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harrysgoldenbum · 3 months ago

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“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had in your life.” Niall answered, his voice lowered while they sat across from each other in a cafe booth. It was a relatively nice day, the weather was beautiful, so they were planning on doing something – what that would be, they weren’t sure, but they started it with lattes and croissants and discussing something that shouldn’t be discussed in public (but what’s new), “Seriously, like – and I just need to take a deep breath because you’re finally listening to me. I don’t know how to tell you this but I bought you a collar like a month ago because I knew you’d pussy out.”

Y/N’s mouth falls open, jaw loosened, “Ni, you did not!”

“I did,” he nodded, “I didn’t get the rest of all the things because I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” he swallowed, then shook his head, “No, I’m lying, I wanted you to fully commit to the bit so I ordered everything. Leash, tail. . .I mean, fuck it, I got ears too.”

Y/N likes Harry, and that's convenient, because Harry likes her too

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

(8.4k+ words)

vi.

Y/N has never been very good at science.

Life sciences, like biology, she could figure out easily enough if there were pictures, and chemistry, she could fumble her way through after spending at least an hour screaming into her pillow about how much she didn’t want to do it. Things like physics, though, always zipped right over her head. With a limited understanding of whatever the hell Newton and Einstein were talking about also came a limited understanding of anything that may have to do with space. It was interesting, but actually learning about the concepts that shape their whole universe? Terrifying. Y/N would rather not know how big the galaxies are, because then she needs to start considering the existence of extraterrestrial life, and she feels like as soon as you go down that rabbit hole, you’re asking to get abducted.

But she does know about supernovas. Only because of a song that she really liked mentioned them, and she had to see what it was. There was a long, intricate explanation as to why they happen, but what Y/N took away from it was that they were an explosion, and it was so bright, it could outshine galaxies. Beautiful colors emerge, blues, purples, pinks, greens, oranges, impressive and intense.

Whatever is happening in her chest right now, Y/N thinks is close to a supernova. It feels just as colorful and complex. As bewitching, and as dazzling. As captivating, and as terrifying. Her heart races with it, confused, excited, overjoyed, hopelessly giddy. She probably needed a moment to sort through all the thoughts spinning around in her head, but right now, she knew she wouldn’t get one. She didn’t mind that either – not right now. Not when this is a version of Harry that she’d never been privy to. One that she’d never believed she’d ever get to witness.

Harry, from the moment he’d stepped through her door, was more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. And she’d seen him with his cock out and everything, consumed by lust, his bare bum walking to her bathroom – all pretty vulnerable positions, she’d say. Like, he definitely wouldn’t want to be caught by a bear in that state. But this emotional vulnerability was something else entirely for such a typically emotionally guarded, closed-off person. The impassive and at times apathetic man that she had come to know had been dipped in honey and set before her. Or, better yet, maybe dipped in an acid, to erode the outer shell and reveal the honeyed center beneath.

He’d taken her to the sofa immediately, sat down across from her, his hands held out with his palms facing upward, and Y/N wasn’t sure if it’d been a silent request or a silent offering. Maybe both – she took it, no matter what it was, and slid her fingers between his own. Their hands were tight around one another's, as Harry curled his over her knuckles, his thumb stroked her where it lay.

“I wanted to apologize to you,” Harry started, measured and sure, despite the way his cheeks flamed hot and fiery with what she could only imagine was immense embarrassment. Not that she thought his reaction was anything to be embarrassed about – had roles been reversed, she probably would have cried the moment she saw him then tried to crawl up under his shirt or something. But she knew that Harry wasn’t used to expressing himself or his feelings this intensely, so she understood the nerves behind it. “I should have warned you that Maren would be there, but I wasn’t sure how. . .how to explain why I was telling you? I guess that’s the easiest way to put it. And I really didn’t think she’d be a problem – she’s always been a thorn in my ass, but she usually isn’t so pointed with her advances.” He shook his head with a soft sigh, “But that’s beside the point. You mentioned me not messaging you as much?” Y/N nodded, and Harry nodded with her, “That had nothing to do with Maren,” he explained, “I was. . .if I’m honest, I was worried that I had been too overbearing while you were out for that week.”

Y/N tilted her head, “Overbearing? I didn’t think so.” She shook her head, “You really took care of me. If you want to see overbearing, you need to meet Ni’s aunt – she checks his forehead like 5 times in the span of 10 minutes to make sure he isn’t too warm.”

A small smile wormed onto his mouth, warmed and soothed the worry off of his face, “That’s good to know,” he replied, “I suppose I got into my head too, about it all. Especially when you didn’t want to talk to me.”

With a grimace, Y/N explained herself, “Yeah, that – I didn’t handle that well, I don’t think,” she swallowed hard, “I just – um. . .like I was – I kind of thought I walked in on you two kissing?” Then she hurriedly adds, “Which is within your right to do! You aren’t not allowed to do what you want, I just didn't –” she huffed a sigh, unsure of how to articulate it beyond the easiest way, which happened to be the most humiliating, “I know we aren’t technically together or anything, but it made me jealous. I was jealous, and petty, and wanted to ignore you until I could sort myself out. I get it if the whole jealousy thing makes you uncomfortable, and like...I mean, I want to promise that it won’t happen again, but I don’t know if I can.” She swallowed even harder, chin tipped down, staring at their hands. Even just two weeks ago, Y/N would have rather worked with notoriously difficult Chhurpi cheese than tell Harry that she was jealous. To even allude to the fact that her feelings for him might be beyond what they had started this with.

But tonight, it didn’t feel so hard. It took her a while to spit it out, sure, but she still was able to get there. Part of what encouraged her was the way his hands felt against hers, the expanse of their palms pressed together so warmly that it thaws out her usually cold fingers. Another part was the blatant, and unremitted display of affection he’d doled out to her as soon as he stepped through the threshold of her flat, as if he didn’t peck her face with a hundred kisses, she’d disappear in a puff of smoke. And another – the way he was looking at her. His eyes were softened in a way she only vaguely recalls after they had sex, when she’s only a couple of minutes from passing out, pressed tightly to his side.

“When I called you the other night and you were with Youngjae, I was so jealous that I could barely see straight,” he admitted suddenly, honestly, “Surely, you realized that? I threw a fit, practically – covered you in all of those marks. Even before then, when he’d only just complimented your meal, invited you to practice under him, and I was just so mad that he’d asked right in front of me. So I took you home and I fucked you that night. Don’t you remember?”

Y/N nodded, but still, she considered his words, “I kind of figured. Or, well, at least Niall kind of figured and then told me that you were jealous.”

“Niall is smarter than he looks.”

“But I guess I just wondered what it was you even had to be jealous of? I mean, you and YoungJae are kind of carbon copies of each other, only he’s Korean!”

Harry clicked his tongue, “No,” he disagreed, “That’s not the only difference. He’s more personable, more gentle, he seems sweeter, and more patient. Adam told me you had a dedicated crying corner to go to when I yelled at you. It’s different,” he seemed stressed, remembering it, “He’s different than me, and I figured that you’d go and realize that you could learn with someone nicer, who was attractive, and probably had a crush on you.”

“A crush on me?” Y/N gaped, then sat up straighter, “What the hell? What made you think that?”

His eyes go wide, “What, you don’t think he likes you? He looked at you like you’d given him a star or something. It was so irritating.” Y/N couldn’t help it when she snorted, a giggle bubbled from her throat, and she had to slip one of her hands from his to cover her mouth, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not!” She bit down on her lip to suppress it, but it still slipped free, “It’s just – Harry, he looks at everyone like that! He even looks at you like that – actually, he looks downright dreamy when he even thinks about you.”

Y/N has never seen Harry truly, genuinely pout until tonight. His bottom lip jutted out, and he still looked grumpy, but Y/N wanted so badly to slip her hands onto his face and pull him to her mouth. To dig her teeth into his lip and nibble and pull at it until he whines, too. She took his hand again, then chanced pulling his hand up to her face, running her cheek along his knuckles, “You’re just saying that.” He muttered.

“You’re so silly,” Y/N replied. This is such a refreshing development, she thinks. Never would she have expected this from Harry – this pouting, jealous, slightly insecure version of him that thinks she’d run off with Youngjae because he was nice to her. She doesn’t even have time to consider being mad at Niall for exposing her crying corner to Adam, because all she can think about is how upset Harry seemed that it even had to exist. There was a guilt clear on his features, but whispered between his words. Honestly, Y/N hadn’t even thought about how Harry used to yell at her for a long time. “I’m not just saying it! He didn’t give me any vibes like he might like me.”

Harry tipped his chin up and looked to the side, and wow, she wondered if she reached out and touched his ear, if it’d feel as hot as it looked, “Well, I don’t know how much I trust your detection skills, if I’m being honest.” He mumbled, “It seems like Niall has to do most of the ground work.” Still, despite a grumbled reply, he flipped his hand around so that he cradled her cheek instead, resting it against his palm.

This giddy feeling that overruns her is nice. It’s fun – she likes it, after so long of being so upset and confused and distraught. She thinks she’s finally starting to understand, though. . .that she’s finally getting it. What Niall had been seeing this entire time.

“Harry?” She inquired, and he hummed, eyes following Hazelnut as she sat across from them, and looped her tail around her bottom paws. When she doesn’t say anything to immediately follow it, Harry turned to look at her, his green eyes bright, “If I asked to see you and we didn’t have sex, and we didn’t cook something. . .would you be okay with that?”

Harry answered without hesitation, “Yes.”

“And if I. . .if I said that I only wanted you to do stuff like this with me? Sex, and…and seeing each other outside of it?” The nerves almost stop her from saying it, threatening to clog her throat.

“Then I’d tell you that it’s been like that from the start,” he replied again, immediately, “I’d tell you that you’re the only person I want to see. The only one I want to sleep with. The only person I’d like to be with.”

Y/N grinned. She scooted across the sofa to wrap her arms around his shoulders, and Harry slid his arms around her waist. It was warm — Y/N wondered when the last time they hugged like this was. If they’ve ever even hugged like this. There’s so much that they have done together, but still so much they hadn’t, and if this was them opening the door to all of that, she was more than enthusiastic.

With her chin hooked around his shoulder, Harry’s face is dipped into her throat. He takes a deep breath, then a slow exhale, “This is a lot, for me,” he told her, “I wish that you could just siphon information from my brain instead of me having to say it.”

“Ah, you might need to get used to saying it, though. I’m kind of dense – Niall says so at least.”

Somehow, they had ended up in her bed. Nothing crazy, nothing sexual, just the two of them tangled up in each other’s limbs, and for the first time, Harry falls asleep first. He had all but demanded that she let him spoon her, so she didn’t get to look at his face, but with the way his breathing had slowed and how heavy his arm felt around her waist, she knew he was resting. This is a sort of content that she seldom gets to feel and still be all in her head to truly enjoy it. Harry’s body is pressed warm against her back, he sounds sweet with little snores, and Y/N can’t help but melt into him entirely.

All the vulnerability must have tuckered him right out. Y/N smiled to herself, stretching her arm over his, her hand resting over his hand. Even in his dreams, he raises two fingers for her to curl around. Twists his fingers up in hers.

Her insides feel bright, wicked, an ebullition of colors that rival a supernova.

. . .

The thing is, Y/N feels bad.

Listen, she knows she shouldn’t! She and Harry have discussed their feelings, and they’ve communicated relatively decently about the entire situation and how to avoid it in the future. Harry only implores her that if she has an issue, she bring it to him directly, no matter how intimidating she might think he is. Whether it be work-related or not, Harry is not the type to let issues fester. He’d like to nip it in the bud immediately, as soon as possible, even if he’s the one who is upset.

So they’d discussed it, and they’d apologized for the misunderstandings, and it should be in the dust by now. Just something they had learned and grown from – something in the past.

But Y/N replays how Harry had walked into her flat, how he’d cradled her face, kissed her a thousand times, told her to never completely ice him out again. To never not speak to him, to leave him in the dark, and it’d only been a few days – barely.

She feels bad, though. He’s told her dozens of times that she shouldn’t feel bad, because it wasn’t her fault – the situation was just an incorrect interpretation of the other’s thoughts and feelings at the time. That he wasn’t upset, to stop apologizing, that if she said sorry to him one more time, he would get upset.

So she has an idea. And she takes her idea to Niall, because he hadn’t steered her wrong at this point, and he would let her know if it was stupid or not. If she would look ridiculous doing it. If she should just make him a meal or something to quell the ache in her chest.

Y/N’s mouth falls open, jaw loosened, “Ni, you did not!”

“Niall!” She exclaims, but he pulls his phone from his pocket and quickly drags up the link from an email, “How much was – why am I so shocked?”

Niall clicked his tongue. “I don’t know why you’re shocked at all, actually, I told you I was going to,” he spun the phone around, sliding it across the table, “S’crazy right? It wasn’t that pricey, consider it a birthday present. So, I’ll kind of guide you through this because I know you’ll get in your head and freak out. I was actually intensely into pet play like three years ago, so this is perfect.”

That’s how Y/N ended up here, after extensive teachings from Niall, examples, and demonstrations that make her face feel so hot it might melt off. It all led to her inviting Harry over to her flat on their day off, with a medium-sized collar around her throat that had his name stitched into it. A leash was clipped to the metal clasp at the back of it, which she looped around her wrist while she moved around so she didn’t get tangled in it. She had a set of ears clipped in neatly on her head, flopping, similar to her hair color, but stuck out enough that it was clear what they were. The most shocking of all, however, and the most time spent between her and Niall, was him teaching her how to open herself up for a plug.

He showed her how to on his Fleshlight, which looked like a bum, and he’d promised her he’d cleaned it out before he pulled it out for their “fingering-lesson” as he continued to call it. Y/N thinks that if she had said it was okay, Adam would have been on the phone guiding her as well, but she was feeling way too bashful for that. Hell, even talking about it with Niall was a lot, as he described how much lube, the depth she should start with, how many fingers, but even before that – her diet and how to clean herself out to prepare for it. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever stared so hard at a fleshlight in her life, as she watched him spread it open, talk about the right and wrong way to do it.

So, spreading her open, a plug with a tail fixed to the end of it caressed the insides of her thighs every time she moved. It was insane, all of this, but they had talked about it before – briefly. Discussed what they wanted to do, how he wanted her to be a proper puppy, and Y/N wanted that too. She just wishes she could skip to the part where she was so cock dumb and empty-headed that she didn’t feel all the anxious, jittering nerves inside of her.

Because what if Harry was just saying that as pillow talk? What if he’d just been trying to work her and himself up, but the actual thought of it he didn’t want. Maybe they needed to sit and have a proper chat about it, before she just balls to the wall went all in and dressed like a fucking dog then invited him over to her flat. This is actually insane work, honestly, and yeah Niall is right about most things but he’s also a horny freak who typically has partners equally freaky and horny as him. She doesn’t think he’s ever not thoroughly discussed a scene before he did something new with someone either, so when Y/N had mentioned that they’d spoken about it, he probably thought she’d meant actually discussed it. Like sitting across from each other, going through hard nos, dos, and don’ts, and not when Harry was twisting a hand around his prick, and she was a hairpin trigger away from cumming untouched.

Y/N has nearly completely talked herself out of it by the time she hears her front door open and completely stills. She was sitting on her bed, feeling stupid, silly, and a ton of other negative adjectives that did not instill any confidence in her before something she probably needed a lot of confidence for. She was trembling, her stomach turning, her heart kind of felt like it might be thudding in her throat, and her blood roared through her ears when Harry called for her. First, just her name. Then, “Baby?” Which is a new development – a welcomed one, but one that gets her all fuzzy inside, no matter how many times he’d begun to casually refer to her as such.

Eventually, she hears his footsteps get further inside. The floorboards shift at the beginning of her hallway, then again right outside of her door, and his hand presses against the wood as he swings it open quietly. He probably thought she had fallen asleep waiting for him or something, which would explain why he was attempting to be so quiet. Instead, he is met with her, sitting on her knees, her hands were supposed to be in her lap per Niall’s instructions, but instead they were curled up in the blankets at her side.

Harry’s gaze falls upon hers. He blinks a couple of times, like he might be trying to adjust his eyesight to the lower lighting of the room. Or maybe he’s just trying to make sure that this wasn’t some elaborate hallucination that he’d suddenly uncovered. When he stops blinking, the image of her stops disappearing and reappearing before his eyes, and there she still stays. Did he think this was embarrassing? Maybe he was experiencing the world’s greatest second-hand embarrassment – so bad that they could put it in a world record book. Or maybe he was trying not to laugh at her. She probably looked ridiculous, didn’t she? She’d barely looked herself in the mirror once she put the ears in – just enough to make sure they were level with one another before she fucked off into the bedroom. There’s no bra, there’s no underwear – she’s stark naked, just sitting, waiting, like a dog would. Like a puppy.

“Ohhhh, I see,” his voice is careful, as he takes a step forward, “My baby isn’t here, hm? I just have a sweet little puppy instead.”

Y/N swallows hard, dipping her head down and lowering her front half against the mattress. When Harry outstretches his hand, she rubs her face into his open palm; her cheek, her nose, her mouth. It felt good, especially when he curled his fingers up in her hair and scratched gently at her hairline, caressing upward through it, to stop at the ears. There’s a soft tug, and her head jerks with it before she settles again, letting his hands explore and move around her new accessories.

It’s when his fingers dance from her head, along her human ears, down to her neck that the pads trace around the collar. He follows the border of it, the threading, slips two fingers between her throat and the leather. It’s tight–not so tight that it’ll choke her, but it’s definitely a weighty presence–one that’s hard to ignore. That must be when he sees it, though, as he strips around the material, because he pauses, he reads, his breathing hitches, and –

– he moans. Something loud, a little whiny, erupting from the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” he mumbles out, dragging his thumb along the embroidery, “Oh my fucking god.” YN lets him continue to pet her but shifts forward, nudging the back of her head against his hand. He slides his fingers to the front of the collar again, twists the thin leash around his knuckles, and gives a soft, gentle tug, “C’mon, you know better. No puppies on the bed.” He helps guide her down, on hands and knees, carefully dismounting from the mattress in the most awkward, limb-filled way she could have. Eventually, she is on the floor, the carpet digging into her nails and into her knees, her face flaming hot when she rubs her cheek against his calf, which may be more of a kitten thing than a dog thing. Niall told her that it could be interchangeable a bit, because typically, all the non-geared-up person in the dynamic cared about was that the other person was giving in to base desires and acting like an animal.

From this angle, he must be able to see the tail because another murmured curse slips from his mouth, before she feels the same gentle, prodding fingers that usually nudge at her lips, move around her bum. The rim is stretched and messy with lube, so when Harry carefully pushes into it, Y/N whines and lurches forward. Her skin is sensitive, where it’s soft and slick, and he goes from moving around the plug to letting his fingers drag through the tail, “Such a filthy fucking thing. Where did you even get toys like this?”

Y/N doesn’t answer, because she’s a dog and dogs don’t speak. She does shake her bum, though, move her hips from side to side so the tail swings and tickles the back of her thighs. It’s humiliating in a way that she can’t describe but the way Harry is looking at her, the heat that flurries through his gaze, the lump in his trousers where his cock is pressing up against the zipper. It’s worth it. It’s well worth the way part of her wants to crawl her way right under the bed and not let him pull her out until science can figure out a way to wipe her memory clean.

But it also feels. . .good. Kind of, she doesn’t know – she needs to stay like this for a little longer. To really get the feel for it. Really see how deep into puppy space she could get.

Y/N, let’s Harry guide her out of the bedroom. He leads her carefully, doesn’t tug or pull, and Y/N appreciates it. Since they weren’t able to sit down and discuss every avenue of this, she could tell that Harry was approaching it cautiously. He doesn’t just automatically start tugging her around because he doesn’t know that she’s okay with that yet. Doesn’t start spanking her and fucking her with her plug because he doesn’t know that she’d like that. Doesn’t shove her nose into his crotch and make her mouth at him wetly, because he has no clue that the thought makes her want to start drooling.

He guides her to the sofa, and when he sits down, Y/N sits pretty beside his feet. Harry pets her head like she really is a puppy, cooing at her sweetly, “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to her jaw, his fingers caressing her skin, “Knows exactly how to be a good puppy already, don’t you? Might not even have to train you.” He hums, “But if my puppy wants to stop this at any time, all she has to say is Duck, okay? And if you can’t talk, then just squeeze my hand three times.”

Y/N nods and shudders, dips her face against his knee, and nudges against him. Harry chuckles, grabs a pillow off her couch, and sets it on the floor between his spread feet. Once again, he gives the leash a little pull and coaxes her with sweet words, “Knees on the pillow, Pup. Why don’t you rest your head on my thigh for a little bit?”

That’s easy enough, Y/N could do that. Niall had told her the brunt of this – what makes this all so sexy – is the complete control that Harry would have over her. If he told her to bark, then bark, if he wanted her to pant with her tongue hanging out and drool all over his cock, then she’d do it. Of course, she doesn’t think they’d get too intense tonight, because Harry is – above all else – a good, dominant partner in the dynamic. He knows when to lead and when to step back, how far to take it, and what to relax with.

So she trusts him implicitly. Even more so when his fingers press against her lips, Y/N opens them eagerly so that he can feed them into her mouth. She sucks on them, licks around his knuckles and sighs contently – it’d been a while since he’d had his fingers in her mouth like this. Y/N forgot how much she liked it; the weight of his fingers against her tongue, the scrape of her teeth along his nails, the salty taste of his skin. She likes how full she felt with only two of them in there. Even more than that, she likes that two of her holes were plugged, and wondered how it might feel to have all three of them. The thought alone makes her shiver.

They stay like this for a while. Harry turns the telly onto something, but she can’t tell if he’s really paying attention or not. Just feels him stroke the top of her head, fuck his fingers inside of her mouth every so often, stretch them against the inside of her cheeks. It’s mind-numbing in a good way, lulling her somewhere else–somewhere sweeter and softer, as the insides of her legs get sticky from how much she’s leaking down between them. Y/N had been good at first, perfectly still just sucking on his fingers, but she starts to wriggle more. Adjusting her hips, pawing at his calves as she slowly began to get restless.

Y/N doesn’t realize she’s whining until she feels her throat vibrate with it, and Harry clicks his tongue softly, “What is it, puppy?” He inquired, and Y/N’s brain is full of cotton and clouds when she looks up at him. There’s drool building up at the corner of her mouth, dribbling out of the sides that Harry drags away with his thumb, “Hm? Are you feeling needy?” He pressed down on her tongue before slipping his fingers out of her mouth entirely. Y/N whines, chasing after them, but he uses his grip on the leash to keep her in place, “You can talk, Honey. Can my dumb puppy speak?”

She opens her mouth, “Please,” her voice sounds wrecked already, “Please, I want – I need it, daddy.”

There’s a flash in his eyes that has her clench around the plug, only making her more painfully aware of how empty her pussy was. “Yeah, you need it?” Harry repeated, biting down hard enough on his lip that the flesh blanched around the indents of his teeth. She swears she saw his cock twitch in his bottoms, which were doing very little to hide how worked up he was. “Okay, baby, show daddy how much you need it, hm?” But when Y/N starts to lift her hands toward his thighs, Harry grabs for both of them, curling his fingers around each one, “Mm, no, no, Sweetheart. Remember, puppies don’t use their hands.”

Y/N nods, swallowing hard, not even worried about it. She could do it without her hands – she didn’t need them. All she needed to do was stretch forward and rub her face into his crotch, which should be more embarrassing than it feels right now. The way she buries her nose against him, breathing in deep, mewling when the pure scent of Harry slithers through her. Her mouth is wide open, tongue pressed out against the fabric of his thin linen trousers – the lavender ones that she was fond of – and soaking it around his cock. How he’d had it trapped against his body had made it hard at first, but the harder he got, the easier it was for her to find the head, to lull her tongue around it. She whimpers, brows curling, lips pursing at the tip and suckling through the fabric like it was all she knew how to do.

Her hands are slid beneath the sofa cushion, so she really wouldn’t use them, but her neck and jaw start getting a little tired from how she has to move without any support. Harry must be able to tell because he tucks his fingers around the back of the collar where it lay against her nape and pulls her away. He laughs when she whines at him, her tongue hanging from her mouth, drool spilling from her, “Wow,” he murmured, “I thought it might take a bit more to get you into a sweet little spot like this, but I forgot how easy you were for it, hm? You trust me, baby?” Y/N nodded – she trusted him more than anything, “Yeah? G’na let me make you feel good?”

Again, she nods, leaning forward when he slackens his grip and runs her tongue over his cock several times, in wet, long strokes. The fabric’s taste isn’t what she wants, though, and Harry lifts his hips and pushes the bottoms down so that his cock is out.

He’s hard. The tip is red, leaking already, and it sways a little with the motion of him pulling it free. Y/N barely waits for permission to get her mouth on him, and while she thinks on a different day, when Harry was more prepared for a scene like this – he might have scolded her. Instead, today, he just lets her do what she wants. Laughs through his nose and strokes the side of her head as she mouths out at his cock, which feels bigger right now for some reason, than it usually does. Especially when she can’t use her hands to help guide it, she just has to part her lips and chase after it. She thinks she probably looks dumb, but she doesn’t care. She wants him in her mouth – needs it, actually.

“Ah, maybe I will have to train a greedy puppy like you after all,” he hums thoughtfully as she slurps around his cock, taking him deep, deep, deep until it touches the back of her throat and it convulses around the intrusion. Y/N slips off, takes barely a breath to compose herself, then goes right back in, “But it’s your first time being my puppy for real, isn’t it? I’ll be more lenient now than I will in the future,” he murmurs and it sounds a little like a warning, when she drools over his cock, down to his balls, lapping at them. He groans, wanton and loud, needy as she was, “God – fuck, c’mon, g’na take care of you. Bet that pussy is so messy, isn’t it baby?”

There’s some maneuvering involved, but Harry ends up on the floor with her, slipping out of his trousers the rest of the way. When he pulls his top over his head and tosses it to the side, Y/N reaches out for it, grabs for it – she doesn’t know why, but she wants it near her, kind of. Lays it next to her head so she could smell him some more, and if she were more in her head, then she’d realize how very omega-like of her this was, and how prideful Niall would be if he realized she’d done this. But she’s nowhere near that level of conscious thought right now. She’s swimming somewhere so beautiful and brainless that she doesn’t even feel shy to press the fabric to her nose and breathe in deeply. Smell his cologne and his sweat from the day.

Harry’s cock twitches when he watches her, and he splits her thighs and looks between her legs. She probably is messy right now, lube and her arousal dripping all over the place. Y/N had been worked up after stretching herself open and sliding the plug in, imagining what Harry’s reaction would be to her, and how hard he might fuck her made her touch herself a little bit too. She’d only gotten to two fingers and only did enough to get herself a little more needy, so she feels deprived and restless right now.

He starts with one fingers, and when her hole sucks him in greedily, he gives her two, right down to the knuckle, “Always so ready for it. Slutty fucking pussy,” he is tentative as he preps her, and with the plug in her bum, it somehow feels more intense. There’s more pressure everywhere, so much so that three of his fingers feel like four, and four of his fingers feel like five. Still, Y/N moans, keens, whines, whimpers – does every sound but bark for him – as he splits her open. It’s so good, she feels so fucking good right now, but all she wants is his cock. Wants him to fill her up and fuck her dumb, even stupider than she is right now. Wants to drool, wants him to fuck her hard and deep, and split around him, and feel the head nudge against her g-spot. She wants to squirt on him and get him messy. She wants him to keep going even when she’s too sensitive and is wiggling away, she wants him to drag her right back to him.

Y/N starts fucking her hips down into him, her arms slung beneath her knees to keep them spread but her hips moving tirelessly. Harry places a hand on her thigh, fingers stretched wide, but he doesn’t stop her from moving. He almost seems amused by it, above anything else, his eyes watching closely, his lips curled into a smile, cooing little encouragement like, “Yeah, there we go, baby, that feels good, doesn’t it?” She nods helplessly, and he curls his fingers relentlessly as her legs tremble, getting tired, “Why don’t I give you something a little bigger, hm?”

This time, she nods as enthusiastically as she can. As soon as his fingers slip from her, she rolls onto her belly unprompted, lifts herself onto her knees, and presents herself for him. Years of omegaverse lore aid her subconsciously as she rests herself on her shoulders, reaching back and pulling herself apart to show him where she’s wet and needy for him. Nobody can ever resist that, and at the end of the day, Harry is only a man. He makes a sound kind of close to a growl behind her, cursing beneath his breath when his left hand covers hers to keep her steady, and his right hand guides his prick to her hole. Even though they both knew she was more than ready enough, Harry is still slow about sliding into her. Makes sure she feels every single inch that slides inside of her, stretches her out further. Y/N wonders if it feels tighter because of the plug inside of her. Harry does show an interest in the tail, smoothing it out of his way so that he could look at her again, where she’s stretched taut around the plug.

“Can’t stop thinking about you getting ready for me,” Harry grinds inside of her deep, and Y/N cries out, her fingers digging deeper into her flesh, “How did I find such a naughty, greedy puppy, hm? Fuck, you were made for this,” he prods at the skin around the plug, threatens to dip his thumb in too as his he slowly starts to build up a rhythm. Y/N wishes she could see him – even if she craned her neck, it would do the view no justice. She wants to watch him from the side, from the back, from between her legs – wants to see how big his cock is, how far it stretches her, how his balls slap against her with every stroke he bottoms out in.

She can feel herself drooling, and later on, she would cringe about it, and how it smears against her cheek while her face rubs against his shirt. Oh! His shirt, she’d forgotten – she slides her hands from holding herself open and curls her arms around his shirt. Presses her nose into it and breathes in so deeply, taking in every lick of Harry’s scent that she can from it. For some reason, it made Harry’s hips stutter behind her, his fingernails digging into her skin as he paused deep inside of her. Y/N whines, and he must be able to feel that she’s going to move her hips again because he tightens his grip, “No, just – fuck, just give me a minute. You almost made me cum.”

“Want it,” she whines, “Want it, want it, want it –”

Harry stretches himself across her back, slips his fingers into her mouth, and muffles her mid-beg, “Shh, dumb puppies like you don’t need to talk or think,” he groans as he slides out of her, slowly rolling his hips, wary to start where he left off right away, “God, you love being my little doggy, don’t you? You’re so fucking wet,” Y/N quivers, holding his fingers uselessly in her mouth, unable to suck or lick or bite, just pant and drool around them, “You wanna cum for, Daddy, Sweetheart? Get me all nice and sticky with it?”

His pace picks up again, the slide of it easier as he makes more space for himself inside of her. It’s much more intense with Harry pressed up against her like this, and it doubles when his fingers slip between her thighs and swirl around the swollen bud of her clit. It flicks beneath his touch, stiff and engorged, and just the press of his index and middle finger pads against it makes her cry out. The ears are flopping against her head with each thrust. Her legs want to close, but there’s no easy way to, and her back arches against him. But her mouth is full, her clit is being played with, the plug still sits inside of her and Harry rocks his hips into her like he’s trying to make sure the shape of him never leaves, hard and deep, an impression of himself in her insides.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she sounds around his fingers, and it’s muffled, a staccato sound with every collision of their hips together. Words escape her; she just feels, and she feels everything so intensely right now.

Her whole body shakes when she cums. It starts with her thighs, shaking hard, making the rest of her legs tremble, and the heat of her arousal swells into a tight balloon that expands rapidly, the latex filling out until it pops, and the warm wave of water that was inside of it flows through her. Washes over her whole body as she pulsates around him, milking him, and Harry fucks her through it, despite how difficult it gets when she squeezes so tightly around him, “Yeah, that’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmured, “I’m not g’na stop, baby, not unless you say your special word.”

Duck, Y/N remembers, or to squeeze his hand three times. Both are far away from her now though, even as she comes down from her first orgasm, she feels oversensitive as he fucks into her but not in the way where she’d need to shove him off. So she starts working her hips back against him again and Harry curses beneath his breath, then starts fucking her earnestly again.

She’s unsure for how long it goes on, or how many times she cums. She just knew that around her fourth orgasm, Harry had flipped her around so that she was facing him and had pulled her nipple into his mouth. And she knew that he had started fucking the plug in and out of her bum too, and Y/N felt a bubble in her belly that popped, forcing Harry out of her body when a swell of liquid followed his cock’s exit. He’s made her squirt before, and Y/N had wondered if it was just a one-and-done type of thing, but clearly not. It’s fully within his capability to do it, and leave her breathless, shaking, gasping.

This time, Harry isn’t able to slip back into her. He peels the condom off, slips his hand through the mess of her pussy and uses that as lube to fuck himself with. Y/N watches through lidded eyes as he strokes his cock, “Yes, yes, such a messy fucking puppy, so perfect for me,” he rambles, “So good, and fucking perfect, made for me, shit – only me,” before he starts to cum, all over her belly, in thick spurts that land heavy on the skin. Some of it even reaches her neck, and the knowledge of it makes her open her mouth, let her tongue hang out in hopes of catching more of it. None comes organically like that, but Harry does smear his fingers through the mess on her belly and feeds it into her mouth. Y/N licks it away, the taste heady and Harry, and so good because of it.

Y/N can barely move. Her muscles are kind of achy, and her head is so feather-filled she might as well be a pillow. Harry, above anything else, drops to her side and pulls her into his body, not caring about the sticky, drying cum on her skin when he pulls her into him. Rolls her over and maneuvers her limbs until she’s lying on top of him, running one of his hands up and down her back, “That was so beautiful, baby,” he says it so gently, Y/N almost wants to cry for some reason. She feels emotional and exhausted and like, maybe in love, a little bit, she doesn’t know – maybe it was just post-orgasm endorphins or maybe Harry was actually her soulmate, who could tell right then. “Did so well for me, for your first time. So perfect.”

As he is with all things, Harry is more than careful as he removes the floppy ear clips from her hair, unbuckles the collar, and slowly slips the plug out of her bum. For a moment, one of his fingers does slide around into the little gape that was left, and when she twitches and whines, he kisses the side of her head, “Sorry, Honey, couldn’t help myself,” before slipping it away, “We’ll have to play with that pretty hole too, it was getting jealous.” Y/N manages a laugh, though it’s just breathless and soundless enough to sound like a puff of air through her nose.

They stay there for a while, until Y/N feels like she can move, but even then, words haven’t come back to her yet. This was the deepest into subspace she thinks she’s ever been, but she isn’t scared of it. Y/N revels in it. With Harry there, she feels safe, and cared for, like she doesn’t need to worry about a thing at all. And she’s right, because he takes her to the shower with him and they get clean together. Harry wipes her down first, tenderly, slowly, and goes quickly for himself so that she isn’t standing there for too long. He coaxes water into her, too, at least half a bottle until she’s pulling her face away. Eventually, they find themselves in her bed, Y/N in a big shirt, her favorite band’s last album cover on the front, and Harry in one of her big shirts with a bunny on the front. He slid her underwear onto her, tucked them nicely around her hips, and then brought her up under the covers. Harry rubs her elbows and knees for a little bit, where they were rubbing against the carpet kind of hurt, and the skin was irritated. He pushes kisses to all the spots that seemed sore.

“I liked that,” she finally spoke, after what might have been 20 to 30 minutes of silence. Harry doesn’t seem startled, and she wonders if it usually took her a while to start talking anyway, “A lot.”

“Me too, Sweetheart. You play the role of a greedy puppy very well,” he rubs up and down her arm, where it’s stretched across his chest, “And you were very cute. I’ll probably touch myself to that for weeks.”

Y/N makes a noise in her throat and tips her face into his chest, “Shut up,” she grumbles, then continues, “I – um – like you a lot,” she sighed out, her lips rewarming, preparing for a ramble that she just knew was going to happen soon. Not that she had anything in particular to ramble about, except the fact that she’d seen a really pretty garden today, before she’d puppy-fied herself.

Harry, who had begun to play with her fingers, seemed delighted. “Is that so? That’s convenient, because I like you too.”

“Yeah, and we should probably plant a garden together,” she rumples her lips, “But neither of us has any yard to plant a garden, so we’d have to steal someone’s yard or something. Or buy like a little patch of dirt on someone’s property. Do you know anyone who has a yard?”

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he replies, amused, “You like gardening?”

“I’m so bad at it, actually, but you seem like you’d be good at it, so that’s why we should plant together. Are you good at planting?” Y/N feels him nuzzle his nose against her temple, “I feel like you’re good at everything.”

Harry hums, “No, m’not,” he murmured, “I’m actually not great at folding laundry.”

“Really?” She tilted her head to look at him, “Like – how?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, it always looks messy though. You haven’t seen my drawers?”

“No, was I supposed to see them? Should I be looking through your drawers?”

“If you wanted to, you could,” he offered, then immediately took it back, “Actually, no, I want you to pretend I’m good at everything still, I don’t need you to see my folding.”

Y/N laughed, then nestled close to him again, “You’re silly,” she murmurs, sighing again, letting sleep weigh heavy in her bones, “I’m glad I was delusional enough to think that you were obsessed with me.”

Harry squeezes her close.

“It’s not delusional if it’s true.”

#holy hell #someone save me #harry styles fic rec #Harry styles smut #fic rec

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harrysgoldenbum · 3 months ago

Photo

Harry Styles attends the 2019 MET Gala: Notes on Camp.

#the way I would claw him up

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harrysgoldenbum · 4 months ago

Text

“I think you should take a walk,” Niall said over a video call, the horror written on his face from her internal monologue is humbling, “Touch some grass, think about how nasty you two are gonna fuck later instead of all these ifs, ands, or whatever the hell else you’re coming up with. Back to your delusions,” he forms a gun with his fingers, and pretends to shoot, “He’s obsessed with you and thinks you’re so sexy that you haunt his every waking thought. He’d rather not do his fifty-step meat prepping process and have an uninspired, unflavorful taste palate for a dish than spend even a second not being at your side – the love of his life. The tenderizer to his meat, the steak to his wine sauce, the omega to his alpha.”

“Whoa,” Y/N blinked at him, “That’s like. . .a new level of delusion. I think you broke some sort of hallucinogenic time-space continuum with that one.”

“And it’s time for you to join me. Off you go, I need to stroke one out before I go out for lunch, it’s scheduled on my calendar.”

“Ew, Ni, on your calendar?”

Harry is obsessed, and Y/N gets in her head too much

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

(15k+ words)

“Oh my god, you’ve been mauled.”

That’s precisely what Y/N had thought when she saw her reflection. In the moment, when it was happening, Y/N could tell that it was a lot, but she didn’t fully understand how many hickies Harry had left littered on her skin. Not until she could stand in front of her bathroom mirror, eyes wide, visualizing everything he’d left behind. In some areas, she looked mottled by paint, like someone had splashed their brush in the container and it splattered out onto her skin, staining it.

There were three pretty big ones on her neck, two right below her collarbone, several along the swell of her breasts, two on her belly, and multiple that sort of started merging into one on her thighs as they healed. Harry had spent thirty minutes of their night merely marking up her skin, dragging his teeth along them, tracing the jagged edges of the spots with his tongue as they formed. Y/N had never had someone so dutifully work on her skin this way, somehow seeming precise with his movements, despite them being all over the place. Like he knew exactly where he wanted them on her body.

She’s unsure what might have sparked such a display from him. The “no-hickey” policy was one of his most heavily enforced rules, which is why Y/N presumed that he’d never left any on her. Plus, she’d always seen hickies as a clear, visual indicator of possessiveness, which she’d never thought Harry would have over her. Even now, she isn’t sure, but she is skeptical. . .especially after remembering Niall telling her Harry was jealous after Youngjae invited her to his restaurant to learn from him. She’d brushed that off at first, certain that Harry had no reason to feel jealous over her, but this. . .definitely made her think a little more about it. Y/N goes with Youngjae, Harry finds out over the call, and subsequently does something he’s never done – marking her up all over her body. Like little warnings; an “I was here first” that should probably make her feel objectified but she just feels squirmy and horny over it.

And maybe it was coincidental. Maybe Harry had just felt like sucking and biting at her skin that night, before splitting her thighs and getting her off with his tongue twice. Maybe him stuffing her full with his fingers, with a thumb hooked in her mouth, and the phrase, “Yeah, you’re my little fuck puppy, aren’t you? Made for me,” dripping off his lips – was just a random thought that had invaded his brain (his filter always sort of disappeared when he was inside of her).

But also. . .like, maybe it wasn’t.

Niall had somehow managed to convince Y/N she needed to come to his flat and watch him play a tournament, which usually just amounts to her rotting and rolling around in his bed and playing on her phone. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, actually – Niall’s bed is disproportionately big for only one person to be sleeping in it most nights, and is soft as a cloud. Plus, his sheets always smell like a discontinued Febreze scent that she used to love, so she liked pressing her face into them (Niall and Harry are probably the only two men she would willingly press her face into their bedding).

Y/N had been covering the hickies on her neck following a step-by-step tutorial Niall had sent her after Harry left that night, because she knew she needed to have them covered for work. Even if Harry was the one to give them to her, it would have caused mass outrage if she had hickies all over her throat and wasn’t getting a tongue lashing over it. Or forced to wear a thin, black scarf around her neck – like the one Niall had to endure the rest of his shift with the time he’d gotten yelled at for them.

So this was the first time Niall had seen her without the makeup covering them, because she’d gone home to shower after work and was not about to reapply all of it again, just to wipe it off a couple of hours later. When she lets herself in, he’s in the middle of folding his laundry, and gasps the most dramatic sound he could when he sees her. Which, of course, follows a thorough inspection – he looks at her throat, the ones on her collarbone, Y/N lowers the neckline of her shirt so he could see the ones on her boob, lifts the hem so he could see her stomach, and the ones on her thighs are out any way because of the shorts she wore.

“Christ, I knew he would throw a fit about Youngjae, but I didn’t realize it was this big of a fit,” Niall gaped at all of them, brows knitted as he counted, “This is like crash-out level behavior.”

“You really think so?” Y/N had inquired, flopping onto Niall’s bed and then rolling herself into a burrito using the extra blanket he had lying out for her, “Because I also was a little suspicious of how he acted. Like. . .the timing just wouldn’t make sense, otherwise, right?”

Niall rolled his eyes, “Duh,” he rounded the corner of his bed, dropping into his gaming seat and leaning it back at an angle, “You seriously don’t listen, how many times am I g’na have to repeat myself that he’s obsessed. When you came in after Youngjae complimented you, he had that murderous intent gaze that I haven’t seen since Oliver broke the dishwasher.” He rested his hands on his stomach, fingers slotted into each other, “So, when he wants to come and see you and can’t right away because you’re with a cutie pie like Youngjae, who basically asked you out in front of Harry – of course he’s going to go crazy. I’d be more shocked if he didn’t.”

The night had been nice, after all the horny stuff. That’s what confused her, she thinks, is because when Rowan was jealous – even if they had sex to fuck it out, and for him to play into whatever possessive fantasy he was holding – the subsequent night was still pretty tense. He was still annoyed, kind of taking it out on her that someone was flirting when it wasn’t her fault. They might not even sleep beside each other that night – Rowan would go home, and leave Y/N wondering if they were still together or not. He was always a huge fucking baby about it.

Harry was not the same at all. Harry came from his hand stroking over himself after she’d cum, the splattered remains of it all over her belly as they eased from the high. He made quick work of cleaning it up before it could cool and dry on her skin, using whatever shirt he’d picked up first, before sliding down into bed beside her. Harry doesn’t have to tell her to come to him, she just does automatically now. Twisted her body so that she was halfway on top of him, as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, and nestling close to his neck. He laughed, stroking her arm, down her shoulder, toward her back, and looped dozens of intricate designs into her skin. They felt good, coupled with his murmuring about how well she did, and she thinks he was resting his cheek on her head.

“Did you have a good time today?” He’d finally inquired, she’d assumed about Youngjae, and Y/N nodded, “Learned a lot?”

“Mhm,” she searched for words that were increasingly harder to find the more sleepy she felt, “He said. . .said I’m like a sponge, ‘cos my – the food tasted just how it tastes when you make it, from before, at the restaurant. Wanted to add more things to my repertoire. He’s nice.”

Harry hummed, low, gentle, “That was nice of him.”

Y/N had been pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, like looping around on clouds, feeling tender on all the spots he’d left his mark. Especially because he kept pressing on them, murmuring a soft apology when she jumped from it. However, he doesn’t really mean it since he just goes on to press another one. “These are pretty,” he told her, caressing the skin, like another little apology after pushing them to see her react, “A pretty color.”

“Thank you,” she answered, a little hazy, “Will need. . .will need a lot of concealer for these.”

Harry only hummed in response. She thought maybe he’d not been paying attention, really, but she gets an Amazon package the next day filled with the brand and shade that she has in her bathroom. When she messaged him, demanding that he let her pay him back (because it wasn’t like it was cheap, especially that many bottles of it), he thumbed down the message, and that was that.

Y/N is reliving it when Niall, who had now fully turned away from her and was clicking around on his computer, shook his head, “Like, sugar daddy vibes too? He could not be more whipped for you. He’s lucky you aren’t evil like me, because I’d be taking full advantage of this.”

Y/N twisted to face the computer fully, looking over his shoulder and not fully understanding what she’s looking at exactly, “How was your dick appointment? You never updated me.” She changes the subject, which she hopes was smooth, but knows Niall could probably see right through her. While she would love to get down to the nitty gritty of her feelings and Harry’s, and what the hell their dynamic was morphing into, she also definitely didn’t. It was confusing, and her most recent relationship with Rowan has skewed her perception of a lot of things, like what could be Harry’s interest in her, and what could be just him being a decent guy. Of course, Niall does often shed light on the situation from a man’s perspective, but as always, there’s at least a slight delusional element to it. The one where Harry is madly in love with her but doesn’t know how to express himself outside of sex – or something like that. It’s his underlying narrative.

“Oh, it was not worth an update. He was like – eh. I thought we’d get along better, but he didn’t think this one vampire was sexy in Baldur’s Gate 3, and that just didn’t sit right with me.”

Her mouth fell open, “Wait, the one with the white hair? He didn’t find him sexy?” Y/N sat up halfway, “I started reading fic about him after I watched you play that one time.”

“See, and that’s you with a limited understanding of him! Stop, don’t get me pissed off again,” he grumbled, shaking his head, “And then, to make it worse, I asked him what omegaverse subgender he’d be, and he had no idea what I was talking about. So boring – I gave him head and sent him off, 2/10 dick appointment. He only gets the 2 points because he brought me sweets from a bakery – speaking of, have one of the apple fritters, they’re crazy.”

Y/N lulls her tongue over her teeth, saying, mostly as a joke, “Maybe you should just start sleeping with Adam or something, so you don’t keep wasting your time with these losers.”

“Oh, babe, Adam and I have slept together like a couple of times.”

Y/N’s eyes stretch open wide, she shoves herself even further up, “Wait, what? What the fuck! Since when, why didn’t I –”

“Didn’t I mention it? I thought I did – it’s been a while though, like at least a year – fuck! Where the fuck did these guys come from?” There is a rapid clicking of his mouth and keyboard, “Okay, table this lore for later, I need to focus.”

Still reeling from this revelation, Y/N almost doesn’t realize her phone buzzes beside her. A message from Harry – a series of pictures, actually, and Y/N is surprised. Harry is barely a texter to begin with, let alone someone who sends photos – to her, no less. It was pictures of food, clearly taken in Harry’s kitchen (she recognizes his countertops), one of which Y/N recognizes to be a lobster dish of some kind, the next photo is mille-feuille, a delicious pastry that Harry had made once a year ago and brought in for everyone to try (it was so fucking good, she remembers, and just looking at the photo makes her mouth water), and the last image is pasta dish that she doesn’t recognize but looks delicious all the same.

I’ll teach you how to make these, Miss Sponge.

If you do well, I’ll give you a treat after.

. . .

Y/N is irritated.

Like, actually so irritated.

The reason why wasn’t simple at all. What led her to this moment was the most convoluted, twisted set of events that must have resulted from her disturbing some cosmic being. And said cosmic being, in an act of pure outrage and unadulterated resentment, twisted the strings of fate in such a way that tangled Y/N up from her typical day-to-day and threw her into such an obnoxious situation. When she thought of it that way – as something out of her hands – that made it just a little more bearable.

The day started like normal. She was off, so she’d slept in a little later than usual. Y/N had taken full advantage of the night before and stayed up relatively late, rolling around in her bed, reading smut, getting secondhand embarrassment from a scene in said smut that she then recounted to Hazelnut like she understood a word of what she was saying. She messaged Niall (about the smut at first), and went back and forth about stupid shit for two hours, because she caught him post-game when he was doing his skincare and getting distracted between each step. Y/N fell asleep on the sofa for two hours, woke up to Hazelnut pawing at her head for a snack, so she gave her a churro treat, and then headed to bed.

So Y/N slept in, she stretched out similar to the sleepy cat beside her, and woke to three messages. Two from Niall, and one from Harry. Anytime Harry’s name pops up on her screen, her heart always kicks up a little quicker, a little obnoxiously – plus, if he’s sending her a message, it’s usually because he’s trying to coordinate something between them. Before Y/N fell asleep, Niall was sending brain rot videos, and links to smut that has “made him give up on the average man”, so she skipped his messages to read Harry’s.

I’ll come over tonight if you’re available. To teach you the recipes.

Y/N replied with yeah, I’m available! as chill as she possibly could be when really she wanted to respond with YES, YES PLEASE, I WANT TO SEE YOU!! I WANT TO HAVE SEX!! AND CUDDLE AFTER WHICH IS THE BEST PART !!!!!!!. She doesn’t respond with that because she’s super good at pretending to be normal, simply put. If Harry actually had access to her thoughts, he probably would avoid her at all costs, honestly.

Okay. I’ll see you at 6.

There’s entirely too much time between Harry’s message and 6 PM. Y/N knows herself and she knows if given the chance, she will spend a day’s worth of time ruminating over what their interaction might be tonight. She’ll spend too much time overthinking them, their dynamic, what he means to her, what she means to him, if Harry thinks about her when they weren’t together, if he’s using teaching her recipes as a ploy to get over to her flat or if he genuinely just wants to teach her and the sex is a pleasant inclusion to that. Y/N has a new spring-y tank top and short set she’s wearing – would he like it? Would he notice? Was he only interested in pulling it off of her so he wouldn’t have time to care about it? Or should she dress in something more alluring – sexier? Does Harry even find her sexy, or does he just see her as cute? Is it sustainable to just be cute in the fuck buddies economy, or would this push him into someone else’s arms? Would he give her any more love bites? The ones he’d given her before had faded in the week and a half that had passed since he’d given them to her. Is that like an exclusively ‘I’m maybe jealous, maybe just in a mood because you were hanging out with a chef that wasn’t me’ kind of situation? Or are those an all of the time thing now? Should she –

“Whoa,” Y/N blinked at him, “That’s like. . .a new level of delusion. I think you broke some sort of hallucinogenic time-space continuum with that one.”

“And it’s time for you to join me. Off you go, I need to stroke one out before I go out for lunch, it’s scheduled on my calendar.”

“Ew, Ni, on your calendar?”

It was a good day for a walk. There were finally more nice days than there were cold, and the sun would sit high and pretty in the sky by noon. The breeze brushes past her skin is warm, like fluttering kisses to each of her cells, and insects buzz, fly, and crawl between blades of grass and cavern into the soil. She smells flowers and dewy grass when she opens her windows in the morning, and the pressing urge to start a garden is ever present and borderline suffocating. She would, if she had more time to take care of it – a little windowsill garden that would coax birds and bugs for Hazelnut’s viewing pleasure.

Y/N went to the park near her flat. She ordered a fruit tea to pick up on the way, and reluctantly had to admit that Niall was right – a walk did do her some good. The flowers were gorgeous this year, brighter than they’ve ever been, but she’s pretty sure she thinks that every year. This year, especially, though, they look extra vibrant, and the bees look extra fuzzy and fat as they hover over their yellow centers, and Y/N lets her mind soften into something malleable and stretchy. Maybe she really was the omega to Harry’s alpha after all. Again, maybe Niall was righ–

The universe snatches that thought away before she could even finish it. Even it knew that giving him too much credit in a couple of minutes would have been too powerful for him not to be annoying about. Because just as she throws away her cup, she hears her name called, and the familiarity of the voice makes the hair at her nape stand on end.

Like a roach, Rowan always seems to come back; if she’s seen or heard from him once, then she could count on being aware of his existence for several more occasions in the near future. It was something that had been prevalent ever since they broke up, a horrible pattern that she’d hoped to break one day, but apparently, today hadn’t been the one.

She twisted on her heel, her face twitching in a way to protest her trying to give him a polite smile, “Hi,” she nodded her head, and couldn’t help but notice his dog, Frankie, a little brown bernedoodle that’s eyes were a little too life like for Y/N to be comfortable. Despite her scary, potential underground government experiment eyes, Frankie and Y/N used to bond a lot when Rowan and she were together. They had their girl time; she’d sit in Y/N’s lap as opposed to his when she was visiting, and she always nestled up close to her in bed. Her personality was cuter than she was, if Y/N was completely honest – she’d never told Rowan that, though.

Frankie, tail wagging fast enough to kick up a small breeze, instantly invaded Y/N’s space, and she was not going to ignore a dog, so she reached down to pet her, “Can’t believe we’re running into each other again!” Rowan chirped, a little too brightly, and Y/N bit her tongue not to snap at him for acting so fake around her. Like nothing had happened. Like he was actually excited to see her, and not ask her about there stupid fucking wedding reception, ugh –

“Yeah, that is kind of crazy,” are you stalking me, you fucking dick? “Well, it was good to see y–”

“Ah! You know what? We need to get together soon,” he grinned at her, a smile that she assumed was supposed to be good-natured, but came off as something close to something that causes dread. “You’re seeing someone, right? The guy who interrupted us last time?”

Maybe Y/N should have been smarter about that. There was no shame in admitting that she wasn’t seeing anyone, technically, right now, unless he counted her mentor/boss whom she had an incredibly intense dynamic in the bedroom with. And like, it kind of felt like a relationship sometimes, but most of the time, she’s resigned herself to being the woman he gets his rocks off with, with no strings attached. Except maybe Y/N might have been making some strings from her end, like webbings from a spider, shooting out of her in an attempt to cling to the only man in a very long time that didn’t make her feel weird, or insecure, or uncomfortable when she was ass naked in front of him and ready to bark like a dog.

But it’s not like she was going to go into that with Rowan of all people. So she should have just said no.

“Yep,” she answered, because she didn't think at all before she said it. Niall would both commend and shame her for her stupidity later, she knew that.

Rowan’s face does a weird little twitch before his smile, seedy, stretches back over his mouth, “Then we could do a double date or something! Remi has always wanted to meet you.”

God, it’s just weird – so fucking weird. He must be making that up, right? Nobody wants to meet their current partner’s ex unless it was to find out how sleezy they were before they were in their lives. To talk shit about the past and to see what they’ve been lying about. Hell, Y/N had even been itching to contact Rowan’s high school ex when they first broke up to see if he was as huge a dick as he was then, now (because his high school ex was “crazy” and “blew things out of proportion all of the time), but she knew better than to get caught up in all of that.

Then it finally registered that Remi probably only wants to meet her so they could guilt her into having their reception at Harry’s restaurant, and something inside of her soured. Her face nearly twisted in a frown, but Rowan kept speaking, “It must be pretty new, between you and that guy, hm? You still seem all like. . .flirty and shy,” he noted, and Y/N’s brows furrowed, “I watched you guys for a second when you left the cafe.” Then, a sly look met his gaze, “I hope he didn’t mind that we were together. Does he know about me?”

Y/N should have really shut her mouth, but – “No, he didn’t mind it. He owns the cafe, so he’s grateful for any business.”

Rowan’s eyes go wide, “He owns it?”

And like. . .Y/N doesn’t know how the conversation would have progressed, had Frankie not slipped from her collar and bolted.

The thing is, Y/N had told Rowan time and time again to make the collar just a little tighter on the dog. I’m not telling you to strangle her, just make it snug or she’s going to slip out of it again – she’d said it so many times that the sentence didn’t even feel like real words anymore. Frankie had a nasty habit of wiggling from her collar, and as a very sweet, but very untrained pup, she’d take off running in whatever direction there seemed to be the most danger.

It seems as though Rowan had decided to never take her advice, because Frankie had decided she’d had enough of Y/N’s lying. She slipped from the collar, chasing down a squirrel, and when Y/N’s wide eyes watched her, then flicked to Rowan, who was already looking at her with the same shocked expression. There’s one reason Y/N had always fussed about the collar, not just for the dog’s general safety, but because Rowan got some weird ass sports injury when he was in high school and it isn’t good for him to run on pavement without these special shoes. This meant that Y/N was always the one chasing after Frankie, calling her name, looking like an idiot who doesn’t fit the collar to her dog’s neck correctly, even though she wasn’t her dog.

There were two options that Y/N could have followed through with in that moment: she could roll her eyes, tell Rowan that he was a stupid dumb ass who never listened to a thing Y/N ever fucking said, and he better figure out how to get her back. . .or, she could run after Frankie. And like, she may think her owner is a stupid douchebag, but Frankie had never done anything to her, and she was kind of running straight for a busy road, and Y/N didn’t necessarily want to see her get run over because if that was living on her psyche then she’d probably need someone to smother her with a pillow.

So she ran. Her feet slam against the pavement in a way that Rowan’s definitely should be right now, and her heart is hammering in her chest, and for a moment, she considered maybe just picking Frankie up and then running away with her instead of bringing her back to him. She shuffles between people in the park, takes the windy pathway until Frankie twists off course and starts running through the grass instead of something easy to trek through. Y/N followed her, stupidly and uncoordinated, a mess because it’d been a very long time since she’d had to do something like this. Such a long time in fact, that she forgets that she’s someone who needs to watch her feet when she runs sometimes, because there’s an uneven shift in the ground, and Y/N goes from running after this dog, to dropping with a squawk.

Y/N is discombobulated for a couple of seconds, unsure of what just happened. She’d tripped, she knew that much, but a sharp twist in her ankle suggested that she’d injured herself beyond just a couple of bumps and bruises. The joint throbs, a burning pain that radiates outward, and the severity of the situation hits her like a dog in the side. Or maybe it was really just a dog that ran into her side – Frankie, who, despite having poor training, always kind of knew when it was time to quit playing around (i.e., when your owner’s ex-girlfriend chased you down and then injured herself). The bernedoodle looks down at her with very sad, very human-like eyes, like the human trapped inside of her body had succumbed to animal instincts momentarily and now was feeling guilty about it.

“S’okay,” Y/N petted the dog behind her ear, “I’m sorry they put your consciousness in the body of a dog.”

“Holy fuck!” Rowan had finally made it to them, and in a rare moment of concern, he dropped down to his knees beside her. There was a look that Rowan got when he was pretending to be a good person, but she saw it nowhere. His reaction is genuine, the way his reaction is steeped in panic is also genuine, and Y/N is kind of scared to look down at her feet because she’s worried she’s about to see her bone protruding out or something equally horrible.

Instead, when she chanced it, all she saw was her ankle intact, but the skin around it was angry and swollen.

Y/N let her head fall back into the grass, Frankie nosed at her cheek, “Ah, fuck,” she huffed, already knowing that this would be a situation. An all-day thing, probably, as Rowan looked unsure of what to do other than apologize profusely.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t – she just slips out of it all of the time but usually she doesn’t head for a street,” he scrambled for his phone, “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Y/N had not touched Rowan in a very long time. As far as she was concerned, she never needed to touch him again in her life, and she’d be at ease with that. But she reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could properly dial a number on his phone, “We are not getting an ambulance for this,” she told him, “They would be so annoyed. It’s probably just a sprain anyway, I honestly might not even need to go get it checked out.”

“Bullshit,” he shook his head, then clips Frankie back to her collar, and for once, tightens it a little around her neck, “I’m taking you to get it looked at. What if your bone splintered and stabbed into a blood vessel, and now you’re slowly bleeding out internally? Or if you need to be rushed into surgery and have pins placed?”

She blinked at him, “I highly doubt that–”

“Well, better safe than sorry,” Rowan slid his arm around her back to help her stand. It’s a good thing, even though Y/N would rather roll around in a lava pit than be this close with him, because as soon as she tried to bear any sort of weight on her ankle, pain shot up her leg. She squawked a humiliating sound before leaning against him for support, and he managed her easily, “S’fine, I got you, I got you. My car is just a little way away. Can Youngjae come to the hospital?”

Y/N flushed at the lie, but hopefully Rowan just thinks it’s from the pain, “Ah, no, he’s – he’s working. I don’t want to bother him.”

This is how she ended up here, in an ER bed with her foot elevated on a pillow and a sour expression on her face. Rowan had stayed the whole time, and had even had someone come pick Frankie up from where he left her, windows down in his car, for some reason – probably out of guilt. Especially when she called Niall so he could tag him out and help her home, but Niall all but screams like he was the one who got hurt, “Oh fuck! Your ankle? How did you do that? Shit, babe, I’m with my parents for dinner like an hour away! Hold on, let me call Adam.”

She never really got a follow-up on whether he was able to reach Adam or not. Y/N could only assume that he had, and hopefully Adam was on his way; that’d be ideal. Adam would dote on her a little, pout his mouth at her, click his tongue, and call her clumsy, and wouldn’t bring it up if she cried because it hurt, and she’s frustrated by the day. He’d probably cook her something too, because she’s hungry as hell, and even though she’s eating animal crackers so that she didn’t take the meds they gave her here on an empty tummy, her stomach grumbles, angry with being forgotten.

“You really don’t have to stay,” Y/N tried again, after Rowan’s third look at his watch, “If you have somewhere to be. I’ll survive.”

Rowan shook his head, “No, it's okay. I’m actually getting out of lunch with my future in-laws right now, so this isn’t a horrible alternative,” he shrugged, but he looked off to the left after saying it – maybe he’s changed since they were together, but that had always been a tell that he was lying. Especially when he made such intense eye contact otherwise. His gaze does flicker back to her when he says the last bit, though, “Plus you’re scared of hospitals so. . .I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Y/N wouldn’t say she’s scared of hospitals, necessarily, but she definitely didn’t like them. Rowan always thought she was scared, though, and back then, she’d play it up a bit so he would dote on her a little more. She’s surprised he even remembered that, though, but she guesses she shouldn’t be. For as much as she likes to villainize him and their entire relationship, there had been parts of him that were sweet. Parts of him that convinced her that he loved her, that their feelings were deeply rooted, that everyone had flaws, and you just had to learn to love every aspect of them. . .even the parts that made you feel shitty.

It was nice. . unwanted, but nice of him to stay with her for that reason. To even probably lie about avoiding an in-law lunch, so it didn’t seem like he was being too sweet. Because the Rowan that she knew had never been so loud about how he cares for her, in stark contrast with how loud he is about Remi. Love languages mold into something different for different people, though, Y/N had always assumed.

The door to their room is clear glass, so Y/N should have been able to see who was coming into her room, but instead, she was staring up at the ceiling and feeling the achy throb of her ankle, pulsing, radiating to her calf, a little bit of her heel. She’d imagined it was just the doctor, finally there to tell her the results of her X-ray, but instead, when she looked down, she saw Harry. His gaze dances across her, down to her ankle, then darts to the side for a moment to Rowan with a confused furrow in his brow.

“Harry?” Y/N sat up a little more, startled, but he raised his hand to encourage her to lean back. Rowan stared at him agape, starstruck, “What are you – what are you doing here?”

“I was with Adam when Niall called,” he replied, and his tone is cool. . .almost too cool. It's not his typical impassiveness, but something like he was trying to keep it steady. Y/N feels pinned beneath his sharp gaze, “Adam wants to come in too, but they said only two at the bedside.”

This seems to yank Rowan out of whatever spell he’d been put under, “Oh! Yeah, yes, right, well – well, since you’ve got someone. . .someone(s), then I’ll head out,” he looked like he’s close to bowing to Harry, “I, um – it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Styles. Take care of her!”

For all that he acts like he would ask Harry himself if he could have his wedding reception in his restaurant, he sure does scurry out quickly. Harry is more intimidating than some people seem to think at first. The way he carries himself is like a kingpin in the mafia or something. An air around him suggested that he shouldn’t be tried or messed with, no matter how big or small the problem.

He waits until Rowan is out of the room before he huffs at her, “Why didn’t you call me?”

Y/N tilts her head, “Huh?”

“You called Niall,” he reminded her, like she might have forgotten, “Then gave up and let him call Adam after that. You should have called me.”

“I didn’t even —“ she readjusts, her hips resting against the pillow, taking some weight off her sore, bruised side, with, “I just assumed you were busy?”

Harry peers at her, still frowning, as he steps closer to the bed and observes her foot. It’s wrapped for now, though her foot still looks a bit swollen, and his fingers are gentle when they caress the skin on top of it. Harry only ever touches her gently after they’ve had sex, so she was unused to it, even if it was just her foot. His eyes drag up the rest of her body, the scrapes on her legs from rock and pebble, a little scratch on her forehead that she hadn’t noticed until blood had dripped over her eyebrow, in front of her eye. Harry skates his fingers up her leg, along her thigh, over her arms, and then dragging his thumb just barely beneath the cut, now covered in a little bandage, smothered in antibiotic ointment.

“Clumsy little thing,” his murmur is low, “What did they say about it? Your ankle?”

“Ah, they-they didn’t say anything yet,” it’s hard to focus when he’s being so careful with her, his touch feels good, she wants to melt, and the look in his eyes kind of makes her want to cry for some reason, “Think it’s just a sprain, but they don’t know what grade. The doctor hasn’t come in to read the X-ray yet.”

Harry hums low, his fingers carding through her hair, “Poor baby,” he dragged the chair Rowan had been sitting in over, closer to her bed, and plopping down, “Are you cold? You’re covered in goosebumps.”

The goosebumps were definitely from him touching, but she nodded anyway, “Yeah, s’always cold in hospitals, right?.”

Despite having just sat down, he stood right back up, and before Y/N could question him, he was back out the door. He must have passed Adam, who peeks in, worry wrought on his face, “God, you get in more trouble than any person I know. Tripped chasing a dog?”

“My ex’s dog.”

“You’re ex’s dog? Oh my god –”

As if he knew the chair closest to her was meant for Harry, Adam sat in the rolling chair that was definitely meant for the physician, and scooted closer to her foot, “Christ, it looks swollen. You know the RICE method?”

Harry appears again, the sliding glass door opening, then slipping shut. In his arms is a blanket, and when he gets closer to the bed, he shoves Adam over by pressing the bottom of his foot and rolling him away from the bed. He fans the blanket out over her, and it’s warm. Y/N shivers as the heat seeps into her skin.

“I think I can still come to work tomorrow for –”

“You aren’t,” Harry cut her off instantly, “Shut up.”

Y/N’s brows raised, “Oh - I mean like even if it was just for a half day I could –”

“Babe, I know Harry runs a tight ship, but you are not about to work on that ankle.”

Harry tucked the blanket around her legs, leaving the swollen one out. “You’ll have the week, and then we’ll check back in. You’ll take as much time as it takes to heal,” he sat back down, leaning back into his chair, “If your strength gives out and you take out a platter, I’ll have Adam mentor you instead.”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”

The doctor comes in around 20 minutes later and explains it's just a grade 1 tear, but it was on the side closer to a grade 2. There were a ton of printouts, she said the nurse would go through with them, and she’d prescribe her pain medicine for the next couple of days until the worst of it’s over, and she’d have to wear a boot for about a week. It wasn’t necessarily needed for a grade 1, but since it was so close to a 2, she wanted to work on the side of caution.

“It’d be ideal to have someone with you at least for tonight. As far as driving, I wouldn’t do it for a little while – the repetitive motion of hitting the pedals could worsen the injury. Plus, you shouldn’t be driving with the medicines I’m prescribing. Does all of this sound okay?”

Honestly, Y/N’s stressed the whole time. Both through the physician and nurse talking to her, her signing her discharge papers, and the initial shot of pain that shoots up her calf when she tries to bear any amount of weight on her now booted ankle. She’s thankful that both Adam and Harry are there, because while Harry busies himself with gathering her belongings and speaking to her nurse, Adam catches her when she instantly wobbles on her feet. She leans up against him, most of her weight, and she forgets how sturdy and solid a presence he is. Briefly, she remembers that he and Niall had sex, and her eyes go wide, which he perceives as her being in more pain.

“Do you need to sit back down?”

“Oh, haha, no, I’m okay,” her face feels hot, “I just – um, was startled. I’m good.”

The drive home is okay – Y/N is a little worried about how she’ll maneuver at first, especially with Hazelnut trying to twirl and twist between her ankles. The doctor had said it’d be beneficial to have someone with her for the night, but she worried about being a burden on anyone. Niall was busy, and if she was honest, he wasn’t the best caretaker in the world. Adam would do it, but tonight is his off night too, and they weren’t particularly close enough for her to have him shack up in her flat for the night. Plus, in the case of both of them, she doesn’t have an adequate PC set-up for them to play League, and she’s pretty sure that campaign is still going on, or whatever.

Her best case scenario would be if Harry stayed with her, but. . .well, she doesn’t know. If Harry isn’t showing her how to make a dish, then they’re doing something filthy, and there is no in between. To ask him to take time out of his busy schedule for what? Watch her grimace in pain and then sleep off a pain pill? What does he get out of that? She’s too tired to do anything tonight, too, so it isn’t like she could offer something worthwhile to him. Nothing annoys Harry more than pointless wastes of time and. . .what else is this but a waste of time? Taking care of someone who chased after her ex’s dog? Tripped? It was like instant karma for lying about dating Youngjae. . .Niall was going to eat that up.

They drop Adam off because he lives closest to where they were. When Y/N inquired what they’d been doing before they came to get her, they brushed it off, murmuring something about a potential deal with another restaurant bigwig, and Y/N instantly felt horrific. She pressed her hands into her face, “Guys, what? You should have just let me stay there!”

Adam leaned forward between the driver and passenger seat, “Babe, seriously, we’re more of an asset to them than they are to us. They were happy to reschedule!” He squeezed her shoulder, “Not that Harry gave them much of a chance. He –”

“Enough, Adam,” Harry cut him off from his side, and once they slowed to a stoplight, he turned to face her. “Don’t be stupid. Why wouldn’t we come to get you?”

Y/N frowned, “Because I’m just a trainee, and you seriously do not have to worry about me like that! I – never stop what you’re doing to come get me, when you showed up, I just figured you guys had been eating or something!”

With brows furrowing deeper, Harry looks. . .like, actually pissed. He hasn’t made a face at her like this in a very long time – she thinks the last time she’d seen this particular, displeased glare had been when he thought it was her hair in that man’s dish. Otherwise, she thinks he’s made a conscious effort not to look at her like this.

“Seriously, if you keep saying dumb shit like this I’ll think you knocked something loose in your head,” he answered, “You think a stupid ass deal with old fuckers who stare at Adam and I with thoughts of money dripping from their ears, is more important than you needing help? Your sense of self-worth is concerning,” Y/N blinked at him, but his gaze shifted back to the road when the light turned green.

Adam cleared his throat, “What Harry is trying and failing to say in a non-volatile way is that you’re important to us! You’re not just a trainee, you’re our friend.” They turned into his flat building’s parking lot, “We care about you, so never hesitate to contact us if you need help. Not me, and especially not Harry.”

Y/N is a little stressed when Adam hops out of the car, telling her to message him if she needs anything. Harry seems like he’s seething beside her, and she really isn’t sure why. Had she known the reaction would have been visceral, then she would have phrased it a little differently. At least to get her point across without sounding like she was being self-deprecating. That hadn’t been her intent!

Her skin feels tight from the blast of the air conditioner, goosebumps pop up all along her skin. She isn’t sure if she should break the silence or if she should just let him stew. Harry has seemed on edge since he showed up at the hospital. Had it been because he saw Rowan? Was this another fit? No. . .no, Y/N doesn’t believe that. She tries to dig into her brain to think like Niall when he’s deluded and having real, actual, well-formed analyses of people.

He wasn’t even rude or angry when Youngjae practically asked to dry hump you in front of his very eyes, so why would he give a shit about Rowan? The ex you hate.

He’d say something like that, she thinks. And it’s true – even when he was irritated about Youngjae, he still asked her what she’d learned that day, if it’d been a lot, if she’d had fun. Harry’s unlike the men that have been in her life in the past; he’s an adult, sure in himself, confident without being shitty, incredibly capable and a good sense of self. Honestly, Y/N feels like her own self-realization pales in comparison by leaps and bounds. Harry is someone who knows exactly who he is, what he’s worth, and even if he does get jealous, he doesn’t take it out on her.

The mood is soured and tense between them. Y/N thinks Harry is just too hard to figure out sometimes. She wishes she could crawl into his brain and sift through the files so she’d understand without having to ask.

“I’m sorry?” She tried, wiggling in the passenger side, biting on her bottom lip at the twinge she felt beneath her boot, “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to make you angry with me.”

Harry glances at her momentarily, and Y/N swallows thickly. He slips his hand off his thigh, where it had been resting, and instead, places it on her thigh. His hand is warm, his palm is soft, even as he dips his fingers into the flesh of her thigh, just below where her shorts end. It’s a reassuring squeeze he gives her, at least it feels that way, and almost imperceptibly, the pad of his thumb strokes against her skin. Y/N’s kind of embarrassed because she skimped on shaving her thighs that well since the hair is thinner, so he’s definitely feeling that, but she’s more hyper fixated on the fact that he’s doing this than that at the moment.

“What are you apologizing for, hm?” His tone of voice had shifted, something softer, dipped in clouds of honey. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he shook his head to himself, “When Niall called, he hadn’t specified what injury you had, he just said that you were at the hospital at first, and I’ve just. . been tense, since then, is all. Even once Adam clarified, it was just a lot, yeah? I was worried about you,” he squeezed her thigh again, “I am allowed to feel that way, aren’t I? Whether you think you’re just a trainee or not, you’re someone close to me.”

Y/N’s insides feel melty soft. “Really?” She can’t help from asking, though she knows it’s redundant, and adds nothing more, it spills from her mouth before she can stop. Y/N stares at the side of his face, the curve of his nose, his lips wet from his tongue, a pink coloring slipping from his cheek to his ear.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, “I know I’m not the best at showing it, and that puts a lot of people off besides Adam, maybe. But you are my friend – I care about you very much.”

Part of her thinks she should be focused on how she’d been relegated to friend, but she’s sort of swimming in his admission of caring about her instead. Y/N hadn’t expected to even be considered his friend, so this was. . this wasn’t bad. It should feel bad, but it doesn’t. And how could it feel bad when his fingers are this soft on her thigh?

The rest of the drive isn’t bad. Y/N does chance slipping her hand over his, where it rests on his thigh, and he lifts a couple of his fingers for her to curl around them. It was nice, and made her heart flutter, all the way to the grocery store where he pulled into a parking space close to the front. Apparently, he had clarified with the nurse where her pharmacy was when Adam was helping her stand. He promises to be quick, and he’s true to his word. Though Y/N had only expected him to return with a little white paper bag with a pamphlet stapled to it, he came out with a cart full of bags.

She twists around and cranes her neck to face him when he opens the door, “What is all of this? Did you need to shop for home groceries?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

So, Y/N doesn’t. She guesses it would make sense for him to just get that out of the way while he was already out and at a grocery store. The drive to her flat is pretty close from here, so it’s only five more minutes – they don’t hold hands again, but they had for long enough that Y/N was going to be delusional about it for at least a fortnight.

Harry has her lean against him while they walk up to her flat. He wraps one arm around her body, ducking underneath her armpit while she hobbles her way through the doors, toward the elevator. Harry has her stay like this with him at her flat, all the way to her sofa, where he sets her down gently. Hazelnut had toddled after them, and he picked her up from beneath the coffee table, plopping her down on the cushion beside Y/N, “Watch her,” he ordered Hazelnut, “Don’t let her stand. I’ll be right back.”

Y/N tilted her head, “Oh? Did I forget something in the car?”

He stared at her for a moment, then sighed a little, “Are you purposefully a little dense sometimes?”

“Huh?”

“I overheard Niall say you were once, but it was when you were talking about your omegaverse thing, so I only partially listened,” he sighed again, “I’m going to go get the groceries that I bought, so that I can make you the meal I planned on. Then you’ll take one of the pain meds and go to bed, yeah?”

“Oh, you don’t have to cook me –”

“I know what I do and don’t have to do,” Harry cuts her off, “Now, I’ll be back.”

. . .

Harry is diligent in her kitchen.

To be sitting on her sofa and watching Harry Styles move around her kitchen is such an insane experience, she can barely comprehend it. She messaged Niall about it, who sent a ton of obnoxiously horny looking emojis. Y/N didn’t know what he was cooking until it was presented in front of her: potato curry. It’s one of her favorites – how Harry knew that, she didn’t know, but what she did know was that it was delicious. Everything Harry prepares is delicious, but it’s extra tasty when he’s made it with her in mind.

Y/N eats two bowls of it to start, and in between the first and second, Harry gives her the pain medicine with a cup of water. He encouraged her to drink half the cup, leaving two of his fingers on the bottom of the glass as she tilted it up to her mouth, until he pulled them away when he’d deemed she had enough. He had propped her foot up on two pillows and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders with a gentle, “Your flat is always too cold,” before he finally sat down beside her.

“Aren’t you going to eat some?” She’d inquired, and Harry hummed.

“In a little,” he replied, “What do you want to watch? Aren’t you finishing a cult documentary?”

Y/N tilted her head again, and – once more – not fighting the puppy allegations at all, “Yeah? When did I tell you about that?”

“When we slept with each other last,” he told her, “You were in subspace – sometimes you ramble.”

Embarrassment flushes through her, but Harry isn’t paying attention, clicking onto Netflix and finding the documentary by name, proving he really did listen to her useless, subspace-riddled rambles. She just hopes she doesn’t say anything too humiliating, since it seems like she doesn’t always remember what she’s said. What else had she said to him? Oh god. . .did she like – what if she brought up something stupid? Like the omegaverse? Only Niall would think half of the shit she says about that is funny!

Eventually, her embarrassment gives way to exhaustion. Her bones feel heavy, her muscles achy, like they had also just realized that she took off into a sprint and then tumbled when she really hasn’t run since. . .well, since maybe the last time Frankie had zoomed off. As she has that realization, though, she also thinks about how Harry hadn’t asked her what happened. Had simply shown up, called her clumsy, then immediately started taking care of her.

“You aren’t g’na ask?” She murmured, the meds tickling at the outside of her brain.

Harry’s attention pulls from the telly, “I mean, I think I can piece together why they kicked her out of the cult without watching the first part.”

“No, what –” she laughed a little, not even thinking he’d been paying much attention, “I mean about what happened? Like, how I hurt my ankle?”

“Oh,” he shifted, scooting back further on the sofa with a shrug, only bothering Hazelnut enough for her to peek an eye open then slip it back shut, “I figured you were embarrassed and didn’t want to talk about it.”

Y/N scratched at her thigh, remembering the feel of his hand there, kind of wishing he’d put it back. He was giving her an out, not to expose herself, but she felt the need to anyway. Curling her toes on the foot not booted, she shoves her foot into the dip between cushions, “My ex – that was who was in the room with me before you guys got there. He like. . .caught me off guard while I was out,” she explained, “His dog, Frankie, slipped out of her collar and ran off – she was headed like right toward the street and he can’t run on pavement without these special shoes or whatever so I ran to go get her. I used to do it a lot so. . .I dunno. I lost my footing this time, though, and wiped out, and – yeah.”

Harry stared at her quietly, like he was giving her a chance to add more, but when she didn’t, he rested his hand on her non-injured ankle, wrapping his cool fingers around it delicately, “You’re too kind of a person,” he murmured, “You’re very sweet and loving, and way too nice.”

He squeezed her again, then turned back to the telly. There was no calling her an idiot, no questioning why she would do something so dumb, why she even got caught up talking to her ex to begin with, for the second time in only a few short weeks. None of that. Just something sweet, actually – something that made her insides feel so soft, she thinks her organs might be replaced with clouds. Or maybe the meds were just really kicking in.

Harry doesn’t remove his hand from her. Y/N falls asleep on her sofa.

. . .

There are a lot of things that Y/N has rambled on about when she’s in subspace.

Harry finds it cute. He’s always found subspace kind of cute, if he’s honest; the thought that he’d made someone so comfortable, and so content – so mindless and overwhelmed with pleasure that they just float off into such a nice spot – has been something he liked. Strives for even. But he would have to admit that Y/N might be the cutest.

He isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s how easy she melts into him. How she’ll cum, shiver through her orgasm then immediately go boneless. Easy to maneuver, where he can coax her into his body without her overthinking, or worrying, or questioning every second of every interaction, like he can see her do behind her eyes when they’re together. Actually, there’s usually not a thought behind her eyes when she’s like that – just sweet, and soft, and it makes Harry feel fond. He likes taking care of her like that, even if it means she might ramble for thirty minutes, in and out, getting quiet every five or so minutes so he thinks she’s fallen asleep, only to start right back up.

She tells him a lot of things when she’s like that. She had potato curry at this place twice two years ago, and she’d loved it, but they relocated a town over, so she wasn’t able to get it as often, even though it was one of her favorite meals. Niall once told her she would probably be good at taking a knot in the omegaverse, but not as good as him, and it offended her, but she also sort of understood. Hazelnut used to steal her underwear and hide them underneath the sofa, but Y/N, honest to god, thought someone was coming into her flat and stealing them. She has more than 20 candles stored somewhere in her room because if Niall found out how many she had, he wouldn’t keep telling her when the sales were and going to the store with her. She hoped Harry saw her as someone he was friends with.

. . . The last one had made his heart ache a little.

He isn’t sure why. Maybe a couple of reasons, the first being that this was such a tenderhearted and unassuming want. How she had phrased it to him, with her mouth halfway mushed against his chest, was soft and careful. “I like – think that our dynamic is like, good right? It’s good, but sometimes I worry that we’re only ever mentor and mentee, like I want to be friends. Are we friends? I think I’d like to be considered your friend, one day, if that’s allowed.”

Had Harry not made it obvious that he considered her a friend? He guesses not. He guessed that most of their dynamic outside of the sexual stuff had been overshadowed by that aspect, so he could understand why she didn’t think so. But Harry had fun when he was with her, even when they weren’t sleeping with each other. She was fun to tease; it was fun to hear her talk, theorize, complain, and whine. Harry would come up with more excuses to see her if he could, but he worried about coming off a little desperate and needy. Part of him thought that maybe she didn’t want to see him outside of the sex. He sees her every day, for the most part, for hours at a time, and he’s her boss, technically. Not a lot of people want to be friends with their boss.

Then part of him was wondering if he should be concerned that he was relegated to a friend right off the bat. Not that he minded – he isn’t sure where he had expected this thing between them to go, but he didn’t have his heart set on any which way it went. Harry’s thinly veiled obsession with her had only been proliferating by the week, the day, the hour, the minute, the very second – and it had only been more ridiculous after she was with Youngjae. After he’d littered her neck with marks and spots, down her body, biting into her thighs like she was his to claim. Harry was possessive, he couldn’t help it. And again, with Youngjae, he could barely stand that – a man with twinkles in his eyes, and dimples that she has a thing for, who came to save her from her evil ex, then took her to his restaurant and taught her Korean cuisine to expand her repertoire. Then there was Harry, her grumpy mentor, whom it took her over a year to even feel remotely comfortable asking him questions, whom she at one point would rather pass out in front of than tell him she hadn’t eaten.

So like. . .Harry’s a little possessive. Because if she was going to fuck a chef, then he thinks it should be him, and not Youngjae, who has big brown eyes and even has Harry swooning sometimes, annoyingly enough. Like when he sent Harry a message telling him how amazing Y/N was, how he’s very impressed by her, and in turn, impressed by Harry’s ability to create a chef somehow in his image without taking away from her being her own person. How this filled Harry with pride, because he obviously wanted people to respect her as a chef and be impressed by her, but also immense displeasure because. . .well, did Youngjae have a crush on her too? Or was this just pure infatuation with her ability to learn and duplicate? Harry didn’t know, and it stressed him out, a little, more than he’d like to admit.

Still, disregarding all of that, Harry thinks it’s a shame that Y/N didn’t think they were friends before. It’s why he’d made a point to say it today, even though sometimes it felt like maybe his feelings were a little more than something platonic, and even more than something only sexual. Harry is unsure of most of them; they’re a confusing webbed mess that he has tried crawling through, but he lacks the setae spiders have on their legs to keep from getting stuck. So he usually packs it away for later, instead just enjoying the time that they spend together, no matter what they’re doing. Whether he’s calling her puppy and making a space for himself inside of her, or she’s falling asleep beside him on the sofa, with a sprained ankle from chasing her ex’s dog at the park. Every moment he appreciates.

Harry hates that she doesn’t think of herself as someone important to him. Enough that he could break himself from his typically emotionally constipated stupor to tell her that she was. The response he’d had to her being in the hospital had been something a little too dramatic for just a sprain, the fact that she hadn’t called him because she didn’t want to bother him, and the thought that she didn’t assume he’d be staying with her the first night while she healed. Clearly, he wasn’t doing a good enough job at showing her that she was someone he cared for, so he vowed to try a little harder. To be better for her.

And that. . those feelings probably weren’t platonic either, but again – he’s no spider. That’s something to dig through later.

For now, Harry switches positions on the sofa. Carefully lifts her head from where she’d slumped against the cushion, places a pillow in his lap, and then rests her head atop it. He cards his fingers through her hair, traces around her hairline, and traces imaginary lines along her ear. Y/N shivers in her sleep, then melts deeper, and Harry thinks it’s cute.

She really is like a puppy – he thinks her tail would be wagging if she had one.

. . .

Y/N knows she’s being unreasonable.

She’s only out for a week because of her ankle, and by the end of the week, she feels pretty good. Well enough that she knew she could return to work without it being an issue, so she was excited. Not only because she missed cooking, but because she was starting to feel bad, Harry kept going out of his way to come check on her periodically. He’d call her around lunch, he’d pop in after the dinner rush to bring her food, then head back; she’d get a message to take her medicine when it was time and to practice the stretches the nurse had told them about.

Don’t get her wrong, she loved a little extra attention from him, but she did feel like a burden, which was not great. Niall was stopping by too, but that’s because he needed his Hazelnut fix, and he did so under the guise of coming to check on her healing ankle. Then he’d take pictures of him with her foot and send them to Adam, who in turn would send a thumbs up and a heart eye emoji (an odd response but somehow makes perfect sense coming from him). When she told him everything that Harry was doing, Niall could barely contain himself.

“I’m always right,” he shook his head, “God, he likes you so much it’s almost embarrassing. This is good though, there’s been this lady all over his shit lately.”

Y/N’s ears had perked at that, head tilted, “Elaborate.”

Niall leaned back against the sofa where he sat on the floor, Hazelnut curled up in his lap, “Well, Adam said she’s an old chef friend from, like – maybe it was college? She’s come by every. single. day. which like I don’t mind her, but she’s all over your man, it’s making me mad.” He waved his hand around, “Like she’s clearly flirting and it’s bugging me.”

Y/N thinks her eye twitched, “Ah,” she gave a curt nod, “That’s – I hate that.”

“I knew you would,” Niall told her, “So did Adam, he said she’s been trying to get back with Harry ever since they fucked the first time,” Y/N’s mouth fell open, “I know, I was also shocked! Then I was mad at Harry for ever looking at a woman before you and I realized I was getting a little crazy, so I went on break and had some crackers and sent you all those memes,” he shook his head, “Still, I’m glad you don’t have to see it. If it makes you feel any better, Harry doesn’t play into it at all! He actually looks pissed off.”

That did make Y/N feel better. She knew she had really no reason to be upset that someone was flirting with him. Now that Y/N thinks about it, Harry probably has people flirting with him all of the time, she just isn’t around to see it. Harry is hot; he’s a confident, clearly wealthy man who just comes off like he knows what he wants and how he wants it, and that’s attractive to people. She saw the eyes he would get when they all went out. He was just so aloof and impassive that he didn’t typically play into it, even if they were paying customers; she’d heard stories of him snatching his hand out from people feeling touchy-feely with him.

For some reason, the fact that he’d slept with her before just wasn’t sitting right with her, but whatever. Y/N was jealous, she would admit that – and she wasn’t above being jealous either. She’s only human, a woman with feelings that are a little too big (and only growing) for her boss. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to have, in this case.

Perhaps her crash-out following it was not the most normal.

But let her explain! When she went back to work she’d been so excited, and Harry seemed delighted to see her even though it was the ass crack of dawn and it was a truck unloading day. Even though he refused her help carrying any of the boxes into the storage room, he encouraged and listened to her rambling, even if it was just to fill up the empty air. Usually Harry prefers silence, but part of her likes to think that maybe he’d missed her in her week away from work, even though he still saw her. It might have been weird not having a shadow beside him all day, who progressively has gotten more and more talkative as their dynamic progressed.

Everything was fine and normal, people welcomed her back, a lot of people were checking in with her to make sure she wasn’t doing too much, and Adam was looming in a sort of scary mama bear way that she was trying her best to ignore. Harry was pretty good about leaving her be, but she could still tell he was watching her from the corner of his eye. Making sure she was okay, that she wasn’t overworking herself, or putting too much pressure or force on it.

Y/N had forgotten all about this random college friend that had sprouted up, until a woman she’d never seen before all of a sudden appeared, and with one brief moment of eye contact with Niall, she knew exactly who it was. Even without the locked gazes, she thinks she would have known, though, because she was instantly at Harry’s side. Speaking softly and sweet, laughing at what he said a little too loudly, muttering inside jokes that only she, Harry, and Adam would understand. Harry introduced Y/N to her briefly, and Y/N instantly felt like she was being sized up.

“I’m Maren,” she didn’t hold out her hand, and her smile seemed a little fake, but Y/N thinks that maybe she just already didn’t like her, so she was making things up in her head. “What school did you go to?” And when Y/N muttered to her, her measly school, a random one that everyone was confused Harry had even gone to to begin with, she chuckles and says, “Cute.”

Cute?

“Oh, fuck her,” Niall said over lunch, mouth seconds from a croissant, “What a dickhead.”

The first couple of days, it was just obnoxious, but it seemed like the more time passed, the more Maren became familiar with Y/N and Harry’s relatively close dynamic in the kitchen, the more she inserted herself. Y/N still isn’t even fucking sure why she’s there! She didn’t cook that much, she mostly spent her time looping between Adam and Harry and pissing Y/N off with every comment and breath she made. Again, Y/N knew most of her response to Maren was a deep-rooted jealousy, but she couldn’t help it! She’s human, she might remind everyone once more. And she’d started touching him too, laying her hand on his shoulder, squeezing his elbow, one time she pushed one of Harry’s hairs from his face when Y/N had been the only one in the hallway to see it.

The flirting isn’t the worst of it, though. The worst of it is that Harry isn’t doing anything to stop it.

Not that he has to – it isn’t like they were in a relationship, but like. . .what the fuck! He never plays into anyone's flirting ever, yet Maren, whom he’s slept with before, it’s just fine? It’s sort of driving her crazy! Plus the fact that he never brings it up to her, never explains the situation, and Y/N for sure was not going to be inquiring about it. She’s already worried about seeming like a crazy ex enough that she’s relatively nice to Rowan, so there was no way in hell she was going to coin the title of ‘crazy FWB’.

Maren doesn’t talk to Y/N much, and when she does, it seems like it’s only to make her feel small in comparison. At the very least, Harry doesn’t hear these conversations – she makes good to have them when he’s out of sight, out of mind. Like when Y/N was sauteing vegetables, something she could do in her sleep, when she’d appeared at her side out of nowhere, “Hm,” she clicked her tongue, then reached out with a fork, stabbing into a piece of asparagus, “It’s hard to cut these in even ratios. Have Harry show you the proper math for it.”

The proper math? Who gives a flying fuck! Someone is going to put this in their mouth, and they’re going to eat it, and it’s going to be delicious whether it’s 1/8th of the stalk or 1/6th. Also, Y/N wasn’t even the one to cut the damn asparagus, Niall did, and she did not tolerate any sort of talk against her delusional partner in crime. But Y/N knew that she had to bite her tongue. This was Harry’s friend, someone – and she grits her teeth when she thinks about it – close to him. Close enough to have seen him in a way that Y/N has. It was either cordial or crazy, and she didn’t want to choose the latter.

So what if Harry hasn’t been as doting with her as he had been last week? Her ankle was healed, and there was no reason for it. So what if it had been a stupid amount of time since she’s had his fingers in her mouth? She wasn’t a succubus, she could survive without sex for a little while. So what if every smile seems sweet and a little sad for her, like he thought she was pitiful? Maybe she was.

What really does it though?

Adam asks Y/N to fetch more pepper from the storage room. There are very few tasks Adam will give her out of sheer worry and mother henning alone, so she knew if he was requesting something of her, it was necessary, and he couldn’t leave his spot. Y/N didn’t know what he was preparing, but it looked serious and so she scurried out of the kitchen to go get it. Her ankle was a little sore today, but nothing horrible – they’d just been relatively busy this week, and Y/N spent a lot of her time trying to avoid Maren at all costs, so she was constantly on the move. It wasn’t something she couldn’t bear.

When she stepped into the storage room, she wished she had told Adam to have someone else do it.

Because Maren and Harry are close – closer than you should be in a storage room. Their heads whip to the door, but Y/N darts her gaze before she can make out either of their faces, or if Maren’s lipstick was smudged, or if Harry had a poorly concealed hickey at the collar of his shirt, “Sorry for interrupting,” she murmured, ducking to the left to grab the pepper, and then run out of there. Something twists in her gut, jealousy crawls at the back of her eyelids, wraps its fingers around her lacrimal glands, and squeezes. How fucked up of them to do it in her official crying spot? She didn’t even have anywhere to go to crash out in peace.

Niall knew something was up immediately, but he knew not to hound her for information yet. Their day was almost done anyway, only a couple of hours left to go – Y/N could bite her tongue and bear through it, just how she does the gnawing in her ankle that says she needs to rest it for a while when she gets home. She’s so irritated that she kind of wants to scream, because what the fuck? And she’s irritated that she’s irritated, because she really shouldn’t be but. . .well, she can’t fucking help it!

Y/N likes him – that’s obvious. Maybe she’d jumped through convoluted loops to convince herself that what she felt was just admiration for her boss, and her heart raced because she was scared of him – both true – but now? After weeks of being around him, sleeping with him, finding out that there’s a sweet, tender, ooey-gooey spot of him that not many people were privy to, but he showed her? How was she going to not like him in a way that’s more than friends with benefits? Y/N had never been suited for no-strings-attached. She’s far too delusional and sensitive to even be remotely a good candidate for it.

So this feels like a slap in the face when it shouldn’t. She’s clenching her jaw tightly when she shouldn’t be. And she’s in a shit mood, when she shouldn’t be.

“Y/N,” Harry’s voice startled her when she was in the break room, gathering her purse. “Can I have a word with you?”

She didn’t even look at him when she replied.

“I’m actually pretty busy tonight, so it’ll have to wait. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Y/N all but runs out of there, and she probably looks stupid because she’s limping, but she needed to get out of there. Needed to be somewhere safe where she could tear up and not feel like an idiot. Needed to press her face into a pillow and scream for hours. Niall calls her when she gets home, and she almost doesn’t answer, because she doesn’t want him to hear her all torn up over it, but she does anyway. If she didn’t answer, then he would just show up at her doorstep in a little while. When she explains to him what she saw, he gasps so loudly that Y/N realizes it wasn’t just him to gasp – there were two gasps.

“Wait, Adam’s hear baby, let me put you on speaker,” she hears him click it over, the sounds of the air around them suddenly becoming louder, “What a dickhole!”

“Wait, I think –” Adam tries to start, but Niall cuts him off immediately.

“Listen, I know he’s your friend, but how is he going to clearly be obsessed with Y/N then kiss another fucking woman in the supply closet!”

Y/N cleared her throat, “I mean, I don’t – like I don’t know if they were kissing, it just seemed like that. He wanted to talk to me after work, but I told him I was busy.”

“Good, make him suffer,” Niall agrees, which gives Y/N some pause, because sometimes, if Niall’s agreeing with her, then she knows what she did is a little wild. “Send him a video of you blowing someone else. You can use my prick as a stand-in.”

Adam squawks a sound, “You’re filthy! Shut up Ni, you aren’t helping the situation,” there’s a struggle for the phone, Niall making an affronted sound, and then Adam’s voice getting clearer, “This isn’t me defending him baby,” she knows she must really sound pitiful if both Adam and Niall are dropping the pet name, “But Maren isn’t just like – a buddy from college. She is, sure, but she and her family work closely with Harry’s grandfather. There’s a lot tied up in their company, so Harry has to play nice with her a little, which might be why she’s getting away with the flirting. But I’M NOT saying that he’s going about this the right way with you! He definitely should have warned you.”

“It’s not – I mean, he didn’t need to warn me or anything,” Y/N explained, sighing, “I’m more upset with myself being upset than I am with him. He’s allowed to do what he wants. He only just told me he sees me as a friend, so it’s not like I thought we were together or something, but I’m still a little jealous, is all.”

“Rightfully so!” Niall calls from the background.

“I get it, I do, but can I just say one more thing? I’ve known Harry for a very, very long time, and there’s a way he treats his friends. Honestly, the way he treats them, you’d sometimes wonder why people even stay friends with him, he’s a little bit of a dick,” Adam explains, “But how he treats you? That’s beyond just a friendship, I’d reckon. Take that as you will.”

There’s another small struggle, and Y/N hears Niall puff a breath onto the phone, “Do you want me to come over, or do you want to be alone?”

Y/N swallows hard, “I think alone for now,” she tells him, “My ankle kind of hurts, so I’m going to take a paracetamol and go to bed.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything,” then, when he lowers his voice, “I’m serious about the dick thing though, if you want to make him jealous.”

It does make Y/N laugh, despite herself, and it’s a little watery, but she hopes Niall doesn’t hear that.

Y/N does exactly what she said for the night. She takes a pain med, she showers, she props up her ankle, and ices it, then eats a sad cup of ramen. Harry messages her, but she ignores it – she just needs to stew for a little while, because she’s embarrassed. If what Adam was saying was true, then she looked like she was overreacting big time, and part of her is worried that Harry’s messages were clarification on Y/N and Harry’s relationship. Like she’d swipe open his message thread, and there’d be a message like There is no you and me in the context that you believe there is. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring personal matters into work.

So she’s embarrassed when she goes to bed that night, and when she wakes up, she’s downright humiliated. There’s something much worse about the thought of facing Harry today and seeing Maren all smug in the kitchen. Plus, her ankle kind of still hurts, and when she asks Niall what she should do, he says, “Call off, baby, you deserve a day to yourself.”

She calls off (she tells Adam, who in turn, tells Harry), stays home with her foot propped and her face in a permanent pout. She knows Hazelnut is probably sick of her moping around, but she still nestles close in Y/N’s lap, whether that be her saving herself from the glacial temperatures or trying to be emotionally supportive, Y/N doesn’t know. But she enjoys the snuggles all the same.

It was a Sunday, so both Monday and Tuesday she’ll have off. Which means she could collect herself before they go back in on Wednesday. And hopefully face Harry with a brave face when he tells her that she’s acting unprofessionally or something.

Niall messages her after work and tells her that Maren didn’t show her face once, but it does little to make her happy.

She ignores all of Harry’s messages.

. . .

Tuesday evening, Y/N finally breaks.

She’d ignored all of his attempts to contact her, and while she was still sort of upset with the situation, she was still mostly just feeling stupid and embarrassed. Y/N wasn’t ignoring him to be a dick, she was ignoring him because she was scared as hell to face the consequences of her actions. What he might say, what he might have said, if he was telling her that she’d need to study under someone else, if he was scolding her for getting her heart tied up in it. Maybe Maren had taken his phone and in Niall style, sent a picture of them fucking or something to drive her crazy – she doesn’t know. Y/N just ignores it to avoid any of that.

But when Niall sends her a message that says Code alert 248, which means ‘pitiful man alert’, and a screenshot of Harry sending a message to Niall, asking if he’s heard from her at all.

Should I send the middle finger emoji?

Y/N finally goes to look at them then, because if he’s asking Niall, then maybe he was more concerned than angry with her. That was her hope, at least, when she’d set down her third cup of ramen noodles in three days on the coffee table and finally swiped to Harry’s message thread with her.

Her eyes widen.

Saturday, 4:52 PM

Y/N, I know what you think you saw, and I know how cliche this sounds, but this truly isn’t what it looks like

She’s a friend, sure, but I use that term loosely. More of a family friend than my own. We slept together once in the past, and she always wants to flirt.

I AM NOT FLIRTING BACK, but I can’t be as blunt and harsh as I want to with her. I can explain more in person if you’re willing to talk to me.

And are you okay? You were limping when you left.

Sunday, 6:00 AM

Good morning. I know you’re upset, but I just want to talk to you.

What you walked in on wasn’t anything, I can promise you that. Please trust me.

Is your ankle okay? Adam said it was sore, and that’s why you didn’t come in. Please, go to the doctor if you’re worried.

Sunday, 2:40 PM

I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you about all of this beforehand. I should have.

Adam told me how she was speaking to you when I wasn’t around. This morning, I told her she wasn’t invited back.

Okay, I know you want space, so I will leave you alone. Please contact me if/when you are ready to speak with me.

Monday, 9:22 PM

Please, talk to me, Sweetheart.

Y/N feels horrible. After reading his messages, she realized that had the roles been reversed for whatever reason, and Harry had completely removed all contact from her, she would be losing her mind. Harry’s story lined up with what Adam had told her, and she knew that Harry had zero reason to lie. If he wanted to be with Maren, then he would be, and he would do it without any concern for his little trainee, who's always clinging to him. But that wasn’t the case; he just wanted to explain himself, and he was worried about her ankle, and he told Maren she wasn’t welcome anymore after how she’d been treating Y/N.

This is so out of character for Harry, these messages, the desperation – she must really be stressing him out and Y/N doesn’t want that.

I’m sorry for ignoring you, Harry, I was embarrassed and like

I thought because you’d been sort of not messaging me as much this week that you may have been trying to like set a boundary or something, or like send a hint?? idk it seems stupid now

I just got in my head

And then i got really embarrassed bc i overreacted so. . .yeah. . .

And my ankle is okay, I think I just overdid it last week.

Y/N barely has to wait two minutes for him to reply.

Can I come over?

Y/N agrees. Maybe a little too quickly, but she’d figured they had both suffered enough, and she missed him horribly for some reason. Even if they’ve gone a couple of days without talking in the past, it feels different now, especially because she was ignoring him out of anger rather than just not messaging each other. Something twists in her chest hard how quickly he wanted to come over. While she feels bad for ignoring him, she does have to say she is glad to know they were both upset over it.

Niall always says it just takes a little bit of a cold shoulder to make a man desperate and yearning, and he really hadn’t been joking. Harry’s messages testify to it, same with the way he knocks on her door, urgently, where usually, it’s just a leisure tap of his knuckles. Y/N presses herself up from the sofa, Hazelnut already beating her to the door, rubbing up against the frame like she already knew who was outside. She feels nervous to see him, even though she’d read his messages, in her head the tangible, physical Harry is about to chew her out for being clingy and misinterpreting their dynamic together.

But when she opens the door, Harry immediately crowds her space.

Y/N squeaks when she steps back and Harry shuts the door behind her. His hands cradle her face, palm to each cheek, “Can I kiss you?” He inquires and Y/N is blinking fast, barely nods before his mouth is on hers. It’s a long press, followed by multiple pecks. Harry kisses her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her forehead – they’re sweet and short, needy, the kind of kisses you might press into your cats fur when you think they got out and were in the freezing ice storm instead of under your bed in a box where they were hiding (Hazelnut loves stressing her out, and then getting rapid fire kisses in return). Then, when he’s had his fill of pecking them all over, her kisses her mouth again. It’s full, and intense, and he’s holding her face so earnestly, that it takes her a second to catch up. For her brain and mouth to connect, for her lips to move against his.

He’s not turning it into anything dirty. Usually, Harry kisses and licks into her mouth in something filthy, but this wasn’t like that. This was something else entirely – something that made Y/N’s heart beat a billion times faster.

When Harry pulls away from her mouth, he doesn’t pull away far. His eyes are closed, he rubs their noses together, and she knows if she felt his ears they’d be warm; if she saw them, they would be bright red. Y/N wonders if this intense display of affection is a lot for him to show, for someone who doesn’t do things like this often. She wonders what’s going on in his head. Why is he acting like she’s his long lost lover that he finally found after years of no communication. Could she be delusional for a bit? Had this. . .maybe this had opened him up to some of his feelings. Maybe he’d realized something when they weren’t talking? Maybe Niall’s been right this whole time and Harry is so obsessed with her that she takes up his every waking moment?

“My boundary I set with you, is that I have no boundaries. All of them are eradicated,” he murmurs, and he’s so close she can feel his lips skim across her nose, as he tilts his chin up, pushes another kiss to the tip, “Never do that to me again. Please.”

This is so different. So new, from what she usually sees of Harry. It makes her giddy. It makes her want to melt into his body like a second skin. It makes her want to bite him out of sheer cuteness aggression alone.

It makes her feel like maybe. . .maybe Niall isn’t always delusional.

#I AM SCREAMMMMMINNNNGGGG #I LOVE THEM SOO MUCH #Harry styles fic rec #comfort list #fic rec

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harrysgoldenbum · 4 months ago

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harry was so right for sunflower vol 6. sometimes you just have to woooop. baw. boo boo boop. boo boo boop. boo boo boop. boo boo boop. boo boo boop. HEY. ooooooOP. OOooOp. du. du. du du du du du bu. literally so true

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harrysgoldenbum · 4 months ago

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#suck

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harrysgoldenbum · 5 months ago

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THIGHS THIGHS THIGHS THIGHS THIGHS THIGHS

#ugh #the tease #especially when the lion tat just peaks out

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harrysgoldenbum · 5 months ago

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I WILL NEVER GET OVER HOW GOOD HE LOOKS IN A SUIT

#ugh #on my knees #HE LOVES LOVE

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harrysgoldenbum · 5 months ago

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WAAAAAHHHHHH

The ending came WAY too quick 😭

I cannot wait for the next part! I just know I’m going to be on my knees

Niall groans when she rejects another idea, this one involving her biting her lip or something after saying some lust-filled, naughty pick-up line that would only work if she were too hot for anyone to care if she said something stupid. “You’re delusional, and not the fun kind,” Niall says it like an insult, rolling his eyes, “Anything you do or say will be hot, he’ll be drooling over himself trying to get at you. Honestly, what’s stopping you from just looking at him and saying you want to fuck?”

“Humility,” she replies quickly, “Shame. A general sense of insecurity that’s hovered over me since I hit puberty.”

“Well, fuck all of that,” he answers just as easy, “Tell him to come over and hang paintings for you or something. Or – wait! Wait, say that you want him to teach you how to make those custard tarts I had in Portugal last year. Adam had mentioned something about Harry knowing how.”

Harry is jealous, and Y/N is delusional (derogatory)

part 1

part 2

part 3

(19k+ words)

iv.

When Harry first met Y/N, he didn’t think much of her.

Not necessarily in a negative way; he’d been introduced to the class she was in, and nobody stuck out to him. There was no aura of greatness, none of them looked confident, and every single face staring back at him looked scared shitless, and unsettled. From the moment their chef instructor established why Harry was there, he had a feeling he would leave unimpressed, uninspired, and maybe slightly annoyed from the waste of time. He watched them all scramble around for a little while to plate their food, and glanced over most of them a couple of times, except this one woman on the far right, middle station, preparing a lobster dish. Harry had thought that was pretty ballsy, making seafood as the first impression, though they didn’t know it was him who was coming when their instructor said they had a visitor that day.

Then Harry carefully tried all the food. It wasn’t that anything was outright bad, just not spectacular. Nothing that made him want to go in for another bite, nothing that he wanted to chew thoroughly just to pick out the different ingredients they used. Almost robotically, he cut, chewed, swallowed, and went to the next. He doesn’t hum his approval, doesn’t grumble his disapproval, just continues on.

And then he gets to Y/N’s station. He didn’t know it was hers at the time. They were all sitting at the sides of the cooking stations, gawking at him as he tried their dishes, so at first, he had no clue who had chosen to make Shepherd's Pie as their first impression. Still, he sighed a little bit, cutting into it, ready to be slightly disappointed by a lack of flavor profile.

Then he bites into it.

Harry’s Nan, in her prime, used to make Shepherd's pie a lot, one she found in a cookbook from the '60s. She told him the recipe several times, cooked it with him, and even wrote down step-by-step how she prepared it, but from the moment he started finding interest in cooking, he could not make it quite like her. It never tasted bad, per se, just wrong – it was never as good, as flavorful, as warm as when she made it for him. Eventually, Harry had just accepted that it wasn't something that could be replicated. He’d come to terms with the fact that half of what he was tasting was nostalgia; she’d still make it for him if he asked, but she’s older now and has arthritis in her fingers, so he would feel too guilty suggesting it.

Yet here he is, chewing a piece of this random culinary student’s Shepherd's pie, and it’s like his Nan had slipped her version of it right in front of him and he hadn’t noticed. He feels his face pull up (he doesn’t know why he looks so angry when he enjoys food, but that’s just his thinking face), he swallows, and it sits warm in his belly, better than anything that he’d tasted today. The same amount of spices, the perfect ratio of meat and vegetables, the same texture against his tongue, and the roof of his mouth. It’s amazing, and for once, Harry wants to take a second bite.

“Who made this?” He asked aloud, and he remembered how nervous she looked. How she raised her hand, the slight tremble of it, how she blinked probably a thousand times in the span of three seconds, “Come here.” Harry was left wondering if he was really that scary when she came up to him and looked like she was seconds from passing out. He sliced into the side of it, the insides spilling out in the way they would if this were commercial, revealing the steaming insides, “Where’d you learn to make this?” Because he had to know. Something Harry had never been able to replicate in his 15 years spent cooking, this woman had been able to accomplish in what? The hour or two they had to prepare this for him? Did she know his Nan?

“Um – a cookbook, Sir.” Her voice shook a little bit.

Harry laughed through his nose – what a small world, right? His Nan hadn’t been able to find that cookbook for decades, yet this random woman had probably plucked it off a secondhand shelf and decided to try cooking this specific dish. All for it to lead to this moment, when Harry is looking for someone to mentor. Harry had never been one to believe in fate; he thought all of that was very silly. But for the first time, he thought that maybe there might be something in the universe working in his favor.

Did Harry want to mentor someone? Yes and no. He believed that he had a lot to teach other chefs, a wealth of knowledge that he’d like to share and use to cultivate stronger chefs, but in the same breath, Harry knew who he was. He knew the type of person he was and the kind of mentor he was; there was no room for mistakes, no room for bad dishes, no room for complaining, whining, or fussing. He expected them to work the same hours he does, to give their life over to the craft just as he had, and he wouldn’t accept anything less than the intense passion and strive for success. Adam was much more personable than Harry, he knew that, so it was easy for him to find people to mentor and get along with. He was much less picky and much more amicable, and people didn’t run off from him as often as they did from Harry.

In the past couple of years, Harry had 10 different apprenticeships, and only 3 of them had made it past the 5-month mark, and only 1 of them stuck it out with him to the very end (his name was Franklin). Harry never asked them to leave or to quit; they did it of their own volition, and Harry always thought that maybe that was for the best. If they couldn’t handle Harry when he was being relatively nice, then there’s no way they could handle a food critic having a shit day.

So he chose Y/N but his hope was low for how long she might last. The way she looked seconds from dropping right to the ground as soon as he asked who’d made the dish worried him, but with the Shepherd's pie – well, he couldn’t just let her disappear into the abyss of culinary students. Harry hoped, in the back of his mind, that one day he could convince her to make it for him again. To show him exactly how she does it.

To be honest. . he was shocked by her. Y/N was a strong chef – stronger than he’d given her credit for, not only in her cooking skills but in her mental fortitude. To be in Harry’s kitchen, and to be studying beneath him, is not for someone with a weak constitution, he could admit that. Yet she took every critique, every scoff, every scold, and every yell (Harry isn’t proud of those) in stride. Even if she looked a little taken aback, or like she might piss herself, she always nodded firmly, said something cheesy like, “Yes chef, yes sir,” and then corrected the problem. That’s what Harry had always appreciated the most from her was that she corrected the issues he brought to her attention and she never made them again.

He’d been angry when he saw the hair. Even madder when Y/N did not explain herself, merely tipped her head down and let the customer berate her, then when Harry had taken her to the side and given her what he’d thought was the chance to explain herself, she said nothing. Saying nothing is an admission of guilt in Harry’s eyes, so he scolded her and told her not to embarrass him – but there was something a little different this time. This time, the look that stared back at him was filled with something he’d not seen from her before. Something that, if she’d ever felt it when he spoke to her, she was typically good at schooling.

It wasn’t until he’d rounded the corner to the storage room and heard Adam ask if she was crying, hearing her blame it on allergies that just suddenly sprouted after he’d yelled at her – he realized the look was hurt. Harry yelling at her had hurt her that time, and that. . .that definitely gave him some pause. It was the only reason why he decided to investigate it, the only reason why he found out that this guy was a repeat offender. The only reason that he realized Y/N would rather take the lashing he’d given her for something that she’d not even done than to argue with him.

He definitely did some reflecting. Harry had always thought people feared him because they respected him, but he didn’t want anyone to actually be scared of him. Enough that she would hold her tongue when it would benefit her. Harry doesn’t like excuses, sure, but he wouldn’t have seen that as an excuse. And if he’d allowed her to get closer to him, then maybe she would realize that defending yourself from a lying prick wasn’t making an excuse in Harry’s eyes.

Harry was always watching her closely and listening, but he turned his attention to her with up to 150% focus. He already knew that she had a close relationship with Niall, Adam’s apprentice, but he hadn’t realized how close to Adam Y/N was. He wasn’t even her mentor, yet she typically went to him with a lot of the problems that she had, whether they were related to what she was cooking right then, or just a random question she thought of that had to do with a dish from a week ago. Things that she should be comfortable asking him but she wasn’t. He saw how the three of them bounced off one another, how playful they were, how comfortable she seemed when Adam called her name versus how nervous she looked when Harry even glanced in her direction.

Then she nearly passed out, too scared to tell him she hadn’t eaten, too worried that he’d be annoyed with her because she needed to fulfill a basic human need. And Harry felt like shit. Even without the slight, verbal lashing that only Adam could get away with giving him.

“You need to be a little nicer if you’re going in place of me,” he told him, speaking just above a whisper, only so that he could hear him as Harry carefully made peanut butter and jelly, “You look pissed off, and that isn’t what she needs right now.”

“I just don’t understand why she felt the need to lie.”

Adam sighs, “Because you’re scary and you don’t make yourself approachable. Why would she be honest?” He cracked open the jar of jelly for him, sliding it over and shaking his head, “She’s sweet and just wants to do well. Why can’t you see that?”

Harry can see that. He does – he knows that she wants to do well because she does do well. She puts her heart and soul into this just as he does. Maybe he should have spoken to her earlier about what she needed from him. Maybe Harry should have given her the opportunity before that day to tell him that she liked verbal praise, that she wanted to know he thought she was doing well, that he was proud of her. That might have saved them a whole lot of trouble.

So that’s what he does. He isn’t kissing her feet or anything, but he makes an effort to tell her when she does good, and Y/N always looks so pleased with herself afterward. . he feels even more guilty for keeping it from her. Harry hadn’t realized she needed it – she always just did well without him flattering her and continued to do well without it, so he figured it wasn’t a necessity. But Harry remembers how important it is to be told you’re doing well; how nice a tender stroke to the ego could be when you’re trying to find yourself in an industry as competitive as this one. So he tells her when things are good, he utilizes the compliment sandwich technique (he had to look it up), and he tries to become a better mentor for her. And when he notices she’s asking him more questions rather than scouting Adam out, or she doesn’t look as frightened when she asks him to repeat a step in the process of cooking, it feels good.

At some point, his feelings twisted into something a little more...unrefined, as far as mentor/pupil relationships go. He thinks something tickled in the back of his head when he saw the reaction she had to his praise. The soft smiles, the murmured “thank-yous”, how she seemed to have a little more of a skip in her step afterward. When she’d call him over to show him her dish, even if it was something he didn’t necessarily need to see, it was like a bird preening its feathers to show off. Or a puppy wagging its tail when their owner told it it did well.

The feeling only mushroomed into something unignorable when he went out to eat with them. Once Adam had initially asked, Harry planned on saying no – he was pissed off about the boiler and needed to spend some time calculating how this would affect this month's earnings. Plus, he desperately needed a night to himself, to take a bath, do a face mask, maybe fuck his fist and relieve some of the tension that is always residing in his shoulders.

But when Adam mentioned that Y/N and Niall would be attending, he was. . .intrigued. He knew in brief glimpses what they might act like outside of work, just from the conversations that he’d accidentally stumbled upon between the two of them. Harry had a feeling that Y/N was far more exuberant than she acted in the kitchen, maybe much more silly, calmer, relaxed, and settled – he was interested to see it. To see if this tickle in the back of his head is just a tickle and nothing more.

The tickle was more of a gnawing by the end of the night. After feeding her, watching as she ate everything that he gave her and ate it well, he learned that she had a cat and that in her time spent free of work because of the boiler, she planned to hang out with said cat. There was a satisfaction that rang deep in his bones when he fed someone, especially someone he’d felt that he’d stolen a meal or two away from in the past. Harry hoped his carefully crafted wraps were enough to make up for any time that she felt she needed to starve to continue working and please him. And she looked cute, too, with her cheeks full as she chewed. Even cuter when she was drunk, dancing, and grinding on her friend. Even cuter, all panicked, flustered, begging him to let her wash his shirt after knocking his drink all over it.

By the end of the night, it wasn’t even just a gnawing.

He wanted to chew on her.

Y/N was fun. She was fun to tease, fun in her responses, how she stumbled over her words and so clearly was reading into things correctly, only for him to watch on her face as she tried to talk herself out of what she’d very correctly read into. Told him it depended on the context whether or not she liked to be out of control of her body, and god, it took everything in him not to pull the car over and suck on her tongue right there.

She’d always been cute – his cute little apprentice, always dutiful in her job, showing up on time, trying to impress him. Call it cuteness-aggression or Harry’s general dominant tendencies, but he needed to dig his teeth into her. Into her lips, into her neck, into her hips, the soft of her belly, the flesh of her thighs. He wanted to lick her all over, make her sweat, stretch her out, have her beg – everything, all of it. He felt a little bit like he was in heat.

It’d been a long time since he’d gotten to explore kink with someone. Harry knew that she was interested in him, because he’s always listening, and she and Niall are not as quiet or sneaky as they think they are. Maybe to people who aren’t paying such intense attention to them, but Harry might as well be Y/N’s shadow for as deeply as he keeps tabs on her in the kitchen. He hadn’t been sure that she was interested in the dynamics he’s interested in until he took the chance one night, while they were making the cake, and he had her suck the icing off his thumb.

Harry had never met someone so receptive to him before. When she whined because he took his thumb away, Harry could have sunk to his knees for her right there and stuffed his face anywhere she wanted him to. Despite outer appearances, Harry truly isn’t a complex man. The way she let him poke and prod around in her mouth, just because he could, just because she was letting him – he knew then and there he would be obsessed with her.

The build-up is the best part. The waiting, watching her try to figure it out, the realization that overcomes her when she understands what he wants, how easily she plays with him. Y/N doesn’t mind playing the part of his filthy, greedy little puppy so long as he takes care of her, tells her how good she’s doing, lets her fill her mouth up with his fingers, and plays with her pussy. Even when he stops, even when he edges her, even when he’s mean and makes her want and want and want, she’s still so good for him, so cute, so precious, he’s just too delighted.

There’s a trust there that Harry loves. She trusts him to see her like that. Trusts him to decide when she cums and when she doesn’t. Trust him to take care of her afterward, even if she doesn’t know she needs to be taken care of. Harry won’t ever leave her alone directly after they play, no matter how often she offers to get a ride – he could tell it was just a courtesy. She didn’t want to leave his side yet, and he didn’t want her to leave. He’s found recently that he thrives off taking care of her, in little ways. Feeding her and fucking her are the big ones.

Though as he holds her in his arms right now, sleeping soundly with her cheek pushed up against his chest after he fucked her, Harry thinks cuddling might be a big one too.

Initially, Harry had planned on edging them both for nearly a month. The anticipation was one of the best parts for him, and he could tell that Y/N enjoyed it too; gluttons for the swelling desire had begun swallowing them both whole. He had it all planned out, by the week, by the day, by the hour – how long he would play with her pussy until he felt it tighten around his fingers (it was so easy to tell when she was about to cum, her walls squeezing, like it was begging him to stay inside, begging him to keep her full, fuck her until she spasms and twitches and whines, drenching them). He’d decided on a day he’d invite her over to his flat and finally make her cum, and then he’d feed her well, take care of her, let her spend the night if she wanted to, or make sure she got home safely if she wanted that instead.

He had not accounted for Youngjae to come to his restaurant before this happened. He hadn’t accounted for Youngjae to ask to speak with the chef who made his meal, to compliment Y/N so genuinely, to invite her to his restaurant. He hadn’t accounted for the shy, giggly look Y/N was giving someone who wasn’t Harry. And he sure as fuck hadn’t accounted for the thick, oozy glob of something inky and consuming to slip down his throat, acrid and pungent, unavoidable. A feeling Harry hadn’t experienced properly in quite a while.

He was jealous.

On one hand, he feels pride in the compliments she received. To be so enamored by a plate as a chef that you need to speak to the person who prepared it is one of the highest forms of praise in the cooking world. For his pupil to be praised for how well she’s done, he couldn’t be more proud of her, and how far she’s come as a chef.

And on the other hand, he cannot stand it. At this point, Harry knows Y/N. He knows how much she likes to be praised, like a bird preening its pretty feathers. He wasn’t blind to see that Youngjae was gorgeous, so to be complimented by a well-renowned chef, looking like him, and praise already makes you all wiggly and giggly? He wondered if her heart had skipped a beat when Youngjae smiled at her. If her palms got clammy from the nerves of it. If she was thinking about taking him up on the offer, getting pressed over the side of his desk, her face buried into the side of his neck.

The thought was like an invasive plant; the seedling stuffed itself in the soil, an image of Y/N as pretty and cute as she looks, begging to be filled up, and it was someone who wasn’t him making it happen. The plants take root in the grooves of his brain, winding, tangled vines, growing unmanageable and wild. He had to remove himself from the kitchen, stew in his office, and wonder if his ears were as red as they felt, but he was too ashamed to check. What a petulant response to an interaction that was relatively mild. Harry has had her drooling around his fingers, yet he’s irate by the smile she gives another chef when they compliment her? He needed to grow up.

His problem lies in the fact that he is not someone who gets jealous. Feelings of envy have never swayed him – if Harry wanted something or someone, then he’d get them eventually, through dedication and hard work. Nothing in this life drops at your feet; you must put forth an effort for the things you want, and that’s what he does. So there was never a need to be jealous of anyone, for anything.

Yet there he was, his teeth gritted, his mind a frenzied swirl. Weeks and weeks of build-up that Harry would snuff out in a night, and surprisingly, he doesn’t regret even a second of it. Especially not when she begged so pretty for him. When she whimpered out Puppy can handle more – and almost made Harry cum completely untouched. Not when she snores on his chest now, deep in her dreams, limbs twisted around him like a koala. He replays the night over a dozen times in his head, and finds himself content. It’s odd, whatever feeling stirs in his chest – he definitely wouldn’t call it love, and he doesn’t think he’d necessarily even call it a crush. What he feels is something equal parts fond and possessive. As he plays with her limp fingers, slotting their fingers together, Harry is able to come to one conclusion, though.

Y/N was his, Harry had decided. His and his alone.

. . .

Y/N’s warm.

Typically, she wakes up pretty cold. Not just because she has a sketchy furnace or she fell asleep with the fan whipping above her head – she just generally wakes up shivering, most of the time, with Hazelnut huddled against some part of her body for warmth (Y/N likes to pretend that it’s because Hazelnut loves her but deep down she knew it was for survival purposes only). For whatever reason, her room is always a little icier than the rest of her flat, so the cold seeps beneath her skin and leaves her whole body shivering.

Today is different, though – this morning is odd. Y/N starts to come to but doesn’t open her eyes immediately; she lets her consciousness ease in rather than forcing it abruptly. She isn’t waking up to an alarm so she imagines that this is an off day, which means she could be a little lazier in starting her day. Plus, she’s so nice and warm, she’s almost certain it was a dream and she’s hesitant to leave the beauty of it.

Y/N isn’t sure what eventually clues her in that she isn’t asleep anymore. Maybe it’s the way her neck is a little sore, like she’d been in the same position for most of the night. Or maybe it’s the fact that her cheek is not pressed up against her pillow, or Hazelnut’s fur, or even her mattress, how it sometimes is when she wiggles down in the middle of the night. Instead, she’s on something more solid, a different feeling – like skin – and there’s a momentary panic because what the fuck, there shouldn’t be anybody else in bed with her!

Her eyes peel open, and just as soon as they do, the memories of last night flood back into her head. Harry taking her home, Harry splitting her apart piece-by-piece, him finally letting her cum, all of the embarrassing things she said, when he’d offered for her to stay for the come down. Then she fell asleep, and that – he hadn’t offered her to spend the night. He told her she could stay for a little while, sure, he might have said as long as she needed to be polite, but to fall asleep? On him, no less – she just manages to make herself more of a nuisance every day!

Y/N stiffened, nervous to move. Was he asleep or was he awake? Y/N doesn’t know what’s worse: Harry being asleep and her waking him up, trying to sneak out of here and not disturb him, or Harry already being awake and annoyed that she took up space in his bed and stayed glued to his side all night. She was nice and warm, and it was pleasant to her, but what if Harry liked to sleep cold? What if he kept shoving her off of him last night, and she just kept rolling back into his space? The thought makes her want to crawl under a rock. Plus, she’s still stark naked, and like – she is fine with him seeing her like that in the moment, but she didn’t necessarily want her bits out in the light of day. Where were her clothes? Did she take them off in here or had he been peeling them off on the way to his room?

Oh my god, this is the worst! Why didn’t she just stay awake long enough to make it home last night?

If there was one thing about Y/N, it was that she never wanted to overstay her welcome, no matter the circumstances. She likes to be invited directly, or she doesn’t normally do it, too overcome with fear that whoever she’s with thinks she’s trying to make it something that it isn’t. The last thing she wants to be is the sad, desperate girl begging for more in a relationship than there is. Especially with someone like Harry – she does not doubt he’ll be blunt with her, and while that’s nice in the long run, she doesn’t need him to put into words that this isn’t a relationship, that she’s just fun to play with, that if he actually wanted someone seriously it wouldn’t be her. Because Harry needs someone like – well-established, probably? Someone successful already, driven, with more goals than her (she has goals, but most of them are related to things he’s already accomplished, so there’s probably no fun in watching her try to obtain them – like a been there, done that kind of thing). They’d be cool too, to catch Harry’s attention. Could probably hold their own in banter with him, make him laugh, and. . .she needs to stop. Now she’s just stressed out and making herself sad so –

“I can hear you thinking,” Harry’s voice startles her. It’s warm, a little rough from just waking up, her cheek vibrates with it from where she’s lying on his chest still, and it makes her insides twist in something giddy that she’ll have to stuff her face into her pillow and giggle about later, “Enough.”

“Sorry,” she pushes herself up slowly, taking the blankets with her and covering her upper half, and trying not to look so obviously panicked. Y/N attempts to school her face, twisting so that she could look at him – she hadn’t realized how unready she was to see this version of Harry until right now. In the mornings, while she’s sure it looks like she just woke up five minutes before walking into the kitchen, Harry always looks like he’s been up for a couple of hours. Refreshed, his skin is always glowy, his eyes are always bright (for him at least) without a dark circle in sight. Most days, he kind of looks model-ready, and when she started, she’d always wonder if he was about to get interviewed or something, but was too nervous to ask him. She knew now that the answer was no – Harry just took very good care of himself.

(“Fucking prick, I come in and I look like I haven’t slept in days.” Niall complained once.

“That’s because you stay up all night playing Roblox or whatever the hell.”

“It’s League and you know I have a self-imposed 11 PM monitors off policy on work nights!)

This Harry, however, was different. Still pretty, of course, because the universe is out to get her, but a different kind of pretty. His eyes are swollen and puffy, noting that he’d clearly just woken up as well. His cheeks were flushed a little bit, pink just slightly coloring his skin, and his hair was a mess on top of his head. He must have just run his tongue over his lips to wet them, because they glisten in the sunlight (or maybe his lips are just naturally glossy too, because why wouldn’t they be at this point?).

Her strong, intimidating, slightly mean sometimes mentor – looked so incredibly soft. Y/N wanted to press on his belly and stuff her face in his throat, and melt over him like a second skin. If they were together like actually, then she thinks she would. Maybe Harry would even like that. . .she thinks. Or maybe he wouldn’t want that in a partner. But in a fuck buddy, he does like her a little needy, so there’s a chance she could get away with that now, right?

“I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I fell asleep.” She finally speaks, suddenly needing to avoid eye contact at all costs. Instead, she stares at his hand, where it’s resting on his chest, where her head had been just a few moments prior, “I – um. . .” she feels awkward, and sore, and doesn’t know what to do with herself. Should she act casual about it? It’s still kind of blowing her mind that they had sex – that it felt as good as it did. She doesn’t think her hand or any of her toys could ever compare to whatever all of that was.

Harry stares at her for a while. She thought maybe he was just trying to wake up, or maybe he was crafting the perfect way to tell her to leave without scorching her feelings too painfully (who is she kidding? He’d just tell her to go home because he had shit to do or something). Or he could be waiting to see if she was going to finish whatever the second half of her sentence was, though what it was didn’t exist to her either.

A quiet sigh leaves his mouth, “Do you regret it?” He inquired plainly.

Eyes wide, Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever shaken her head so fast in her life. It kind of jostles her brain a little bit, even, “No! No, not at all, oh my god – I could – how could I ever regret something like that?” She twisted to face him more, only one hand holding the blanket up now, loosely, “I mean like – I regret some of the things I said ‘cos I think I may have come off a bit pathetic, but everything you did – everything we’ve done – oh, it’s great. I don’t regret that, I just – feel bad about. . .about imposing my presence on you all night. We have work today, and I didn’t ask to spend the night.”

Harry pushes himself up now too, leaning back on his mountains of pillows, “I told you we could stay like that as long as you needed,” he reminded her, “If that meant all night, then so be it. I don’t mind. Though I think Hazelnut might have.”

(Hazelnut would have something to say about her absence, but since her food releases on a timer, she got dinner last night, and her middle-of-the-night snack so it isn’t like she was going hungry. Honestly, Y/N thinks Hazelnut likes to have the night to herself sometimes, but missing out on her human heater is probably why she yells at her when she walks in after being gone.)

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, assessing his face for any inkling that he might be lying. Y/N doesn’t expect him to lie, of course, and she does expect him to be blunt with her, and honest – but sometimes he does unexpected things too. Like secretly being tenderhearted enough to make her a big slice of cake and call her ex a dick. Giving her his hoodie when she was freezing in a movie theater, also unexpected. Then there was the whole putting his fingers in her mouth thing, and the subsequent edging to follow.

So, maybe he would lie to make her feel better. But if someone doesn’t lie often, then she would figure he’d have a massive tell to suggest that he was. Instead, she finds nothing – his same impassive face that he’s always making, except for the amusement hidden beneath his gaze when he’s looking at her in particular.

“Oh, puppy,” he clicks his tongue, patting her thigh, “Let me feed you, then I’ll send you on your way, so you can get ready for work, hm?”

A clear plan is nice. Harry's offering to feed her is even nicer.

“Okay, that – that-that sounds good.” Y/N nods, “Could I – could you find me my clothes? I’m not really sure where they landed.”

Harry kicks his blankets off, “I’ll just give you something of mine.”

. . .

“Oh my fucking – wait – what are you telling me right now? You spent the night?”

It was the first proper Spring day; the weather was balmy, the breeze was warm, and with the sun hanging high in the sky and beaming pleasant rays like sweet kisses, it coaxed all the bunnies, birds, and squirrels out of their nests, warm in the grass. Niall, for all his ‘curtains-closed-so-it-doesn’t-glare-on-my-computer-screen’ gamer tendencies, does appreciate a warm day. So he made up a little picnic for them to enjoy, with homemade blackberry jam and fresh bread from the French bakery beside his flat. They had cheese and crackers too, which was interesting, the spring time critters in their area of the park. That, or they were nosy and wanted to hear Y/N update Niall.

And Niall was just as floored as she was, about all of it.

Y/N’s face feels hot recounting the events, because Niall wants to know everything. Every minute detail, from positions to an advanced description of Harry’s prick (equipped with a crude drawing Y/N tried on his iPad, which he always carted around in his satchel) – Y/N was giving Niall the nitty gritty.

“I know,” she held her face in her hands, “I’m still so embarrassed about it, and I’m still like – like I keep convincing myself that he only lied and said it was okay so I didn’t cry in front of him or something stupid.”

“Okay, first and foremost, if sex isn’t putting your ass to sleep, then it isn’t good sex. Harry is well aware of that,” Niall has one finger up, then dramatically pulls the second finger – his middle – up with the fingers of his other hand. “Secondly, he was so fucking clearly jealous! Remember when you were blowing me off before? When I suggested it in the kitchen.”

Y/N shook her head, “And I’m blowing you off now too–” she rumpled her lips, “What would he have even been jealous of?”

Niall, who has given up the theatrics of marking each point with his finger, now busies himself with the jam and stares at her like she’s an idiot, “I’m sorry, did you black out and forget a very sexy young chef coming to the restaurant, bringing you out to compliment you, then writing his number on the back of a card offering you to come his kitchen right in front of your CILF?”

“My who?”

“Chef I like to fuck,” Niall continued, “Like, you’re a little dense sometimes but this is crazy. Even Adam noticed Harry was jealous! His ears were bright red, he snapped at everyone for asking you about Youngjae, and then suddenly you broke the weeks of edging the very same night. Like, he might as well have tattooed ‘I’m jealous’ right across his forehead.”

Y/N’s heart is racing at the possibility of it, equal parts giddy at the thought and reluctant to get her hopes up. It’d be kind of fun if he were jealous, she thinks – to evoke any emotion from him is exciting, she’s found, and that would be a new one. But when speaking to a fellow partner in delusion, she’s learned to take most things with a grain of salt – even if Adam seemed to notice as well. Adam and Niall share a singular brain cell on most days, so it wouldn’t surprise her if they started thinking the same, too.

“I don’t know, like besides all of that, he didn’t really act jealous or anything. He didn’t say he was.”

Niall tears into his bread, dips it into the jam, and then stuffs it in his mouth. Though he pushes his bite into his cheek so he could speak around it, “Harry’s a bit too prideful to just admit that, I reckon. The one thing he’s not gonna be honest about is being jealous over another chef.” Y/N rubs the plastic of the cracker package between her fingers, staring at a bunny that has gotten suspiciously closer with each glance she made at it. If she didn’t know any better, she would think it was about to trot on over and snatch the food on the blanket, “Okay, now roll it back to what we were talking about – he offered a chew toy? I’m getting on Amazon immediately and getting you a collar and leash set, he’ll go crazy.”

“Okay, but like what if he doesn’t want to?” Y/N pushes her thumb against her knee, “Like…maybe he got it out of his system and now he won’t want to.”

Niall groans, rolls his eyes, already pulling out his phone, “Shut the hell up,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but everything you’ve described to me does not sound like a man who is planning on one and done. Calling you puppy, edging himself with you, ‘It’s seriously so cute to see a puppy behaving so well?’ That man is obsessed. And he’s possessive too, which is kind of cute,” he sighs, “Okay, I need to go to an actual kink site, Amazon is showing me actual dog collars.”

Y/N plucks a manchego cube from the container that Niall had carefully packaged, laying it carefully on her cracker, “He hasn’t said anything though, and we haven’t like – y’know. . done our thing lately.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to come to him?” Niall answered instantly, making a grabby hand at the bottle he filled to the top with pineapple juice, “Like, wasn’t he all nervous that you regretted it? He’s probably waiting for you to give a sign that you still want it. Right?”

She guesses she hadn’t considered that. Y/N wasn’t the one to spearhead most of their situations together; she usually let Harry come to her, but if he’d been worried still that she didn’t like what happened, then that might give him some pause. And had the scenario been different, if this dynamic was different, then she might not care about telling him she wanted to fuck him still, and keep his fingers in her mouth, and hear him say all those filthy things again. But it was Harry, and she’s like. . predisposed to being nervous no matter what it is involving him.

“How would – I mean, how might I go about that? You’ve got more experience in this department.”

Niall peered up at her, “Interesting way to subtly call me a little slutty, but yeah, you’re right,” Y/N reached out and slapped his leg, “And lucky for you, I love an operation title. So, operation: seduce Harry into fucking you again so that he knows you aren’t regretting it after the last time – commences today.”

“God, that’s a mouthful,” Y/N complained.

“And hopefully your mouth will be full of Harry by the end of the week.”

Niall and Y/N spend the remainder of the picnic deciding what she should do. Niall has always had an intense, vivid imagination, so the plans he makes always come with plenty of detail and every potential scenario that may arise from them. Which is why, instead of having the cute, one-hour lunch they had planned, they spent 3 hours finding different positions on the blanket, attempting to get comfortable on the lumpy ground, snacking until the food he packed was gone, and going over what she should do. The tentative title of “operation: seduce Harry into fucking you again so that he knows you aren’t regretting it after the last time” gets shortened to Operation: Seduce Harry and she spends 10 minutes convincing him he does not need to make it a notes app bullet pointed list.

They go through a variety of different ideas. Y/N cornering him in his office after everyone leaves, popping a button on her shirt, and revealing something lacy and sheer underneath them. Adam convincing Harry to go out with them again, Y/N asking if he wants to dance together, grinding and gyrating on him in a way that could only mean she was looking to get him hard. Stumbling into his lap, hand landing on his prick, giving him a soft squeeze and a wink. Y/N sending him a photo of her neck with a collar fixed around it that’s heart pendant says yours, fingers twisted around a leash, also in the photo.

All of the ideas Y/N would rather walk the plank out at sea than actually do. The fact of the matter is, Y/N is not good at seducing, or flirting, really, for that matter – so each one of these ideas is shoving her out of her comfort zone. And when Y/N is shoved out of her comfort zone instead of gently nudged, the outcome is not something spectacular; she just ends up making a fool of herself. So she refuses each idea that Niall, who – had he been in this situation, would have just messaged something out of pocket like are we going to fuck again or what? – came up with.

“Humility,” she replies quickly, “Shame. A general sense of insecurity that’s hovered over me since I hit puberty.”

That. . wasn’t a bad idea. Of all his ideas so far, this had been the one most like her. One that would be the least likely to spark any warning flags in Harry’s brain – especially if she could just send him a message, that he’d hopefully just respond to, then not bring up when she saw him later. Niall encourages her to message him while he’s sitting there so that he can help her draft it up, but there’s not much to draft so she suspects he’s just being nosy. Making sure that she goes through with it, instead of going home, chickening out, pretending that their conversation never happened.

Hi Harry!

Would you be able to come to my place sometime soon? There’s something I want to learn how to make.

There isn’t an immediate answer, but Y/N doesn’t expect one. Most of the time, Y/N wonders if Harry even remembers he has her number, let alone a phone, so she’d expect a response hours from now. Hell, maybe even tomorrow morning. If it extends beyond that, however, she’ll assume that he hates her and never wants to touch her again, so she hopes he doesn’t wait that long. Unless that was his version of letting her down easy.

Y/N sets her phone face down on the blanket, puts her face in her hands, and does a little yell. Niall’s hand is warm on her shoulder when he reaches out and squeezes.

“Please, he’s g’na trip over himself to get to your place,” Niall assures her. “Do you have another sundress like this one? If not, wash this one and wear it again if he doesn’t reply tonight – your tits look great in it.”

. . .

Approximately 16 hours later, Y/N’s ringtone stirs her awake.

She’s confused, of course, because at first she thinks it’s her alarm and she knew for a fact that the color of the sky did not equate to the time her off-day alarm would be ringing. Then, as she further drags herself into consciousness, she recognizes that she’s getting a call, and that Hazelnut was using her thighs as a launchpad to jump off the bed, nails digging in faintly through the blanket. Y/N pats around for her phone on the mattress, blinking blearily at the screen and seeing the contact name Harry Styles.

Her eyes widen, and she sits up so fast that black spots dot her vision. Was she not off today? Fuck! Did she oversleep her real alarms? Oh, god, he was going to kill her –

“I’m so sorry, Harry, I must have overslept, but I’m going to literally run out of here and –”

“Slow down,” Harry cuts her off, clicking his tongue, “You’re off today.”

The relief flushes through her fast, her adrenaline spike halting almost instantly, “Oh,” her heart is hammering – doesn’t he know calling her stresses her out? She swears she had mentioned that to him one day, or maybe she had just told him it was when he messaged her. Whenever Harry contacts her in general, she thinks her heart rate goes from a resting beat to a post-marathon speed in three seconds flat. “Is everything okay?” She settles for resting her face into her palm, trying to un-dizzy herself. Y/N had no business sitting up as quickly as she did, and she’s almost 80% sure she is walking around an undiagnosed anemic (at least undiagnosed by a medical professional; Niall diagnosed her himself when he caught a glimpse of her soft palate and said it looked relatively pale).

“You tell me,” Harry answered and continued in response to Y/N’s confused sound, “There’s a message from you yesterday.”

The memory of it floods back into her head instantaneously, her face feels hot, and she fumbles and stumbles around her thoughts and then her words, because what the fuck! He was supposed to message her back, not call her, is he crazy? The act alone suggests that he has no consideration for the social intricacies of someone as nervous as Y/N.

“Oh, yeah, I – um, was wondering if you could help me hang some paintings that are. . .that are too high up for me to reach.”

Harry is quiet for a second, besides a soft hum on the other end. Y/N takes it as a hum like he’s thinking about it, maybe, but then learns that it might be more a confused sound sparking from his throat because, “I thought you said you wanted to learn how to make something?”

Fuck.

Fuck! How the hell did she screw that up? Harry definitely set this up somehow. She isn’t sure how, exactly, but she knew this was a carefully orchestrated plan to make her look like a big, stupid idiot. Embarrassment flares hot in her chest, warping its way down her belly, curling in a not fun, and horny way. No, this is pure, white hot shame, as she clears her throat, almost sputtering over her own spit, “Oh, yes! That too – two for one, kind of deal, if you’re. . .if you’re willing to help?”

This time, when Harry hums, it sounds amused. Her shoulders sink – he’s onto her. Lying about the reason she wants him to come over feels more desperate than if she had just emptied all of her thoughts into a message and sent it to him. At least then he might see her as bold, opposed to cowardly. Something she and Niall forgot to consider was how bad she was at lying, especially to Harry, who always seems to be able to see right through her. Even a phone call away.

“Sure, I suppose we could make that happen,” he finally replies; Y/N swallows thickly, suddenly reminded of her morning breath and how soaked in sleep she feels still, after the abrupt yank from her dreams, “What did you want to learn how to make?”

“Um, these one custard tarts from Portugal.” Y/N at least remembered that, “Adam said you knew how to make them.”

A delighted sound filters through the phone now, and she wonders if his face is as expressive as his voice seems to be through her speaker. What kind of face was he making now? Was it his same impassive glare, or was it softer? Was it how soft his gaze looks right after he wakes up? It’s crazy that this is something Y/N knows now – that she’s aware of how puffy his face gets from sleep, and how soft he looks because of it. She’d like to see it again, honestly, and to properly enjoy a morning cuddle without second-guessing every decision she’d ever made in the world.

“The one Niall liked?” He inquired, but before Y/N could investigate how he would know that, Harry continued, “Yes, I can make them. I’ll show you how. Are you free this evening?”

“Yes!” She agreed, nodding her head though he couldn’t see it, “Yes, I am, you can come whenever.”

Niall would have rolled his eyes at how eager she sounded, but Harry merely puffs a laugh, “I’ll come around 5 then. Does that sound okay?”

“Yes,” she nodded again, to nobody in particular – maybe Hazelnut who is showing off her flexibility and licking the fur over her calf, “That’s great.”

“Good, I’ll see you then.”

He hangs up the phone and Y/N takes a moment to put her face into a pillow and scream. That. . .could have gone worse. Almost went completely south because she’s stupid, but at least she was getting him over here. The first part of the operation, while clunky, meant that she could shift into the second part, which was an everything shower and to wear one of the five different outfit choices that Niall had given her. Y/N thought it’d be odd if he came over and she was just hanging out in a sundress, because she knew for a fact she did not give the vibes of someone who still dressed nice when they were at home alone. If Y/N digs through the memories of the last few months and her inevitable info dumps she drops on Harry now and then, she’s certain that she told him she immediately switches into comfortable clothes when she gets home from any outing. And while that piece of information about her was inconsequential, and most anybody would probably forget about it, Harry has a habit of holding onto things that other people would throw out of their heads.

The shower experience was long and intense, as it always is when she has to exfoliate, shave everything, oil down, steam open her pores, etc. At first, she’s sweating in the hot water, pelting her skin, then she’s shivering because her water heater might only hold three gallons. That’s how it acts anyway, when ten minutes into the shower the water goes lukewarm and Y/N has goosebumps pimpled all over her body. By the time she comes out, she feels like she’s shed a layer of skin reptile-style, raw and new and soft. She didn’t shave her private bits, only because Niall had made an offhand comment about how Harry seems like a guy who enjoys the hair – and with things like kinks and interests, Niall is spot on in his reads. They’d only been friends all of one week before he correctly guessed that Y/N had a thing for being praised. Only a month before, he narrowed his eyes across the table at her and said, “You like being humiliated, don’t you? Seem like the type.”

Y/N chooses something simple to wear – just a shirt and some soft, linen shorts. Beneath them both, she wore one of her prettier sets; something she’d bought after her ex when she had the intentions to get back out there, fuck her way through the town, forget about that emotionally cheating prick. Of course, that didn’t necessarily happen. Instead, she cried on Niall’s sofa into a bowl of coddle he’d made for her, watching a romance anime, and wishing she could wipe that bastard from her memory (while Niall, simultaneously, offered to wipe him from the face of the earth).

Maybe Harry would think she looked cozy and cute – those were the vibes she was hoping to achieve, rather than unkempt and rumpled, which is how she usually looked on her off days at home. Hazelnut had been following her with her eyes all day, a judgmental gleam cased in the narrowed, snake-like pupils. Something that said: Who are you trying to fool right now? He’s going to take one look at you and know that this isn't normal for you. To that, she ignores her because what the fuck Hazelnut? What a grumpy thought, you’re cat-ness is really showing today.

Y/N started getting ready too early, so she finishes getting ready too early, which means the rest of the day is spent agonizing over every detail of this plan. The truth is, she did have some pictures she wanted hung up relatively high, but was too scared to get on her step stool and do it herself. So at least she wasn’t like. . totally lying to him. And maybe she had no interest in learning how to make these tarts, but it’d be a good skill to have in her back pocket. She’s still delighted by the fact that Harry is good at making pastries as well as savory foods; a true all-arounder in the chef world.

Hazelnut is sleeping in Y/N’s lap while she chews away at her nails, forcing herself not to look at the clock, only to be startled out of her skin when there’s a knock at the door. Her kitty, who has absolutely had it with her over-anxious energy today, jumps out of her lap and trots into the hallway, toward Y/N’s bedroom, no doubt. Y/N peels the blankets off of her and wonders if she’s going to black out as she opens the door, revealing Harry, his hair slightly mussed from the wind, in a soft, worn-looking shirt with a band Y/N didn’t know on the front, and jeans. Had she seen him in jeans before? Probably. Definitely not these jeans though, tight around his thighs in a way that makes her swallow hard; spit dragging down her dry throat.

He smiles at her, gentle and small, “Hello,” he greets her, shuffling the bags in his right hand to his left, then raising them, “I brought the ingredients.”

Good, because I didn’t even think to buy anything at all, and pretend that this was real, “Yay,” Y/N grinned, ushering him in, “Um, come on in – is the weather nice?”

“Mm,” Harry hums, “Very.”

Ideally, Y/N would have started to strip or whatever the hell Niall’s next step in the operation was, but at the first sight of Harry, any hope of following the plan had gone out her cracked window. Billowed between her curtains first, got all messed up, then slipped out into the evening air. Her heart rate is already picking up a little too quickly for her liking.

Instead of enacting the rest of the plan, Y/N somehow ends up learning how to make these Portuguese tarts (Pasteis de Nata is what Harry tells her they’re called). It’s a more intricate process than she had imagined, which is both good and bad for her situation at hand. The benefits lie in the fact that it would make sense she’d need help learning how to make this, from forming the dough, to making the syrup without overcooking or undercooking it (the temperature had to be precise – 100 degrees C, and thank god Harry brought a thermometer with him). Harry is a little less stern when he’s teaching her this – she doesn’t know if it’s because it isn’t something that they’re making for the restaurant, or if it’s the change of scenery.

Y/N would have thought she’d be more self-conscious about Harry in her kitchen. It’s a small thing, nowhere near the size of his own, and with ten times fewer supplies than he had, but Harry adapts to it easily. Even handles Hazelnut worming and weaving between his ankles well, clicking his tongue sweetly at her. For a moment, Y/N forgets that she had ulterior motives altogether, focusing on the complex process, making the custard, cutting the set dough, filling the muffin tin carefully.

By the time Harry slid the tin into the oven, he turned to face her, “Alright, while those bake,” he began, then looked into her living room, “Where is it that you want these paintings hung?”

“Oh,” she tries to busy herself filling one of the many mixing bowls with hot water and soap, “You – we don’t have to do that! Sorry, I can just ask Ni later and –”

“I don’t mind,” Harry cut her off, looping around her counter, “Come on, show me.”

Honestly, it feels a little surreal for Harry – critically acclaimed, Michelin star having Harry Styles – to be carefully balancing on a step stool and asking if her tiger painting looks level from where she stood. A couple of times she digs her nails into the meat of her palm, considering that this may be a dream of some kind, but the bite of pain reminds her that this is very much reality. Even more so when the oven beeps and Y/N goes to remove the pastries, the heat when she opens the door flushes over her face and upper body. They smell good as she sets them carefully on the stove, her mouth watering.

She expected Harry to still be in her living room, but instead she turns around and he’s standing in the kitchen behind her. “Ah!” Y/N’s yelp echoes against her walls, then she cringes at her voice – the neighbors heard, probably, because the walls are paper thin. They were a little crabby too, so she’ll probably get a passive-aggressive mention on it next time they share an elevator ride, “Are you – be honest, did you go to ballet school or something? You move quietly as a ballerina.”

“Do you know a lot of ballerinas?” Harry tilted his head, his eyes dragging down her body in a way that wasn’t very secretive at all. Y/N isn’t sure if the warmth that flushes through her is still from the oven or not, but it feels just the same, and her heart, that had settled some at this point, kicks up again.

“A few,” she answered, though she doesn’t know if he cares or not, “I met them like. . .forever ago. They were my ex’s friends, so I don’t see them much anymore, but they used to walk around like they were floating.” Harry’s eyes are still dragging over her, and Y/N stupidly keeps talking, feeling more and more flustered by the second, when his gaze lingers on her legs, “They were nice, but I always got the feeling they didn’t really like me? But maybe they just knew I wasn’t – um – going to be around for long or something. I dunno.”

Harry steps closer to her, his hand propped on the counter, “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me. Okay?” Y/N feels pinned under his gaze, breath feeling heavy in her chest when she holds it. She nods, slowly, only twice, and Harry continues, “Why did you really invite me over?”

Ah. Of course, Y/N had suspected Harry knew she was lying from the moment she fucked up on the phone call but he’d just given her a little bit of grace. Played into her ploy for the hell of it, maybe to be nice, but had done both of the things she’d asked of him. Though he knew there was something more, Y/N did not doubt that if she kept the lie up for appearances, and told him this was all she’d wanted, then he’d leave with no questions asked and no hard feelings.

She swallows again, thicker, and wonders if he can hear it when she does. Her mouth opens, but she can’t figure out what to say – if only she’d taken up Niall on his offer to speak into an earpiece for her.

Harry fills in the quiet space, “Unless that was all,” he offers, “Then I can leave.”

“No!” Y/N snaps from whatever embarrassed daze she’d been relegated to at the question, explosive in her answer, taking a step closer to him, “No, I don’t – I don’t want you to leave, I’m just. . .bad, at this,” she exhales, shoulders slumping, “I’m so bad at this.”

Concern dribbles over his features, “At what?”

Y/N motions between them, “This – seducing you, or whatever,” now that the can of worms had been opened, Y/N pours them out, a conglomerate, slimy, wiggly mess of words that she has no hope policing, “I can only do it when I’m like, horny beyond sensible thought. Like a – y’know. . .”

Harry finishes for her, “A dumb little puppy?”

Something in the air changes, heavy, inviting. She blinks at him, then answers a breathy, “Yeah,” because how could she disagree?

Harry hums low in his chest, that contemplative sound he makes sometimes (Y/N could probably make a soundboard of all Harry’s different hums and meanings – something that only months upon months of studying under someone could provide you the ability of). At the same time, he takes another small step further. They’re less than an arm's length apart – maybe a forearm? There’s a low clicking of his tongue, how he was doing it for Hazelnut earlier, and Y/N feels herself shudder; she liked when he treated her like she was just a little pet. Something he just keeps around to keep him company sometimes; one he thinks is cute, and honorary – a bratty little thing that he can’t help but be fond of when they nuzzle up against him. At least that’s how she hopes he sees it, rather than a pet someone dumped on him and feels more like a pest. Y/N likes to pretend that the latter isn’t an option for now.

“I’ve had my face buried in your cunt,” he begins, “My fingers and my cock, both have been inside of you. I made you squirt last week, and yet you’re still nervous about telling me what you want?” His fingers smooth the hair from her face, a soft exhale leaves her lips at the feeling of it, he skims his nails across her forehead, before he flicks them there. Y/N pouts at him, reaching up and batting his hand away, “Bet you think I’m mean, hm?” Harry goads and Y/N falls for it, nodding, still frowning, “I reckon it’s time I show you what mean really is, yeah?”

She watches as he reaches into his pocket for something, “What–what do you mean?”

“I mean,” he reveals a thin, silky sliver of fabric. . .oh my god, “That good puppies don’t lie to their owners, don’t you know that? Only bad puppies do that. I need to correct the behavior.”

Something hot sizzles under her skin; his mouth is just filthy. Does he practice saying this shit or does it just come to him at the moment? It’s crazy, how all he’s done is flick her in the forehead and speak, and she’s ready to fall to the floor in front of him, take his pants with her, mouth at his cock. Is this how everyone who has been with Harry feels? She’d be hard pressed to believe otherwise.

“Okay,” she breathes out again, eyes leaving the dark blindfold, “I get it.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, “Good. Why don’t you show me to your room?”

If Y/N wasn’t so horny that she was dizzy, then she might be embarrassed about him being in her room. The only men who have been in her room are Niall and her ex. Niall doesn’t count because he’s Niall, and her ex used to make fun of her decorations because he’s a huge dickhead, so she kind of overthinks it when people come inside.

But Harry doesn’t give her much time to think, actually. He peels her top off before Y/N even realizes, and comes face-to-face with the pretty pink bralette she wore. It was sheer, with a lace trim around the cups that was kind of itchy but easy to ignore. There’s a flower lying over where her nipple is, hiding the top of it, but her areola peeks through, and Harry is staring. He bites at his bottom lip for a second, another contemplative look, before he hooks his fingers into her shorts, “This is a pretty little set,” he murmurs when he wiggles her bottoms down, seeing the matching underwear, “Did you wear it for me?”

“Yes,” she replies, shy about it, looking away.

Harry reaches up, runs his thumb over her bottom lip, and dips into it but never fully tips inside of her mouth. Instead, his other hand finds her shoulder, giving her a small press, and Y/N gets the picture – he wants her on her knees. After she’s set on them, hands in her lap, heart roaring in her ears, the loudest thumps it could possibly give, Harry takes the blindfold and carefully twists it around her eyes. Her vision is cut off instantly, nothing but the dark material in front of her, obscuring any chance she had of seeing what’s next.

Y/N is kind of confused about what’s going to happen, until Harry jobs her memory, “I warned you about this, a little while ago,” he murmured, “What I do to bad puppies. How I show them how mean I can be.”

The realization dawns on her, an intense wave slams through her of both arousal and dread, and it must show on her face, because Harry puffs a laugh that sounds all too sinister with her eyes covered, “But wait I –”

“Uh-uh,” she hears him undo his zipper, listens as the fabric shuffles and drops, and she can only imagine what his cock must look like. If he was fully hard already, or if he was still a little soft. The color of his prick – if it was that pretty, flushed pink that it got last time she was able to see it. Does he leak a lot? Y/N feels more desperate now than ever to know, “You don’t lie to me, ever, okay? You should know by now that I’ll give you what you want when you want it. You just have to ask me.” He sighed, and she didn’t know if it was because he’d finally twisted a hand around himself or because he was exasperated with her – she can’t see, to be able to tell, “And if it takes this to teach you that, then so be it.”

Y/N’s mouth waters when she hears a cap pop open, the squeeze of a bottle, the wet sounds that follow it, and her fingers dig into her thighs. This is already more cruel than anything Harry has ever done to her, and it’s been approximately ten seconds, so she assumes it’s only going to get worse.

“Y’know,” Harry starts, because seriously, his vocabulary ranges from intellectual musings on the art of cuisine and the filthiest, smuttiest thoughts Y/N has ever heard come out of someone’s mouth, second only to Niall on one of his tirades, “This isn’t too new, for me – touching myself to you. The only thing different is that you’re right in front of me.” His voice is awfully measured for someone touching themselves and Y/N isn’t sure if she’s supposed to respond or not. He didn’t tell her she couldn’t.

“Did you. . .would you, before we started this?”

Harry clears his throat a little, “Mm, no, not before,” he admits to her, “After though – the first time you let me poke around in that pretty mouth, I went home and fucked my hand. As soon as I walked through the door,” Y/N’s breath feels sticky in her lungs, she wonders how close he is to her face – he sounds close, but she could just be imagining things, “Dropped my pants, spit into my hand, then humped into it – haven’t done something like that since my early 20s. Felt all buzzy and good, like something was sizzling beneath my skin,” the next sigh is clearly more of a moan and Y/N wiggles in her spot, readjusting her hips. Her knees are already a bit achy from the position, but that is the least of her concerns right now.

“That’s – wow,” she breathes, “I started having wet dreams again, about you, when – after – it was like every night. I thought I was g’na go crazy. You were haunting me like an incubus or something.”

He chuckles, low in his chest, “Poor baby,” he murmurs, “Couldn’t get me out of your head, hm?”

“No,” she answered honestly, which is surprisingly a lot easier to do when she can’t see him, “You’re all I could think about, some days. All I can think about.” Was that too much? Maybe not – Harry moans after she says it, and she can hear the slick sound of his hand speeding up, getting wetter, “Could you tell me what you think about me? When you’re touching yourself, I wanna know what turns you on. What fantasies do you have?”

“Naughty little thing,” he practically purrs, and it sounds like the start of a tease – like he’s going to tell her that’s classified information, or how puppies don’t need to worry their dumb little brains about things like that – but he surprises her, “I have a lot of them. Too many to go through – some of them filthier than others – ahh,” he groans, and she can imagine him tilting his head up, squeezing around the tip – it’s probably leaking by now, if he was a leaky person. She’d do anything to taste it. “Do you want me to be honest, honey? It might be a lot.”

“Please,” she begs, “Anything, I – I don’t think you could say anything that’s too much, ‘cos I want so much, I want anything – I want everything, you could. . .could do whatever to me. And I’d like it – even if it's gross.”

Harry coos, “So cute,” before he finally tells her, “The puppy thing isn’t just a nickname for me,” he admits, the sound of his hand slows down, like he’s wringing himself out, knows that he’s going to be too worked up not to cum while he talks about it. Y/N’s toes curl in anticipation, her fingernails bite into her thighs – from the introduction alone, she has a feeling that Niall has probably been right about something, “I think you’d be so cute with a leash and collar – maybe with a pendant that has my name on it, so if you get lost they know who to return you to. Would reserve a whole day for it – wake you up and have you cockwarm me but not let you cum, so you’re needy all day. Have you follow me around on all fours? The couch is a reward, but I’d let you curl up all pretty near my feet, and when you’d start whining because you’re needy, I’d – fuck –” his hand speeds up again, “I’d let you hump my leg. Let you pant and drool all over me, but if you get too loud I’ll give your mouth something to do – whether it’s my fingers, my cock or a chew toy. Jesus – and all you’d have to do is be pretty all day. Don’t need to think, just need to. . .need to let me decide for you.”

Y/N feels like she might combust, the blood in her veins roaring through her body, her arousal clinging to her underwear. It’s too much in the way that Y/N wants it – needs it. Had never considered actually being a puppy for him until then, but it sounds. . .it sounds nice, being out of her head. Cock drunk and stupid with something in her mouth. A whole day of just letting Harry decide for her. Maybe he’d let her crawl into his lap. Maybe he’d pet her, rub her back, scratch her scalp, coo and murmur at her like she really was just his little, sweet pet and. . .

“Yeah,” she nods, sitting up a little higher, a little straighter, “Yeah, that, that sounds good, I’d like that. Wanna be a dumb puppy for you, don’t want to think.”

Harry groans, and it reverberates through her even from this distance; it feels as if he were pressed right up against her. “I’d get you a tail plug,” he keeps going, encouraged, “Fuck it into you. Let it stretch you out all day. If you were a naughty thing, then I’d take it out and only fuck your other little hole while you whined and cried about it. Oh, and sometimes I just want to. . want to tie you up and see how much you can take. How many orgasms can I wring out of you, until you’re spent, so exhausted that you can’t stay awake.”

“I’d let you fuck me after I fell asleep,” she tells him, “You could keep going, I wouldn’t mind, I’d like knowing that you were doing it – that you did it – when I woke up the next morning.”

This little tidbit is rewarded by Harry giving her his fingers. His thumb finds her bottom lip again, only this time he does dip it in toward her tongue, lets her nip and suck at it, “Yeah? You want me to fuck that messy pussy while you sleep?” She moans around his thumb, nodding, “What am I going to do with a filthy puppy like you?”

“I want it,” she murmurs around his thumb, feeling the way he moves her around with the fingers of the same hand cradling her jaw, “Please, let me taste, I wanna taste –”

“This is a punishment, Pup,” he reminds her, but she can sense him stepping closer, hear his hand clearer, feel the warmth emanating from his body, “Only good girls get to taste my cock.”

Something twists in her chest, a whine leaves her mouth as she moves forward, closer, “Please,” her mouth is still full of his thumb, “Please, I need it, I’ve been dreaming about it, don’t be – don’t be mean –”

“Aish, shhhh,” he says between a mix of a chuckle and a moan, “Take what you’re given, baby. Take what daddy gives you.”

But Y/N needs it – she needs it so bad. Especially after he says something like that – when he calls himself that – when it’s something Y/N didn’t even know she was into until right then. It makes things 10x more serious for her – she feels more desperate than she thinks she ever has. Her underwear is so wet that it’s uncomfortable at this point, and she’s so worked up she thinks all it would take is for him to barely press a knuckle to her clit and she’d cum. Her hands, that had been good, sitting in her lap, now reach out and blindly grab for him. She finds his legs, the skin of his thighs, she thinks, a little fuzzy from the hair. The muscle is thick and begging for her teeth to dig into it, it tenses under her grip, but he doesn’t make her take her hands off of him.

“So needy,” his tone is placating, as he tickles under her chin, “Silly thing –” whatever else he was going to say is clipped off by another sound, a rasped, “G’na cum for you,” falling from his mouth. Y/N feels so worked up and so incensed that she isn’t actually seeing it, that she could scream. She wants it – would he let her taste that at least? Or was that considered a treat too? Y/N sticks out her tongue just in case, wishing she were feeling it against her tongue, stroking the inside of her cheek, filling her mouth up too full so that her jaw aches as badly as her knees.

A reedy sound leaves him, “Look at you,” she wonders what debauched version of her he’s seeing right now, and if she needs to be concerned or not. Suddenly, she feels his index finger swipe against her cheek, “You’re crying, Puppy. Do you need it that badly? Want daddy’s cock?”

Y/N hadn’t realized she was crying until he said it. Now she feels the sticky, wet on her cheeks, the salty taste of it when they drip down to her lips, onto her tongue. It’s like. . .so serious right now, for her. Niall had told her once about how he cried during sex, and how afterward he felt silly, but in the moment, everything seemed so intense and he just wanted so much, that all he could think to do was cry. How, in the moment, it felt so serious, his desperation, and she finally understands it.

Then, she feels it, the very tip of his cock resting against her tongue, “Don’t close your lips around it,” he warns her, “Just let me – fuck, fuck, just let me –”

Let him what, she doesn’t know, but Y/N fights every urge to close her lips around the head and suck him into her mouth. Still, she drools at the taste of him, the precum salty on her tongue, the tacky feel of the lube, her whole body vibrates when he groans long and drawn out, the tip throbbing once against her tongue before he starts to cum. It’s warm, there’s a lot of it – it’s not as bitter as some that she’s tasted before. Harry eats so cleanly, it makes sense, but it carries that musk and headiness that only he could have. It pools on her tongue, drips down her lips, probably over his thumb that he uses to hook around her bottom lip and keep her jaw open, and Y/N is rueful of any of it not savored. But he didn’t tell her to swallow it, and she’s exercising immense self-restraint right now.

Once Harry finishes, breathless, inhaling and exhaling loudly, “Swallow for me,” he orders, and Y/N wastes no time, bringing her lips together and swallowing it down, warm in her belly.

The thing was, Y/N had been so good at exercising her self-restraint when her eyes were covered, but she was not prepared for the sight before her when Harry removed the blindfold. It slips away, off of her face, and it takes her a second to readjust to the lighting in the room. She blinks several times, working the bleariness from her gaze, and then Harry comes into focus. His cock, softening, wet at the tip with precum and cum and the lube he’d been using to make it wet and messy from the jump. His skin is flushed pink, and looks soft, and Y/N is like. . she’s only a human, okay? She can only tell herself no so many times before she has to give in.

She leans in without thinking, takes the tip of his cock into her mouth, then swallows him down to the root. Harry seems omnipotent about a lot of things regarding her, but he clearly had not been expecting this, if the startled squawk that left his mouth is anything to go by. He stumbles backward a bit, probably sensitive, and when the back of his knees hit her bed, he drops down on top of it. Y/N follows after him, greedy, wanting, mouth open, and taking him back inside.

“Oh fuck,” he cried out, his hips bucking into her mouth, and it’s good – to see him lose it like this. To feel him get harder in her mouth, even though he’s probably overstimulated and sensitive, but he doesn’t yank her off. Doesn’t even scold her yet, just spreads his legs and lets her have her way. Y/N appreciates it, and the noises he makes, the choked off whine that has her buzzing. His hand carefully rests on her head, once again, pushing her hair out of the way, “Just like that, Puppy.”

Harry’s lips look so swollen, like he’d been licking and gnawing at them the whole time her eyes were covered. Y/N wants to stare at him while she has her mouthful of his cock, but cross eyed really isn’t a good look for her, and the thought of Harry seeing her at the angle of her looking up from beneath her eyebrows almost stuns her out of whatever brave daze she’d found herself in. So she just imagined how pretty he must look – she caught a glimpse of it, the way his brow was furrowed, how he almost looked like he was in pain, but the moans were denoting that he felt good.

To make him cum again doesn’t take very long. He twitches in her mouth, against her tongue, then against her cheek when she presses it up against the inside of it, letting him see the bulge of it outside of her mouth. There’s less of it this time, but still a good amount, something for Y/N to swallow down greedily, to lick off her lips after. When she pulls off of him, she fully expects to be chastised for doing that without him telling her to, but Harry doesn’t look mad. More so amused, a little fond – again, like he’s staring at a dog who just doesn’t know any better but still might be cute.

“Come up here,” he offers, and Y/N has sense enough to be a little careful of his cock when she crawls into his lap. Harry flops himself onto his back and brings her with him, laughing when she squeals, “So fucking filthy, aren’t you?” His hand still finds her back – he unclips the bra, but it doesn’t seem like he means to do anything with it. Just get it out of his way as he starts to tickle her back, light caresses along the knobs of her spine, tracing the curves and dips, the point of her shoulder blades. Y/N melts into him, nuzzling her face into his throat. Her cheeks are wet from her tears and her mouth is wet from spit and cum, but he doesn’t seem to mind, only coos a sound and keeps rubbing her back. “You won’t cum tonight, for that little stunt you pulled,” he murmured, and Y/N kind of figured as much. . She’s just pleased that he doesn’t seem upset about it. More humored than anything, “It felt good though, Sweetheart. You’re good with your tongue – can’t wait to feel it when you aren’t trying to overstimulate me.”

Y/N giggles against him, sinks into the feeling – this warmth, the buzz in her bones, the hum across her skin.

“Do you know what subspace is, Pet?” Harry inquires, and Y/N shakes her head, melts further into him, head full of cotton, “Mm, okay. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

She nods and closes her eyes.

. . .

“I fucking knew it, I’m always right!”

Y/N’s neck is sore from how she has it craned, keeping her phone squished between her ear and her shoulder to talk with Niall, because her hands were full. It’d been a long while since Y/N had done a solo shopping trip, mostly because she knows she talks herself out of getting most things, but if she goes with Niall, he’ll convince her everything is a good idea. And listen, sometimes you just need someone to agree with everything you pick up, so she’d rather go with him.

Today, Niall had a doctor’s appointment at noon, a lunch date with his cousin at 2:30, and a dick appointment at 6 PM because he liked to be on League by 9 to at least get an hour in before bed. They had an extra day off, courtesy of Harry having business to tend to (meetings and the like) today and Niall complaining enough that Adam finally agreed to let him have some time off too. This wasn’t special treatment gifted to them by Y/N’s throat goat antics, however, Harry always gave her a free day if he wouldn’t be in. And Niall always got a free day if he was fussy enough.

It feels like it happened a week ago, despite being last night. Harry reminded her before he left that she’d have the day off, so to take it easy and enjoy her day off. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another soft one to her temple – he was always very gentle with her after they did something together, which she thought was nice. Especially when she finds out she’s been going into some version of subspace this whole time, Harry explained to her once she’d been pulled out of it for the most part. It’s why he always makes the effort to stay, why he’s so careful with her. Up until the moment they part from each other.

So she slept in today, but she woke up kind of antsy, and wanting to spend money, so here she was – on a street full of shops that she really didn’t need to be going in and out of, but was anyway. Niall had originally called to tell her that his blood work looked divine, then Y/N promptly info dumped the entire night before to him. The whole time he was gasping and yelling, she wondered if he was in his car or if he was out in public – there was no shame on his end, and she guesses not hers either, if she’s sharing this in public. At least she’s kind of whispering though.

“Good think I already made the purchase and it’s getting sent to your house – collar and leash. I’ll let him pick what chew toy he wants for you, though.”

Y/N’s face feels like it’s going to burn off, “Enough – send me how much I owe you though.”

“It’s on the house, from one kink freak to another,” he answered easily, “Risky move jumping his bones like that though, I’m surprised he even allowed it. Reckon it’s because you look so cute and pitiful when you cry.”

“Thank you?” Y/N says it, unsure, “Anyway, we’re always talking about my shit – who is this dinner time dick appointment you’re meeting up with?”

Niall makes a noise like he just remembered that was happening, “Oh, yeah, he’s nobody special,” he tells her, “His personality reminded me of this character I like in an otome game. Speaking of, I need you to download it – there’s a character who is like a level 1000 yearner. He’s got your name written all over him.”

Y/N snorts, pleasantly surprised that Niall’s request of her isn’t something to do with his balls – but before she can entertain the idea of downloading, someone says her name. The familiarity of the voice makes her spine go ramrod straight, tension immediately builds in her neck, and Niall’s voice fades into murmurs of background noise. Y/N turns to her left, and like a demon that had resurrected from the mud and soil of a swamp, she sees Rowan – her ex – jogging across the street to get to her. Y/N should have pretended like she hadn’t heard a fucking thing and kept trucking it, but of course she full body stopped then completely turned to look at him, so pretending was out of the question.

“Ni,” she cut him off, from whatever tirade he’d started, “Let me call you back, yeah?”

She hangs up before he can question her and Rowan is close enough to hear her, “Hey! Was that Ni on the phone? Tell him I said what’s up!”

If he knew you’d bothered to speak to me, he’d probably teleport here and beat your ass – is what Y/N wanted to say, but instead she forces a smile, “Sure, I will,” before an awkward, “Hey. What-uh-what’re you doing out here?”

Rowan tilts his head – he cut his hair shorter, since she’d seen him last, and dyed it blond – something he used to swear he would never do. Y/N guesses people change, though. It suits him well enough, and seeing someone blond with brown eyes is always pretty rare, so it’s an interesting look, “What you’re doing, I imagine. It’s nice to shop during a weekday, when it isn’t as crowded.” He smiled, “I’m looking for a gift. Remi’s birthday is in a couple of days.”

Y/N knew that already, only because she and Niall had done an extensive deep dive into her socials after she found out about the whole “emotional cheating” situation. What she doesn’t know is if Rowan is legitimately just an idiot and thinks nothing of it when he brings her up, or if he’s trying to get a reaction out of her again. That bitter ex-girlfriend that he craved to have, it seemed, when he used to go out of his way to try and work her up. Get her angry – make it seem like he was something that needed to be sought after, fought for.

“Fun,” she replies as warmly as she could make it, “Give her a happy birthday from me.”

Y/N is about to make an excuse, pivot on her heel, and fuck off out of there, but Rowan is too quick – he always has been. “Ah! I just – can’t believe my luck today. I was just thinking about you this morning. . was going to message you but. . .” You never answer, is left unsaid. “Let me take you for a coffee? I’ll be quick, I promise, I just feel like. . .I feel like I need to talk to you. I don’t like how things ended. Closure and all that.”

She blinked at him – what the fuck? What closure did he need? He fell in love with his coworker after spending three years making Y/N insecure about stupid shit. Y/N, to his face, had been super chill about the whole thing and only requested that he leave the stuff she’d left at his flat in a box at her door. There was no closure to be had, in her opinion.

But if she said that. . .she knew how it would come off. So she sighs, relents, “Okay,” she answers, “But I really don’t have a lot of time.”

Rowan seems relieved, nodding, “I’ll be quick,” he promises again, then nudges his thumb in the direction he came, “I was about to go in there before I saw you. Their lattes are good – you still like caramel, right?”

It was awkward. You would think that after spending three years of your life with someone, seeing them again wouldn’t feel like meeting up with a stranger, but it does. The last time she spoke with Rowan like this, Y/N had barely started culinary school, Harry was someone she knew in name alone, and she still washed her clothes in a big mess of colors rather than separating the blacks, lights, and whites – so it’d been a while. There are huge gaps in time to be filled, and if they had actually ended things on a good note, Y/N wouldn’t mind learning what he’d been doing since they last saw each other like this. Instead, she doesn’t give a fuck, and would rather tell Harry that sometimes she pretends he’s holding her when she’s trying to fall asleep alone.

If Rowan senses the tension, he doesn’t act like it. His fingers run along the rim of the mug he has, “I – honestly? I just wanted to apologize,” he starts, hitting the ground running like he always did, “How I – what I did and how I did it were unfair. How I told you – I look back and kind of cringe at it. I probably sounded like a huge dick.”

You are a huge dick.

“That’s alright,” Y/N replied, “It was a long time ago. We were younger.”

He grimaces, “Still, sometimes I think about you and I just wish we could’ve kept in touch properly. But I know it’s my fault that we didn’t.” Rowan licks over his lips, then pulls the mug to his mouth, taking a small sip and wincing when the heat of it hits his tongue, “I’m not asking for you to forgive me, or anything. First and foremost, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for. . .well, I was never the best partner to you. Being with Remi has made me realize this.”

If Y/N were more spiteful, she’d probably say something like, “Pray tell how being with your new girlfriend has opened your eyes to your poor, lowly ex, whom you ridiculed, and made feel silly and gross and unimportant, and unloved. Explain why I feel more of a connection with my boss who calls me puppy and has me suck on his fingers, than I ever did with you, in the three years wer were together. Why stay with me so long, if it was only going to take six months to upend it?”

But she didn’t do that, because she’s a cool ex. Not the crazy ex guys they are always talking about, just normal, and that’s all. Not at all annoyed by him, or his presence. An apology is nice, sure, but he’s about three years too late, and she isn’t interested in patching anything up or being invited to the wedding. Especially when she has the feeling that this is an elaborate ploy to something greater – something that will benefit him.

“It’s all good,” she tells him instead, nodding her head, “I’ve moved past it.” Harry would probably click his tongue and call her a liar if he were here. Feed her bottom lip into her mouth and click his tongue at her. Silly puppy, what reason is there to lie for?

“Ah, well – I’m glad I could say that to you finally. All that being said, how are you? How is working at like, the most fancy restaurant in the world?” He grins at her, “You’ve always been such an amazing cook, you deserve to be at such a good place.”

Y/N nodded, “I’m good. It is really nice, and the people are kinder than I would have expected – the staff, at least. The people coming in can be a bit smarmy sometimes, but they’re just rich, so – you know how that is.”

“Ugh, yeah,” he agrees, like he’s ever been in the service industry his entire life, “It’s pretty busy there, isn’t it?” Y/N hums, nodding, taking a small sip of the latte — it’s overly sweet which means it’s just her type, “Do you guys ever do events?”

Here we go, “Hm? Events?”

“You know, like birthdays…wedding receptions…stuff like that?”

Something sour sits in Y/N’s gut as she looks at him, quietly for a moment. Enough time passes that it’s slightly uncomfortable, but she thinks he deserves it – this had been nothing innocent, as she suspected. Rowan didn’t want to make up with her because guilt had been eating away at him; he wanted to make up with her because he wanted a favor. Events in their restaurant are few and far between, because Harry hand-picks which ones he’s willing to do. During the wedding season last year, they had 5 receptions out of the 95 that requested it. They have an “event coordinators” number listed on the site, but it literally just rings in Harry’s office. He goes through his messages at the end of the day and ignores most of them.

“We have an event coordinator,” she tells him, “Try giving him a call?”

“Ah, that’s the thing,” Rowan gives a slanted smile, one that she used to think was cute way back when, but now she thinks is oily, “I’ve called but can never get through. I was wondering – if it wasn’t too much to ask for – would you be willing to put in a good word for me? Um, the reception would be this summer, sometime – our previous venue accidentally double booked so we’re kind of crunched for time.”

That’s not my problem, “Oh,” she replied lamely, “I see. Well –”

Y/N doesn’t know what excuse she was about to make, because she sure as fuck was not about to be a server at her exes wedding – but she doesn’t have to know. Not when, like an angel cast down from the sky in the form of Youngjae, appears at their table, all dimples, “Y/N!” He says it so cheerily, like they had plenty of history together and not just one successful meal.

“Oh, wow, what perfect timing!” Y/N is quick to get to her feet, “Thank you for meeting me here, I was just finishing up my coffee. Ah, anyway, sorry Rowan, I’ll give it a try, but we’re pretty booked up so it may not work. I’d look into other venues. Thank you for the coffee, have a good rest of your day.”

Y/N doesn’t think before looping her fingers around Youngjae’s wrist and guiding him out of the cafe. He goes with her easily, thankfully, and continues to walk with her until they round a corner, out of sight of the windows and the door of the cafe. “I’m so sorry,” she rushes to say, twisting to face him, “I was in the worst, most awkward conversation ever and needed to leave. Your timing really was perfect.” She grimaces, “But I’m sure you were in there getting a drink or something – um, can I pay you back for it?”

He’s still smiling, shaking his head, “No, that’s fine, I wasn’t ordering,” he motions behind them, “I own this building, so I was just checking in for the day.”

Eyes wide, Y/N gapes, “Oh? You own this one?” He nods, “I guess I didn’t realize you owned multiple – multiple chains?”

“Yes, though this is more of a family endeavor,” he replies, “May I ask what the awkward conversation was? Or is this a secret?”

She snorted, reaching up to knuckle at her eyes now, tired from doing everything in her power not to narrow or squint at everything Rowan said. What a crazy bastard – even if they’d ended things on beautiful terms, it is completely inappropriate to ask your ex something like that. Inappropriate and stupid – it’s one thing if he’d just go behind her back to do it, it’s another thing to try and wrap her up in it. Why the fuck would that have been a good idea?

Y/N explained the situation to a shocked and equally appalled Youngjae. It’s nice to see his reaction, because part of her wondered if she was overreacting, but the way his mouth is pulled into legitimate distress makes her feel a bit better, “That’s horrible,” he replies, “Do you want me to ban him from the cafe?”

This makes her really laugh, this time, startled out of her by the absurdity of it. Youngjae seems happy with her reaction, his dimples reappearing quickly. It makes her think about Harry and how she wishes she got to see his dimples more often, the deep little craters are so cute.

“No, no, that’s okay. He’s always been stupid, I’m just somehow surprised by it still. It’s been a while since I’ve even spoken to him.” She sighs, waving her hand back and forth in the air, batting the interaction away, “I’m sorry for that – for getting you involved and then. . .then telling you about it. I feel very silly.”

“It’s silly to feel silly,” he told her, “Now that we’re together, though, I do have a question? If you’re willing to answer?” Y/N looked at him, waited for him to continue, “You haven’t accepted my invitation yet, to my restaurant. I’m wondering if you’re not interested in Korean cuisine?”

Her eyes go wide again, “Oh my god!” She all but cries out, “Oh my god, I’m the worst – I completely forgot about that,” she hides her face in her hands, “We’ve been so busy and – you know I was wondering why I had a dentist appointment card in my purse but I just kept moving past it.”

Youngjae laughs, good-naturedly, warmly, “Ah, that’s good then! I was worried I may have come off too strong before,” he tells her, “I should have had one of my cards with me, but I hadn’t been planning on enjoying my meal as much as I did. Are you free today? Perhaps you can come with me?” He motions down the street, “It’s close by, just a small walk.”

Y/N looks at her watch and well – what the hell, she didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day. He did save her bum, and it’s not even like this is her repaying him for it. Y/N’s unsure why he wants to visit his restaurant so badly, but chalks it up to chefs just liking to show other chefs what they can do, and teaching younger chefs what they could become. It only benefits Y/N, in the end, to get additional experience, especially in a type of food she’s never had much experience in, besides barbeques. And even then, somehow she manages to evade grilling most of the time.

“Sure!” She answers, “Why not? That’d be fun.”

. . .

It is a lot of fun.

Youngjae is more like Adam in his approach to teaching; he’s silly and playful, and makes a lot of bad jokes that make Y/N laugh. He shows her the kitchen, their pantry, their cooler, and refrigerators. Introduces her to his staff, who scold him for getting in their way, and he only laughs about it and steps to the side. If any one of Harry’s staff had scolded him for getting in their way, he’d probably put their hand in a boiling pot, so this was an interesting dynamic to witness. Whereas Harry ran things with an iron fist, Youngjae seemed to be more tender-handed – both worked in their own way.

As promised, he does show her a recipe: sundubu-jjigae, a soft-tofu stew. Despite being more relaxed by nature, he is just as methodical as Harry in preparing ingredients, showing her how to cut, where to cut, where you could be more liberal with spices, seasonings, and sauces, and when it pays to be more reserved. He demonstrates how to prepare the anchovies, the pork belly – how he increases or decreases the amount of each ingredient needed based on how big of a serving they’re making. It’s one of their more popular dishes, so they have to make a lot of it every day.

The process takes a little over an hour – it probably would have been shorter, had he not had to stop and explain so many things to Y/N, but he seems delighted to.

“Is this your new student?” One of the chefs inquires, hip leaning against the counter, watching carefully like she was also learning how, “Miss. Y/N?”

Youngjae smiles but shakes his head, “Harry Styles is her mentor,” he tells them, and a steady gasp pulls from the chef’s chest, and a younger man nearby, “And that man is a bit scary, so I’m not looking to steal his virtuoso. I had one of her meals and it was so delicious, I’m still thinking about it,” he tells them, stirring the soup idly, and Y/N’s face feels hot with embarrassment and pride, “It reminds me of when I ate Mr. Styles’ for the first time, which says to me you absorb like a sponge – those are the best people to share skills with. I like to teach, and it is good to have multiple things in your repertoire. I believe so, at least.”

By the time they finished, when Y/N took her first taste, she gasped. It was good – Y/N had had it before, but now she was having the World’s 50 best restaurants version of it, made from the very owner himself. She’s buzzing, because she feels like she learned a lot today, and food is delicious, and she thinks she’s very lucky to be able to learn so many amazing things. Especially when an older woman pulls her to the side, “I’ll show you how to make mandu,” she tells her, “It’s very easy.”

Y/N spends a few uninterrupted hours there, learning, trying to utilize her sponge-like qualities that Youngjae had just said she had. She almost doesn’t realize her phone is buzzing in her back pocket until it’s about to go to voicemail. Then, when she slips it from her pocket, she sees Harry’s contact and is thoroughly surprised. She guesses she has been here for a while – he’s probably finished all of his meetings. Still, she wouldn’t have thought this meant he would contact her at the end of it.

“Hello?” Y/N holds her finger up to the woman she’s speaking with, promising to be right back, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Harry countered.

Y/N shrugs, then realizes he isn’t there to see it, “Oh, I dunno, you never really call me,” she explains, “At least not unprovoked.”

Harry hums, she can hear the jingle of his keys on the other end of the phone, “Are you home? I’ll come over. I’ve finished for the day.”

She’s surprised, really, because if they aren’t working Harry rarely has seen her two days in a row, “Oh!” She’s surprised, looking again at her watch, checking the time, “I’m with Mr. Youngjae right now, but I should be home after that!”

It’s quiet on the other end. More than quiet – silent, actually, eerily so – until Harry speaks again, “I didn’t know you were planning on that today.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t really a plan or anything,” she explained, “It was crazy, but I ran into him at a cafe when my ex tricked me into having a coffee with him so –”

“Your ex?” Harry repeated, cutting her off, “The one who messages you periodically and asks for dinner reservations?”

Y/N snorted – she’d forgotten she told him that, and was thoroughly surprised that he remembered, “The one and only.”

Harry is quiet again, before he hums – this hum, in particular, Y/N doesn’t know if she’s ever heard before. It’s short – a staccato noise. Y/N doesn’t even know if she could classify it as a hum, but she does, “I see,” he finally replies, “You’ve had a busy day.”

She scratches her forearm, “Yeah, a little,” she tells him, “But I’d – I’d like if you still came over. I can message you when I’m home, m’just about done here – I’m learning how to make mandu.”

Another short hum, “Yes, I’d like to see you after.”

“It’s a date then!” Y/N exclaims, then realizes what she says, and backtracks instantly, “Oh, I – um – I mean. . . I mean it’s a plan, then, haha,” she swallows hard, “Okay, I need to get back. I’ll message you!”

She hangs up, heart doing a weird little stutter. How exciting for her – she’d kind of thought the day was going to be ruined once Rowan showed his dumb fucking face to her, but it’s shaping up to be quite nice. Harry sounded a little odd on the phone, but she wondered if he was just feeling awkward about seeing her two days in a row. It’s new for him, for sure – maybe they could eat together, in a couple of hours. Maybe he would make her cum, after withholding it last night. Y/N kind of hopes he does, because then the chances of her going into subspace are greater, and the chances of getting a cuddle out of him are greater too. Harry’s a great cuddler, but she knows she’ll only get that at the end of the night.

The options are endless, really, what they’ll do.

Y/N is smiling as she walks back into the kitchen.

. . .

Harry is crashing out.

He never really understood the phrase when he overheard Niall and Y/N saying it (then Adam, subsequently, who always ended up using whatever weird phrases and lingo the two adopted for the month), if they touched wet food, or if Niall lost a rank in his League game, or if Adam had to sous vide another steak after a group of 10 executives came to eat one day. All of those feelings must have equated to what he feels right now, though, like he’s spinning out of orbit. Like he’s an alien spaceship, careening towards earth, slamming into some random farmland against his will. Sparks flying, pieces of shrapnel everywhere, and there he sat in the middle of it, overwhelmed, and consumed by the feeling.

It was one thing to hear that Y/N had seen her ex today. Harry didn’t care about that much; he cared in the way that he feels bad she had to see him, because he had picked up how difficult the dynamic between the two of them was, and he knew how it ended was shitty. He also knew that he never left her alone, so she must have been annoyed, to some degree. Harry hates that for her, and that for her off day, she had to waste even a little bit of time on him.

But to learn that Youngjae – pretty-eyed, nice teeth, dimpled Youngjae was the one to swoop in and save her? To learn that she had been with him since, learning something under someone else, not within reach of him. . .well, he’s seething, if he’s honest. The thick murk of jealousy sits in his chest and sinks to his stomach, as he imagined it. How sweet Youngjae must be to her right now, how he must be praising her, how Y/N is getting that twinkle in her eye and that sparkle in her veins when someone tells her she’s doing well. He’s well aware of what that praise shifts into, if Y/N’s attracted to someone, and hell, there’s no way she isn’t attracted to him. Even fucking Harry is attracted to him! And they’re probably alone, all snuggled up in a kitchen, giggling between each other, and –

Wow, he seriously can’t even think about it. It’s making his teeth hurt, probably from the way his jaw is set and tensed. He’s already outside of her place – he’d waited all of 30 minutes, but he was just driving around aimlessly and mad, so he thought it’d be safer to just park it somewhere. He doesn’t have to wait for long – he sees her walking to the building and feels like he’s going to faint because no way Youngjae got to see her in that pretty of a fucking sundress before Harry could. It’s a purple-ish pink, and flows in the wind, blowing up, almost high enough for her bum to show but she was too quick for it to actually show anything. Did that happen when she was with Youngjae too? Did he see her bum? Or, worse, did he see that cute, embarrassed look on her face? The one that makes Harry hard?

He waits for 15 minutes so he feels less pathetic about immediately showing up. Y/N messaged him a little bit after he’d seen her, a home! :) – that shows she’s just so painfully unaware of the turmoil he’s going through. He could tell over the phone as well, listening to how excited she sounded to be learning how to make mandu. Harry needs to get it in check before he gets in front of her door, or else. . .or else. . .he’s not sure what would happen, but he doesn’t know if he’ll like it.

Harry knocks on the door and struggles not to immediately crowd her space. She smiles when she sees him, though her brows are raised a bit, “Oh, you’re fast!”

“I was around,” he explained, and conveniently left out that “around” was right outside, in her parking lot. Hazelnut eyeballs him from the couch arm she’s propped on, with a look that says she knows something is up. Y/N always talks about the cat giving her looks, and he could only imagine that this was one of them. He understands more why Y/N is always so shaken by them.

When he steps in, closer to her, he sniffs the air a little. “Are you wearing a new perfume?”

“Hm?” Her head tilted – very puppy-like of her, and his prick does twitch in interest, but he reels himself in for a moment, watching as she tilted into her bicep and sniffed, “No, I’m not?”

“You smell flowery today,” Harry notes.

“Oh, do I? That might be Youngjae then or something – he kind of smells like a garden and we hugged before I left.”

A garden? You’re fucking joking.

Harry closes the door behind him, steps further into the flat, and further into Y/N’s space. He is unable to keep up pretenses for longer than those fifteen seconds, before he’s sliding a hand to the side of her neck, “How do you feel about marks?”

“Like love bites?” She rephrases, and Harry nods.

“Yeah, sure. How do you feel about them?”

Y/N shrugs, “I mean, I don’t mind them but – ah!”

He wastes no time, doesn’t hear her but that lingers in the air afterward. Harry fixes his lips around a tender, sensitive bit of skin where her shoulder and throat meet and bites down. The feeling of it makes Y/N jump, jerking back but Harry holds her still, and she doesn’t complain apart from a little whine. Soon enough, she’s craning her neck to the opposite side, giving him more room to do it. She’s so obedient, it makes him dizzy, or maybe that’s just because he isn’t breathing how he has his nose shoved up against her. He licks over the skin he’d chosen before suckling on it, holding her still, making sure it’s something dark and glowing, a pretty bruise that she’ll wear on her throat until it eventually fades. One he can press into, one she could see in the mirror and remember he gave her.

It’s pretty when Harry looks at it. Even prettier when he runs a thumb over it and she jumps, sucking in a wet gasp.

“You have a no hickey policy,” she finally says, and Harry hums, bemused, “At work. That’s – that’s what I was going to say – I like them but you. . .you remember, you almost ripped Ni a new one when he showed up with one on his neck and he sweated his makeup off.”

Harry vaguely remembers that. He couldn’t be bothered with the full memory, though, as he continues to run his thumb over the bruise.

“Remind me to give him an extra break,” he replies, “How many of these do you think I can give you?”

#SCREAMING #GOOD LORD #Harry styles fic rec #fic rec #favorites list

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harrysgoldenbum · 5 months ago

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being in yr 20s is abt experiencing the worst thing you can imagine & then having to go to the grocery store

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harrysgoldenbum · 5 months ago

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I’m a sleepy gurl

#i love my sleep

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harrysgoldenbum · 5 months ago

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[1] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 1 Word Count: 8,282

Ch. 1 Warning: smut (not w/Y/n), mention of a funeral, manipulation and coercion, corruption kink, humiliation

. .

The sky was gray, which seemed fitting for the occasion, and a single bell from the watchtower at the kingdom's town center slowly clanged the funeral toll.

It was a sad day for the prosperous kingdom of Thornekeep. The king’s funeral was quite the spectacle. There was not one citizen with a dry eye, for King Augustus Styles was beloved by all. The townsfolk stood along the cobbled road as two steeds pulled the king’s covered coffin to the cathedral for a ceremony that would end the elder King Styles’ reign and make way for the prince to be crowned by birthright.

The young prince was at the front of the procession riding on a lone horse wearing battle armor, along with his father’s shield and sword. No one could read his expression as he kept his eyes on the road ahead toward the cathedral. The people of the monarchy were not so keen on the prince. He was not as warm as his father, and he often ruffled feathers. Some would say he was downright mean. But what could they do? He had been brought up for this very thing. To rule and protect the kingdom and its people. They would have to put their trust in him no matter what.

The ceremony was attended by the royal court, Privy Counsellors, Lord Mayer, Realm High Commissioners as well as the family of the King. Prince Harry Styles sat on the woven red wool chair at the front as the announcement was made by the Council and the accession declaration was called before the Prince stood to receive his crown.

When the ceremony had concluded the old Sovereign’s casket was taken again by steed for the final burial where the whole of the kingdom stood in wait as their new King made his proclamation over the land and the kingdom to the public.

And so it was. The new Sovereign of Thornekeep, King Harry Edward Styles, would rule over the people henceforth.

. . .

“Your Majesty, we apologize for the intrusion, but it is time to get to the order of official business.”

“You wouldn’t have to apologize if you weren’t intruding, now would you?” Harry’s groggy voice spoke as he remained sprawled on his back in his warm velvet bed with three naked women lying draped over his limbs still fast asleep and unaware of the two men standing at the King’s chambers door.

“May it please Your Majesty if we return in one half-hour’s time? Our Lord Mayer and the Orders of Council are awaiting you in the Great Hall. This is a very important meeting, Sir.”

Harry knew he had a meeting set up. He knew it was important to keep it and he understood the gravity of it all. But he couldn’t resist when he took three lovely young things with him to his chambers the evening prior and they each let him do as he pleased. He’d just been crowned King for Christ’s sake! He deserved to sew his wild oats before things got heavy and real and it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty of his new stifling responsibilities.

“I will find myself in the Great Hall in one half-hour’s time. No need to return.”

“Yes, Sir. And what should we tell the Lord Mayer of your tardiness?”

“Fuck’s sake! I don’t care! Tell them I’ve got my privy member sallying forth and I’m in the sack with three concubines if you like! The Lord Mayer can wait a half hour. Give him a thumb of brandy. Tha’ should keep him with a smile.”

It was this very attitude that had the folk of Thornekeep nervous. Harry’s proclivity for saying what he pleased with little regard for the people he was saying it to.

The two men bowed their heads and backed out the door, closing it behind them before Harry sat up, pushing the women from him and stretching his arms overhead.

His first full day as King. He’d not looked forward to wearing the crown. But he knew what he needed to do and he had no choice just as the kingdom had no choice but to accept him as he was; full of grit and scandal, haughtiness and ego.

His bare feet landed on the heavy wood floors and he scratched his member before draping a sheet over the naked women in his bed. They’d all had too much to drink and Harry figured they could stay put until he returned. Maybe another round or two would do him some good and sober him up before he kicked them out to get back to their duties. Whatever those were.

He robed himself that morning and even though he’d been offered a personal dresser to assist him, he declined. Harry didn’t like the idea of having a valet in wait unless he was feeling like making them watch him fuck whoever he took in his bed for the night. That could be fun… Harry liked being watched. Maybe he’d reconsider and take a personal assistant after all.

The council and mayor were sitting in their places in the Great Hall when Harry sauntered in, unkempt and smelling of muff. Everyone stood and waited until he took his seat at the head of the long wooden table. Light poured in through the stained-glass panel behind him and everyone awaited the King’s call to order.

“We may begin,” he spoke. And so it started.

It was laid out for Harry the major issues that always needed tackling, allocation for funds and the people of Thornekeep, the Kingdom’s allies, and enemies, projects left undone that were awaiting signatures or provisional work. Then there were the upcoming events and additional contracts that needed sorting.

But there was also the concern of the King’s marital status.

“You’ll need a Queen. Someone to continue the Styles’ lineage for Thornekeep. The people will want to know they are under the rule of a stable Sovereign.”

“What does it matter how the people feel? I can rule without a Queen. I’d rather not be hindered.” Harry waved a hand as he spoke unconcerned.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, how do you expect to have a child out of wedlock?”

The cheeky grin that pulled up on Harry’s face had his advisor suddenly standing to stop the King from answering that question but Harry only laughed and looked at the man. “Sit. Do not interrupt me again. I think Our Lord Mayer would like a lesson in biology and I’m not one to turn down a teaching moment.”

The advisor relented with a sigh (what was he to do? tell the King not to speak?), sat back down and Harry began. “One does not need the burden of wedlock to create offspring. It’s quite simple you see…” All the men knew where this was going as Harry continued. “All I need to do is stick my fiddle within the sweet quim whiskers of a beautiful woman and keep it in until I’ve done my duty. Could take a few rounds to set but I imagine soon enough the woman receiving my bounty will be heavy with child and upon the moment of birth will provide me an heir. No need for a marital contract of any sort.”

The men of the council looked around at one another in near shock at Harry’s dismissal of tradition as the Lord Mayor spoke. “That will not do. It is imperative that you find a Queen, my Lord. You need a woman that will raise said heir in the castle with you, bring them up properly, and teach them our ways. This will be your legacy. You must see that.”

Harry knew of course that his words would fall on deaf ears. He knew he’d have to marry and make a show of it. But he did rather enjoy seeing the looks on the faces of the fancy and feathered men, all tensed with their sleek coverings of velvet and wool and white tights tucked into silk and leather shoes with shiny silver buckles and heels that made them appear taller than they were.

“Fine. I’ll have my selection in a fortnight.”

His selection. As if he were choosing a dish to be served for dinner. But that is how Harry saw it after all. He would have his choice of dishes just as he would have his choice of women. It would be the roasted venison with piping hot potatoes, smothered in butter, and artichokes for his dinner, and for his wife, he’d take the pretty redhead with the plump bottom and big bosom lying in his bed. She had the kind of tummy that would take a child well he figured.

Making his way to his chambers he whistled a tune to himself, his mood not diminished by the news of his new tasks, for he was about to wet his fiddle once again. The redhead did seem quite desirable in that moment. But instead, upon entering his room, the redhead was missing.

The two others were lying on their backs and turned to see the King enter. Sitting up quickly Harry pulled his robe off and shut his door. “Where is the redhead with big breasts?”

“She was gone when I woke, Your Majesty,” the one with dark hair spoke.

“Well, bullocks. Do you know her name?”

Both women shook their heads no. “No, King.”

Harry sighed and continued removing his clothes. Well, if he couldn’t find a wife that night, he’d enjoy what was leftover in his room. He had a fortnight after all. Plenty of time to find someone he could tolerate. He had no intention of selecting anyone from the pool of suitable women the advisors told him about. That was a bore.

“You.” He pointed at the fair-skinned girl. “Sit in that chair and face the bed.”

Harry’s undervest was pulled off and he was left naked as he walked up to the one with dark hair and grinned at her. “You’ll suck my cock while she watches.”

He enjoyed his position of power. Women never told him no. Not when he was a prince and certainly not now as King. He had the young woman take him down her throat and checked in with the fair-skinned girl. “Keep watching. Want to make sure you get a good look at how well she does it. Just like last night. This one knows how to suck.”

Her slick mouth encased his girth and he groaned as he stood at the bed, the girl on her hands and knees taking the King on her tongue and gagging violently around his length.

“Oh, a noise maker!” Harry moaned, “Keep up the good work my little whore…”

The girl sputtered and pushed away from him, gasping as she looked up at him. “I’m not a prostitute! I’m–“

Harry interrupted, balking, “I don’t care. Think of it as a term of endearment. Get back and finish the job. It’s much better when you don’t speak.”

“King… perhaps you could just fuck me? My throat is starting to hurt.” She rounded her eyes at him.

He sighed as if it were an annoyance. “Okay. Turn around, face down.” He looked over at the girl on the chair. “Still watching?”

She nodded. “Yes, King.”

Harry poked himself into the pretty woman and she was already slick for him. He enjoyed a cunt just as much as he enjoyed a mouth and the view he had was rather delightful. He rocked into her and watched as her pussy lips gripped him, her insides coating him with a glisten that smelled like a proper cock wrapper.

His heart began to thud harder as he thrust into the hilt, smacking his hips into her soft round bottom and moaning in gasps as he felt his testicles squeeze and tighten.

The girl was making her own little grunted noises but Harry wasn’t concerned if she finished or not.

Harry’s breathy moans changed into something deeper and more guttural the closer he got and he began to pound into her harder.

“Ahh! Oh!” She hollered as she was spread open by the King’s large cock.

But before she could even find her end Harry was pulling himself from her and spraying her back with his royal come and moaning in delight at his release.

The girl fell into the bed with a whine and the King noted the one watching was sitting at the edge of her seat with her eyes upon his cock.

“S’nice in’nit?” He turned toward her with his member in his palm. “Clean it off. Let’s make my knob shiny and new again.”

The girl was quick to lean in and take him in her mouth, licking off the slick from the other one who was left unsatisfied on the bed.

And when he’d had quite enough and his prick was deflating he parted from the girl and patted her cheek. “There we are. Off you go. Both of you. I’ve got to find myself a Queen.”

. . .

Y/n had seen the procession with the new King from his father’s funeral at the cathedral. He was a handsome man with a strange emotion set on his face. She couldn’t tell what it was, but sadness, it was not. She’d heard all the talk about him from when he was a Prince. An ass of a man with an ego the size of Rome. And now, worries of the new King’s reckless attitude being trouble for Thornekeep.

No one could know exactly what to make of it. He’d not yet really had a chance to do much of anything. As Prince, he served in the Royal Army. It was said that he led a very strict outfit during times of conflict and was good at negotiation. That he loved confrontation and could coordinate a group of soldiers to be the best and most feared on the lines. But what did that mean for the citizens of his kingdom? The monarchy relied on his strength and wits to lead. While it was a promising thing that he was good at combat and negotiation, what about the finer details of being a sovereign leader? How would the people fare?

“Right prat our new king. Doesn’t give a shite about us lot. You wait and see. S’gonna fuck the poor til we’re caged up like hogs. I don’t trust ‘im.” Lane was three quarts of beer in and Y/n watched as he guzzled from his tin.

The pair were sitting outside in the cold near the corner of the factory where the middle-income earners worked. Hoping for any scraps they might be willing to part with.

Y/n was a beggar. She would hold out her fabric basket or her satchel and try to look as haggard and tired as she could. But most just sniffed at her and walked past. She was young and while not the picture of health with her greasy hair and bones protruding, she was not fully unhealthy either. Most who gave to the poor were poor themselves. So she tried to look worse off to get anything she could.

A loaf of bread, a small salt fish, and whatever fibrous mash of grains and beans could be spared was allotted to each household weekly. And for Y/n, that was not enough food for her parents, her grandmother, and her three little sisters. She often went without eating and was the only one who could handle the chilled air for hours at a time to beg anyone who would spare a morsel.

Thornekeep was a rich, thriving kingdom but as was the norm for every city, town, and kingdom across the land, poor people did exist. Y/n had heard tales of other kingdoms that never allotted any food to households. And how some didn’t even have a roof over their heads at all. She was told she should be thankful that she wasn’t sleeping on the streets with the rats and their excrement as was common elsewhere.

But she wasn’t thankful. Her lot in life was hell. No one deserved to be treated as she was even if she was given a monthly stipend.

The debutante was held a week after King Harry’s crowning. Of course, Y/n would not attend. She was not of that world nor even close to being in a league where one would want her hand in marriage. What a laugh! Y/n imagined herself being presented among all the young beauties in their fine dresses with jewels and pinned and curled hair. What man would look at her and think he’d offer a proposal?

The young ladies and their mothers were all dressed to the nines. Shoulders held back, hair pinned high, fake smiles plastered on their faces… They were there to show the kingdom they were eligible for marriage and to compete for the king’s eye.

King Harry would be in attendance to select a bride for himself. He seemed to reject the normal route of having a queen selected for him. There were many who were raised up for that very thing and so his choice should have been easy. But he was stubborn. No one was surprised. Every woman presented to him, of those that his court felt would be a good match, he hardly even looked at before rudely sending away.

Gossip traveled through Thornekeep as the ball was held to show off the citizens’ most beautiful and affluent daughters around. If he didn’t want the perfectly crafted, and trained young women fit to be his wife and queen, then perhaps he’d find one at the ball.

As always, Y/n sat perched near the castle gates holding out a small fabric basket for anyone to give anything and, as always, the scraps she did get were barely fit for filthy stray street dogs. Most of the people on that day were tucked away and out of sight in their covered carriages, horses trotting past, kicking up mud. She was used to being disappointed. Used to being ignored. Used to going hungry at the end of the day.

"Dungworms, all 'em. Don't care if they dress in linen and fur. They're nothing but beetle-headed rot. Hate all 'em," Lane moaned as a coach passed them by. He threw a vulgar gesture toward them, but only after they were out of sight. It wasn't worth it to get in trouble over.

"S'true. Can't wait for the Spring. At least then we'll have the sun warming us while all the ratbags pretend they're better than us."

They laughed as they looked into the gates that were opening for the carriage. The castle was a majestic landmark. Y/n imagined that inside it was warm with fireplaces in every room and a hot stove in the kitchen that was constantly cooking food for the king and all his staff.

Maybe one day she'd be lucky enough to sneak inside without being caught. She could hide in one of the many rooms and pilfer food little by little and warm her bum at night by one of the fires.

She sighed at the silly dream, as her stomach growled and the gates clanked shut.

. .

The young women were all pretty enough. Harry was sure any one of them would be a fit. It wasn’t like he needed to do more than fuck the new queen until she was pregnant anyway but still… He found the freshly washed, smooth-skinned, rose and powder-scented young ladies of Thornekeep to all be a bore. And what good was making such a boring selection? Harry wanted people to watch. He wanted to see as all the advisor’s jaws fell to the floor. He wanted to make a scene. None of these fancy-frocked girls would do. He needed something more exciting that would really ruffle everyone’s feathers.

Stepping away from the pomp and circumstance of the ball he stood out on his balcony and watched out over the front of the castle yard with people milling about and stringed music floating up toward him. The gates were open with guards at the stand as new arrivals made their way in but he noticed a small group of peons sitting not far from the wall with their baskets and tins held out hoping for a scrap.

And he had a sudden idea. Using his small telescope he fitted it against his eye and lengthened the eyepiece to get a better look. Among the group of menials was a young woman. She was thin (too thin) and she had a scowl about her face but the thing that really stuck out to him was that she was… pretty. Not pretty in the way that many would notice but with a month or two of larded foods and sugared pastries, she’d be just as pretty as any of the girls in the ballroom.

Even better, she was of peasant stock and the kingdom would lose their mind over such a pairing. It was perfect. He could simultaneously cause a stir among the lowly proletariats, the middle-class bourgeoisie, and the affluent magnates at the same time. No one would expect it. And no one could stop it.

Harry descended the stairs as everyone in the room had eyes on him. The King easily dodged anyone looking for attention or conversation and pushed through to the front as he exited the castle. His guards followed close behind with Fred, one of his men in waiting, scrambling to catch up with Harry’s long-legged strides.

“King Styles! Where are you going?”

“Off to meet a young lady who sits opposite the wall. I think I’ve found my Queen.”

The King’s approach felt like slow motion. Guards surrounded as he sauntered along the path toward the gates and Y/n couldn’t imagine why the King himself would be walking through them and not be driven in a carriage. Mud was kicked up on his fine dressings and shoes but he seemed unbothered by the mess.

“You.” He pointed, his finger (adorned with a heavy gold ring) appearing to be directed right at her. “What’s your name?”

Looking to her left and right she furrowed her brow as she looked back to the young king.

“Can you hear or not? You, the one with the fabric basket, what’s your name?”

Putting her hand over her chest she responded. “Me? Your Highness, forgive m–“

“Said– what’s your name, girl?” He spoke in a clipped, annoyed tone.

He stopped in front of her feet, standing tall over where she sat upon the dirt and brick. “My name is Y/n. Your majesty.” She bowed her head.

“None of that. Up. Stand up.”

She felt his hand groping underneath her armpit as she was pulled upward, clutching onto the empty basket.

"How old are you?"

Y/n looked behind herself toward Lane and then back at the king. "I'm 20, your majesty."

His odd inspection had her feeling a bit miffed. She would have told him to watch his hands and to be gentler but this was the king. She couldn’t have imagined what interest he had in her but when he turned her around and held her out in his arms to view her backside he spoke. “We can work with this. Bit skinny but soon enough she’ll be well fed.”

“Your Highness… sir, the young women in the ballroom are far more… Why you can’t possibly–“ his attendant spoke.

“I can do as I please and I say this is the one, Fred.” The King spoke before he twisted Y/n back around and examined her rag of a dress before speaking. “Bring the coach around. I need to have her come in quietly at the back where the servants enter and then brought up to the Rose Room forthwith. We’ll need a few ladies-in-waiting as well. Do that for me without running your mouth to anyone and I’ll give you the night off.”

She watched with wide eyes, confused as the man called Fred scurried off back to the castle and then turned to look up at the king. “Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What is your business with me? Have I done something wrong?”

“On the contrary. Your luck is about to change. With a little sprucing you’ll be quite darling I think. You’ll live with me in the castle henceforth.”

Her lips parted as she dropped her empty basket and looked down at Lane who was also in shock with his mouth agape at the whole encounter before looking back to the King. “I don’t understand. Why will I live with you? Am I being sequestered or summoned for a servant’s job?”

“Oh no. Nothing like that. In one month’s time you’ll be crowned Queen. You and I will produce an heir to the throne once our nuptials bind us for good. You’ll be given your own room with your own attendants and we’ll fatten you up in no time to prepare you for carrying my offspring.”

She gasped and felt everything around her spin and spin and spin until all was dark and her mind stopped reaching for answers.

Harry caught her in his arms before she fell to the ground. He wasn’t surprised she fainted, given how malnourished she appeared. A guard and two of his aids helped bring her inside once the carriage arrived and up to the room that would be hers. A down mattress, silk and velvet bedsheets and blankets, a fireplace lit with a pot of warm water on the hearth, and a tray with a bounty of food were all waiting for her.

And if she was shocked by the King’s announcement about her being the Queen then waking up in such a lavish room that smelled of flowers and the smoke of a warm fireplace surely had her confused.

When she sat up, she felt the weight of a goose-down blanket draped over her body heavily. Blinking her eyes she saw a flickering fire and the ornate details of the room she was in.

“Madam…” A woman was suddenly stood at her side with a towel draped over her arm. “The King has requested that you bathe and eat before we bring you to him. Which would you like first?”

She shook her head, unsure of what was going on exactly. “I… is this for me?” She gestured toward the tray of food. Colorful fruits and a loaf of hearty bread caught her eye. She could go for a meal.

“It is. Would you like anything more?”

She quickly slid her legs from under the blanket and stepped toward the tray. The bright red apple beckoned her so she picked it up and took a large bite of the skin and flesh before tearing off some of the bread and stuffing that in her mouth as well.

There were blackberries, pears, bilberries, plums, a bowl of boiled potatoes, and cream. A pitcher of red wine beckoned with a pretty crystal goblet to drink out of. There was a whole smoked and salted fish, a gob of butter, and her favorite, a plum tart.

She’d nearly eaten the whole tray when she realized the woman had filled a tub with warm water and perfumed oil. She sat down the emptied glass feeling buzzed from the wine and stuffed so full that her ribs ached.

The room she was in was easily twice the size of the slum housing her family was given. The room was opulent and lit with fuel sconces and lanterns. A fireplace kept the space warm and the furnishings were a feast for the eyes. She imagined that the porcelain bowl near the tub would pay for a month of food for her family.

"Your bath is ready, madam. If you'd like I can leave you alone while you bathe or I can assist."

Y/n stepped in closer to the bathtub. It was one of those built-in tubs that you stepped down into, not the metal ones you had to climb up in. Her family didn't even have their own tub. It was shared with the men from the workhouse across the way and set at the back of the buildings outside.

But here, the tub was inside in a warm room and there was even a ledge to sit. Privacy. She'd love a little privacy.

"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."

The woman nodded and left the room after folding a cloth and placing it near the tub. Y/n began to take her clothes off, the dirty rags left in a stinky pile on the wool rug before she dipped a toe into the bath. The water was hot. She could see the steam rising from it as she slowly slunk down inside and settled her bottom into the seat ledge. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the water surround her body and soak away the dirt and grime between all her bits and crevices.

And the scent wafting from the water was glorious. Like a flower with honey and tea caressing her skin. She used the small cloth to wipe herself down and then dunked her head to clean her face. The last time she had a proper bath was over a month prior. Her usual cleanup method consisted of a wetted rag wiped over her privy area and underarms.

But to have a hot bath scented with herbs and flowers by a warm fire in a room decorated with the finest fittings was a dream. A real-life fantasy come true. She couldn't wait to tell Lane about the whole thing. It almost all had her so distracted she'd forgotten the reason why she was there in the first place.

She let her limbs float outward as she closed her eyes and basked in the delicious silence. Everything in her life was chaos and noise and panic. But in that moment, none of that existed. Not until the door of her room was being opened and the young woman who'd filled the tub had returned with heavy material and silky fabrics draped over her arms.

She laid the clothes out on the bed in a row as Y/n watched from her spot in the tub.

"I've an outfit here the King has selected for you. I'll help you put it on once you're ready."

Y/n stretched her neck and peered toward the bed. "The King. Will I be seeing him once I'm dressed?"

"Yes, madam. He would like to see you when you're ready."

The reality of it all was heavy when she was helped from the tub and felt the prick of chills run over her skin. As warm as the fireplace made the room, it was still winter outside and she shivered as she dried her skin.

The young woman helped dress her. Y/n'd never worn such frocks before. It was a complicated task, getting dressed in fine clothing. She lost track of all the layers as she was fitted and the material tied around her and her body tossled. But even she could admit, once all the fabric was put into place and the woman began to fuss with her hair she looked quite captivating.

For a beggar.

She was led through a carpeted hall that seemed to stretch the length of the whole of Thornekeep until they were stopped at a wide doorway that opened up to a pair of mammoth wooden double doors. The young woman glanced back at Y/n before she rapped her knuckles over the heavy door firmly.

The door didn't open right away. Moments went by as Y/n shifted on her feet and the young woman nervously smiled at Y/n.

"I'm Phoebe. Think I forgot to introduce myself," she spoke quietly as she trailed her sight over Y/n's dress. "Hopefully the King is kind to you. He's been… difficult—"

The door was pushed open and a beautiful woman with olive skin stepped past them. "He's all yours," she spoke in a sultry voice that Y/n could only hope to one day mimic.

Phoebe gestured for Y/n to pass through and Y/n stepped into the King's chambers. If she thought her room was spectacular, his was a sickening show of lush wealth and haughty, needless adornments.

She was startled when the king spoke from his lounge. "Come. Sit."

Y/n and Phoebe walked deeper into his room and stepped down into a sunken seating area. Harry sat up straight and motioned toward Phoebe. "Not you. Leave us."

When it was just Y/n and Harry and she'd delicately sat her bottom at the furthest spot from the king she could find, Harry got up and placed himself next to her. "Are you scared of me?" He asked with a bright tone, as if it amused him.

"Your majesty, I don't know how to act. I've never seen such indulgent things in all my life as today."

He nodded and looked her over. "What are you wearing?" He lifted at her skirt and she batted his hand away on instinct.

"Phoebe said you picked it for me."

"Who is Phoebe?"

Y/n blinked and looked toward his chamber doors and back at the king in confusion. "The lady who helped dress me and… She was just here with me. The one you sent away."

"How sweet that you learned her name already. And I didn't pick this for you." He plucked at the fabric. "I asked that you come here in nothing but a robe so I could inspect you."

She scooted away from him, her heart racing at the idea of showing herself to him without clothes. Harry laughed and leaned himself back into the large cushioned seat and draped a leg over his knee as he watched her curiously. "You are scared. Good. You should be. Take off your clothes."

Shaking her head she squished herself as far from him as she could but he simply reached his leg out and hooked his foot under her ankle to pull at her. "Don't do that. Said remove your clothes, girl."

"Yo– your majesty… I don't even know how these were put on. I don't know how. I… I've never…" Her heart was racing and she felt her fingers tremble as he sat and grinned at her like this was a game to him.

"What? You can't remove your coverings because you don't know how? I can deal with a timid vazey, but not a liar. Off with your things."

"No! You're rude! I will not!"

The king scoffed, surprised at her disrespect, as he pushed himself up to stand and stood over his bride-to-be. "I am rude, you'll learn well. But I have needs and you're here to keep them. Look at me when I speak to you."

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her face upward to look into the eyes of the man who she could hardly believe would be her husband. That part—that didn't feel real. Not at all. It couldn't be.

"Have you ever been touched by a man before?"

She thought she might pass out as her skin heated under the scrutiny of his gaze. "No. Of course, not. I'm unwed."

He laughed. "Plenty of unwed ladies get their fannies fucked and fingered, my poor feather-brained girl. You're a virgin?"

She nodded, keeping silent, though not happy about the insult to her intelligence. Perhaps she wasn't as smart as someone with a royal education but she knew how to read and could do basic math, which was more than almost everyone in her social stratus.

"I see." Harry sighed and reached down to grip her jaw and look her over like she was an animal. "Surprised no one has warmed their member with your quim yet. Rather sickly but you are pretty. Have you ever seen one?"

She gulped loudly. "Seen… seen one? What?"

He clicked his tongue and smirked. "A cock, my dear. Have you seen a cock?"

Y/n, though a virgin, wouldn't call herself a prude. She was used to crash speak and rude men but the king was a shock to her. She never imagined someone with his pedigree could be so filthy. "Yes."

He let go of her jaw, keeping his eyes set on hers as he lifted his brows. "Oh, you have. And did you play with it?"

"No!" Y/n looked down at her lap and inhaled a breath. She couldn't believe the conversation she was having with the king.

She felt his long fingers at her jaw again, forcing her to lift her gaze back up at him. "Don't look away from me when we're talking."

She knocked her head up and down and he dropped his hand away from her.

"Would you like to see mine?"

Her eyes widened and she shot her gaze down toward his crotch and then back up to his face. "No."

He smiled and let out a hearty laugh as he began to unbutton his forest green silk tricot coat. He eyed her, waiting to hear her protest again but when she simply watched him he continued to undo his outer layers until he had access to his breeches and tucked his fingers into the buttons at his front flap. Raising a brow he paused to give her a chance to tell him to stop.

But she only watched, flicking her gaze from his hands up to his face. She wouldn't admit it but she was curious. Scared a little of his demeanor and that he was the sovereign and could do as he pleased with her if he wanted, she still wondered what it might look like.

His pink lips curved upward slowly as he unhooked one button and let the fabric drape dangerously low. "I'm not going to make you suck it or anything. But if you want, I won't deny you your pleasure."

Y/n bristled and blinked her eyes away from him to the edge of the room before looking back up at him. "You're rude."

He smiled sweetly, a handsome dimple dipping into his cheek like he wasn't just about to whip out his big fiddle and show her. "You said that, yes… Keep going? Or stop? Up to you. I've got plenty of others I can show it to. They're all waiting, just hoping you disappoint me. They'd love to be in your shoes right now. Vying to be the next Queen of Thornekeep. If you don't want to be here you may leave and go back to the street. What will it be?"

She inhaled slowly and fought the stinging embarrassment that needled at her insides. She wasn't keen on seeing the king's privy member but his handsome face was alluring and if she said no, would she not be kept as Queen? Did she even want to be Queen of Thornekeep? She could say no and he'd send her back out into the cold with her old brown rags and her fabric begging basket. She'd have quite the tale to tell but that would be it. Everything would go back to how it always was. She'd continue sitting in the street and asking for kindness from strangers who wouldn't even offer her a glance, as the excruciating pain of hunger slowly ate her alive.

"Continue," Y/n spoke as confidently as she was able to. She didn't want that life anymore. Though she had no idea what she was getting herself into with the king, she figured it was better than life as a beggar. Cold, dirty, starved, angry, riddled with pain in her bones like she was an elderly woman… Being fed, bathed in perfumed oils, and dressed in fine silk and wool skirts, inside a warm castle, with a bedroom all her own wasn't just tempting, she wanted it. Even her bed and its heavy down blanket were to die for. Worth the humiliation.

Plus, if she told herself the biggest truth of it all, he was dashing. More than just dashing. He was the most fine-looking man she might have ever laid eyes upon. But she wasn't ready to admit the way his green eyes had her pulse fluttering like a small bird.

Harry reached down to run a finger over her jaw gently while he unplucked the second button from the front flap. "Keep your eyes on mine for a moment."

She tried to wet the dry desert of her throat as she steadied her eyes on him, which turned out to be quite the task when she could see at the limn of her vision his hand working something fleshy just in front of her. His cock was out, she knew that much, but she wanted so badly to take a quick glimpse.

"Mmm… Your eyes are pretty," he spoke, still moving his hand about. "How many cocks have you seen?"

Blinking her eyes softly she puffed out a shaky lungful of air. "I don't know. The men at the workhouse who use our tub just walk around nude."

"And they never touched you?" His finger felt sweet on her face and for a moment she thought he was a man she could find herself trusting, loving even. Perhaps she was too naive.

She shook her head. "I wouldn't let them."

"They tried?"

"A few."

He clenched his jaw and stretched his neck as he lifted his sight away from hers. She resisted the urge to peek at his crotch even though she could have gotten away with it right then as he wasn't looking at her.

When he returned his gaze down at her he stepped in closer, pushing her legs apart to stand between her feet. He glanced down at himself and moved his hand from her jaw. "Look at your king's cock."

Y/n swallowed hard and blinked as she shifted her stare downward until she saw the big thing in her face, swollen and thick. And long. His big palm was wrapped around the space of him that grew out from a thatch of dark hair.

Now, she'd seen cocks before. Soft ones, hard ones, weird and infected ones… The workmen didn't care who saw when it came to bathtime and some of them even tried to get her to participate if she were anywhere near them. But Harry's was… well, it looked fit for a king she supposed. Maybe all royals had clean, pretty pricks.

"Touch it."

She glanced up at him, struggling to even breathe. Not only was the corset pulled too tight around her ribs, but the king's vulgar words and his cock in her face were making her feel quite fettered and discombobulated. Her chest heaved so hard she was worried she was about to burst the stay lace that held the corset together.

She reached her fingers upward and focused on the very tip of him where there was a small slit that carved outward like it was draped in a blanket made of smooth flesh. The rest of him was a little more crude with veins that ran along the rigid flesh. When she touched the top of it with her fingertip she gasped and pulled her hand away. It was like a warm small naked creature that'd been warmed by the fire for a bit too long.

"He's not going to bite. He might spit at you, though." He laughed. "Touch it. No need to be virtuous with me. You'll have to get used to handling it anyway."

"It's the first I've touched. I… Where should I place my hand?" She was genuinely worried she'd do it wrong, and he was the king so she was cautious.

King Styles reached down to grab at her hand and he spat a big glob of slick from his mouth that pooled into her palm. She winced as he placed her hand on the long shaft of himself, pressing her fingers around his girth and guiding her upward to his smooth tip.

"What do you think? Not bad, right?"

When he let go of her hand she slowly continued smoothing his spit over his flesh and peered closely at the organ. It was a curious thing to touch a penis. She was surprised by how warm it was and the mechanics of how all that worked were still somewhat of a mystery to her. She understood that men used their pricks to stick babies into women and that it hurt and it was disgusting.

"It feels funny. S'really warm."

"Is it?" He smirked down at her as she examined him, her hand still sliding in very stunted strokes up and down. He quite enjoyed the way she looked at it in awe. Of course, the way she was handling him did him no good. That wasn't going to do anything for him but she'd learn soon enough what he liked. Whether she liked it or not.

"How does it feel for you?" Y/n knew enough to know that for men, it felt good and that while what she was doing wasn't sex, it should be favorable for him.

"You'll need teaching but your little hand will never feel quite as nice as your mouth or the warm treasure you're hiding between your legs."

She stopped and frowned at him. "I haven't ever—"

"Yes, we know. You haven't touched a man before. But we'll change all of that, won't we? Keep going with your hand and spit on it."

Sliding her palm over his tacky skin she spat over the spot just above her fist and smeared her saliva upward. "What will I tell my mum and dad? I should tell them where I am and—"

"Oh, girl." He patted her cheek condescendingly. "Let's not talk about mum and dad while you're working my knob. Tomorrow we'll fetch them."

She swallowed and tried to focus but everything was so overwhelming.

"Are we going to have intercourse?" She looked up at him with big pretty eyes.

"Of course we are. How else do you expect to find yourself with child?"

"I don't know… I'm scared to do it. I don't like the idea of it."

Harry pushed her hand away and tucked himself back into his front flap as he sighed. "You're no good at this. And if you don't want to learn how to be good for me then there's no need for you."

He turned to walk away, leaving Y/n sitting on his plush sofa she sat up straight, confused. "Should I… What shall I do?"

Harry pulled his jacket into place and rebuttoned it as he looked at her with an indifferent expression. "Go to your room or stay here. I don't care particularly either way. I was disappointed by you so I'm going to have to call in someone who can please me properly. Someone who can do the things you can't. If you want to stay and watch and learn then so be it."

Y/n stood up quickly and clasped her hands together in front of her hips. "Your majesty, please—"

"My King. You'll address me either as My King or My Lord. Yes?"

She nodded quickly, stepping closer to him. "Yes, my King. I only need a little more time to learn. I promise tomorrow I'll be better for you. I'll do whatever you need. Please don't replace me."

Harry lifted a brow, his still unreadable expression was worrying to Y/n but the way he scraped his eyes down her frame made every inch of her body burn. He wouldn't tell her but he was pleased with her already despite what he'd told her. She was desperate and quite pretty and that was all he required. She played into his rude affront exactly as he hoped and it had her worried he wasn't going to keep her. He had no plans to touch anyone else now that he had his mind made up. She'd do just fine once she learned to be more obedient and malleable.

"We shall see." He flicked a hand in the air and then gestured toward his door. "Off you go. You'll try again to be better tomorrow. You'll have one more chance to prove yourself to me."

She felt defeated. Walking slowly past him she turned to look back once more and watched him step out onto his balcony, the lace curtains blowing in the wind as he moved out of view. Pushing at the heavy wooden door she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying. She didn't know if she was more upset with herself for not being bolder, or if she was angry at how the king had just treated her so poorly and insulted her. The situation was discouraging but she was determined. She'd dealt with worse, hadn't she?

Phoebe met her outside the doors and walked her back toward her room. Y/n wasn't sure how she was going to work up the courage to be enough for the king. She didn't want him to find another to take her place so she needed to do something. But what?

"Would you like anything, madam?" Phoebe asked.

"Are there books here in the castle? A library?" Perhaps she could read about pleasing a man if such a thing existed.

"Yes. A grand library. I can't read myself. Are you able to?"

Y/n nodded. "I can read, yes. I'd like to see it. Would you show me there?"

. .

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#to read!#I am so intrigued #Harry styles fan fic

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