to take pity on her tipsy state. He returns the smile, his fingers wrapped around his glass – she doesn’t know what he’s drinking but it looks brown and more sophisticated than whatever she was drinking. 

“Hi,” he replied, then nodded toward Niall, “You two are closer than I suspected.” 

“The liquor drives them to be menaces,” Adam tells him like a warning, “One time they full-on made out, I’d never been more shocked.” 

Y/N pouted, her face hot, “Hey, Niall kissed me to get some guy’s attention, that time wasn’t my fault!” 

“The time before that?” 

She huffs, rolling her eyes, “I wanted to kiss someone! Sue me,” then she looks at Harry again, and maybe she is a little bit tipsier than she thought, “They’ll make me sound like a whore, but it’s not me, it’s Niall. He’s the whore.” 

“I mean I won’t deny it.” 

At some point she and Niall are dancing again, and so is Adam this time but it’s just at the table and it’s all wild limbs and no coordination, barely any rhythm or beat. Harry has an amused glint in his eye the entire time which is better than an annoyed glare. Even when Adam almost knocked into Y/N, and to avoid getting elbowed in the face and ending up in the ER with a broken nose, she ducks out of the way. 

Then hits Harry’s drink and sends it all over his nice shirt. 

For a second, Y/N considers making a run for it. She has no idea where, or why even – it was an accident – but in her head, she imagines the night being ruined. Imagines any traces of amusement or joy leaving his face in one, drastic swoop before he stalks off into the night and vows to never give her a chance again. This was her one chance to make him like her, and maybe expand their relationship and dynamic to something even a centimeter closer to what Adam and Niall have. 

But now he has brown liquor staining his nice white shirt and some of it drips down to his pants. Y/N wants to cry – honestly, she might, she thinks she could feel the tears burn in her eyes. 

“Oh my god –” she starts but Harry raises his hand. 

“It’s ok–” 

“I’m so sorry!” She is so stressed, her face pulled into a deep frown, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m the – I’m the worst, I’m so clumsy, I can't believe I – was it expensive? I’ll pay for another one. I’ll – where’d you get it? I’ll buy one, or you can just take it right out of my pay! Or –” 

Harry is pinching the fabric away from his torso, “Y/N, stop talking,” he finally cuts her off, raising his voice only to be heard over her panicked rambling, “It’s okay. It’s just a white shirt, I have a dozen others.” 

Still, Y/N is frowning, and in a rare moment of courage purely from the mango-flavored shots (that didn’t taste like mango at all) and intense, immense guilt, she grabs the shirt too, keeping it peeled away from his skin, “I’ll get the stain out? I can get it out for you, I’m great at getting stains out.” 

“Don’t worry about –” 

“Mate, just let her,” Adam sighed, “For the sake of her psyche and enjoying this little break we have, let her get the stain out.” 

Harry seems at a loss, for the first time she’s met him. He’s looking between all of them, Adam, Y/N, and Niall who is nodding in agreement that Y/N, even sober, would let this distress her the duration of their time off. And she guesses Harry isn’t an evil person, because he doesn’t mutter that he doesn’t give a fuck about how she feels over break when she screwed up his shirt. Instead, he seems to be debating something but something in Y/N’s heart that it isn’t just whether or not he should let her get the stain out. Theoretically, all he’d have to do is give Y/N his shirt and wear Adam’s jacket out of the club. 

But a different idea is what struck him. 

“How did you get here?” Harry inquired. 

“Ni and I took the subway.” She explained, still holding his shirt from his body, and when she was this close to him she could see how the lights danced off his eyes. 

“I’ll drive you home,” he decided, with a sharp nod of his head, “I’ll leave my shirt with you, and you can return it to me on a different day. Will this ease your psyche?” 

Y/N agrees adamantly, “Yes, yes, yes, at least for now – when I wake up I’m g’na be a mess.” 

“And I’ll be hearing about it for sure,” Niall agreed, then gave a wary sigh, “Adam, I guess you’ll have to take me home too since nobody is trying to see my shaving routine up close. I’m not riding the subway alone.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Adam patted him in the middle of the back, “I figured that.” 

                                                            .                          .                              .

Y/N is very self-conscious about her flat right now. 

Normally she isn’t. It’s definitely not the prettiest on the outside, and if not for her superior interior decorating skills, the inside would look just as bad but she does her best to keep it looking cute and whimsical. That’s fine for someone normal to see, of course, any of her friends she doesn’t mind coming over, and she’s never felt like they would judge her things. 

But Harry is not someone normal. She’s pretty sure he lives in a high-rise flat with a view of the whole city from his living room, and the kind of windows that you click a button to close. Something modern chic and expensive, while she had to caulk her windows to keep bugs from getting inside and had to rent an industrial carpet cleaner to get the carpet in her bedroom a normal color. Plus her kitchen is small, and for some reason that is the thing she is most worried about him seeing – her itty bitty counters, and her cabinets that can fit maybe two pans each. 

Though Harry seems to regard her place respectively, or at least he had so far from where he stood by the door. There’s no noticeable disgust or judgment when she watches his eyes dance along with what he can see, and he seems pleasantly surprised when Hazelnut greets him at the door. “Ooh,” he coos, “She’s friendly.” 

“Maybe a little too friendly for her own good,” Y/N replies, “I think she’d leave with any stranger that had treats.” 

Harry crouches to get closer to her and Y/N is feeling a little overwhelmed by the sight of her big, scary boss puckering his lips and clicking his tongue at a cat, so she heads to her bedroom. That was the plan – to get Harry one of her shirts so that he could switch out with the stained one he’s wearing. Then Y/N could start the process of de-staining it tonight because if there’s one thing that a heavy, irregular period taught her in her early teens, was that she could get a stain out of anything. 

It takes her a couple of minutes to dig through her drawers, searching for something that he could wear comfortably but pickings are slim. Tonight was when she’d been planning on tackling the laundry in her hamper but since she went out instead, she didn’t have many options. She settles on a shirt she often sleeps in with a hedgehog on the front of it and decides it will have to do. 

By the time she comes back out, Harry is fully sitting on the floor with a lap full of Hazelnut. It’s cute and does something weird to her chest that she decidedly ignores in favor of clearing her throat, grabbing his attention, and holding out the shirt for him to take. “Thank you,” he murmured politely, and Y/N was suddenly so happy that she left her telly on so there’s at least some noise in the background – especially when Harry politely removed Hazelnut from his lap, stood, then pulled his shirt over his head. 

The gasp that leaves her isn’t really covered up by the telly, but it lessens the severity of it a little (she hopes). Y/N had just recently started witnessing Harry in casual-ish clothes, so to suddenly get an eyeful of his bare torso was a lot to swallow. He is covered in tattoos – she knew about the ones on his arms, but she knew nothing of what decorated his chest, his belly, his hips – she might scream. She might have to scream, or squeal, or both – preferably in her pillow after he’s left but the shots have made her lips loose. 

“Holy fuck,” she marvels at him – his physique is nice too, and his pecs are like. . .mouthwatering. Y/N wonders how much she can fit into her mouth and bite down on – “That’s – you have loads!” 

Harry looked down at himself like he was also surprised that there were so many. He huffed a laugh, opening up the shirt she gave him and finding the neck hole, “Yeah, I guess I do,” he stuffed his head inside of it, pulling the shirt over his body and covering all of the milky skin that he’d been hiding. Y/N wishes she could have taken a picture of it to stare at later or something – she doesn’t think she had nearly enough time to ogle him, “After my 22nd birthday, I think I might have been getting one each month at some point.” 

“I – whoa –” she says lamely, “They look so cool.” 

“Thank you,” he still has a glint in his eyes, all too amused, standing in his trainee’s flat, in a hedgehog shirt, watching her flounder for words, “You’re very easy to fluster, Y/N, did you know that?” 

Her throat feels dry, suddenly, like no amount of water would be able to soothe it. 

“I –” 

“It’s cute,” he adds, and Y/N thinks she might explode or something, “The side of you I saw tonight was cute.” 

Y/N is at a loss for words, her voice barely scratches out a, “Really?” 

And then she sees something that makes her positive that she actually passed out in the club after the last shot, and Niall was dragging her halfway-conscious body through a subway while she actively hallucinated. 

Harry Styles. . .her scary boss. . .the chef that has made people older than himself and in the industry for longer than him cry. . .the very man that she nearly chews through her lip waiting for his opinion on something she’s made out of pure worry and a state of panic. . .

. . .has a dimple. 

He has fucking dimples! 

“Rest well, Y/N,” he advises her, “Drink lots of water and enjoy your time off.” 

With one more pat on Hazelnut’s bum, Harry opens the door and steps out of her flat. 

[h0ezi3r]

The worst part about Liam Payne dying is that people are posting about “the switch up is crazy”

Like no. He was an abuser and made horrible decisions, but nobody wanted him to die. He was getting hate for an INCREDIBLY valid reason, but we all recognized that he needed mental and physical help. He needed to go to rehab. He needed to get away from drugs and alcohol and improve upon himself away from the public. No one wanted him to die.

We’re not mourning the life of an abuser, we are mourning the part of him that we adored and looked up to for a massive part of our childhood/ teenage years. He was a huge part of how I was introduced to my love of music. And yes, he did horrible things and made horrible decisions and over the last few years has been anything but admirable, but none of us wanted this.

Maya didn’t want this. And everyone saying that it’s her fault can actually go burn in hell. She likely already blames herself enough. She likely already wishes she hadn’t spoken up about it out of the guilt that she likely feels. You guys commenting all over the socials about how this is her fault and “are you happy now?” Are actually horrible people.

A 7 year old boy just lost his father. A woman just lost her long term boyfriend. Two parents just lost their son. Several young children just lost their uncle. Show some fucking respect. Joking about it and hating on people who had nothing to do with what happened is not doing anything but twist the knife for the people who this has ACTUALLY effected.

[worldscissoringchampion]

[ilovegolden]

I’ve never experienced so many conflicting emotions at once. All I know is… I’m just sad.

[stuckinapril]

“what’s your five year plan” bro i wake up every day confused by the fact that i’m even alive

[lukesaprince]

Rich Part 16

Summary: Neighbour/Older!Harry. A whole heap of self-reflection and y/n heads home for the weekend to see her parents... and Harry.

Warning: None! This is an age-gap romance, do not read if you don’t like it.

Word count: 10k+

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The apartment was quiet when you woke up. No footsteps or sound of coffee, or any indication that Harry was still there. Initially, you wanted to get up early and go for a walk while Harry was still sleeping so you’d be gone by the time he woke up and get the message to leave, but you barely slept. 

Even though you were exhausted, both mentally and physically, you still laid there for a good hour or two unable to rest. By the time you did sleep, it was too late for your ‘early morning walk’ and you had caught up on the much-needed shut-eye. 

When you got up it was past 12 and you were sure Harry was gone. He was an early riser and with the way things left last night, you both seemed to be on the same page that you wouldn’t be seeing each other this morning. At least that’s the vibe you got and what you wanted anyway. 

You checked Jay’s room first, finding him heavily snoring in the same clothes from last night. He wasn’t even in the covers, just face down and flopped on the bed like he collapsed on it after coming home. You heard him come home last night, or rather, this morning stumbling about a bit and muttering a too loud ‘oh fuck’ when you guessed he saw Harry on the couch. 

The last thing you wanted to do was talk to him about it, so when he came into you room and very loudly whispered your name, you pretended to be asleep. It worked thankfully, but you knew there’d be questions when he woke up. 

When you entered the living room, the couch was clean and made up like Harry never slept there. The only thing that did show he was ever in your space to begin with was a large takeaway cup on the island bench with a note beside it written on a napkin. 

I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you this morning, I had to get back to Archie. I’m ready to talk when you are.

- H

You reached out and touched the cup, its cold temperature telling you that he left a while ago. You took a small sip, a smile forming on your lips at its perfect taste, just how you like it. 

The ‘H’ on the note managed to make your heart clench, as did the thoughtfulness of him going out of his way to get you a coffee. Still, you were having a hard time processing everything you two spoke about last night. 

Harry confused you. All you wanted was an explanation for everything he did to you. A heartfelt apology thrown in would’ve been nice too. You got both and yet you still couldn’t really come to terms with his excuses for everything. His responses and thought processes felt like something a young-inexperienced lover would have. 

He didn’t know how to handle his emotions or rather, he didn’t want his emotions so he hurt you in the process of deflecting them. And the lying. The lying was possibly the biggest problem out of everything. 

Would that be his immediate defence if you two ever had a disagreement or fight? Would he just lie to tell you what you wanted to hear? Would he lie to smooth things over when things get tough because he doesn’t want to be honest about how he feels? 

It just felt like you would be entering a relationship with someone apologetic and self-aware but without any proof or past experience that showed you he actually could fix or attempt to fix these massive character faults of his. The big fucking red flags. He was confident that he wanted to change and that he wanted this to work, but could he?

“Fuck me. My head feels like a bowling ball.” Jay groaned from behind you. A smile curled on your lips as you turned around to face him. He hadn’t changed his clothes yet and was clutching his head with both hands as he slugged across the room towards you. 

“Well, I feel fresh as a daisy.” 

That was a lie, but your headache was because of a man not because of alcohol. 

“I hate you” he rumbled, glaring while walking past you to the coffee machine. “You got coffee and didn’t get any for me? Rude” he remarked, looking at the takeaway cup. You were quick to press your hand to the napkin, sliding it across the bench and into the palm of your hand so he wouldn’t see it. 

“I um didn’t. Harry did.” 

“So I didn’t hallucinate him asleep on the couch then? I thought I was imagining it” Jay replied, voice slow but more perky than a second ago. He walked around the bench to the coffee machine, turning it on.

“No…” you didn’t say anything else and grabbed the takeaway cup while walking to the cabinet to grab a mug. 

“No?” He repeated, “Is that it? No explanation?” He looked up from the coffee machine, coffee mid-pouring into the cup underneath the nozzle. 

“We just talked and it was late so he stayed over. Nothing happened.” You shrugged, pouring the cold coffee into the mug. 

“And? Do I need to prompt every extra bit of information? What happened? Did you yell at his sorry ass?” 

“I told him off but like… I don’t know Jay. He answered every question and explained everything like he already knew the questions I was gonna ask.” 

The two of you bounced around the kitchen as you spoke, heating up your coffee while Jay did his and made some toast. With all the sleepovers and at-home breakfasts you two had, it was natural to work together in a kitchen.

“Is that a good thing or bad thing? You want toast?” he looked up from the toaster, already putting in two slices for himself. 

“No thanks.” He nodded. “And Both? I don’t know.” You sighed, your unsureness evident in your tone. “I left feeling like I had all the information which is good but I just felt like his excuses weren’t good enough.”

“Like what?”

You paused to think, grabbing your now-hot coffee from the microwave and perching yourself on a barstool. Then the words just came tumbling out. 

“He said he didn’t mean to hurt me and I believe that, but every situation where I needed to forgive him was basically him just being so caught up in what he wanted and his emotions that he didn’t think about how it would affect me. If he just stopped for one second and focused on something else aside from what he was feeling, he wouldn’t have been so stupid! He’s one of the smartest businessmen I know yet he can’t figure out, on his own, that taking me out on Valentine’s Day was sending a mixed message? And that’s just one example! And the lying Jay… fucking hell, he lies like he breathes and it’s a huge problem for me. It’s his defense mechanism and I hate it. God, it’s just so fucking hypocritical!” 

Jay processed everything you said for a moment, turning in your direction to lean against the bench opposite you with his arms crossed. 

“How old is he again?” 

You hesitated, sensing the deserved judgement just from the tone of Jay’s question. “39…”

“39 years old and has the emotional intelligence of a sponge?” He scoffed, gaping like he didn’t expect that large of an age gap even though you never kept it a secret from him. “You deserve so much better, babe. And that’s me being honest. Yeah, he’s hot and I know he’s experienced and the whole age thing is a kink of yours or whatever-” 

“It’s not a kink.” You corrected, sensing the judgement in your direction rather than Harry’s. 

“Does the fact that he’s old and rich turn you on?” He gave you a look, already knowing the answer. You said nothing. “Exactly. He’s a dilf and good for a one-night stand but he’s a walking red flag. Just because he’s sorry doesn’t mean he won’t do it again.” 

“I know…”

“I know you know…” he gave you a pointed look. “I just don’t want you getting involved in something that’ll break your heart, again, because I love you and I want you to be happy.”

“I know… I know. It’s just…” you inhaled a sharp breath, “I still love him. A lot and even though I don’t trust him, I love him.” 

Jay felt pure sadness in his heart for you. Your first love turned to absolute shit before you even got to enjoy the best parts of it and he hated it. He hated Harry and everything he had done to you. Mostly though, he hated that you were sat here moping over a man he was convinced would never change. Sometimes, it really is too little too late. 

“So you want to give him another chance then?” he sighed. 

“I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out.” 

“Personally I vote no and I’m sure Maeve will say the same, but if you think he’ll actually change, even though men don’t, then do it. As long as you’re happy with your decision that’s all I care about.” 

“Yeah, thanks…” you took a heavy sip of your coffee, the taste only reminding you of the topic of conversation. You shook your head and set the cup down, pushing it away. “Anyway, can we please talk about something else. Like your night! How was your night?” 

“Oh of course we can. You know that hot blonde I was with? Turns out he’s a fucking animal in the bedroom and get this, he lives like 20 minutes from me. I think it’s fate!”

//

I haven’t heard from you…

Harry was quick to delete that message, ring-clad fingers playing with his bottom lip as he rethought the text. He hated texting, especially for things that needed tone and expression. Important things like the fate of his fucking relationship. 

But you hadn’t called or texted. It had been four days and he was dying. You needed time, yes he knew that and he knew he couldn’t expect any word from you over the weekend. But four days? 

Was he being impatient? He didn’t think so. Or maybe he was just a lovesick sook who needed to know if he completely fucked up one of the only important things in his life. 

Hey. 

Hey? No. Harry deleted the text again. 

I haven’t heard from you. Just wanted to see how you’re doing. 

How you’re doing? Obviously, you’re not good if you haven’t contacted him yet. Harry just felt stupid and frustrated. He didn’t know what to say to you. He knew he shouldn’t say anything at all and let you be the one to reach out, but his patience was wearing thin. 

He deleted the text and turned his phone off, chucking it onto his desk then audibly groaning and rubbing his hands over his face. Leaning back in his chair, he spun it around and looked out at the city. 

Everything was done. Leaving the apartment on Saturday was more than just for Archie. Harry had a job to finish up and that job was making sure Ethan didn’t have a single copy left of those photos of you. Digitally, Jed could handle that but physically Harry thought Ethan deserved a little in-person persuading. 

It was in person alright. With a begrudging Niall on his side, Harry showed up at Ethan’s and ensured every single copy was taken. There was only one more physical set, a ‘backup’ as Ethan explained then the rest were digital. And from the comfort of Niall’s bed, Jed took care of the rest. 

“And the bank accounts. They’re gone?” Ethan checked, his fear of being totally fucked over evident in his tone. 

Harry nodded. “Of course.” He flipped his phone screen, showing the bank accounts in Ethan’s name ceasing to exist. Ethan looked relieved, but his eyes widened as Harry tucked his phone away and took a step forward. 

“I can easily make it reappear Ethan, so let me make one thing clear. You’re done. We may work in the same building but you’re gone from my life and yours. You can be the one to come up with the explanation why you suddenly can’t make it to poker, or to drinks and if you think you’re stepping a foot in Pleasing you’ve got another thing coming. Understand?” 

“Fine-yes, fine. Whatever.” 

He wasn’t the only one that needed in-person persuading. The list Ethan sent him had two other names on it. One was his PI which Harry already knew about and the other was Tracey of all people. Ethan assured him Tracey only saw a couple, the ones she fucking took of you and Harry in the bathroom at his birthday, but Harry wasn’t inclined to believe him. 

Jed managed to get to her digitally and scrap the originals on her phone and the one set of copies she had on her computers. Physically, Harry unloaded that job onto Niall. Not his finest moment but Harry had to go see the PI and it was quicker to split up. Plus, Niall had a bone to pick with her for some reason and was more than happy to go see her. 

She didn’t end up having any physicals, but Niall made sure she knew to stay out of yours and Harry’s life for good. After that, it was done. After all the weeks of planning and digging it was finally over and Harry couldn’t have been more relieved. 

Now that the job was over and he wasn’t focused on Ethan and the photos, he could spend his time thinking about you. It was all Harry had been doing, really. He thought about what he’d say when he saw you again, how he’d feel the first time he got to hold you in his arms. He imagined what your relationship could be like, how it would work.

It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that. While the distance wasn’t too bad, it was still distance so there’d have to be a lot of travelling between you. Then there was the added problem of your parents which you two hadn’t ever spoken about. He knew it would be a problem. How could you two spend long periods of time together at Harry’s house when your parents were right next door? 

He figured you’d want to keep it a secret from them for a while, which was understandable. The age gap wasn’t a small one and Harry knew what people would say when they found out. Now, he gave two shits about what other people thought about him. They could say and think whatever they wanted and it wouldn’t have any bearing on how he lived his life.

But he cared about what they said about you and he knew that you cared. And if you cared, he cared. In the beginning, you two only saw each other once a week to protect your reputation and he was going to see that through. 

Your parents were your lifeline and your neighbourhood is like family to you and Harry understood the importance of those relationships. Given the age gap and Harry’s dating history, he knew there’d be a lot of opposition to your relationship.

He wanted to protect you from it as much as possible. You two had to keep it quiet and figure out a way to tell people that didn’t blow it up or spread like wildfire. It may be a little too optimistic considering the gossip that occurs on your street, but his main focus was you and he’d do anything to avoid your hurt. 

Harry just wanted to make things as easy as possible so you two could actually build your relationship and he could mend the trust he broke. It would be hard and it honestly scared him shitless but he was ready for it and was excited just to be with you. It was the only thing keeping him going really.

He picked his phone back up again and drafted another message, this time actually pressing send after rereading it and psyching himself up a little. The moment the message sent he shut his phone off and chucked it back onto his desk, too nervous to see if you had even read it. 

Hey. I know it hasn’t been too long since we spoke but I wanted you to know that I’m still here. I will wait as long as you need. Take your time. 

You read the message over and over again, feeling almost rushed in making your decision. Harry wasn’t rushing you and you knew it but you honestly didn’t expect him to reach out first, especially since it’s only been four days. 

They were four days that flew too. The weekend wasn’t relaxing in the slightest, even if you had the entire thing off from work. You spent most of it catching up Maeve on everything that had happened and hearing her both comfort you and berate you for even thinking about giving Harry another chance, then the rest doing assignments and errands when you returned home. 

It was a good busy, the type that got your mind off all your problems. Still, having two friends be so firm in their stance against Harry was alarming for you. They were your voices of reason and both gave such good reasons and advice for cutting ties with Harry completely and part of you knew that was the right thing to do.

When you spoke to Lucy about it and filled her in on what happened Friday night, she had the opposite opinion of Maeve and Jay. It wasn’t surprising given her role in getting Tracey to you and trying to expose the truth, but it confused you even more. 

You trusted Lucy more than anyone else and you were originally a little turned off by her inserting herself in your relationship, but now… well you still were a little turned off. But, you were grateful for her reasoning and why she did it. She still hated Harry for the mistakes he made, but seeing all the effort he was going through to protect you changed her opinion a little. 

Between the two opposing opinions, you decided to ignore the problem altogether. Not the healthiest or best thing to do, but you needed time to make a decision without hearing opinions from everyone else and to do that you needed a clear mind. Unsurprisingly, it did jack shit to help clear your mind but throwing yourself at assignments and work seemed to at the very least distract you. 

That was until Harry texted you, which was right in the middle of an essay you were writing that subsequently got left on the backburner the moment he reached out. Keeping busy was your way of getting through it, but now that Harry was in your head, he was in your head. 

There was just so much to consider and your brain was going in loops thinking of all the possible ways this relationship could go wrong and right. There were a lot more situations that it could go wrong, which didn’t make you feel any better. But the situations that went right, went really fucking right.

Harry possessed really good qualities and he was a caring man when he wanted to be. Through the hypocrisy and other issues you two-faced, he was attentive to your needs and feelings (at least when they didn’t interfere with his own) and was so self-assured which you found really attractive about him. He knew exactly what he wanted and he didn’t care what other people thought. 

If he brought those things to your relationship, you could see it being quite successful. And Harry seemed so determined to make it successful and prove that he wanted this. That he wanted you. Still, you had to figure out if the love you still had for him was strong enough to break through the deeply sowed mistrust you had towards him. 

That question there was what had your mind twisting in on itself.

I’m visiting my parents this weekend. Can we talk then?

While your reply to Harry’s message came much later, nearly 10 pm at night compared to his early afternoon text, Harry’s reply came within minutes. You could even see those three little typing dots appear and disappear a bunch of times like he was nervous to text back.

Harry took your text as a positive. Based on those two sentences, there was no real read on what the conversation would be like, but he was feeling optimistic. After waiting all day, he honestly thought you’d just ignore the message entirely, so he was eager to reply back and talk to you. 

Harry Styles: I’d like that. Tell me when you’re available and we’ll organise something. 

Maybe a walk on Saturday morning? I’m driving down Friday night

Harry Styles: That sounds perfect. I’ll bring Archie.

Those three little dots came up again before another message came through. Double texting, huh? Harry seemed like the type to think his messages through and send them all in one paragraph. Apparently not. 

Harry Styles: He’s missed you a lot. He keeps barking at your fence and trying to go to your place when I take him on a walk. 

You smiled at the message, snuggling into your pillow. You knew it was his attempt at making peace or some semi-awkward small talk but you appreciated it. You imagined he’d be feeling all twisted himself over this. 

I’ve missed him too. Napping isn’t the same without his fluffy bum taking up my pillow

You regretted the text as soon as you sent it, feeling a bit weird texting Harry like this when you two have barely texted unless it was work or Archie-related. Talking casually was new territory, just like a lot of your relationship would be. 

Instead of replying with words, Harry decided to take a picture of Archie all curled up beside him in bed and send that to you. He was in a little doughnut shape, eyes closed with his chin leaning on a toy lama that was his current favourite. The photo was a little dark and it was clear Harry was in bed when he took it based on the angle, but he sent it anyway. 

Harry Styles: [image attached] Harry Styles: He’s still fluffy and still takes up the whole bed. Nothing’s changed. 

He’s so cute!! I’m excited to squeeze him I may or may not have bought him something too

Harry Styles: You know he won’t wear clothes, y/n.

The fact that he knew you well enough to know exactly what you bought him said a lot to you. Harry did know you incredibly well and before all this happened you’d say you did too. 

He will because he’s missed me and loves me

Then you sent him a picture of the little butterfly wings harness you bought him. You bought it a while ago now, something more for yourself than Archie. You honestly thought you’d never get to spend time with him again, especially with how you and Harry left things at the BBQ so when you saw the harness on sale it was a self-indulgent present. Just something to make you feel better about what you thought you lost. You weren’t sure why you mentioned it to Harry, but you really did want to see Archie in it. 

Harry Styles: That’s so silly. 

Your heart dropped reading the message, until another came through.

Harry Styles: I love it. He’ll hate it but I’ll love it. 

Even if you didn’t like it I’d still put it on him

Harry Styles: I don’t doubt that. 

You left the conversation at that. Putting aside the slight weirdness of texting Harry like that, it was nice to be talking at all. Your last handful of conversations were all serious and emotionally driven and it was so draining. 

You didn’t want being with Harry to be draining. At this point, you still weren’t even sure if you were going to be with Harry at all, but you had clear expectations of what you wanted anyway. Being emotionally exhausted every day simply wasn’t an option, nor was it for Harry either. 

If this was going to work, you just wanted things to be as normal as possible. You wanted to forget about Ethan and Tracey and just work on you two. No worries except working on your issues as a couple and building something healthy instead of focusing your time and emotional energy on all this external bullshit.

But you still weren’t sure if that was even possible. And that was the problem.

//

“My love!” Your Mum cheered, opening the door before you even had an opportunity to put your key in the hole. 

“Hi mum” you smiled, passing your overnight bag to your eagerly waiting dad before returning her tight embrace. 

It was just so good to be home. You haven’t been able to visit since going back to university because of work and assignments. Your parents drove up one weekend early on when you were still in your sulking stage but you could only spend the evening with them as you had work the next day. Your relationship with them was a good one and even though you were used to and happy living by yourself, you missed them a lot. 

At one point right after going back to university, you almost called your mum and told her everything about Harry. You were so upset and betrayed and you just wanted your mum by your side. It was your first heartbreak and you always thought that she’d be right there to help you through it. When you were younger you never thought it would happen like this, but that didn’t change how you felt about it.

Looking back now, you were glad you never said anything. It would’ve made things way too messy and opened way too many cans of worms that may have changed your life entirely. You couldn’t imagine dealing with your hurt and the judgement from the entire neighbourhood once news broke about you and Harry.

And Ethan? If everyone found out about you two, who knows what he would’ve done with those photos? They’d lost their value and he would have no reason to keep them to himself.

“Oh, pumpkin. I’ve missed you” Dad cooed, drawing you in for a tight hug of his own. You smiled into his chest, fisting his shirt on his back in your hands.

“He’s missed cooking for you. He’s been experimenting and all sorts while you’ve been gone.” Mum spoke from beside you, smiling at the two of you.

“It’s so good to be home.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. Y’know sometimes I worry you’ll leave one day and never want to come back. Even when you’re old and have your own kids, I’ll still be your mum. I’ll always worry about you.”

“Mum” you rolled your eyes, already hearing the wine in her voice. She tended to get a little emotional after a couple of glasses. “I just got back, you don’t need to do the whole speech until after Real Housewives.” You eased out a laugh before hugging her again. 

“She just loves you, pumpkin. We both do.” Your dad smiled fondly at you, tucked into your mum’s side as she kissed the side of your head. 

“Ugh, guys! Come on” 

“Alright, alright. We’ve got leftovers for you and I’ve already set up Real Housewives. How does that sound?” Mum straightened up, pushing her hair away from her face. 

“Great. I’m really hanging for a shower though, is that okay?” you pulled back, grabbing your bag back from your dad.

“Of course, honey. Just be quick okay?” She smiled fondly.  

“Quick. Got it. I’ll be quick.” You were already beelining to the stairs when she spoke up again, talking to you from the bottom of them.

“There’s towels already in the bathroom and I’ve changed your bed for you too.”

“Thanks mum!”

Being back in your room felt different. You were usually happy to be back and rummage through your closet for anything you didn’t bring or forgot about and the first thing you did was jump straight on your bed. But now… all you could think about was what happened last time you were here and all you could see was Harry’s room through your window.

After dumping your bag on the bed, you walked over to your window to find Harry’s light on in his. It was getting dark now, so Harry’s lit room was progressively getting brighter as you stood there. He didn’t seem to be in there, but you could clearly see his made bed with a suit jacket draped near the end, presumably from work today. 

Looking in his room was like looking in the past. You couldn’t explain it but it felt like a dream, like all those intimate moments didn’t even happen. The kisses, the touches, the many firsts you experienced with him. All of it felt like a different life. 

Would you ever get there again? 

Just as you were about to shut your blinds and go take a shower, you noticed Harry enter his room from his ensuite clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist. He was still a little damp from the shower, wet hair stuck to his forehead. You imagined he’d have little droplets of water running down his chest too, but you couldn’t see that far in detail to be able to tell. 

You hadn’t seen Harry shirtless in forever. At least it felt like that. It was a good view, one you loved, but it also felt too soon. A little dirty to watch him too. So you shut the blinds to block him out, tilting your head down to rest against the glass for a moment. 

After a well-needed shower, you settled on the couch with your mum, a glass of wine and a big plate of food. Your dad decided it was time for him to go to bed, which didn’t surprise you since he wasn’t the biggest fan of the reality TV shows your mum and you loved. 

You wanted to relax. You had the perfect setup to unwind and just enjoy being with your mum, but all you could think about was Harry. He was right next door, probably in bed, in the bed you had shared with him before. How could you not think of him? 

“Can I ask you something?” you took a sip of your wine, waiting for your mum to respond.

“If it’s about Shannon’s dress, you don’t even need to ask. It’s ugly.” 

“No” you chuckled, “can I ask you something serious?” 

Your mum perked up at the question, immediately pausing the TV and turning her body towards you so you had her full attention. “Course you can. What’s up, baby?” 

“Have you and Dad ever had problems? Like, bad enough that you almost broke up?” 

Her brow quirked. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious.” You shrugged, trying to play it off while practically inhaling half your wine.

“When you were young and your grandparents were still around, Dad and I went through a big rough patch. We both had different ideas on what we thought was best for you. He was sick of his parents and wanted to move us away but I wanted to stay because I thought it was better for your future. We were tired and overworked and when we weren’t working we were fighting. At one point it… it got so bad he even walked out.” Your eyes widened, never knowing this before.

“Really?”

“Yeah. He stormed out and I told him not to come back. That fight was just awful and we both said things we regretted. When he cooled off and came back a couple hours later, we still didn’t talk for days. In the end, your grandparents forced us in a room together like matchmakers and demanded we worked it out because it was disturbing their peace.” She smiled like she thought it was funny, but you couldn’t imagine being put in a situation like that. “Our issues were deep at that point, deeper than that one fight but we worked through it.” She grabbed your hand in hers, “When you love someone, there’s something to fight for. When you lose that love, it’s time to throw in the towel. There’s no point fighting for something you don’t care about anymore.”

“Wow…” you sighed, looking down at your lap. It was hard to hear what your parents went through when you were young, when they were young too. They’ve had to overcome so much and now here they were as happy as anything. “I had no idea it was so hard.”

“It was, but it was worth it.” She smiled, “Now what’s this about, anyway? Are you seeing someone?” She raised her brow, giving you a knowing look. 

“No! No. God, no.” You laughed, “I’d tell you if I was, mum. It’s about Maeve. She’s dating this older guy and he’s… I dunno, not trustworthy I guess.” You shrugged, trying to sell the lie. “He’s lied and made mistakes and I told her it wasn’t worth giving him a second chance but she’s leaning the other way. I wanted your opinion, that’s all.” 

“Well, tell Maeve that people make mistakes sometimes. If she really does love him and she thinks he’ll change, it can’t hurt to give him a second chance.” Something about the way she said Maeve’s name told you she knew it wasn’t really about her, but you were glad she didn’t say anything else about it. “Just tell her to be careful, okay? Once men get one chance, they can sometimes think they have infinite.” 

She wasn’t wrong there.

You nodded. “Yeah… I will. Thanks, mum.”

“Do you have anything else you want to talk about?” 

“No, that’s it. I’m happy to continue watching” you smiled. 

“Okay, good. But first, let me grab the bottle of wine.”

//

“Archie!” You practically yelled, crouching down to the floor immediately as you watched his head peak around Harry’s gate then his body follow a second later. He sprinted towards you, barking loudly with a wildly wagging tail until he jumped right on you and pushed you back onto the concrete. 

You let out a little scream but laughed right after and hugged him tightly, embracing the furry weight on top of you. It was so good to see him. He was like your child and you missed him terribly. 

“Archie.” Harry scolded at the jumping. It was something he was trying to train Archie not to do but he was just too excited to see you. 

“He’s okay, Harry.” You laughed, your face all wet from Archie’s kisses. Your eyes flicked to him briefly, finding his shortest and your favourite pair of running shorts stretched across his thighs. “I’ve missed you too, my boy. My little stinky Archie bean” you cooed between pressed kisses on the bridge of his nose. 

Archie barked again then calmed down a little and made his way back to Harry, nudging his knee with his nose before sitting down in preparation for the walk. Harry tutted a little at him before stepping towards you and extending his hand out for you to grab. 

“Thanks.” You flashed a small smile and grabbed his hand, using his help to stand up. “Hi.” you looked at him, hands still connected. You almost forgot the feeling of his hand in yours, how large and strong it was. 

“Hi.” He breathed, scanning your features like he was trying to remember them. His eyes were soft, longing. Your heart clambered in your chest, reaching forward like it was trying to get to his. 

He missed you. Even the feeling of your hand in his was giving him full body shivers. 

There was a moment there where you two just looked at each other. It had been so long since you two were just together and not in some crazy situation. A walk was the most normal thing you had done together for months. 

“We should go.” You cleared your throat, pulling back and making that zippy feeling disappear from your hand. 

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, motioning along the footpath in the direction of the beach. “Beach way?”

You nodded and the two of you started walking in that direction, Archie off leash and leading the way in front of you. “Yeah, I was thinking Clancy’s? If that’s okay with you?”

A small smile played on his lips and he nodded, looking down at you. He was thinking of the last time you two were there, as were you. “That sounds good. It’s a long walk.”

He didn’t say it like it was a problem, more like an observation. 

“Yeah.” You shrugged, “I guess we have a lot to talk about.” 

“We do.” He agreed, “Good things I hope.” He flashed a smile in your direction and you rolled your eyes with your own smile at his optimism. 

“You wish.”

“I do.” He laughed. “You know I do.” 

“I know.” 

The two of you walked in silence for a little while, not really sure what to say to each other. You didn’t really know where to start and Harry didn’t want to push you to talk about it until you were ready. 

“So… is it good to be back?” Harry asked, wanting to have some casual conversation before anything too serious. 

“It is, yeah. I’ve missed my parents and my house. But it’s weird too.” 

“Why’s that?” His brows furrowed, hoping that it wasn’t because of him. 

“This is the first time I’ve been back since the barbecue. Everything just feels… different now.” You shrugged, not really knowing how else to describe it. 

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it.” 

“Oh… I’m sorry.” 

It was still weird to hear him say that. “Why are you sorry?” 

When you looked up at him he kept looking forward, not wanting to meet your gaze. “It’s my fault. That’s why I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault I feel weird in my room.” 

“It is. You know it is.”

You let out a heavy sigh, watching Archie stop to sniff something on the grass. You were along the beach now, about halfway to Clancy’s and Archie was enjoying the sand and all its different smells. 

“I wish you handled that whole situation better. I do. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I wish you would’ve just told me the truth.” Harry looked at you at your words, a solemn expression on his face. “But. I also get that you thought you were doing the right thing. You were trying to protect me.”

“I was. I was.” He looked at his feet briefly. “When it all happened I was so… overwhelmed. I never thought my best friend would betray me like that and, and you. God, I was so angry that he would use you to get to me. If I never got involved with you, there wouldn’t have been anything for him to use against me. I just thought it was better. If you hated me, he’d have no ammunition. It made sense in my head but I hate that I had to hurt you in the process.”

“I know. I…” you paused. “Archie!” You yelled, noticing the cheeky gremlin start to bolt off towards another dog closer to the water. 

“Oh fucking hell. Archie!” Harry yelled. Archie didn’t care to listen, so without thinking both of you started running towards him.

“Archie!”

Archie made it to the other dog now and was jumping on him, barking loudly with a profusely wagging tail like he was having the best time of his life. Harry kept yelling his name and whistling to grab his attention but nothing seemed to work. It would’ve been funny except not all dogs were friendly and the other was on a leash so you weren’t sure how the owner would react.

The other dog, a little bulldog, was with a guy close to your age. He seemed happy to give Archie some attention which was a blessing but Harry on the other hand wasn’t happy at all about it. You knew he trained Archie incredibly well so it was a little out of character.

Harry made it there first and you were happy to slow down and walk the remaining couple of metres, panting with your hands on your hips like you’ve never run before in your life. That was partly true. You were a walker, not a runner. And on sand? God, you couldn’t think of anything worse.

“‘M so sorry mate. He’s usually a good listener. I think he’s just extra excitable today.” Harry apologised profusely, holding onto Archie’s collar when you walked up to the two men. Upon closer inspection of the guy, you felt your whole body go into a little bit of shock. You knew him. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it, man. It’s all-y/n?” He looked at you, eyes widening in recognition. “Oh my god, how are you?” 

“Jaden, hi!” You echoed the same excitement and returned the hug he dragged you into. You didn’t really feel the excitement, but it felt a little rude to not return it. “I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m good. I’m good. It’s been like, what, a year? 6 months?” He asked, releasing the hug to look you up and down. You took a step back to be in line with Harry, wanting to be closer to him than Jaden.  

“Yeah, something like that.” You replied a little awkwardly. You could feel Harry’s eyes on you and the whole situation suddenly felt like the worst possible timing ever. “Oh, this is Harry. Harry, Jaden. We went to high school together.”

“Right. Nice to meet you.” Harry responded dryly, his apologetic nature out the door. 

“Yeah, you too. So are you like, a friend of her dad’s or?” Jaden asked, looking between you two.

That was quite possibly the last thing on this entire planet that Harry needed to hear right now. Your chest twisted in cringe and pure awkwardness at how comfortable the vibe had turned. “Just a friend.” You jumped in before Harry could reply. “It was nice to see you but we really need to go. Right, Harry?”

“Mhmm.” Harry simply looked Jaden up and down, trying to intimidate him by making himself look a little taller and by staring at him in that way he looks at his employees to get them to work. 

“Okayy” Jaden looked a little put off by Harry and you just felt more awkward as the seconds ticked on. “We should catch up sometime.” He offered you with a charming smile. “Maybe get a drink? You’re not still seeing Nate, are you?” 

Now you just wanted to jump off a very tall something. Didn’t matter what, really, as long as you could escape this conversation. 

“Uhh. No. Not seeing Nate.” 

You weren’t ever actually seeing Nate, he was just the last consistent hookup you had late last year. Nate was friends with Jaden’s sister, unfortunately, which is how he knew about him. It really was slim pickings here, everyone knows everyone and even if you don’t think they do, they do. 

Harry wanted to jump in. Oh did he want to jump in. But you two hadn’t had the talk yet so he wanted to leave it up to you. If it were up to him he’d call himself your boyfriend and tell Jason-Jaden to fuck off, but he bit his tongue instead. 

“Great. I’ve got your Snapchat, so I’ll message you some time.” 

Snapchat? Oh, Jesus. He was sweet, yeah, but Snapchat? 

“I’m actually seeing someone else, Jaden. Sorry. But it was good to see you!” You grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him away before Jaden could reply, practically matching Harry and Archie back towards the footpath. 

Harry couldn’t help but feel a little excited when you said that and suddenly all his irritation over that whole interaction disappeared into thin air. 

“‘M guessing he was more than a friend?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised when you finally let go of his hand. 

Jaden was… well, he was your first. Your first kiss, your first time, your first everything. You were both young and still in high school and at the time good friends. You happened to have a major crush on him and one night at a mutual friend’s birthday, it kinda just happened. 

You were both a little tipsy and ended up in one of the spare bedrooms during the party. It was quick, a little awkward and you’re pretty sure you didn’t come either which was a common theme with all your friends’ virginity stories. But you were so smitten with him it didn’t even matter what it was like, just that it happened.

It was nice and he was gentle and you left it feeling like it was the start of your first relationship. It wasn’t. You went your separate ways that night and the next morning he texted you to apologise and that he enjoyed it but didn’t want anything going forward. You were crushed, admittedly, but you got over it pretty quickly and ended up in a friends-with-benefits situation with one of his friends soon after so you weren’t too hard done by.

He wasn’t weirded out about it or anything and you two stayed on good terms until you graduated. After that, you saw him here and there at birthdays, but it's been a good six months since you last spoke to him. 

There was no point keeping that from Harry. Part of your plan today was to go on a whole no-lying thing. It wouldn’t be right to lie about something right before giving that speech. 

“I… we were friends in high school. But I lost my virginity to him when I was 16. It was only one night and-”

“You don’t need to explain.” Harry cut you off. He didn’t want to hear more of it and he could sense you were about to explain the whole situation. Harry didn’t even want to think about another man touching you, let alone the first time you were ever touched. 

“Right.” You blushed, looking away. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. I rarely see him.”

“Yeah, but he’ll reach out on Snapchat.” 

“Stop!” You laughed, hearing the teasing in his tone. You were glad he took it that way instead of getting annoyed or upset about it. The whole conversation was plain awkward and uncomfortable. “No, but I am sorry for that. If that happened with someone you’ve slept with…”

The second half was more for you, a mumble because you actually had been in a similar situation before. His birthday party was full of beautiful, older women who wanted his attention and you hated it. 

“What? What would you do?” He nudged you, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“Nothing. I’d do nothing” you played it off, averting his eye contact. 

“Liar.” He teased. “I’ve seen you jealous, it’s cute.” 

Cute. You liked that. 

“Well, you did a great job at hiding yours, puffing up your chest and all.” You shot back, making him scoff. 

“I didn’t have to puff up my chest, love. I’m already in better shape than he is and I’m double his age. I just did it for dramatic effect” 

“Yeah right…” It was sarcastic, but Harry could sense the falter in your voice. 

That sentence did so many things to you. The ‘love’ sent you into an orbit, like a trigger of a better time where things were easier. The ‘double his age’ comment only reminded you of the problems in your relationship, one of the many problems. 

“Did I ruin the mood?” He sighed, running his spare hand through his hair. He didn’t mean to do that in the slightest. 

“No. No, you didn’t. I’m just thinking.” 

He knew exactly what you were thinking about. “Yeah… we got interrupted earlier.”

“He’s too cute Harry. You can’t blame him” you smiled, looking at the fluffy bum walking in front of you. You were nearly at Clancy’s now and you could see the familiar building up ahead. 

“I know.” He chuckled. “We’re nearly there anyway, it can wait a couple more minutes.”

“Okay…”

The short walk to Clancy’s was silent aside from Archie commentary. When you got there, Harry offered to pay for your ice cream and ordered the classic lemon sorbet for the two of you. Archie got a puppuccino of his own then the three of you settled on one of the tables. 

It was quite busy out. The weather was near perfect and many were on their early walks. It was a little too early for many families to be around, but Clancy’s was still bustling as usual. 

“Okay, I think I should start.” You announced, straightening in your seat after taking a bite of your sorbet. 

“Whenever you’re ready” Harry nodded, his tone gentle. He glanced down at Archie for a moment, watching him lick at his puppuccino beside the table. 

“Okay…” you breathed, “I don’t want this to be a round two of Friday night. I don’t want to rehash or go over the same things we’ve already spoken about.”

“Okay.” Harry agreed, nodding. 

“But… I still need you to understand that you broke my trust and-” you inhaled a sharp breath, looking down at your ice cream. “You broke my heart.” Your eyes returned to his and his attention was solely on you. He wasn’t distracted by Archie or his ice cream or anything else. He was focused on you. “You did a lot that hurt me and even though everything you did seemed to have an explanation I just feel like it was you lying about something else or being selfish or just not thinking things through properly. And I know you’re sorry, I know and I appreciate it but some of those mistakes Harry… they’re not something someone like you should make.” 

He said nothing for a moment but his eyes flashed with hurt. With guilt, shame. “So I’ve ruined this beyond repair? There’s no…” he swallowed thickly, adjusting in his chair. “There’s no chance for us?” 

This was his worst fear. Truly it was his worst fear. He thought after those text messages and how well the walk had been going up until now that he had a chance. He thought he had a chance. 

It was clear he had ruined another important relationship in his life. 

You looked down at your lap. “I didn’t say that.”

Harry’s heart rate picked up  and he could feel that glimmer of hope return again. 

“I just want you to understand where we’re starting this from. You need to understand what you’ve done.”

“I do. God, y/n I do. It’s all I think about. All the fucking time.” He eyed your hand on the table, just wanting to touch you in some way. You noticed it and reached for him tentatively. He turned his hand so his palm was up and he could wrap his fingers around yours when your hand landed on his. 

The touch was soft at first, just your fingertips grazing against his palm until you pressed your entire hand against his and intertwined your fingers. You had a brief look around, trying to see if anyone you knew might be here to catch you out. 

That one touch, just your hand in his was like heaven to Harry. He missed you so goddamn much, even something as little as your hand had his entire body coming to life. 

He squeezed your hand gingerly, almost encouraging you to continue what you wanted to say. Or maybe he was just showing his affection, supporting you in saying your terms. Harry would agree to anything you said as long as he could be with you. Anything. Didn’t matter what. 

“So I… I want to start fresh and I want to go slow. I can’t rush this Harry.”

“Yes. Yes, okay. Absolutely.” He nodded, squeezing your palm again. 

“I just want to try and be a normal couple and go on dates and spend time together. Just be normal. The only way this works is to… is to try it again. I know it won’t be totally normal because my parents and the neighbours can’t know, but as normal as possible.”

Harry couldn’t explain how he was feeling even if he wanted to. It was warmth in his chest and just this overwhelming sense of happiness. He was so happy. Harry hadn’t felt this happy for a long time. 

He knew he never wanted that feeling to disappear. 

“I know the situation isn’t ideal but I like the sound of normal. Our normal.” He smiled, reaching out to cup your face. “ God, y/n, I’m so happy. ‘M so so happy.” The touch made you warm and all squirmy inside, but you weren’t finished just yet. You grabbed his hand and moved it off your face, resting it on the table so you could play with his fingers. 

“That’s not it. The lying Harry… it’s… it’s a really big problem for me.” You sighed, focusing on his fingers. “I’m always honest with you and I have been from the start and you’ve been the complete opposite.” The only lie you ever told was that you didn’t have feelings for him. But he already knew that and he knew why you did it. “And I know it’s to protect yourself and I’m not expecting you to tell me everything but I need you to start being honest with me. I can’t do this if you’re going to lie.”

“Done.” He said without hesitation. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy and I’m still not the best at opening up, I admit that. But I’ll try. I want to try.”

“I don’t expect miracles, Harry and I don’t want you to think that you have to make yourself uncomfortable to please me. You don’t. I just want better communication.” 

“I can do that. I want to do that for you. For us.” 

He sounded so confident and that confidence made you feel infinitely better. You hoped you weren’t asking too much of him, and his quick replies with zero hesitance told you that you weren’t. 

“Okay.” You smiled softly. “Is there um, anything I can do? Like for you?” 

God, he loved you.

He smiled and cupped your hands together, bringing them up to his mouth where he kissed your fingers. “No. I just want you to be honest in return. I want to know I’m making you happy.” He kissed your hands again and you found yourself leaning closer to him 

“I want to know I’m making you happy too. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He agreed, using one hand to cup your face and draw you close to him. 

His fingers slid into the side of your hair, holding you like he didn’t want to let you go. He didn’t. If he could hold you for the test of his life he’d do it in a heartbeat. His forehead rested against yours, noses bumping together with eyes closed while you just felt him. 

“Okay.” He repeated, the word coming out in a breath, a mumble barely audible above the wind. 

Being this close… it just reminded you of your physical relationship. While you enjoyed the closeness, it also felt like too much too fast. You felt like you had to take a million steps back to even feel totally comfortable again. 

Sex to you was a connection between mind and body. If your mind wasn’t in it, your body wasn’t either. With Harry you had such a mental wall built up inside that you felt like even approaching sex would just make you feel rushed and uncomfortable. 

You knew Harry knew how to take care of your body, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he didn’t know how to take care of your mind or heart and until that happened… he wasn’t going anywhere near you.

“There’s one more thing.” You whispered, feeling like the topic was too intimate to say in a normal tone. 

He leaned back a tad so he could look at you better, your knees grazing and hands still held on the table. “What? What is it?” 

“I…” you swallowed thickly, your mouth growing dry before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s okay, love. Take your time.” He assured, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I can’t be intimate with you.” You spat the words out, more nervous about his reaction over this than anything else you had said. Sex was such an important part of his life and identity, would he be willing to wait for you? “I just can’t. Not yet. Our relationship has been built on sex and our physical connection and I can’t do that again this time. It has to be the other way around.” 

Harry didn’t expect you to say that. If he was being honest, he was looking forward to being with you again. He wanted to feel you and touch you and show you how much he had missed you. He had been thinking about it a lot. 

But he also understood where you were coming from. You two communicated a lot through your bodies and this relationship started on your physical connection. Harry knew that he had to prove to you that it was more than that. Words weren’t enough. 

“I understand, y/n. I do. This is so much more than just sex to me and I'm willing to prove that and wait as long as you need before you’re comfortable.” 

The relief over Harry’s response was blissful and his gaze was so tender you could’ve cried. This conversation was going so much better than you thought and it made you so damn happy. 

“Really?” 

“Of course.” He nodded quickly, drawing your hand up to his mouth to kiss your fingers. “You’re it for me, y/n. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll do anything to prove my affection for you.” 

His words murmured against your fingers, so soft and warm they seemed to travel through the cells on your hand all the way up to your heart and that growing lump in your throat. You just hoped that he was as happy about this as you were and that these soft confessions and murmurs were the truth and not just what you wanted to hear. 

But only time will tell.

“Okay…” you whispered in return, just smiling while looking at him. 

“Does that mean kissing is off limits too?” He asked, brow raised and a smile playing on his lips. You laughed and shook your head. That was the one thing you allowed yourself to have. A kiss. 

“No.”

He flashed a toothy grin and straightened his posture to do a very obvious once-over of your surroundings to check if there were any familiar faces around before he ducked in closer and cupped your face with both hands. It was a little childish, but you adored it. “Ready?”

“Why are you asking me like it’s going to be scary?” You laughed, cupping his face in return while running your thumbs over his cheeks. 

“I’m just making sure you’re comfortable.” He breathed through a laugh, leaning in closer until your noses bumped together.

“I’m comfortable.”

And then his face tilted just right, just far enough so his lips brushed against yours. That brush turned into a peck, an electrifying slide of your mouths that turned into a deeper kiss and a whimper, a moan of relief like neither of you had breathed air for weeks until this very moment. 

And you knew you’d be okay. 

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[jawllines]

“No,” she stresses, “I actually would vehemently deny that I wanted to even look at you, but Mei and Adam always loved poking fun. Always said we needed to like – fuck out the tension or something.” She shook her head to herself, slicing back into her food – at least the embarrassment hadn’t ruined her appetite, “I’d always tell them you hated me too much to do anything like that.” 

“But you wanted to?” He is still smiling. 

“What I want is to smother you with a pillow.” 

“That’s very kinky, babe, but we should probably lose our virginity before we explore that,” he is immediately assaulted by a pillow careening from her bed to his, slapping him in the head, “Hey –” 

“You’re obnoxious,” she groans, “I can’t tell if you hating me was better than you not.” 

or

Y/N and Harry don't hate each other at all, it's actually the opposite

part 1

part 2

part 3

22k+ words

iv.

Y/N is. . .not used to this Harry. 

The Harry that Y/N met and had been privy to for the months that she’d been here was mean. With eyes that cut daggers through her for breathing and harsh, annoyed groans and sighs whenever she was what he deemed too close to him – he made her feel hated. It was never a secret that he disliked her; if anything, it was public knowledge that Harry didn’t care for his classmate. That he thought she was annoying and loud, and wasn’t as good of a dancer as people hyped her up to be. Hell, he’d never even said anything nice to her except by accident. 

(It was within the first month of her being at the school; Y/N had hugged Niall because he gave her his extra bagel prior to them walking into the studio. When Niall made his way over to Harry, he leaned in and sniffed at him, “Are you wearing perfume? It smells good.” And when Niall takes a sniff of himself and lets Harry know that it was actually Y/N’s perfume he was smelling, his face soured and puckered before replying, “You know, the longer it stays in the air, it’s too fucking strong – kind of grating don’t you think? Shouldn’t you change?”) 

And then after her incredibly embarrassing, drunken complaints about him being the absolute worst to her. . .he’d started to soften up a little. Baby steps, of course, because he was still rolling his eyes at her, and he’d still call her stupid, or dumb – but he was praising her too. He’d tell her she did well with a certain move, or compliment her posture, or – away from the dancing aspect of it – he’d even say he liked her shirt if it represented a band or a show that he recognized. The way that he danced with her was more gentle, and when she spoke to him it didn’t seem like he wanted to scream just to drown her voice out. 

Then, within all of that, there were the odd moments of almost uncharacteristic kindness that he would give her. Letting her sleep in his bed when she had knocked out on his bean bag during an impromptu movie night she wasn’t technically invited to. Giving her his snack when she hadn’t eaten breakfast, taking care of her when she had a fever (even though she’d snapped at him before that), spending time with her before the show, letting her fall asleep in his bed again. 

And, of course, there was the kiss. He didn’t scold her for stumbling during the show – the only person scolding her, was herself, but she’d always imagined that if she fucked something up Harry would be her worst critic. So imagine her surprise when instead of immediately telling her how stupid she was for not practicing that move enough times that there would be no reason to stress over it – he took her somewhere quiet. He promised her that it was in her head, that it wasn’t that big of a mistake, that nobody would notice unless they were waiting for it, that she had been doing so well. . .and then he kissed her. A careful, tender press, not enough to even smudge her makeup but still her heart was racing. 

There was a significant shift in how Harry looked at her, from the beginning of this semester to the night of the show. A gaze heavy with disdain, irritation, and animosity is replaced by one of sentiment, warmth, and care; his features soften when he sees her rather than harden. Y/N felt comfort under his eyes rather than uneasy or agitated. Being around him wasn’t a problem, it was something she looked forward to, and that alone was something difficult to process. 

The morning after the show, when Y/N wakes up, she’s in her hotel bed – or at least, she’s in the hotel bed that was supposed to be Christopher’s but since he never showed back up last night, she figured it was hers now. Sunlight funnels through the curtains, leaving the room bright and Y/N has to squint in order to see. She was confused because she knew she didn’t wake up on her own – her alarm hadn’t blared in her ear either, which could only mean that her bladder woke her up, or an outside source. 

And the outside source, who was hovering over her bed, looked like he could have only woken up just a couple of moments prior to her. “Do you want breakfast?” He inquired, “I can order room service, but they switch to the brunch menu in like ten minutes and it looks like shit.” 

Y/N’s nowhere near awake enough to be making decisions – she’s barely awake enough to open her mouth – so she pushes herself to a seat and pats around for her phone. It was tucked under the pillow beside her head. When she pressed the screen to wake it up the time read 10:02. Harry, at some point, had sat down on the bed beside her close to her feet, and with the position she was suddenly accosted by the memories of him having her split open, his tongue on her, his filthy mouth saying filthy words, and Oh my god! 

“Helloooo?” He waved his hand in front of her face, “Do you need to go back to bed?” 

“No, no,” yes, actually, she does, because her mind swarms with the images of him with swollen, red lips glistening with spit and with her – and not only that, she’s confronted with the bewildering feelings that flooded her at the same time, “I’m – I want –” she pressed her knuckles into her eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them, and make the world slightly less bleary, “I want what you want.” 

He snorted, pushing the hair back from his face. It was now Y/N realized he was shirtless, and his pajama bottoms slung low on his hips – his muscles shifted beneath the skin, and his biceps looked extra. . .beefy today, almost as if to torture her. He’s wearing wire glasses that she’s never seen before, they rest on the bridge of his nose, and his chin is speckled with a beard trying to grow. His hair was mussed and soft and she wanted to run her fingers through it, then she remembered how it felt between her fingers last night, and she felt like her face was hotter than a skillet. 

“I was looking around, and there’s a little spot we could walk to, as long as your legs aren’t hurting.” Then, as if she wouldn’t know what body part he was talking about, he laid his hands on her shin, “Hm? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were sore?” 

Y/N cleared her throat, “I – a little, but. . .but nothing more than usual. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” 

He smiled, “Okay,” he told her, “But if you wanted to stay here and sleep a little more, I can always just go grab it.” 

And he was nice to her last night – he was so fucking nice last night, but she had just figured that was because of the show. Everyone feels closer to each other on show nights, no matter the feelings they held for them prior, each person was tender with one another. There was solidarity between them and their desire to put on a good performance, so it was easy to forget if you disliked someone in the weeks leading up to it. Who cared about petty rivalries then? 

So she’d imagined he was just running off the pleasant vibes from the show, running off a high, and the immense, bittersweet relief of not stressing or worrying over it anymore. They’d done what was needed, he could finally let the tension seep out of his muscles and enjoy the night, whether Y/N was there occupying the space beside him or not. 

But if that were the case, and that was the reasoning behind his kindness last night, then why was Harry being nice to her this morning? Y/N didn’t know whether she should just ask zero questions and enjoy the continued tenderness, or should she be suspicious of it. Was she being lured into a false sense of security just for him to forget any of this the next time they stepped foot into the studio? Sure, he’d been nicer the last couple of weeks, but who’s to say that wasn’t just to remove excess strain from their performance? What if he still disliked her just as much but he was just better at hiding it? 

Another memory flutters through her, sudden and surprising – how could she forget the most important part of last night? What he had said to her, that had opened up the floodgates to emotions Y/N did not even want to begin to sort through? 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, for everything.” 

“. . .But I was awful – horrible to you, and you never deserved it. What I saw out there tonight – you’re beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful, and I was such an asshole. Just want to make it up to you.” 

He’d apologized, he’d called her beautiful, and he’d finally been praising her for what she was doing. Technically, he had started praising her a couple of weeks before the show, but last night was the first time she’d really believed it. It felt earnest like he was desperate to convince her, and with all he had done last night with his words, and his mouth, it had worked. 

So Y/N was at a loss, now. Why was he being so nice after the show? Did he really feel that bad for being mean to her before? Had seeing her dance and dancing with her really changed his mind so drastically that he would still be pleasant with her after the show finished? It was just hard to believe that. 

“Why’re you still being sweet to me?” She narrowed her eyes at him, her hands settled in her lap still covered by the pillowy comforter. Harry, who had previously been looking at his phone, flickered his eyes up and tilted his head. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” she cleared her throat, shifting in her spot, “Isn’t it. . .like you don’t have to keep it up, is what I’m saying. The show is over and you apologized, so if you – you just don’t have to keep being sweet if you don’t want to.” 

Harry looked confused — the kind of look you’d give someone if you’d already discussed something and they were acting like they’d never heard about it before. His brows dipped inward and he lowered his phone from his face, “I already told you, I deserve to grovel.” 

“Wha–” 

“I was a prick for nine months of knowing you when you didn’t deserve it. I want to make it up to you,” he explained, “I haven’t said what I have because of the show, or because I was faking any of it for the sake of the show. I don’t know if you remember but I begged to eat your pussy last night, so I would hardly say that’s pretending.” He sighed, shaking his head, “But I only have myself to blame that you would think I was being fake nice when I offered to go pick up breakfast. I just have a lot of work to do.” 

Y/N’s mind is whirling, “You – you mean it? Because if you’re planning on fixing it then that would mean we’re spending time together still? Even without the showcase?” 

“I mean I was planning on it, yes?” He leaned back some, “Unless you didn’t want to.” 

“No, I do! I want to, I just. . .I guess I'm not used to this, that's all. I don’t know how to. . respond to this version of you.” 

Harry huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes a little, “I’ll be sure to still act like an asshole so I don’t throw your system into shock, yeah? How does that sound?” 

They did end up going to the cafe together, and they bumped into a few of their classmates who sang praises of their performance and the chemistry they had together. She and Harry occupied a little booth in the corner, and while Harry nursed a warm mocha latte between his palms, he inquired if she had any plans with Mei and Adam that day. Y/N nodded somewhat regretfully (why was she regretful? Because she realized that she’d actually just rather stay at the hotel and keep sleeping until her brain feels less fuzzy and her bones and muscles less weary? Or because she realized that she wanted to spend time with Harry too?) and told him about their plans to go shopping. He explained that he and Niall were visiting an art museum, because of an interactive exhibit they had for this month on desserts around the world. 

At the mention of desserts, Harry’s face lights up like he’d only just remembered something, “Hey, who’s watching Custard while you’re gone?” 

Honestly, Y/N wasn’t expecting Harry to take to Custard as well as he did. She didn’t even think he was the type to like animals, but when he’d taken care of her when she was sick he and the kitten must have bonded. Y/N vaguely remembered waking up after falling asleep in his bed the night before the show, to find Custard snuggled up against Harry’s back (and since Custard was so comfortable, so was Y/N, so she snuggled back into Harry’s side and let herself slide back into a dream). Maybe this was all a convoluted plan for him to get closer to the kitten – you have to be kind to the owner to get to the pet, that’s just a basic fact. 

“Oh, just my friend Felix,” she told him, “He said he would pop in on her every day a couple of times a day to make sure she isn’t lonely and her food is still full.” 

Harry hums, low and slow, “Who’s Felix?” He pressed. 

Y/N peels apart her croissant, pressing it between her fingers, “Mm, I never brought him up? He works at the bakery a couple of blocks from us – you’ve been there, right? He’s so sweet,” she smiled at the thought of him, letting the piece of croissant hover over her mouth, “You’d know him if you saw him! He’s the one with the freckles.” 

She was an avid bakery visitor and was frequent enough of a face that Felix started recognizing her and her orders relatively quickly. He’s very sweet, and runs this shop with his family; the flat that sits atop the bakery is where he lives, and there are always the prettiest flowers on the balcony. Felix has a cat too, named Lucy, and sometimes she and Custard have playdates but Lucy is a bit older and gets annoyed with Custard’s kittenish energy quickly. Still, it’s a nice time for her and Felix to drink coffee and gossip – he even comes to see the shows! 

Y/N explained all of this to Harry, who hummed and nodded in a noncommittal way, and the lighthearted atmosphere shifted ever so slightly, so she figured she’d stop talking about him. Who wants to hear about how much fun you have with someone else? “So, yeah, Custard is doing okay. I miss her already though,” she sighed, “Nothing like waking up to her stomping all over my head.” 

A small smile twitches over Harry’s mouth, “She does have an affinity for stomping on heads, doesn’t she?” And just like that, whatever shift had happened, reverted just as quickly. Y/N wondered if maybe Harry actually did know Felix and they didn’t take too well to each other; it wouldn’t surprise her, honestly. Because Felix was sweet and warm and kind, and Harry had a knack for coming off as impassive, distant, and cold when you first meet him (and several months after that too, in Y/N’s case). It would make sense that they didn’t mesh well with one another. 

Still, if Harry was going to stay true to his word and hang around her, he might bump into Felix once or twice. She could only hope they could get past their first impressions of each other if that were the case. 

                                                                     .                       .                      .

“Turkish desserts date back thousands of years to the Byzantine Empire,” Niall read off the plaque in front of them, making a show of actually caring about the dessert facts when both he and Harry knew he was just after the free sample beside the display. Harry is unsure why Niall felt like it was necessary to show some interest when most people just came right up and plucked the baklava from the serving tray without a blink, but he doesn’t question it. Even if he did, it wasn’t like it would stop Niall from doing it. 

The days following a showcase were always weird; having nothing to focus all his energy and effort on leaves Harry with a lot of time – too much time, really, until they start working on their winter showcase. But the winter showcase was the same every year, so save for the people who had to learn it for the first time, it was a pretty lax experience. This time around, it would definitely be relaxed for him and Y/N, because they would not be given the lead parts since they just had them. Despite the competitive and strict nature of their school, they were surprisingly fair when it really came down to it. 

But they don’t really start working on it until their mid-semester break is over, so everyone has time to relax their overworked bodies and submit to self-care that may have been sacrificed before. 

Harry wondered what Y/N would do with her time off and if she would be opposed to spending any of it with him. He has an overarching goal to make up for all his time being shitty to her, but he was realizing he might have his work cut out for him. Because even after he’d practically begged to eat her out, cleaned her up, and pressed a kiss to her temple as she was falling asleep (though she doesn’t seem to remember that part), Y/N was still confused this morning as to why he was being kind to her. 

Really, Harry only had himself to blame. After being treated in such a shitty way by someone for so long, it was probably hard to accept that they were turning a new leaf. Harry’s old,  negative feelings toward her had stripped away the same as the trees shedding their summer coat. New buds stem from the branches, but Y/N’s convinced the breeze might shake them off. He’ll have to try extra hard to prove to her otherwise. 

And then there’s the. . feeling that took him by surprise, at the mention of her friend. The one who was checking on Custard while they were out of town – Felix who is so sweet and has freckles, and Harry knew exactly who she was talking about. He’s been to the same bakery, he’s met the same Felix, and she isn’t lying – he’s incredibly sweet and his freckles speckle his cheeks like a constellation, and now, suddenly, Harry bemoans that he’s not sweet with freckles. 

It’s so challenging to face the consequences of his actions; Harry has never been more irritated with himself than he is right now.

“What was going on in the Byzantine Empire, you think?” Niall murmured around a mouthful.

                                                           .                            .                        .

Harry wondered if Y/N would have tried to figure out the sleeping situation, or if Christopher and Dasia would have fought again and she’d be requesting Y/N back in her room, but nothing like that happens. When Harry gets back to the hotel room, Y/N is already there, with one of those big fuzzy bow headbands tucked around her head and a face mask drying on her skin. She’s in her pajamas – or what passes for pajamas, so an oversized shirt and a pair of pajama pants that look soft. Y/N is sitting on top of the made bed, her laptop cracked open in the space in front of her, and scrolling. The air around the bathroom is still humid so he figures she only just recently left the shower. 

At the sound of him entering the room, she perks up, her gaze pulled from the computer, “How were the sweets?” She inquired, tilting her head, “I was kind of so jealous about halfway through Adam trying on what looked like the same pair of jeans that I wasn’t stuffing my face with you and Ni, instead.” 

He snorted, kicking his shoes off by toeing at the heel, “Very filling,” he gave a short nod, “I can feel plenty of cavities already forming.” 

“Lucky,” she pouted at him, “I don’t think I took all the hot water so you can have a shower if you like.” 

“Thank you,” Harry replied, shuffling toward his suitcase, throwing the top of it open, and scruffing through his clothes to find his pajamas. He tucks his body wash and shampoo up under his arm, his clothes folded in his hands with the conditioner bottled tucked between his fingers. At the time of him walking into the bathroom and turning on the water, it was an entirely innocent endeavor. He stripped down, dropped the clothes in a pile on the floor, and stepped under the hot spray, and it was still innocent then too. 

Until he was thinking about Y/N. . until he started thinking about last night. When he thought about how she split her thighs for him, how she tasted, and the sounds that left her mouth when he licked her. Honestly, it feels like a hyperrealistic wet dream now that he thinks about it, and they were acting so normal around each other – or as normal as they could with their circumstances. And the thought of it makes his cock twitch, which he could ignore. . .but if he could get rid of the memory of her moaning for him, her asking so sweetly if he’d rub against her if he would fit inside of her. 

He shudders at the thought. Maybe he soaps up his cock for a little too long, and he keeps going, getting harder and harder until he’s dripping. And then he has to take care of it, the tip ruddy and swollen, slick and soapy. He sucks in a deep breath, not taking time to tease and edge himself how he normally might like to. If he takes too long in the shower Y/N definitely knows what he’s doing and he doesn’t want her to think he’s a pervert, even when he was begging her last night to taste her. 

So Harry fucks his hand nice and quick, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to suppress any noises. When he cums, he has to clear his throat to cover up a moan, it shoots against the wall and dribbles over his knuckles. Harry breathes out, washes it off the wall, and cleans off his hands before he finishes his shower. He washes his hair, finishes cleaning off his body, and turns the water off. The hotel towels are never very nice, rough fibers that barely soak up the droplets of water on his damp skin, but he makes do and gets dressed. After he brushes his teeth (a little more intensely than he normally would after all the sweets he ate) and washes his face, he makes his way back out. Y/N sighed, “Thank god,” she murmured, “I needed to wash this off my face like forever ago.” 

Harry snorted, “Sorry, babe. It was weirdly humid in the exhibit, I felt like I was sweating my ass off.” 

Y/N doesn’t stay around for his reasoning and he’s thankful because he’s positive that she would have seen how bright his cheeks got at being halfway called out. Harry rumples his lips once he hears the sink turn on while she washes off the mask, and Harry crawls into bed. He snuggled up under his blanket, hooked his phone to the charger, and scrolled through Twitter. Once Y/N came back, she clicked the lights off and dove into her bed across from him, sighing contentedly once she was comfortable under her blankets. 

Harry thinks it should be out of his system by now, honestly, because he came not even ten minutes ago but now something bubbles and itches beneath his skin. She’s just there, across from him, and Harry wondered if he could get something started like he did last night. But how does he go about it? He’s usually a bit more suave with conquests but Y/N isn’t a conquest. Hell, he isn’t even really sure what he wants from her! He wants to make up for what he’s said to her and how he’s treated her, he wants to at least be friends with her, at the very least just be friendly with her. But Harry just can’t shake this pressing need to touch her, to taste her, to make it better that way. He wants to soothe away any angst between them with the very same tongue that lashed so much hate toward her. Wants to make her forget any negative connotations she might have had with his mouth. 

“Y/N?” He tries to keep his voice calm and measured – indifferent, even, so she doesn't feel pressured, and she hums to let him know that she is listening, “Do you want me to eat you out again?” 

There was a pause, it felt like the room was holding its breath waiting for her response. He’s playing with his hands over the covers, avoiding looking at her, but when he hears the mattress creak and her head slide against the pillow to look at him, Harry turns to face her. 

“Again?” Her brows are raised, and there’s this look on her face that suggests she’s genuinely surprised – he doesn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed he’d probably be pretty confused too, since there had been nothing leading up to this sudden desire to. All he’d done was see her in pajamas then take a shower. . .there was nothing flirty or suggestive. A couple of weeks ago he hated the thought of being around her, and now he was asking to taste her for the second time in just two nights. 

He nods, his face feels hot and he wonders if his ears betray him, glowing red, “Yeah, again.” 

“But why?” Her head tilts a little, “I mean, I guess what I’m wondering is what you get out of it? Even last night I was the one who wanted you to cum with me and you were fine with just. . .with just cumming in your pants.” 

Harry feels embarrassed now, more so than before, and he wants to shrivel back beneath the covers, “I just like it and I want to,” he tells her truthfully, “If you don’t want it, that’s fine.” 

“No, I – I want to,” she sits up in bed, turning toward him more, “I do. Just, nobody has ever wanted to get me off that badly.” She clears her throat a little, “You really want to? It isn’t because you’re feeling guilty? Because if it is you know you could just buy me brekkie every once in a while, you don’t have to force yourself to do anything.” 

This would be easier to sort through if it was only because I was feeling guilty, is what Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t, “I’m definitely not forcing myself to do anything. I really want to,” is how he replies instead. Harry would grovel – he’d buy her breakfast and he’d be extra kind to her and he’d invite her over to take control of his projector for whatever Korean drama she wanted to put on – but he didn’t necessarily need to make it up in a sexual way. What, was he going to eat her out every night until he felt like he’d made it up to her? As delightful as being snug between her thighs sounded, he knew that wasn’t a feasible way to correct a friendship. This was a more. . .selfish desire of his. 

Still, he pulls the blankets off of him in the bed, and takes the short two steps between their beds before he kneels up on hers again, “You’ve been with shite blokes if nobody has wanted to get you off.” 

Y/N takes in a shaky breath, watching as he pulls up the blankets and reveals her body beneath it, still in her shirt but she’d shrugged the pajama bottoms off after climbing in, “I just sometimes wonder if your amygdala is confusing anger and arousal or something.” He presses the hem of her shirt up, uncovering ribbed, cotton panties that fit snugly around her hips, “Like your neurons are misfiring.” 

“I don’t get it either,” he replied truthfully, lowering down between her spread thighs, “I reckon it’s needless to question though. Isn’t this a nice change compared to what our relationship was before?” 

Harry does wonder why he was able to give up that remaining dislike for her so quickly; the way Niall puts it is that Harry isn’t as big of an asshole as he tries to make himself out to be, but he hardly thinks that’s the reason. And Harry had never considered himself one of those knob-headed pricks who disliked someone because they wanted to fuck them so badly either – no, he thinks his feelings were legitimate. He didn’t like Y/N at the start, and up until a month or two ago, he had only thought of her in a negative light. 

But he had no true basis for these feelings – he thinks that’s the difference. The feelings were easily evaporated because he had no reason to dislike her, other than some twisted form of envy and annoyance that he handled like a child. Y/N had always played into it before – always ribbed him back, countered his verbal attacks and eye rolls, so he’d always thought they were in the same boat. When she called him out on it though – when he was able to look past his own shitty way of dealing with emotions, he’d realized how stupid they were. 

He remembers the first time they did something like this, fueled by anger, the passion and distaste for one another mixing and merging into a confusing feeling. Harry remembers how well she took to him teasing and taunting her; how even though she was whining, she squeezed and pulsed around nothing. How wet she was, dripping and slicking up her thighs, tightening up around her fingers. Does she like it when he’s rougher with her or more tender? Does she want him to tease her or give her what she wants? 

Harry doesn’t really waste much time getting into it. He presses kisses around the waistband of her panties, sucking and nipping at the skin but not hard enough to leave marks. Y/N readjusts her hips when Harry’s large palms encompass them, squeezing her when he plucks at the elastic with his teeth. Last night he was driven by guilt and the need to apologize – he didn’t feel that tonight. This was different, more carnal, and when he runs the flat of his tongue up her slit and she sighs out like it’s the best thing she’s ever felt – that’s what drives him now. 

He finds his place and pace easily since it has been just under 24 hours since they were last in this position. Y/N tastes just as good as she did the night prior, while his tongue separates her folds around it, slick and warm. Her voice wavers when she moans, the hand beside her head curls up in the pillow she’s lying on and her thighs twitch like she wants to close them. There’s a familiarity there now that Harry can appreciate; he remembers what makes her hips spasm and her breathing stutter. How when he finally tightens his lips around her clit and sucks, she gasps and reaches down to thread her fingers through his hair. 

Despite himself, he needs a breath at some point, so he pulls off with a deep breath but replaces his tongue with his fingers for the time being. Y/N watched him closely, just as he wanted her to last night, and her lips pouted out, “What?” He probed, “I need to breathe too.” 

“You really won’t fuck me?” Y/N says, still pouting, “You won’t even try?” 

Harry stares at her for a second, his fingers never stopping the swirl over her swollen button, “Don’t you want that to be special?” He inquired, “It’d be your first time, hm? You want that with a dick who routinely makes you angry?” 

She frowns, “It being special isn’t important to me, I just want it to be good,” she reasoned with him, “And I feel like you would make it good, wouldn’t you? You know what you’re doing.” 

He tries to ignore how his cock twitches, heat renewed and coiling in his lower belly as he slows his fingers down. He paints the pad of his forefinger up and down her slit, pausing at her hole, where she’s wet and a little drippy, “Hmmm,” he pretends to think about it – Harry would if she wanted to; he wasn’t one to ignore his more base desires if consent was given and both parties were willing – but he also hadn’t been lying back when he said he didn’t fuck virgins. Harry was big, and he wasn’t trying to stroke himself off when he said it – he was hard to take in, for men and women alike. If Harry was going to fuck her, he feels like they would need to build up to that – it would take time and effort, and he thinks it would give her a good amount of time to decide if this is something she really wants. Or if she was just running high off post-show endorphins and their newfound friendship. 

“I do know what I’m doing,” he murmured, letting a single finger sink in down to the knuckle and Y/N sucks in a sharp breath, “And I know that your tiny little pussy couldn’t handle me straight off, hm? Remember how I said I’d need to train you to take me?” She nods, her heels digging into the mattress, “If that’s what you want, then we’ll start slow. I’ll fuck you open with one finger tonight and if you take them well, we’ll do two next time, hm? And work up all the way until I can just slide my cock right inside.” 

Even with a single finger, her walls are tight around him, a snug fit that milks around it. He kisses her clit, gentle and slow, his mouth slightly parted and his tongue out. Harry doesn’t mind being noisy with it, slurping, curling his finger, and finding the spot his fingers had been acquainted with in the studio when he bent her over the barre. Harry is already throbbing in his briefs again, despite just having gotten off, but her taste, the sounds leaving her mouth, and how tight she feels around just a single finger. 

It doesn’t take her long to get close, and when he really puts effort in fucking into her, Y/N’s hips twitch, “I’m going to –” she gasps out, “Harry, I’m going to cum” 

He pulls his tongue away, “Should I let you?” 

“Yes,” she frowns like she couldn’t believe he would even suggest a possibility where she didn’t cum, and there’s a flood of arousal that smacks into him — it makes him want to make her wait. Makes him want to edge her until she’s trembling and begging and thinks that he’s not going to let her cum at all.

 But he isn’t that mean, is the thing, especially when he hears, “Yes, please.”

So Harry lets her. He sucks her clit back into his mouth and heavily pets the spongy bundle inside of her until she milks his fingers, her thighs fighting to close around his head, her back arching just slightly, a whimpered noise pulling from her throat. Harry watches her with a keen eye because she’s just so fucking cute he could barely stand it, and keeps up the movement of his lips and fingers until she’s pushing his head away, “No more, no more,” she shakes her head, and Harry titters, lulling his tongue over his mouth, “I – fuck,” 

Harry pushes a kiss that is maybe a little too tender to her hip, pulling back just enough so that he can flop the blankets over her lower half, “You’re sensitive,” he noted, “That’s cute. You look pretty when you cum too.” 

“Shut up,” she frowns, “Am I better at cumming or dancing? Be honest.” 

“You’re best at being a dummy.”

Harry retrieves a warm cloth for her to wipe her up, though Y/N takes it from his hand to do it herself without hesitation. She shivers, still slightly out of breath, and Harry feels a sense of pride bubble beneath his skin and his cock twitch absently in his boxers, “Did you mean it?” She inquired as Harry crawled back into bed, willing his stiffy away – he didn’t need to cum twice in a night, he hardly believed he deserved it. If Y/N weren’t asking to see it then he’d just think of wet parsley or something until it finally settled out, “About training me for it? Or was that just dirty talk?” 

He turns to face her again and the way they resumed their positions, it looks like neither of them had left bed. 

“If it’s something that you’re interested in,” he explained, “I’d be willing.” 

She made a noise in her throat, “Okay,” she murmured, “Yeah, I think that would be fine. I’ve waited so long to lose it, I think I made it up in my head that it needed to be special, but virginity is a social construct made to make women feel impure when they aren’t. Why contribute to that?” She sighs, “Plus, I feel like as soon as someone finds out, they’ll cheat me out of a good time and expect me to believe that I shouldn’t enjoy the first time – I’ve heard horror stories about that. As obnoxious as you are, you’ve always been. . .adept at getting me worked up. I think it would be good, and beneficial for both of us.”

“What a very pragmatic approach,” Harry can’t help how his tone is filled with taunting mirth, “Feels like I’m speaking to a politician.” 

“You know what, never mind, I’ll find someone else.” She huffed. 

                                                             .                                  .                                .

The rest of the trip was pleasant. On their last day on the trip, he and Y/N order breakfast from room service and are pleasantly surprised with the quality of it. Really, Harry is the one who orders the brekkie, because Y/N sleeps in relatively late he finds out when she’s got nowhere to be. There were several times he thought she had woken up, but she merely stirred for a couple of seconds and her breathing evened out again, so Harry just quietly pads about the room. He tries to get his suitcase somewhat reorganized for when they leave tomorrow morning, so he doesn’t have to rush around and do it all tonight (which Y/N will undoubtedly have to do).

When Y/N still wasn’t awake around 9 AM, he ordered them food. He remembers a few of the things Y/N likes to eat for breakfast, one of which includes french toast and this hotel in particular had a strawberries and creme flavor. With her perpetual sweet tooth, he thought she might enjoy it, so he gets her that and a smoothie and himself avocado toast. Once it arrives around 40 minutes later, he finally relents and wakes her up himself, “Oi,” he pats her shoulder first, then rubs it just a little, “Wake up, I got us food.” 

“Mm?” Her face is stuffed into her pillow and halfway covered by the downy feather blanket tucked around her body. Y/N’s hand emerges, she pats around blindly for a little while then makes a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat, “Custard?” It’s muffled and a little warbly but Harry does make out the kitten’s name. He holds back a giggle, his hand still on her shoulder as he pats her again.

“Try again.” This encourages Y/N to pop her face from the blankets, her brows furrowed. 

“You’re not small and furry.” She whined, but Harry only rolled his eyes. 

“It’s time to eat, Lazy,” he waddles back over to the trays of food, plucking hers up from where he’d balanced it on the edge of the TV stand and bringing it back over to her, “Then you can go back to bed if you want.” 

“What time is it?” 

“20 minutes till 10.” 

Her eyes widen, as much as they can still sleep swollen and puffy, and she presses herself up from the mattress, “Oh my god, why’d you let me sleep so long?” 

“You were clearly tired –” 

“You still hate me, I knew it,” she knuckled her eyes, sighing dramatically, “Adam is going to beat my ass, he wanted to go for a walk before sunrise.” 

Harry scrunched his nose, “Oof, well you missed that by a long shot didn’t you?” Y/N glares at him, frowning, and he holds out her tray again, “Eat and then plead for his forgiveness. You can’t grovel on an empty tummy.” 

Eating breakfast is an unintentionally domestic affair, when they’re both in their respective beds forking food into their mouths. Y/N is still clearly trying to become one with the world again, but her blinks are still slow and syrupy as she tries to reacclimate to being awake. Harry doesn’t try to start a conversation, just scrolls through his phone, but the silence isn’t the same stiff, tense air that used to hang between them. It was surprisingly comfortable. 

Y/N’s phone starts vibrating and she digs around in the blankets before she finally finds it, sliding it open and pushing it on speaker so she can keep eating, “Hi traitor,” Adam’s voice rings through the speaker, “I enjoyed a refreshing, pre-sunrise walk alone, the weather was beautiful.” 

“Adam, I got an alert that said it was 4°C (40°F), so I know you were freezing your ass off.”

He scoffs on the other end, “Well, maybe I was, but that doesn’t excuse the fact you abandoned me,” he breathes out a sigh, “I know you and Harry have finally worked it out halfway, whether that was by fucking like you’ve wanted to or –” 

Y/N fumbles to grab for her phone, taking him off speaker with wild eyes as she shoves it against her ear, “Shut up!” She all but squeaks and Harry can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest, “Listen, I messaged you that I was sorry! I was going to buy you something good to eat for being such a good sport about it and not blowing my phone up, but now I’m unsure.” She glanced over in Harry’s direction, and her face immediately sours when he sees the shit eating-grin on his face, “God, you’ve got a loud mouth sometimes, d’ya know that?” 

Once she got off the phone with him, Harry just can’t help himself, “You’ve talked about wanting to fuck me?” 

“No,” she stresses, “I actually would vehemently deny that I wanted to even look at you, but Mei and Adam always loved poking fun. Always said we needed to like – fuck out the tension or something.” She shook her head to herself, slicing back into her food – at least the embarrassment hadn’t ruined her appetite, “I’d always tell them you hated me too much to do anything like that.” 

“But you wanted to?” He is still smiling. 

“What I want is to smother you with a pillow.” 

“That’s very kinky, babe, but we should probably lose our virginity before we explore that,” he is immediately assaulted by a pillow careening from her bed to his, slapping him in the head, “Hey –” 

“You’re obnoxious,” she groans, “I can’t tell if you hating me was better than you not.” 

The rest of the day goes by somewhat in a blur – Adam, despite his previous whinging, had invited Y/N to try this Mediterranean place for lunch and told her to invite Harry too. Besides a few comments here and there, everyone has seemed to accept this merge of each other into one another’s life seamlessly. it was welcomed, even, and Harry wondered just how much everyone had suffered in the face of his anger and envy. 

Their dynamic is still. . .different; they haven’t had the chance to truly flesh it out, Harry feels. They are in that middle ground of rivals warily stepping into a friendship, so he isn’t sure what his place is, especially among her friends. Mei isn’t there, so it’s a little better and he doesn’t feel like a fourth wheel, which is a little worse than feeling like a third wheel (having three people who are willing to ignore you in favor of each other as opposed to two is just a little shittier) but he doesn’t even feel like that. 

Y/N, despite all the things he had found wrong with her in the first couple of months of knowing her, had a lot of good attributes too. One of which, he finds, is never letting another person feel left out. If there’s an inside joke Adam or she brings up at lunch, she’ll turn to explain it to him thoroughly so he’s in on the giggle (even if it isn’t that funny, he appreciates the sentiment). They discuss things that Y/N knew Harry had some knowledge of, from pop culture to their show the other night, to Christopher and Dasia’s neverending toxic romance. There’s still banter (just because he’s being kinder now, doesn’t mean his tongue has softened) but now when they go back and forth with each other, Adam isn’t looking at them both with horror written in his gaze. 

Adam does eventually get his walk with Y/N, though it isn’t during sunrise, they amble through a little cobblestone part of the town with small shops with a variety of different themes from European spices to Gothic, whimsical witch stores. Thankfully the sun was out, warming them in the chilly weather. Harry could appreciate how Y/N looks in a thick jumper, with sleeves that fall over the palms of her hands, and arms wrapped tight around her body when a particularly cold breeze whistles past them. Harry’s fingers twitch at his sides – he wants to brush the hair from her face when the wind blows it into her eye, but he refrains. It’s the same itch he got when she was sick with a fever, and she’d fallen asleep with it covering her cheeks and over her nose. Harry thinks he must have brushed the hair from her face for about five minutes, even when the hair was no longer covering her – then he was just caressing her hairline tenderly. 

And he really couldn’t do that without a slew of questions being thrown at him, so he just looked straight ahead again and tried to tune into the conversation. 

There is something Harry can do with his hands now though – something that they discussed last night. Something that he’s sure will quell this odd, newly developed urge to brush the hair from her face, loop his fingers around her wrist, or hold her how he was able to during the show. Going from having his hands all over her hips and waist and legs all day, nearly every day practicing for the show to never having his hands on her at all. . .was sudden and slightly disconcerting. That must be the reason he’s feeling this pressing itch to have his hands on her all of the time – why for two nights in a row, all he wanted was to be snuggled between her thighs with his mouth on her. 

All of this was so confusing, and a little overwhelming, and Harry wondered if these wants and feelings had always lingered within him but he’d refused to let them surface. 

That didn’t matter though. What mattered, was after they had returned from running around all day with Adam (and eventually Niall, who complained that he hadn’t been invited out for lunch but was placated by them trying an “authentic Irish restaurant” for dinner), Harry had inquired if she wanted him to make her cum again. Y/N’s eyes nearly popped out of her head from how wide they grew. 

“Do you get off on getting other people off?” She asks him, bewildered, “This will be the third night in a row, you’re really spoiling me.” 

Harry feels his face heat up but refuses to let her know how embarrassed he is for being so desperate for it, “Well, I’ll only have myself to blame when you start acting like a spoiled brat then, won’t I?” 

“Are you going to – are we starting like, you stretching me out and everything?” Y/N is kicking off her shoes, rolling her socks off her feet as she plops down on the hotel bed. Harry lounges across from her, one of his legs kicked up on the mattress as he leans into his pillows. 

“You want my cock so bad, you think we need to get started right away?” 

“You know what, stuff it, I’m not letting you tonight.” 

Harry would have taken the loss since he never really did know when to shut his mouth, but after Y/N gets out of the shower (she “allowed” Harry to go first this time, since she did the night prior), she’s dropping down on his mattress and looking expectantly. Harry could have teased her about it, made her work for it, made her ask him instead of looking at him and assuming he’d connect the dots himself – but he didn’t think he should test her patience any more than he already had. He patted her calf and motioned for her to sit up higher on the bed, leaning against his pillows, and while he didn’t make her request it verbally, he did playfully murmur, “I knew you’d change your mind.” 

“I’ll change it back just as fast.” 

Before she could do that, Harry slid his hand over her right thigh, his palm flattened against the inside and he squeezed gently and then moved to hook them in the waistband of her bottoms,  “Mm, how many have I put in you, huh? Just one so far right?” 

She shakes her head quickly, “No, I’ve had two before! The first time – when you. . .over the barre.” 

“Oh, when I finger fucked you over the barre?” He wriggles the fabric down her thighs, over her knees, and down her legs. Harry shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of underwear, but for some reason he still is – she must have forgone them, knowing she was going to ask him to go through with it. Her pussy is still so pretty to him; a feast for his gaze, all swollen and wet, like she’d been working herself up in the shower. Harry’s mouth waters like he’s been Pavlov'd into the response every time he looks between her thighs. Distantly he heard her complain about him being vulgar but he can’t really focus on it. 

Harry leans forward and spits over her slit, reveling in the sharp gasp she sucks into her chest. The saliva drips down over her clit, swollen and begging for attention, so Harry meets it with the pad of his thumb and rolls over it in tight circles. Her thighs twitch but he uses his free hand to keep her pressed open, shushing her when she makes a little noise in her throat, that sounds awfully close to a complaint, “No whining,” he chastises but there’s not much strength behind it, “You should take what you’re given gratefully. . .or are you still a rude little brat you don’t know how to do that?”

He’s testing the waters – his gaze flickers up to her, reading her expression. If she seemed even a little put off by it he would back down, be more tender with her, and more careful with his words. But Y/N, as he recalls, loved the teasing even when they didn’t really like each other. Harry remembered how she squeezed his fingers tightly any time he taunted her, threatened to leave her wet and needy. 

And she seems to like it now when her perfect pussy clenches in front of him, beckoning his attention and expressing her wants, though her face is pouted, “Please?” She tried, instead of her usual tactic of telling him to shut the fuck up or reminding him that he’s mean. Harry doesn’t know if it was strategic or not, but it does yank at his heart slightly and presses him into action. 

It’s like she sucks his finger in when he slides his index down knuckle deep inside of her. Y/N squeezes and pulses around him like it's the first time anything has been inside of her; her walls feel like they’re inspecting the intrusion, accommodating it, coaxing it deeper so it strokes against the bundle of nerves inside of her. The moan that leaves her is high and needy, her legs falling out wider for him while he watches the rim squeeze and tighten around the base. Harry has to check his own desperation – what he’d give to push the head of his cock inside of her – just the tip, letting her warm him. 

But the tip would lead him to sink his hips in, down to his balls, to feel the sticky, wet cling of her juices against the tender skin. God, he’s so excited about it he could almost bust in his pants. It’s hard to be patient and when Harry’s horny, he’s horny right then, he wants to get it taken care of. Of course, he’ll put in as much effort as he can to make sure his partner is pleased as well, but his goal next to that is to cum. And right then, when he curls his finger up and presses right into the spot that has her sucking in a sharp breath and rocking her hips down, his bloated cock twitches again. A blurt of precum wets the fabric of his briefs – by the end of this, he’ll probably be just as wet, messy, and desperate as she is.

He would be patient though – he wasn’t going to rush this. Y/N deserves patience from him, after so long of her not even getting a fraction of his tolerance before, he wants to make this good for her. Though it isn’t something Y/N considers special, he knows a shoddy first time could ruin the outlook on sex entirely, and he refuses to give her a shitty first fuck. 

This helps too, with working out all the unresolved tension that still lingers between them sometimes. It isn’t the hatred, anger, or envy. . .it was something else entirely. Something that Harry hadn’t really felt routinely until all of that was stripped away – what made him finger fuck her over the barre, what made Niall beg and plead for them to just fuck their emotions out and get it over with. Something that manifests in the air with them, when Harry’s drinking up her body with his gaze, wondering how he could lash her with such horrible words when she’s so cute like this. 

Her hand is at her mouth, her knuckle nestled between her teeth but it does little to filter out the sounds she’s making so he doesn’t chastise her for it. The lips around them should be pretty and swollen from his kissing, he thinks, but maybe he’ll explore that later. Nip and bite and suckle until they’re slick with his spit and filled up with blood beneath the sensitive skin, making them brighter, and pinker. 

Harry started to move his finger, rubbing loosely now over her clit and leaning forward. He wonders if it looks as desperate as it feels when he bends down to take her nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her shirt. The cloth immediately dampens from his saliva and Y/N’s moaning a sound so lewd and wanton he thinks he could have cum in his pants if he were pushing up against the mattress. Her nipples had already pebbled beneath her clothes so that’s how he could easily spot them, pulling it into his mouth and running his teeth over them, biting down. He could be a little rougher because there was a barrier between them, and finally, Y/N’s hands came to meet him at some capacity. The fingers of her left-hand thread through his hair, squeezing tight near the scalp, and her other hand meets his shoulder blade, her fingertips pinching down into the lean muscle. 

He’s much closer to the source of her moaning and whimpering, so he even picks up on the little sounds that barely escape her throat. Harry balances himself on his knees, his legs are snuggled around her waist but her thighs lay over his so he can keep his finger inside of her. Her own knees are pulled closer to her chest, feet dangling in the air on either side of him – Harry isn’t even into feet, but he wants to bite at her ankles and make her squeal. 

As he swaps from one nipple to the other, Harry cradles the other with his free hand, withdraws his finger, and slips a second inside. The fit is tight; Y/N’s moan and rut of her hips say she wants it but the way her cunt squeezes and pulses, he could tell it felt like too much, “Let me do the work,” he popped off of her chest to chastise her gently when she was trying to fuck herself down further, “Fuck, you gotta relax baby, or I’ll never be able to stretch you out.” 

“It just feels so good,” she mewled, a pout deep in her mouth and her hands hovering just outside of it – Y/N looks positively fucked out from one-and-a-half fingers inside of her. Harry is enamored by the blown look of her pupils, the muss of her hair, and her lips looking a little too normal. And that was enough to drive him to kiss her. 

At first, it’s just a peck, then he nudges his nose against hers, “I know baby,” he soothes, “Let me in, hm? It’ll feel even better.” 

It takes some time, and the smooth glide of their mouths together, before Harry finally feels her walls give. He sinks his second finger inside and as her reward, immediately curls them both into the nerves. Y/N sighed into his mouth once he bottomed out, then keens at the steady press to her G-spot – he could tell she wanted to wrap both her legs around him but she could only hook around his left side, while the right was impeded by the arm doing all the work. 

“Good girl,” he praised her and she all but melted through a whimper, while his fingers twisted and stretched around inside of her – she was so wet, his fingers squelched around as he moved inside, and he swears he could feel her getting wetter, drenching him, “Oh, you liked that didn’t you?” He murmured, and she nodded, but still had sense enough to look shy about it, “Hmm, poor Y/N, you just wanna be praised all day don’t you? While we’re all working hard practicing, are you trying so hard to get compliments so you can get this filthy pussy wet?” 

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest but when Harry’s thumb speeds up around her clit, a broken-off moan rattles through her, “Yeah, I bet,” he continued, while she bucks her hips down on him and he doesn’t stop her this time, “Probably leave fucking drenched ‘cos the instructors telling you how good you are, hm? And all our classmates? I can only imagine the state of your panties afterward.” 

“I’m not –” she breathes out, “I’m not a pervert! I don’t – I know how to keep a hold of myself.” 

“Who said anything about that, hm? You can’t help what you like to hear,” he raises back up and spits over her again, the sound of his fingers fucking into her is much much sloppier and he contemplates adding a third now that she’s finally eased up around him. When he lets his ring finger dance along the entrance, Y/N’s eyes widen, “You think you could fit another?” 

“I think – I think so,” she nodded, “I’ll definitely cum if you do.” 

Harry squeezes in a third, rocking his fingers back and forth as he wiggles it inside beside the other two. He flips up her pajama shirt and reveals her swollen nipples, still pert from the previous attention. Harry holds his other hand out to her mouth and instructs her to lick, so she does. She rolls her pink tongue over the pads, down the knuckle – Harry thinks if he sunk these fingers into her mouth she’d be perfectly content having both her holes filled. She’d look so cute, he thinks, and the thought of her being content and full and warm makes his heart flutter. It’s something he’d have to explore later. 

He uses these wet fingers to pinch, pull, and play with her tits while he spreads out his three fingers the most he can. But she gobbles him up and sucks him in – the squeeze is tight but she wants it so badly, Harry thinks if he stopped moving his fingers she would do all the work trying to fuck herself down onto him (not without some complaining, but it sounds pretty while she moans).

Harry can tell – he can feel it before she cums. The pulsations around his fingers get more frequent and the leg hooked around his right hip tightens, and she’s simultaneously trying to roll her hips closer to him, then away, “Harry,” she breathes out, her hand grips his forearm, and he wondered if she could feel the muscles shift as he continues his ministrations, “Please, please, please.” 

“See, if I knew you begged as pretty as this, maybe I would’ve gotten my head out of my ass sooner, hm?” He looks down where they meet, then back at Y/N, who watches him through lidded eyes threatening to close, “God, I want to fucking taste you again, my mouth is watering so badly.” 

Apparently, this is all she needed to be sent over the edge. Her moans grow louder, she tries to muffle them against her palm but Harry pulls it away and replaces it with his mouth. They can’t be too loud – their walls are paper thin, and he isn’t necessarily interested in getting a noise complaint – so he swallows these pretty little noises, deep and warm in his belly. Her body draws up tight, quivering and shaking, and she’s useless trying to kiss right now, her lips slow, meeting him and then parting her lips to suck in air and mewl. Harry’s cock is leaking so much in his pants he’s sure there’s a huge spot on his briefs now – he’s drippy and wet, and the thought of his cock replacing his fingers is almost enough to make him nearly cum untouched. 

She gets wetter around his fingers, she trembles around him as he presses kisses to her mouth, wanting to pepper them all over her face but refraining. Harry works her through it, as long as it seems, only slowing down when all the tension oozes from her muscles, her thighs twitch and the hand holding his wrist loosens. He thinks she could probably melt through the mattress if he let her.

Harry is glad to have gotten her off – he was going to run and take care of his own problem after he cleaned her up, but when he even made the effort to move, Y/N’s other leg finally looped around his waist and she held him in place. She whined again, this time more in protest than pleasure, “Don’t leave,” she frowned at him, “Want to see you do it.” 

He blinked a couple of times, her words sinking in, and Harry decided it wasn’t worth it to waste time. He reaches into his pants and briefs and pulls out his cock. When he lets go of it for a second, it slaps up against his tummy, hard and dripping, the tip a swollen red from being neglected. Harry hisses when he gets a hand around his cock – the same one covered in his spit and her juices and pumps himself at a relatively quick pace to start. Y/N seems entranced, or she’s just still sleepy from her own orgasm, but she watches intently and keeps him locked between her legs tightly. 

Harry came, sticky and wet, shot after shot that collided with her belly and drools over his knuckles. He groaned low in his throat, it rumbled through his chest, and when his eyes (that he’d not realized had closed) fluttered open, Y/N was still looking at him.

“You always cum so much,” she remarked, rolling the pads of her fingers through the puddles and stripes on her belly, “You must be really pent up.” 

“Says the virgin.” 

The foot that was nestled against his lower back, lifts up and kicks him. Harry grunts and falls forward a bit, “Jesus,” he sighed, “You’re so rough with me.” 

By the time they are both cleaned up (Harry has to strip the loose sheet off his bed, which makes him smile but Y/N whines about being embarrassed), they’re in their respective beds. Harry had never realized how much of a cuddler post-sex he was until it didn’t necessarily feel like an option. He knew that he and Y/N had snuggled up close together before, but it was different to initiate it when they were both awake. 

So instead, he just holds his pillow close to his body, spooning that rather than the warm body he has vague memories of cuddling close with the night before their show. 

It isn’t as good. 

                                                                .                          .                        .

Autumn mornings are always nice; the smell in the air is something Harry couldn’t quite compare to anything else other than fall. The air is crisp, biting at his cheeks and flushing them pink, whipping his hair around with each gust of wind that brings promises of chillier weather. Harry thinks jogging during this time of year is always quite calming, especially when he’s up just before the sun and the sky is a gentle hazy glow. He usually has his headphones in but if he doesn’t, then the only sounds are the tap of his feet against the pavement, his breathing, the birds that haven’t fled for the winter yet. 

Harry feels content on mornings like these, and they are typically essential to decompressing before they start practicing for the winter showcase. He goes between jogging and walking for about three kilometers, in one large loop around the dorm, through a trail at a park nearby, and since he passes by the cafe near the dorm he usually stops in. However, today, instead of stopping by the cafe he realizes that he’s about to pass by the bakery Y/N briefly mentioned the other day. 

And usually, Harry runs right past it. Doesn’t even think twice about what they might have in there actually, because he’s forced himself into the mindset that sweets should be reserved for special occasions. Treats are treats because they aren’t often – they’re something out of the ordinary that can bring someone joy. If you have them all the time, then they aren’t treats anymore, they’re just a precursor to a dentist seat and multiple fillings in different teeth. He’d done his fair share of dealing in refined sugars while they were out of town, so he’d been planning on doing some form of cleanse to reboot his body and hopefully reduce any bloat or general heaviness he might feel otherwise. 

So why was he slowing to a stop in front of the bakery door? Harry really didn’t have a good answer, as he fits his hand around the knob and tugs it open, the bells hanging on the handle clinking together brightly. It’s still early enough that he’s certain only one person is there right now, working hard to get fresh pieces of bread, muffins, and croissants on the warming trays in the glass display cases. The smell alone is enough to make his mouth water; maybe he would get a little something. Technically, he hadn’t started his cleanse at full force yet – he could still afford to get something warm and apple-y. Maybe he would even try his hand at being nice and get Y//N something too, she would like that. 

Because now that there isn’t a reason to see her every day, Harry is having trouble coming up with one without feeling like he’s trying too hard or being annoying. Harry isn’t trying to be a dick about it, it just takes a lot for him to come out and ask someone to spend time with him – even with Niall, who he’s known forever, Harry prefers that he make the first move in the request. He’s sure it says something about him and a fear of rejection or whatever, but he’s never taken the time to psychoanalyze himself over it, so he doesn’t. And nobody had really forced himself to either – Niall always makes the first suggestion, and eventually, others figured out that was how they could become friends with Harry. If they extended a hand, typically he would take it. 

(Unless you were some random ballet prodigy who started on a whim and he didn’t know how to deal with the realization he wasn’t truly the best in the class anymore, then he’d bite the hand.) 

Y/N isn’t doing that though – he thinks Y/N is waiting for him to come to her, and he doesn’t blame her. Why should she want to exert any effort in their friendship when the first time she tried, she’d been graced with months and months' worth of verbal attacks and passive-aggressive tendencies? Harry wouldn’t want to try again either, so he understood where she was coming from, probably more than she would realize. And since this is such a unique situation for them, and one Harry had never really experienced before, he figured that he could at least make an attempt. He would be nonchalant about it, to not make it weird – he’d scan the danishes, pick one that seemed suitable to her taste, then stop it by her dorm. Or. . .no, maybe he would just bring it to their studio today and she could eat it during their break. Would that be too much? He really isn’t in the mood for the rumors, so maybe he should get Niall something too. 

“Good morning!” A voice, all too bright and chipper for Harry’s dilemma, rings through the small bakery. Harry is affronted with Felix, the one with the nice smile and the smattering of freckles over his cheeks – the guy who Y/N was apparently close enough with that he could go to her dorm without her being there. It was no secret that this guy was sweet, and at first, Harry was overwhelmingly suspicious about it. A sweet baker was a little too cliche and raised all sorts of red flags to him when he’d first come here with Niall. He was certain he was probably a stalker, or a killer of some sort until he was walking by an alleyway and saw him filling a small tin of food for a couple of stray cats that were meowing at his feet. And then again, when he watched him handing out extra food from the bakery to a homeless shelter a couple of blocks away. 

Felix was genuinely kind, he could see why Y/N would trust him with Custard, and for some reason that makes a hot and itchy feeling fizzle beneath his skin. One that he’d felt when Y/N brought him up the first time, that is unearthing itself again long since Harry had snuffed out the flame a couple of hours afterward when he was wondering why he hadn’t been graced with freckles. 

Charming Felix, with his charming voice, and his charming pink mouth and pretty smile – if Y/N had a crush on him, Harry would get it. Why did even give a fuck about that though? Y/N hadn’t even given any indication that she could have feelings for him like that, but. . .Harry could just see it! Why wouldn’t Y/N have soft, tender feelings for this guy? Why wouldn’t Y/N want him to take her virginity, why was she asking Harry? 

“What can I get you today?” Felix seems undeterred by the furrow Harry knew was on his brows, wiping flour off his hands with an orange rag, “I just took some pumpkin bread out of the oven, if you’re interested.” His smile is bright and Harry is feeling very inadequate and lackluster in comparison – what a horrible idea to come in here! He isn’t used to feeling anything less than confident, normally, and when he does his knee-jerk reaction is to be an asshole. 

But where did that get him before? Absolutely nowhere. 

So he clears his throat, and tries to soothe the irritation from his brows, “Um, yeah, I’ll take that then,” he replied, “I’ll take the whole loaf.” 

And maybe Harry has to jog the rest of the way home with a loaf of pumpkin bread and the companion frosting in his arms – maybe it is inconvenient, and he’s wondering how he’s supposed to present this to Y/N. He tries not to overthink it too much, but maybe he should have, because now he’s standing at Y/N’s door, half past six in the morning waiting for her to open the door. She should be awake because their studio time starts in just a little over an hour, but Harry started getting nervous, thinking maybe it would have been wise to message her beforehand. Even if it was a kind gesture, who wants to be pulled from sleep for pumpkin bread?

The door opens, just a crack at first until Y/N realizes who it is, and then her shoulders sink as she relaxes, “Oh thank god,” she brushed the hair from her face, “I thought you were a killer or something.” 

“So you opened the door?” He pressed, but Y/N didn’t bother replying to him. Instead, she blinks, points at the loaf in his hand and her head tilted to the side just a little bit. Harry holds it out for her, “This is for you.” 

Her brows raise, “For me?” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “I was on a run and stopped by the bakery – he said that he made too much, so he gave it to me for free.” It was a lie, Harry actually spent close to fifteen on it but he wouldn’t tell her that. He doesn’t know why he felt like he needed to lie about it – honestly, he doesn’t know why he feels so giddy about seeing her either. If this was the trade-off from blindly hating her, then he wasn’t sure if he liked this much at all; his palms felt sweaty, and he felt slightly out of his body when a smile grew over her mouth. 

“Thank you,” she held her hands out to receive it, “But aren’t you always the one talking about how refined sugar is the devil?” 

Harry’s face almost immediately sours, and he reaffirmed his grip on the box, “You know what, maybe I’ll give it to Niall –” 

“No!” She rushed, plucking it from his hands and shaking her head, “Nooo, come on, I was just teasing! Thank you, thank you,” she took it from his hands, “I’m – do you want to come in and we can eat some together? Custard says she misses you.” 

Harry pauses – he should really go get ready for their class, but. . .well, he doesn’t think a couple of minutes would hurt, right

                                                                  .                         .                       .

“Hmm, maybe I was right before,” Harry sighs, “We’re all working hard in class, and you’re just getting wet over being praised. It’s kind of filthy of you, isn’t it?” 

Harry is quick to find that being friends with Y/N is kind of like a trade-off. Since he’d extended his hand first, Y/N was the second to do it, so after they had eaten pumpkin bread together she asked him if he’d be willing to go to a haunted house. At first, he thinks she’s going to use Adam and Mei as an excuse – she opens up the offer by saying they’re both pleased that she and Harry had sorted out their differences well enough to spend time together because they all wanted to hang out as a group. Mei, Niall, Adam, Harry, and Y/N as a unit rather than this disjointed, fragmented friendship because the two of them hated each other’s guts (and Harry feels a gnawing guilt again, that it was his fault they couldn’t all coexist happily together). 

Harry probably would have left it there, if it was him – he wouldn’t have added the part where he admits that he wanted to hang out with her too, but Y/N doesn’t omit the fact. 

“I think it’s nice that we can hang out now without wanting to kill each other,” she tells him, “Plus, I have more fun with you than I thought I’d be able to! You always came off as some stiff, prude-ish asshole, but you’re a way better time than that.” 

The compliment is a little backhanded but Harry couldn’t blame her for it – he did come off as a stiff, prude-ish asshole, even to his closest friends, so he can only imagine how Y/N must have felt. Even so, the warmth that bubbles beneath his bones when she says she has fun with him, is something that Harry can’t be arsed to explore. Not right then, at least, when he was trying to keep his cheeks from turning pink. 

She’d asked him at the beginning of practice, so by the end of it, she was suggesting that they walk back to their dorms together and discuss the details that she had already talked about with the others. Harry isn’t necessarily sure why they needed to do it on the way to their dorm when Niall could fill him in later, but he didn’t question it too much either – he and Y/N lived closest to each other anyway. It made sense for them to walk home together sometimes, and if Y/N was the one planning it, it’d be better to get information out of her rather than Niall, who was always just slightly wrong about most plans.

Y/N had done well in practice, for this to be her first time learning the material for this showcase, but Harry expected nothing less. Still, she’s practically run over with praise from their instructors, from their peers, and even from Harry – he doesn’t overdo it, just tells her that her relevés were well done, but Y/N still bristles from them. Honestly, Harry probably wouldn’t have even realized she was worked up if not for the way she grabs his wrist when he’s about to leave down the hallway to his room. Then she levels him with a look – one that’s asking a lot without her saying a lot, and if Harry were just a little bit nicer, then he would fill in the blanks for her. 

But, at the end of the day, Harry is a newly refined asshole. Some prick-ish tendencies don’t evaporate overnight. 

“Hm? What is it?” 

Y/N noticeably swallows thickly, her hand falling from his wrist but she still stands close to him, “I was wondering if maybe we could. . .you know.” 

“No, I don’t know.” 

Her face scrunched at him, frustration evident,  “Yes you do,” she grumbled at him, “We haven’t since we’ve gotten back. How are we supposed to train me to take it, if we take such long breaks?” 

So that’s how they ended up here – Harry had pressed her inside his dorm and ushered her toward his bed. Y/N was wearing jeans today, much to his displeasure, because it takes a way longer time to wriggle her out of those than it would the sweatpants she usually has on, but he deals. It was easy to fall back into this, even with the small, unintentional break they had taken – he’d briefly worried that maybe this was something that would never get mentioned again and Harry would be stuck touching himself to the old memories of her moaning. He’s lucky if he gets through a full day without thinking about it and his cock threatening to twitch, but he didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. Harry wanted to go at her pace, for the most part – he didn’t want to come off as pushy or as a pervert. 

But it seems like he hasn’t been the only one thinking about it. Harry splits Y/N’s thighs once her jeans are off and the damp spot over the fabric is enough to make his head spin. She doesn’t seem shy about it – not even when Harry drags the pads of his fingers over the wet cotton and tuts his tongue, We’re all working hard in class, and you’re just getting wet over being praised. It’s kind of filthy of you, isn’t it? 

Y/N pouted at him, her lip wet and plump, and Harry wanted to dig his teeth into it and pull, “I can take four, this time,” she told him, “I tried by myself, but it doesn’t – my fingers aren’t as big. And it doesn’t feel as good.”

If any more blood flooded to Harry’s cock, he was sure he’d be dizzy from it. He takes a slow, deep breath, tucking his fingers into the band and pulling the underwear to the side. Just as pretty, swollen, and wet as she looked before, her pussy drools for him, and Harry couldn’t waste his time teasing her. Not when she had admitted to him she’d tried to make herself feel good on her own fingers, only to realize that Harry’s felt better. He imagined her writhing in bed, needy and unsatisfied, wanting him. Maybe she’d been too nervous to message and ask him to come over and help that night – so she just waited, however long it was that it took her to gather the courage to ask him. Had she even been able to cum that night? Or had she gotten frustrated and given up? 

Harry doesn’t know at first, but from the sound and face that she makes when he sinks two fingers in, he could gather that the latter had been right. Y/N’s legs fell open and out to the side, making more room for him, “There we go,” he purred, his freehand pressed against the sensitive inside of her left thigh, “You need to let me know when this poor needy pussy wants attention, hm? How was I supposed to know you still wanted my help?” 

“I thought you would just know,” she frowned at him, “Or – I thought at least you would ask me or something. Or schedule a day that we could – ah – that you would stretch me out.” 

He hums, curling his fingers up and steadily petting at the soft spot of nerves inside of her,  “And why do I have to do all the work, Sweetheart? Shouldn’t you meet me halfway? I am the one who suggested it last time – isn’t it a little selfish to expect me to come to you each time?” 

Y/N looks like she wants to respond – there are probably plenty of things she could say or things that she could call him (a hypocrite, namely), but he leans forward and drools over her clit before she could get a word out. She swallows his fingers up when he slides a third one in, and while the fit is still tight he can feel her walls give way to him, stretching and accommodating them. Her hips are rocking down into his and she’s squeezing and milking around him, “Are you g’na cum already?” He cooed, though it came out more taunting, “But we haven’t even gotten to four fingers. This really is a greedy pussy.” 

“Not greedy,” she whines, hiding her face in her palms – it’s cute, how worked up she gets. Were all virgins like this? Harry took his rule to heart, really, so he wondered if the intense flood of arousal and the amount she was leaking around his fingers was because of that. Or maybe this was just something specific to Y/N – either way, his cock feels so hard he could cut glass with it, as he slips in the fourth finger. This one is a bit harder than the third – it takes a little more time and he has to remind her to relax for him. 

“Take a deep breath with me,” he instructs her, “Then sort of push like you’re trying to push me out, hm? I think that’ll open you up more for me.” It does – Harry’s able to squeeze his fourth finger inside of her, and he presses kisses down her thighs and all over her hips, singing praises to her that make her pulsate and clench around him, “Look at that,” he murmurs, “You’re doing so good, opening up for me,” Harry pauses over her clit, he debates it for all of a millisecond before he leans down and smears his mouth over it, pushing a sucking kiss to the throbbing button. She mewls when he pops off, fluttering his tongue over it, “You wanna cum?” 

Y/N nodded, her hips rolling down on his fingers. They hadn’t necessarily discussed Harry controlling whether or not she came in any capacity, but even asking the question makes goosebumps dot down his spine. Like no matter what she said, he could tell her no if he wanted to. Could pull his fingers out and let her hump at the air, letting the orgasm dissolve and crumble right in front of her. 

That’s something to explore for a different night, he thinks. 

She muffles herself when she cums, and while he hates it, he doesn’t blame her – the walls are paper thin and a noise complaint wasn’t ideal. But even partially muted by her shirt, she sounds so pretty, and her thighs twitch and close around his hand, trapping it between them as he finished fucking her through it. Harry still feels a little dizzy from the speed at which all the blood rushed to his cock, but he ignores it – he’d probably fuck his palm raw to this later anyway. Right now, Y/N is looking just a little too cute to resist teasing, as he slides his fingers from her, watching her small hole gape around nothing. 

Y/N is breathless, wiping the hair from her face, “Am I best at cumming or dancing? Make sure to answer honestly.”

“You’re best at getting on my nerves,”  he pats her thighs, “Who would have thought you were such a lewd little thing? Demanding my fingers right after practice.”

Y/N closes her legs, but the movement is slow, like her bones are jelly, “Shut up,” she muttered, in the middle of catching her breath, “You’re so confusing. You practically were jumping my bones every night while we were away and then you just stopped as soon as we came back, I didn’t know if you still wanted to or not. I had to at least try.” 

Harry ignores his intrusive thoughts telling him to push a kiss to her knee, “Sorry for making you wait,” he tells her, then looks down between her legs, “Sorry for making you wait too.” 

“Ew, enough! Don’t talk to her like she’s real.” 

Harry chuckles before standing up from the bed, pulling the blanket at the bottom of his mattress up over her bare legs so she wouldn’t feel so bare to the world, “What are you eating for dinner tonight?” 

“I dunno, I haven’t thought that far into the night yet,” Y/N answered, accepting the blanket and pulling it over her hips, “Maybe a frozen meal or something?” 

“Those are awful for you,” Harry immediately rejects the idea, “I’m making stuffed peppers, and the recipe always makes more than I can finish off. You’ll just take some with you, yeah?” 

                                                           .                         .                        .

Harry’s idea of fun isn’t necessarily paying money to be scared out of his mind but he enjoys the haunted house more than he had originally imagined he would. It was a pretty big one, with different houses and themes, from killer clowns and hillbillies to asylums and creature feature monsters in big suits. The entire run time was about an hour and that wasn’t including wait times, so since most of it was outside, Harry had dressed himself in a thicker sweatshirt and jeans with no holes (a surprisingly hard feat for him). Even then, the wind still assaults his cheeks with each freezing gust. 

Niall and Harry show up together in one car, while Mei, Adam, and Y/N show up in the other. Harry wondered how they would split up among each other so that one person wouldn’t end up walking alone, but for the most part, they seemed to move as just one, massive group together, with one person in the middle (usually Niall but sometimes Adam) and two people to the front and back of them. Harry got to walk with Y/N for most of the night, and for that, he was happy – mostly because she talked all big about how she wasn’t going to be scared, only for her to be screaming and yelping the loudest. 

Just before the asylum attraction, in about a fifteen-minute wait to be let into the fake hospital, Y/N had pressed herself up to his body, shivering, and he doesn’t even think she realizes how close she is to him when she speaks, “It’s so fucking cold,” her teeth were nearly chattering.

Harry did a sweep over her outfit (or as much as he could in the low lighting – it was pretty dark apart from some pumpkin lanterns strung up above them), the thin jacket that she wore over even thinner long sleeves – maybe her saving grace could have been the knitted pants she had on, but even they looked like there wasn’t much material there – and he was kissing his teeth, “You should have worn warmer clothes,” he chided her, “You’ll be lucky if your muscles aren’t still stiff by practice on Monday.” 

She frowns at him, but her innate desire for survival outweighs whatever pride might make her seek warmth elsewhere. Y/N stays close to him – maybe even pushes herself closer to him, so a sheet of paper could barely fit between them if they had tried. Eventually, Harry leans back into her, and for even a second he regrets not wearing a thick jacket so he could just unzip it and have her hug around his body. All he can offer is the holes of his sleeves, letting her slip her icy cold fingers in with his arms, and biting back a squawk when she touches his skin. 

“Consider this a part of your groveling fee,” Y/N shuddered to him, and he thought if he had offered for her to duck up into his sweatshirt, she would have. 

Harry has fun, screaming and jumping and “accidentally” knocking Y/N into the fake bodies hanging from the ceiling. Sometimes Y/N ends up near Mei or Adam for a little while in the dark but she eventually finds her way to him again. He kind of likes it when she hides her face into his chest too, like he is going to protect her from all the scary creatures in the dark, even though his eyes were also squeezed shut just as tightly. 

By the time they finish, Harry is still chilled to the bone and his cheeks feel sore from how much he’s been grinning and laughing in spite of his fear. Y/N’s hair is a mess on her head from walking through curtains and slamming into the decorations and fixtures in each attraction, but she’s also smiling, giggling at the sounds she made that Adam does a suspiciously good job at mimicking. 

Afterward, they decide they’ll go out for food. Almost everything is closed because it’s just about 11 PM (and Harry is regretting scheduling his morning beginners ballet class at 9 AM) so the choices are limited to a McDonald's and a 24-hour diner. Since Mei wanted a full breakfast platter this late at night, they chose the diner, but it was a cute spot nearby in a relatively safe part of town so nobody minded. 

They had just ordered (Y/N was eyeballing Harry when she added a shake to her order and then seemed more than pleased when he didn’t launch into one of his sermons about artificial sweeteners) when someone called Y/N’s name from the door. She perks up from where she’s sitting to Harry’s right at the end of the table, head-turning and her face lighting up like she’d just seen a puppy, tail wagging and panting waiting for her. 

It’s just Felix though – pretty, baker boy Felix that Harry has entirely too mixed feelings about. What he could be doing at a diner this late at night alone, Harry didn’t know, but what he did know is that Y/N had all but launched out of her seat to go greet him. He’s wearing a big cardigan that slouches over his frame and manages to make him look cuter than he already is, and Harry feels that same itch and pimple that is stuffed just beneath his epidermis. It feels like when someone mentions a product and then all of a sudden, every ad on his phone is about a cordless vacuum suitable for the toughest pet hair – Y/N mentions Felix once, and now it feels like he might as well be seeing this guy routinely. 

The first time is definitely his fault since Harry stopped by the bakery himself, but Harry has seen him out and about too. At the store, at the cafe near their dorm, and once in the library when Harry was looking for a book (one strictly on classical conditioning for an assignment Harry could not be more unmotivated to complete) – there he is, being and looking sweet, and probably perfect for Y/N. He can’t help but wonder miserably if she’s ever seemed that excited when Harry has shown up somewhere unexpectedly for her – he thinks back to when he stopped by with the pumpkin bread and the first face he’d seen was distraught confusion. 

Harry felt a pinch on his thigh, and his head turned to Niall, “Don’t be jealous,” he ordered him, and his voice was nowhere near quiet enough for Adam and Mei not to hear him, “I can see your brain working.” 

Was Harry jealous? He guesses he was but he isn’t certain what for. Y/N has given no indication that she likes Felix, Harry had kind of just assumed that she did because how couldn’t she? And when he compares himself with the guy, Harry definitely knows he doesn’t even come close; the better pick would be the person who didn’t irrationally hate her for months because she was good at something naturally. The one who indulged her love for sweets rather than scolded her for eating unhealthy because it would leave her tired and affect her dancing. 

“Guys, Felix is going to eat with us,” Y/N is tugging him by the wrist to their table, dropping him in the empty spot across from her and Harry, right beside Adam/ 

“Only if that’s okay,” he smiled politely, raising his hand, “Hello. I saw you all at your showcase the other week, and you were incredible,” he looked around the table, eyes landing on Harry, “You were really good! I’d always thought Y/N was the best dancer that I’d ever met, but I couldn’t take my eyes off either of you.” 

Hell, whoever said flattery gets you nowhere is a filthy liar. 

Nothing out of the ordinary happens and Harry doesn’t make an ass of himself, thankfully. He makes more of an effort to control his facial features since Niall has so easily been able to guess what is going on in his head, and nobody (Y/N and Felix) seems to notice anything. Which is good – Harry doesn’t even know how to put into words what he’s feeling, so if he was questioned, he’d surely fumble through a response and make a fool of himself. Felix melts into their conversation easily, as if he’d been with them the whole night, but he admits that he can’t handle anything scary so he wouldn’t have been a good fit for the adventure.

“Harry could have protected us both,” Y/N assured him, “He was very brave, even with the clowns.” 

She nudged him with her shoulder, and Harry’s mind went fuzzy and warm. God, he’s really done for, isn’t he? To get giddy over a comment like that. 

When they all part ways, Niall drops him and Y/N off at their dorms. Harry had expected the night to end there, really, because it was late and he really does have to work in the morning, but Y/N tells him that she has something to show him. Harry narrowed his eyes at her, “Something to show me? At 12 AM?” He inquired, “It better be Custard in a pumpkin outfit.” 

Her face falls, as she punches in the key for her door, unlocking it with a schlick,  “Well, now I wish it was.” 

Custard, pumpkin outfit-less, does toddle her way over to Harry when he comes in and plops down on Y/N’s bed. He picks her up by the belly, her fur soft between his fingers as he cradles her to his chest and pets between her ears. She purrs like a motor, rubbing her head against his shirt intensely, nuzzling and snuggling closer to him, and Harry feels content almost immediately. What a sweet little kitty – a couple of months ago Harry would have wondered how something so adorable would want anything to do with a brat like Y/N. But now, when this little kitten presses up against him and nuzzles, it feels all too similar to how Y/N had been seeking his warmth just a couple of hours ago. It makes him feel tender all the same. 

While Y/N disappears, her top half in her closet, Harry plays with Custard until she toddles off toward the bathroom. Y/N emerges from the closet with a box in her hand, rolling down onto her bum and spinning around to face him, balancing with only one hand, “Don’t make fun of me,” she says preemptively, and Harry lets out a heavy, slow sigh. 

“You know that just makes me want to.” 

She frowns at him, but sits up and walks on her knees toward him, holding it out, “I got this to practice since I’m so good at taking your fingers.” 

That does make him blink his eyes open, mouth dropping open slightly while her words register to him, “Oh?” The box itself is inconspicuous; discreet in a way he figured Y/N would probably search for in a place where their boxes are delivered to a front desk. Harry unhooks the cardboard tab from the box, sliding it open to reveal a dildo. It’s an average size – smaller than him still, but bigger than his fingers, and a fleshy color with a pink head. The silicone is ridged with texture, fake veins running beneath it – Harry is impressed by the amount of detail that has gone into it. He’s got a few toys for himself, but he’s usually aiming for prostate massages more than fake pricks. 

“Oh, wow,” he marveled at it, picking it up from where it sat nestled on purple crinkled paper shreddings, “You struck me more as a pretty, pink, sparkly kind of girl.” 

Y/N is still frowning at him, and he thinks she’s about to criticize him for making the assumption but instead, she says despondently, “They were sold out of the pink and purple sparkly ones. It was either this or like, a camo one, and I just. . .I just don’t understand that.” She leans back so her bum is resting on her heels, “Shouldn’t it be pretty if it’s going inside of you?” 

Harry holds it out to her, tilting it down, “What are you showing me this for, little thing?” 

She readjusts her hips, “I just thought maybe you’d help me,” she tells him, “I’ll chicken out if I do it myself, I need someone who is gonna. . .who will push me, a little.” 

Harry hums low in his throat, putting three of his fingers together and flattening them against the shaft – it’s softer and has more give than he’d imagined, “Looks like it’s three wide, isn’t it? But when I’m finger fucking you I don’t have them straight across,” he repositions them, showing overlapping his ring and index finger over the middle, “They usually curl in together like this unless I’m widening them out to stretch you. It’s thicker all around, clearly, and just a little longer. Have you ever been this full before?” 

Y/N shook her head, and a shaky breath left her, “Ah, no,” she motioned to the toy, “I’ve had – like I’ve definitely had toys but they’re usually skinny little vibrators, so this will be the first.” 

“Lucky me,” he sets it off to the side, “Well, get your kit off, yeah?” 

Y/N shuts the door to the bathroom so that Custard doesn’t come wandering out and sully her innocent little eyes, and Harry gets to work. No matter how many times he does this with her, Harry is still pleasantly surprised by the state of her cunt when he sees her – she’s always pretty wet by the time he’s taking her clothes off. Almost like she’d been thinking about it, letting herself get worked up and excited, jumpy and shivery near him. The thought drives him crazy, even more so when he’s looking at her dripping and wet, enticing him, his fingers, and his neglected cock.  

Harry does tease her a little this time, petting against her folds with one finger, and only sinking one all the way down to his knuckle. The little breath she sucks in is just barely heard over the rattle of her heater, and she watches him carefully, leaning up against her pillows. Harry feels around her soft, wet walls, the bumps and ridges that he’d get to feel on his prick one day. How still, even with just a single finger, she sucks and squeezes around it like she’s trying to milk him, beckoning for more. 

“More,” she pouts at him, “I can take more.” 

“Shh, I know you can,” he hushes her, “How long have you been like this, hm? Unless you get wet in a little under a couple of minutes like some smutty story?” 

Y/N looks cute like this, all stretched out with her jacket slouched and rumpled around her body – the sleeves are long for her arms, covering her hands and the fabric falls and bunches when she lifts one to push the hair from her face. She ran her tongue over her dry mouth, not really seductively, just to wet her lips before she spoke, “Um, when we were running through the maze, I think.” 

“Oh, you’re filthy –” 

“It isn’t because we were getting chased!” She defended herself before he could finish, “I just – I don’t know if you realized it but you were holding onto me really tightly – first it was my arm, and then your hand was on my waist at some point and you kind of – the part where were we had to squeeze through the two inflatables? You pushed me through it and I liked it.” 

Harry rewarded her with a second finger, “You like to be manhandled, hm?” He smiled to himself, “Duly noted. Still think you’re filthy getting wet in a haunted house of all places.” Turning his face into her knee, he nips at the skin playfully, “Absolutely naughty.” 

“It’s your fault.” Her hand curls up in the pillows beside her head as she spreads her thighs further for him. 

“Passing blame is unbecoming.” 

He works up to three, fucks, and stretches her open on his fingers until she’s shivering and twitching and so close that her thighs start fighting to close around him. Harry slows down when he notices she’s getting close, and bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from giggling when she starts begging him to speed up again, telling him how mean he is being. Y/N is a brat through and through, even like this, demanding and needy and frowning, pouting, and complaining. 

But he knows that when she’s getting desperate, her begging gets incredibly sweet. And Harry is just too excited for that, to care too much about her grumbling now. 

“No, no, no –” she chases after his fingers when he starts to pull them away, but Harry presses his palm against her hip to stop her, “I was going to cum, why did you stop?” 

“It isn’t about you cumming,” he reminded her, “I thought this was about stretching this tight little pussy out? Are you just using me to make you cum?” 

He holds out his clean hand for her to grab, and it takes her a second before it clicks in her head. Y/N let Harry pull her up and position her on her knees, then grabbed the fake cock by the base. “It’ll be easier if you ride it. That way you can control how much we fit inside of you, hm? Because this will be much different.” 

Y/N nods. At first, her hands are gathering the hem of her jacket and shirt, holding it up above her stomach, but he pulls her hands so that they’re resting on his shoulders, “Okay,” she replied, “How should – should we get it wetter? The dildo?” 

Harry holds it out to her, “Good idea, baby, why don’t you suck on it?” 

She does – she flattens her tongue out, from the base to the tip and she drools and soaks it with her spit. It’s an obscene sight, Harry feels like he could cum in his pants from the sight of it but he refrains. Y/N doesn’t go low enough to gag on it, but she does get a majority of it slick enough that Harry feels like it will ease the glide of it inside of her. Had he been better prepared he might have gotten lube so it would be even smoother, but this was the best that they could do. 

When he pulls it from her mouth, Y/N is frowning, “What’s wrong?” He queries. 

“If I was gonna do that, I would have rather it been yours,” she complains, and Harry pinches her cheek. 

“You’re so whiny,” he positioned the dildo on the ground, holding it steady, “I’ll help you sit down on it, okay?” 

Harry guides her hips, watching closely as she slowly begins to sink down. The head buds at her hole and she swallows thickly, her gaze flickering back up to him, watching him closely, “It feels big,” she told him, “I – it’s kind of hard to believe that you’re bigger than this. I wonder how you’ll even fit.” 

“We’ll make it fit,” he promises and urges her hips down further, “Come on, nice and slow.” 

It does take a little work to get it all inside of her. She stops and starts, rocking her hips to try and get used to it, her face pinched up and showing a little discomfort until Harry presses his thumb into her clit and rubs in circles. Y/N squeezes his shoulders tightly, gasping and moaning, rutting further and further down until Harry has to move his hand out of the way so she can get the rest inside of her. Harry slides his fingers down to the balls, fitting it between his thumb and index to keep it still, but he feels her wet and messy resting against him. 

Harry usually doesn’t kiss Y/N when they’re doing this, but he just can’t help himself this time. Her mouth is hung open and her lips are slicked with spit, a little swollen from how she’s been nipping and biting on them trying in vain to muffle her sounds. Her lips are slow as molasses, trying to keep up with him but she seems all too preoccupied by how full she feels. Y/N still ruts and rocks her hips – the tip is curved so he’s sure it’s nestled right up against the bundle of nerves she loves him pressing at – and her groans are muffled into his mouth, against his tongue as it slides along hers. 

“Fuck,” she speaks in his mouth, “So full, m’so full.” 

He purrs, his face still pressed close to hers, “I know you are,” he bites at her bottom lip, “It feels so good, doesn’t it Baby? Can you imagine how good it’s gonna feel when it’s me? When it’s warm,” his thumb quickens around it as she starts to actively ride the toy, picking up her hips and dropping them back down as much as she can in the position they’re in, using his shoulders as leverage, “When it’s throbbing inside of you? Pumping inside of you?” 

Y/N leans closer to him, and kisses him sloppy, “Want it,” she tells him, “I want it, I want it. This feels good, please, please, please,” 

Harry never knew that one day he would be jealous of a toy, yet here he is, thumbing at her clit, flicking it back and forth quickly, “Mm, but I’ll feel better,” he promises her, “I’ll feel way, way better, when you’re all dumb on my cock.” 

That does make Y/N cum, her hips stilling, her legs trembling, and she groans, grappling for the fabric of his shirt and pinching and pulling. She simultaneously bucks toward his hand and pulls away, and she drenches the dildo so much that Harry only realizes when she pulls off of it that she squirted. Harry gapes at her, his mouth had fallen open as it settles in his head, his hand covered in her juices, the way she is still shaking and he was losing it, soaking his briefs, cumming untouched. She completely slouches into him, boneless and melted. 

Y/N took a second to catch her breath, as Harry held her in his arms and rubbed up and down her back. This is new – usually, after the fact, they both get cleaned up but mostly separately. This feels very intimate, and as he feels every little shake and shiver, nuzzling close to him, once again he is reminded how similar Y/N is to a kitten. 

It seems like hours might have gone by without them speaking, just soaking in each other’s presence. Harry is almost positive that she has fallen asleep in his arms, before she does talk, “I’m embarrassed,” she finally murmurs into his chest, “So I’m hiding in here right now.” 

Harry chuckles, rubbing her back in slow, big circles, “Why would you be embarrassed?” He asked her, “That was beautiful.” 

“I made a mess,” she huffed, “And I know when I stand up my legs are going to be shaking! Post-orgasmic clarity is horrific.” 

“I came in my pants,” he told her, “Untouched, just from watching you, and you don’t see me whinging about being embarrassed. You look cute when you cum, don’t think about it too much.” 

Y/N tilted her head up finally to look at him, and she still seems so fucked out, Harry feels his softening prick give a halfhearted twitch, “Am I best at dancing or cumming? Be honest.” 

Harry snorted, patting her lower back.

“You’re best at being a brat.” 

                                                                     .                      .                   .

“Do you like me?” 

The thing was, Harry wasn’t planning on having this conversation at all. Mostly because he hadn’t even really considered this for more than a couple of hours, because Niall had been the one to mention it to him in the first place. They had been at their ramen place, Harry was in the middle of slurping noodles into his mouth and wondering if it was too much to ask for an additional boiled egg when Niall asked him. 

“So are you and Y/N dating?” 

Harry paused, two noodles dangling from his pursed lips, his gaze flickering up to the brunette across from him, “Huh?” Niall doesn’t seem phased, just a little inquisitive, and he’s looking down at a picture on his phone. He sets it down and turns the screen to him, swiping his brightness up and swiping through. Y/N had posted on her Instagram, a photo dump of pictures from the last couple of weeks, and even Harry is surprised to see that he’s in a good number of them. 

“Adam, Mei, and I were discussing it –” 

“Discussing it?” 

“--and you guys are just giving off the vibe that you’re dating. If you’re not then you at least like each other.” 

Harry blinks at him. 

“We do?” 

“You’re hopeless,” Niall sighed, “Listen, you don’t have a lot of like – crushes, ballet has always been your life, and you fuck around and all that, but I think it’s rare that I’ve seen you actually have feelings for somebody,” he explained himself, “But you’re spending so much time together, I can hear you talking her ear off about shite and you are a man of few words typically. You tease her but it doesn’t have that biting edge like you might hate her, in the way that you tease everyone else,” he makes a show of counting on his fingers, “You’ve got this dumb, love drunk look on your face every time she’s even brought up, and when she walks into the room, your face lights up! I mean fuck, you took care of her when she had a fever, H – you don’t even take care of me when I have a fever and I’ve known you since we were kids! Like you clearly have feelings for her, and I think you probably have had some form of them this whole time, but your brain got it fucked up and you thought you hated her instead.” 

Harry opens his mouth, then he closes it. 

“Adam and Mei are saying the same; how Y/N talks about you all the time, and she’s bringing up funny things you’ve said. She’s taking pictures of things she sees when she’s out because she thinks you might like to see it later – she said you’re cooking dinner for her. At the haunted house, she was fixed around you the whole time when Adam clearly would have been the better choice, because he’s huge and wasn’t acting nearly half as scared as you were so none of the scare actors would have messed with her. Then you got jealous of that bakery guy, she noticed, and instead of fucking with you, she tried to make you feel better about it, like. . .you’re a little dense sometimes Harry, but I don’t think you’re stupid.” 

Harry looks down at his noodles, floating around in the broth. He guesses he hasn’t really thought about it as of late. Anytime the thought threatened to enter his brain, he brushed it off for a later date so that a later him could deal with it and sort out his emotions and feelings. But Harry already isn’t really the most adept when it comes to his own emotions, so even if he did sit down with himself and think it out, he probably would have excused it for something else. 

“Oh,” he finally replied, scratching the side of his head, “I guess I hadn’t considered that, really.” 

Niall looked at him tiredly, “You’re so stupid,” he shook his head, “I love you, Man, but you’re so stupid.” 

And Harry probably would have been content keeping the whole situation to himself. Until he could actually consider all of this, make it make sense in his head, and understand fully what his feelings toward her were. He knows he certainly doesn’t hate her anymore. He knows that he likes to spend time with her, and if they’re apart then he’s messaging her and asking what she’s doing. Harry knows that she makes him laugh, and she’s still an annoying brat but he feels more endeared than he does annoyed. Harry wouldn’t say he’s a selfish lover, but he’s never been one to just continuously make someone cum without getting anything out of it, but he doesn’t even care when he doesn’t cum, or has to touch himself after he gets her off. He finds himself thinking she’s beautiful more often than not – he’s never thought she was ugly, only that her attitude was poor, but it seems to overwhelm him lately. 

. . .Harry likes her. He does. 

Still, he wasn’t going to bring it up. He was supposed to see Y/N that night, so he would suck it up and pretend like hadn’t had any Niall-induced revelations lately, but, like most things lately, Y/N had managed to intervene in those plans. 

“Do you like me?” She had asked it almost too casually, sitting on his bean bag, the drama they were watching forgotten on his projector when she’d turned to look at him and ask. Harry was lounging on his bed, propped up on his arm, and in the middle of teaching himself how to embroider (it wasn’t going well). This makes him pause though, the needle halfway through the cotton fabric, his gaze darting to her. 

“Excuse me?” 

Y/N plucks at her nails, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, “It’s just. . .well, Adam and Mei were talking to me today –” So was this planned? There’s no way that Niall, Adam, and Mei all just happened to bring this up on the same day as a coincidence, “--and they just said something to me today that kind of made sense about us, I think. So I was wondering if you liked me?” 

Harry sets the embroidery down, off to the side of his lap, “Did they bring up how we talk about each other all the time? How I cook you dinner, and you take pictures of things that I might like, and –” 

Her eyes narrowed, “Okay, what the hell, did they talk about this without us?” 

A snort leaves him, knuckling at his eyes and wiping over his mouth, “Oh, babe, yeah I think they were. Honestly, I would have – I kind of wanted to figure out how to tell you, or how to ask you out properly, but I didn’t realize it myself until today, you know? I knew that I felt. . .soft, toward you, far softer than I did before and softer than I feel toward anyone else.” He smiles softly, “But I guess you know now. I don’t need an answer or anything right now, or if your answer is no, then you can tell me but –” 

“No, I like you too,” Y/N rushes to tell him, shaking her head, scrambling off of the bean bag to get closer, “I – okay, I’ll be honest, I definitely think I knew a couple of weeks ago but I thought maybe you would laugh in my face if I brought it up. So I just – well, I was going to ignore it.” She tosses her phone back onto the bean bag, crawling up onto the mattress with her, “But you do?” 

“I do,” he rubs at the top of her head, brushing the hair from her face, “Yeah, I do. Honestly, how Niall was explaining it, I thought maybe I’d been kind of obvious about it.” He grimaces, “And maybe a little embarrassing, you know? You couldn’t tell?” 

Y/N presses even closer, getting nearer, “No, you idiot,” she nudges her head against his shoulder, “You hated me so vehemently, I was still convinced this was just some ploy to get back in the universe’s good graces or something.” 

“Aish,” he sighs, and he cradles the side of her face in his palm, running the pad of his thumb over the smooth skin of her cheek – this poor, sweet thing. Harry feels so shitty for everything, it almost feels like he doesn’t deserve to have this version of her. For everything he’d done, and everything he’d said, he didn’t earn the right to see her so tender and affectionate, looking at him with these eyes exuding warmth, “I’m so sorry, Puppy.”  

Harry kisses her. 

The kiss is different from their other kisses. Usually, it is messy, a little sloppy and desperate, in the heat of their neediness and pretty far into whatever they were doing that neither could necessarily revel in it. But this one is nice. . calm; he takes his time to work her mouth open, explore behind her lips, taste her tongue and the sweetness of the smoothie still clung to her. Y/N’s hands are on either side of his face, holding his cheeks at first, then sliding down to his neck, to his chest, curling up in the loose fabric there. 

Harry pulls away, but dots kisses down her jaw, to her neck. He sucks the tender skin into his mouth, licking and biting over the pulse point. Her hips readjusted beneath him, pushing herself closer to him by pulling him down, and Harry had to steady himself by flattening his hand against the mattress beside her head. Y/N snakes her hands beneath his shirt, her fingers skimming and skating across the skin of his torso, thumbing over his nipple and making it pebble beneath her touch. He moans against her, “Ahh,” he breathes out, “What’re you doing?” 

“Just feeling you,” she answered, then started pushing the shirt up, “Want to feel you everywhere.” 

“Everywhere?” He repeated the hand that cradled her waist and squeezed when she nodded, “You want me to stretch that little pussy out, yeah? Show me how well you can fit me?” 

Y/N rocks her hips up again, “Mhm,” she murmured, but a grin stretches over her mouth, teasing, “Try – try not to cum in your pants though, yeah?” 

A laugh coughs out of him when he leans down and nips at her bottom lip, “Very funny.” 

Undressing Y/N is always delightful, like opening up a little gift for himself. He’s seen all of her body at this point, but he still feels like he could drool as he pulls her shirt over her head, bunching the fabric up and tossing it off to the side before working on her pants. As he flicks the button open, he takes her nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over it, smushing kisses between the valley of her breasts to her other nipple and tugging that into his mouth too. Y/N is always so responsive to what he does to her, but she seems even more sensitive today – like if he even panted warm air on her it might feel good. 

Goosebumps dot and pimples all over her body as he tugs her bottoms down her legs. Y/N opens her legs and Harry latches onto her, licking between her folds, a slow drag of his tongue back and forth from where she’s leaking to where all the blood had collected and left her clit engorged and seeking his attention. He buries his face into her, not caring if his nose rubs into her while he slides his tongue in and out of her dripping center. This Harry does allow himself to revert to his usual messiness, spreading her all over his mouth, and his cheeks. Y/N’s first orgasm always comes relatively quickly, so he isn’t surprised when her hands are buried in his curls, tugging and pulling, rutting against his tongue when he holds it out for her. Harry just lets her – usually, he holds her down but he doesn’t mind tonight, having her use him to get off. The wetter she is, the more relaxed she is, the easier it would be for him to fit inside of her. 

When she cums, it’s with a full-body shudder, his heart thunders in his ears as he works her through it, finally pursing his lips back around her clit and sucking gently. He does it until Y/N is twitching away from him, pushing at his head, and Harry unlatches to busy himself kissing the inside of her thighs. “Always so pretty when you cum,” he wiggles his hand between his body and the mattress, his index and middle fingers sliding along the juncture of her thigh and labia, framing her, “You cum whenever you want, okay, baby?” 

Harry blows cool air over her slit and watches as she pulses around nothing before he sinks two fingers into her. Y/N sucks them in easily, twitching, still sensitive from the first orgasm but not enough that she would be pulling away from him. Harry moves slowly and gently as he works her back up, stroking and rubbing against her walls, feeling the ridges, trying not to get too excited at the thought of how his cock would be snug between them in just a little bit. He spends more time stretching her this time around, pushing out his fingers to either wall, scissoring her open until he’s sliding three fingers in. Y/N doesn’t seem all too concerned that he’s being more clinical about stretching her rather than solely rubbing at her g-spot. She mewls and keens for him, her fingers stuffed in her mouth and she sucks on them idly. 

Harry pulls her wrist from her mouth, replacing her fingers with his, and Y/N accommodates the change easily. She suckles at them, sighing contentedly through her nose and letting her eyes flutter shut. Harry continues to fuck her open, “You just like having something in your mouth, don’t you?” She nods, letting her tongue slide along the dips between his fingers, “Should keep it full more often then, shouldn’t I? Let you keep my cock warm.” When she squeezes around the fingers inside of her, he laughs a little bit, “Ahh, you like that, don’t you?” 

Finally, Harry focuses on the spongy bundle of nerves, rubbing and pressing against it insistently until she’s coming apart again. Her eyes had opened again, watching him closely, but as soon as it hit her they fluttered to the back of her head and she was clamping down on his knuckles, with her walls and her teeth. Harry kisses her tummy this time, peppering them around her belly button, smiling against her skin when she giggles, squirming, murmuring that she’s ticklish. 

“M’ready,” she tells him, knocking her heel against his bum, “I – seriously, if you make me cum again, I’ll pass out. I want to feel you, please?”

How could Harry say no to that? He pulls himself up and lets her help take his shirt off, prying it off his head and letting it puddle on the ground with hers. His pants come shortly after, and his briefs too, and his cock all but pops up, leveling and slapping against his lower abdomen. Harry has to squeeze around himself to relieve some of the pressure building there – he’s so hard, it’s going to take everything in him not to bust as soon as he even feels the warmth of her radiating onto him. 

Y/N reaches down, fitting her fingers around his prick and squeezing with him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and they both watch as a blurt of precum drips from the tip, slowly stringing down to a spot on her thigh, “It’s so big,” she murmured, “I know that’s why we’re doing all of this in the first place, but I just – wow,” she’s breathless, “Want it to fit inside of me so bad.” 

“It’s going to,” Harry covers her hand with his own, moving it up and down with each other, “Gonna fuck my shape into you, hm?” 

Once Harry gets the condom on, takes the tube of lube, and squirts it all over his prick, he sits back, looking her up and down, “Do you want to sit on my cock? Or do you want me to push in?” 

“Want you to do the work,” she breathes out, reaching down and grabbing the back of her thighs, holding herself open and spreading for him – the sight makes Harry lightheaded, “I’m too tired.” 

Harry laughs, “Okay, princess,” he kisses her forehead, holding the base of his cock and sliding himself between her folds, getting wetter and wetter, smearing the lubricant and her juices around, “Just keep holding yourself open for me, don’t worry about a thing.” 

Like everything tonight, he’s slow and measured. He nudges the tip on her hole, pressing forward, and Y/N is so pliant and relaxed from her earlier orgasms that her walls give way. The head goes in easier than he had imagined, and Y/N is breathing nice and even, rolling her ankles around slightly, her toes curling a little bit, and Harry has to grip hard on the blankets. Harry desperately wants to sink all the way in, down to his balls, but what would the point of any of the stretching have been if he did it like that? He wants her to feel good – doesn’t want it to hurt. 

Things are going well until about a quarter of the way in, and then her hand rests on his belly, walls clamping down on him. Harry pauses, lowering so their chests press together, “Do you need a break?” 

“Just a second,” Harry agrees and pushes a kiss to her lips – a couple, actually, and then he’s introducing his tongue again, slowly curling them together, slipping his hand between them so he could roll two fingers over her clit. He feels her relax again, and he rolls his hips just a little bit, sinking in more, and Y/N moans, “Keep going,” she murmured, “It’s good, keep going.” 

They do this a couple of times, languidly, and carefully, and Y/N swallows him right up. By the time he’s made it all the way inside, nestled deep and close inside of her, Harry lets out his own quivering breath, “F-fuck,” he rubbed the tips of their noses together, “Good, so good, you’re so fucking good for me,” he praised her and Y/N responds, mewling, pulsing more around him, “Such a sweet little thing.” 

Y/N rests her hand on her lower stomach, “Move a little,” she orders, and Harry listens, rocking his hips just slightly, and whatever Y/N feels makes her groan. She reaches for his hand that’s sitting on her waist, moving it where hers had been lying. Harry moves again when she nods, and when he does, he feels it – the head of his cock nudging against her from the inside. Harry throbs hard inside of her, dipping his head down to her throat, “I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

It’s so much – so tight. Y/N is surrounding him everywhere: his cock, his head, and her legs shift and move to lock around his hips again. Harry’s hand finds a place at the nape of her neck, cradling it in his palm, and with his other hand, he slides down behind her back. He presses her close to his body, speaking against her mouth, “Can I move, baby? Are you okay if I move?” 

“Yes, yes, I want it.” 

As soon as Harry starts rolling his hips, he knows that he isn’t going to last. It feels too good – she’s wet and slippery and still tight, clenching around him, and they keep kissing. He’s breathing her air, whispering praises, suckling and biting at her bottom lip, making it swollen. Her nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders, Y/N is whimpering, and when their heads are pressed together, she pulls the lobe of his ear between her teeth. She nibbles at it and runs her tongue over the skin beneath it. 

Harry isn’t sure when Y/N started meeting his hips, but once she does, Harry knows he can go a little quicker. The slide in and out of her is much smoother than it started, and when he lifts her hips just slightly, she starts moaning so much louder, “Want you to cum,” he tells her, “Need you to cum, baby, wanna feel it around me, fuck – I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” His fingers sped up around the swollen bud between her lips, “Please, please, please.” 

Her arms slide around him tighter, holding him, squeezing him. Once her walls clamp down on him, Harry’s done for – a heat coils deep in his belly, swirling, extending out through his vessels, zipping through him. Harry ruts into her, once, twice, three times hard and he’s digging his fingers into her body. 

He fills the condom, his blood roars in his ears, brain fizzy and buzzing in his ears. Harry slouches into Y/N’s body and closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. 

Harry thinks he could fall asleep like this, as Y/N’s personal weighted blanket, and he thinks for a while Y/N is pretty content with it too. Eventually, she does start wiggling, patting him with the bottom of her foot to his calf, “Okay, enough,” she murmured, “You’re heavy and I’m sore.” 

“Well, that won’t do.” 

Harry cleans them both up, wiping between her thighs with a warm cloth as tentatively as he can, soft and careful. When he brushes over her center, she twitches and pulls away some from the sensitivity of it, “Sorry,” he murmured, “I know, I know, almost done.” He feels pleasantly buzzy and warm; his mind is flooded with a haze of emotions but all of them are good, sweet, and bright. Harry picks his softest, biggest shirt for her to pull over her head, and changes the sheets around her, peeling the top sheet that was still messy with lube, cum, and juices. Y/N lay on the top of his fitted sheet, but the thick comforter he’d pushed to the bottom of the mattress was still clean. He pulls it up, covering her legs before he crawls into bed beside her. 

Y/N snuggles up to his side, molding into his body, and lifting her cheek to rest it on his bare chest. Harry wonders when the last time he felt this content was and honestly. . honestly, he doesn’t think he ever has. This feeling, the warmth that bubbles through him, how he melts into her body. It feels good. Harry can’t believe he’d denied himself the possibility of this for so long. 

“Am I best at cumming or dancing? Be honest.” She murmurs, this little quiz she likes to do with him now, sliding her hand down his forearm and Harry warps their hands so he can slot their fingers together. 

Harry nestles closer to her, hiding his face in her hair. 

“You’re just the best. Do you like the sound of that?” 

Y/N melts closer to him. 

“Yes.” 

[catchymemes]

[guccifloralsuits]

I need you bitches to read and then read this again.

[jawllines]

Harry feels his is much less visually pleasing than hers – he’s only dressed how most princes are in ballets, with a white suit jacket that’s emblazoned by gold, sparkling threads, and equally dazzling jewels. A crown is fitted among his hair, styled and slicked in a way opposite to his usual unruly curls. Y/N, in all her sweet, innocent woodland nymph gear, points at his crotch and tells him, in all sincerity, “Your horse is out, you should put that away.” 

He feels his face redden, “What’re you, twelve?” But Y/N only giggles and lets her eyes dance over the rest of him. 

“You really could be a prince, probably. You sure look like one,” she finally says, “As far as your temperament, maybe a vindictive one with a taste for human flesh! Should we tell make-up to add a little blood dribble at the corner of your mouth?” 

“Enough,” he rolled his eyes as one of the artists ushered him into his seat, and he has to bite down a smile so she doesn’t see how amused he actually is, “Go get your make-up done, and hush.” 

She pouted her lip, “Ugh, you’re no fun.” 

or

Harry and Y/N are over hating each other, so they try something different

part 1

part 2

(20K+ words) 

Czytaj dalej

[arethabee]

why am I, a barbie, listening to I’m Just Ken all day long 😰

[catchymemes]

[all-things-fic]

Just got back from seeing Barbie and Ryan Gosling was so so good wtf