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daylightmidnights · 17 days ago

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Blossom

In which Harry is hard but Y/N is his soft place to land. People have doubts over her being able to handle the alpha, considering her cashmere and tea like demeanor, but something about it evens out.

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WC- 6.3k

Warnings- supernatural themes, wolfrry, possessive behavior, threats, obsessed tbh, soul mates, smut, biting, knotting, breeding, praise kink, worship!

—-

“My Blossom.” The alpha spoke lowly, watching as his mate approached him. Something was wrong- something was bothering her. He could smell it- and he didn’t like it. “Why are you wilted, my love?”

It was his way of asking her why she was upset. Usually, she was upbeat. Chirpy. Cooing and grinning, moving slowly with the air of comfort radiating around her. Warmth was her aura, and people tended to feel it. Even Harry’s closed off demeanor had felt it the first time he had seen her- but today, she seemed to have cooled down.

Her scent was always the first indicator that something was amiss, the sweet honey and jasmine tinged with the smoke of a candle blown out too soon. It was the most obvious alert, but he could see it very clearly. She was trying to act alright, but that precious smile didn’t reach her eyes- and it pissed him off. If it were just a documentary bothering her, having accidentally stepped on a bee, burning a batch of cookies or something he could soothe away with a few purrs, she would say so. Communication was usually never an issue with them.

She didn’t come out and say it, meaning something had pissed her off.

Something he was going to deal with.

“I’m okay, my Moon.” Stepping into his vacinity she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, hands finding his chest with another weaker smile. Like he wouldn’t see that her eyes weren’t crinkled just the tiniest bit like normal. “It is nothing of importance. I’m fine.”

Of course he didn’t buy it. Pawing at her waist, he backed her up into the counter before lifting her up on to it. His gaze was intense, searching her thoroughly as he tried to get it out of her. There were no marks or bruises on her, no sign of physical pain, so that was something- but an emotional bruise could hurt just as much, if not worse.

His hands settled on her waist possessively, pulling her closer as he towered over her seated form on the countertop. "Look at me." He growled lowly, his eyes searching hers for any sign of deceit. He could smell the lie on her, the faint scent of bitter herbs hiding beneath her usual sweet aroma. Nothing displeased him more than her pain. Emotional, physical, it irritated him more than most would consider rational- but he tried to be, for her benefit. Y/N hated making him upset at all. She did whatever she could to avoid tripping the delicate wire that was his temper. Not because he was ever aggressive with her, but he was quick to satiate his thirst for revenge. An eye for an eye. The preferred method for the mother of the pack was peace, calm, order. The complete opposite, balancing him out. This time, though, he didn’t seem too keen on letting it be brushed under the rug.

"Who upset you?" His tone left no room for argument, his alpha voice rumbling slightly as he demanded answers. The slightly sharp tone was paired with the sweet stroke over her cheek, trying to sooth any sting the tone may have. Harry didn’t want her to feel like he was upset with her, but not knowing what upset the love of his life was infuriating.

“I am alright, Alpha.” She whispered, cupping his face in her hands. “It is simply the wind bringing in the weeds. Soon it will blow over.” Her fingertips scratched slightly over his stubble, letting out a soft little sigh for him. Her sweet, stubborn man. The leader of the pack had to be, and he was born for it- but it was hard to calm the fires he was impulsive to start when it came to her. “I was made aware that some members of our pack simply do not understand our dynamic, my Moon. And that is alright.” It did upset her, though. He could smell that and she knew it, but she also knew his temper. Harry usually was a fair alpha to his pack despite his temper, especially since she had mated with him, and she didn’t want him losing his head over something so trivial.

"Blossom..." He caught her wrist gently but firmly, bringing her hand down from his face to press a kiss against her palm. Her sweet touches only partially distracted him from the rising storm inside. The wolf pressed against his mind, insisting they protect their mate from the unseen threats, pacing like he was locked in a cage. Always a fighter, it had still taken Harry by surprise how bloodthirsty he could become when it came to Y/N.

"You think I won't gut every creature who looked at you wrong today?" The words were a dark whisper against her skin, the alpha tone heavier. Enough to make her let out an almost silent whine as she squirmed just a bit, giving him a look. “No, none of that.” Tapping against her chin, he searched her eyes. “You come in looking wilted and sad. Who has taken your time in the sun, sweet one?” Nudging her nose with his own, he knew it was a dirty play to make her fess up, but she responded to his sweetness. “Hm? Just let me know what was said.”

“Harry.” She sighed, letting her eyes close. “It truly is trivial. I promise. I had just…” Swallowing the lump that had materialized in her throat, she leaned into him and let their forehead press together. The closeness usually helped. “People have been talking… questioning me today, actually. About if I think I will be able to handle you at your worst.” She started off slow, running her hands down his shoulders. Trying to keep him calm, feeling his body tense up as she spoke. His hackles were raised.

“Some of the warriors, they were speaking to me in the great hall. They were warning me of how you are during times of war. In battle. About how you almost went feral, and they said that I seem very… soft.” It didn’t offend her that they thought she was soft because she was. Y/N took pride in it. But softness didn’t equate to being weak. “They had said in passing they had expected you to mate with a fierce warrior. Someone with more bite, who could keep up with you. I suppose it upset me because I am not that. I’ve never wanted to be. I know my strengths, but.. Hearing that some of our pack think we are not well matched? It displeases the soul connection.” To her wolf. It had angered her, and Y/N hated feeling angry. The inky black feeling swirling through her body was not a common one she felt and it was one she wanted to rid herself of.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he processed her words, his grip tightening slightly on her hips. The audacity of any of the pack to question their bond, to doubt the strength of his gentle mate... Considering the kindess she showed every day? The meals she planned, the baskets she had started to put together for families expecting pups? Did they really not know how badly his nerves needed some calm, some sweetness? Y/N was his match in every sense of the word. The goddess wouldn’t have paired them together if that wasn’t the case. Hearing the surely censored version from her -because she was still being a pack mother and protecting them-, it set his blood aflame with barely contained fury. The disrespect. The disgusting lack of gratitude. It was unfathomable.

"Listen to me very carefully, Blossom." His voice was velvet over steel, each word precisely enunciated while trying to keep it softer for her sake. "Our connection goes far beyond mere strength or fierceness of a warrior. Your fierceness lies in putting up with me.” He tried to soften his tone with a joke but it didn’t really work. The anger was festering and he wanted to know who exactly said it. Most of all, he wanted her to never let those words bother her because none of them knew what he needed. Only she would ever have the slightest clue of what he would need.

“You are my anchor in every storm, my light in the darkest of nights. The only reason I have not set out to find who it is that is spreading this disgusting lie, this delusion that anyone but you would ever be remotely capable of knowing my needs, is because you soothe me. Like your teas do for you, your presence does for my entire being. Wolf and all.” Needing the skin contact, he slipped his hand under her top, feeling the warmth of her back. “Do you see? You understand how I just calmed, just by touching your bare skin?” His voice dropped to a rasp, shaking his head. “They will never know what I need. You, my mate from the stars, are the only thing I will ever need.”

Y/N let out a sigh in response, relaxing a little as he spoke his truth to her. Not once did she doubt that he thought these things, not once did she doubt her connection to him- but it had hurt to hear people think she wasn’t the correct woman for him. That they thought he could do better. Some of it was from obvious jealousy, considering some of the very wolves saying the things were warriors themselves, but it still did not feel good. The alpha female would be the first to admit she was sensitive, she always had been- but it also bothered her to know they doubted their alpha’s bond.

She could see why they’d be jealous. Harry was powerful in every sense of the word. He was handsome, intelligent, strong, able to lead effortlessly. There was nothing about him that would turn off a wolf looking for a mate to protect them and provide the best life- but he was hers. Y/N owned his heart.

His heart ached as he felt her relax against him, her warmth that he adored so much seeping into his hand. He hated that she had to hear such nonsense, hated that it hurt her- lies. Pure and utter shit lies that had him feeling the flames of anger flicking back to his stomach. "I swear to the moon and back, Blossom, no one knows me like you do. You see things in me that I don't even see myself.” His mate would never be able to truly know how much it had shocked him from their first meeting until now, how she could read him. How she knew what he needed at all times, even if he tried to deny it of himself.

“And as for needing someone stronger, fiercer... that is complete shit. They have no idea what you do for me. How you uplift me, keep me strong on your own terms. They don't understand that your gentle strength is the very thing that keeps me grounded."

Harry's voice dropped to a whisper, his breath ghosting over her ear as he pulled her impossibly closer. "You are the shield that guards my feral nature from emerging and becoming everyone’s problem. You saved me from losing myself. You, my love, are the soft melody that soothes the savage beast within me." His instincts urged him to protect her, to hunt down those who dared speak ill of his mate- the mother of the pack, no less. Yet, he held back, knowing she needed gentleness, not brutality. It would be dealt with, no doubt, but she would be put above that. That’s the way it would always remain. "Anyone can battle, but only you can give me peace. Only you can quiet the storm inside me."

As he whispered those words into her ear, he felt her melt into him, her smaller frame pressing against his built one like a puzzle piece. Her scent seemed to wrap around him, sweet honey and jasmine filling his senses- calming the beast within him further. Her breathing hitched slightly, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she nuzzled into his neck, seeking out comfort and reassurance that only he could offer her.

The sound of her soft whimper was music to his ears, the gentle vibrations traveling through his chest as he held her close. He responded with a purr of his own, stroking her back soothingly. His scarred hand rubbed the bare skin with comforting circles as he pressed kisses to her hair. "Hush, my love... my gentle soul. None of that matters. What matters is you and I, our bond, our love. Nothing and no one can ever change that." His voice was a warm blanket, wrapping around her and keeping the chill of doubt at bay.

Harry could feel her frame shaking slightly, not from cold but from the emotional turmoil she had endured today trying to release itself. It infuriated him that anyone had made his angel of a mate feel this way, but he focused on soothing her instead of hunting down the culprits immediately. If this had been before she had worked her magic on him, any other true problem, he would have snapped. Attacked. But his priorities had shifted. "Blossom..." He murmured, his voice low and rumbling, "Look at me, please."

Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as they met his gaze. The sight of her grief pierced his heart like a dagger, his instincts yet again screaming at him to eliminate whatever had caused her distress. But he swallowed his fury, choosing instead to drink in the beauty of her vulnerable expression. "There she is," he whispered, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that dared to trickle down her soft cheek. "My fierce, tender flower."

He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her jawline, and finally her lips- each one a silent promise of his unwavering love and protection. His touch was worship, as if he were praising every contour of her face with his lips. Perhaps he was. It’s what an angelic being like her deserved. Too fucking sweet for the likes of the beasts that tried to steal that sweetness from her. It belonged to him. She belonged to him as he belonged to her, and that was going to be made very clear. Between each kiss, he murmured soothing words against her skin, peppering his own affection in the ways he knew how. How she’d taught him. "You're perfect. Made of the stars. Brave. Mine. Always mine." His hands cradled her face, his calloused thumbs caressing her smooth skin in a soothing rhythm.

He loved her with a power that had previously been unknown to him- and now that he was more than familiar with it? The people who had made her question it were going to find out.

——

When Harry walked into the training ground, they knew immediately. It was a change in the air, like the birds stilling in the trees. Nature knew he was angry. With his broad shoulders back and his expression like stone, it was hard to miss. The harsh lines of his face were accentuated by his jaw ticking slightly. His eyes were dark, almost black, his entire body language screamed "danger". He was silent, deadly, and someone was in for it. No one spoke as he entered, the wolves freezing mid-training. They knew that look.

Each step echoed off of the trees deliberately, measured, as he approached the front of the training grounds. His presence was a storm front, cold and heavy enough that the other wolves began to shift nervously. He didn't need to bark orders, didn't need to raise his voice. The pure menace rolling off him in waves was more than enough. "Who was speaking about my mate?" His voice was quiet in volume, but it cut through the air like a blade.

The group exchanged uneasy looks. None wanted to be the one to answer. They had seen Harry lose his shit before, but never like this. Never so controlled. So dangerously still. It was silent for a while, looks nervously thrown to one another. They knew what he was talking about, but no one wanted to speak out. Not when he looked that angry. It took a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before one of the bravest, or perhaps dumbest, Grace, stepped forward slightly. "Alpha?" She tested the waters carefully. "We were- it was just chatting shit. Teasing. You know how it goes." She tried to laugh it off, but it fell flat. Nothing about this was a joking matter. Multiple people winced at her attempt to try and be casual with the Alpha, but there was nothing they could do.

The forest seemed to echo the unnatural silence as Harry's eyes snapped to her. "So you think she's not good enough?" His voice was deadly soft, head tilting slightly. "You think you have the right to question her worth? To question our bond?" He took a step closer to Grace, towering over her. Not just in physical presence, but in power. His eyes flashed with a primal fury that made her take a step back. "She's the heart of this pack. The very air that we breathe. And you dare to speak ill of her?" His voice rose, reverbing through the trees. "I should rip out your throat for even thinking such things, let alone trying to speak them out loud. Cut out your tongue. I thought you would be able to put pathetic jealousy to the side and embrace having a pack mother, but I overestimated some of you." The other wolves shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in the ground. They knew he was correct. His anger wasn’t misplaced. No alpha took well to their mates being threatened.

"I should line you up and demand the names of anyone whose goal was to make my mate upset. Make you suffer the same amount of days as the tears I’ve cleansed her face of. It’s what anyone deserved after disrespecting not only the pack mother, but the alpha himself. Any disrespect on her is a disrespect to me.” His snarl was deep as he watched them flinch. It pleased him, in a sick way. They should be scared to upset her.

“I think you all have gotten a bit too comfortable with her kindness. I am not as kind as her. I have a penchant for revenge and you all know how I handle that in this pack. I should kill you all for trying to place doubt on my soul tie.” He said after a long moment, his snarling voice returning to that deadly calm. "But I won't. Because she asked me not to. My mate is kind, forgiving. Things I am not. She thinks you're misguided, not malicious."

He looked out at the group, his gaze icy and unforgiving. "But let me make one thing clear. If I ever hear such talk again, if I ever sense even a hint of disrespect towards my mate, the matriarch of this god damn pack? There will be consequences." He paused, letting his words sink in. There was no denying that Harry would make good on his word. He always did.

Harry took one last glance around the circle of startled wolves, ensuring his message had sunk in thoroughly. His stance remained rigid, hands clenched at his sides as he battled the lingering urge to discipline physically, let out the anger. But for his mate's sake, he restrained himself. She was asleep in their bed with swollen eyes, and that simply wouldn’t do. Getting back to her was the priority. "Understood?" He growled, awaiting their confirmation with barely concealed impatience. The weight of his gaze pressed down on them, demanding verbal acknowledgment of the unspoken rules he'd just laid out.

The chorus of “Yes, Alpha.” Wasn’t good enough for his wolf- but it would do for now.

——

As Harry slipped back into their shared room, he moved with a practiced quiet, not wanting to disturb his sleeping mate. The soft moonlight filtering through the closed sheer curtains illuminated her peaceful form, curled up beneath the blankets like a little lump. Her body was turned away from the door, one of his pillows between her arms as she snoozed- most likely to get his scent close. He shouldn’t have had to leave her at all so she had the scent from the source, but it had been a necessary sacrifice.

Quickly shedding his clothes, the fabric rustled softly in the still room as he kicked it to the side. The laundry basket would have to wait for tomorrow. With no shame of his nudity he carefully climbed into bed beside her, slipping under the blankets to share his body heat with her. He inched closer, his larger frame spooning around her smaller one as he placed a few kisses to her bare shoulder.

Rubbing his nose into the crook of her neck, the man took a deep inhale of the purest source of her. The familiar sweet scent of honey and jasmine soothed his frayed nerves, undoing some of the tension that had his bones creaking. There was no cure like the feeling of the one person in the world that was hand plucked by the goddess herself. Nothing could compare. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest as his hand rested over her soft stomach. Even in sleep, she let out a content sigh and wiggled back against him, seeking out his warmth. His hardness pressed against her backside, but he ignored it for now. This moment was about comfort, not lust.

“Where were you?” Well… with her not as asleep as he thought, he let out a hum as he inhaled her scent again. Y/N was sleepy, sure, but her hands rested over his own rubbing over the backs of them, over his knuckles and fingers.

"Training grounds." He murmured lowly, exhaustion in his voice. He knew she was checking his hands for bruises, for cuts, his knuckles for any splits. She always did that when he was gone too long. He loved that she worried about him, that she checked his body for damage- but he had promised not to lose his temper and torture anyone in her name tonight. He had made good on that promise- even when it was extremely hard. "Why are y’up?" He called softly. "Are you alright?"

“I’m alright, my Moon.” She nodded, leaning back into him. “I just can not manage to sleep well when you aren’t in the bed with me. Especially when I don’t know wherever it is you’ve run off to. Sneaky”

"Mmhmm." He hummed skeptically, pulling her into him. He knew she wasn't sleeping well without him, but he had to handle it soon or he would go crazy letting he anger fester. "M’sorry, my petal. I had to make sure they knew you were to be respected. That is all." He asked, his voice low as he felt her fingers splaying over his knuckles again, searching for any signs of injury as she was given the other one.

"Stop worrying about my hands, love." He murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he interlaced his fingers with hers deliberately, halting her inspection. "They're fine. I kept my word, didn't fight anyone." He reiterated softly, squeezing her hand gently to reassure her. His breath tickled her ear as he nestled closer, feeling himself settle a little bit. This was the meaning of life, he was pretty positive. To be laid up in bed with the love of his life. To protect her and keep her happy. All of those things felt like the best thing to do.

She let out a content sigh, her body melting into his as she squeezed their intertwined fingers. The relief was palpable, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension drained from her muscles. "Thank you, Harry." She whispered, her voice thick with both the interrupted sleep and multitude of emotions. "I know it's hard for you to hold back, especially when it comes to protecting me. But... thank you for keeping your promise."

"For you? Anything." The Alpha mumbled into her hair. The way she trusted him, even when he was clearly wound up... it meant everything. "Go back to sleep, beautiful Blossom." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Need your sleep." But he didn't move away yet.

Unable to ignore the hardness pressing insistently against her ass cheeks, Y/N squirmed, grinding back against him. Sleep was not on her mind now that he had come back. The breathy little moan that escaped her lips betrayed her body's awakening desires, even if her mind was still fuzzy with sleep. Harry growled softly into her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he stiffened further against her. "Sleeping beauty," he murmured huskily, "don't wiggle your perfect little ass like that unless you want me to do something about it."

She needed the sleep, sure, but if she tempted him… Harry would give her what she needed. What she deserved. His body was hers in whatever way she needed it. The erection was a natural reaction to being so close to her own naked body, but he knew that if she continued he would have little time before he lost restraint and pushed into her plush little cunt.

He waited for her response. Would she go back to sleep like an angel? Or would she grind against him again, seeking out friction? His body was tense, his length throbbing against her backside. If she gave one little hitch of her hips, he would spread those lush thighs apart and slip inside. He was an Alpha, he had a lot of repressed feelings from today and he hasn’t been able to completely release them yet. He was already hanging by a thread. The fact she was naked and his body was wrapped around her wasn't helping any bit of self control he had.

As she remained still for a few moments, he let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. But then, without warning, she gave a subtle shift of her hips, rubbing her ass against his cock- and what was left of Harry's control snapped like a twig. He groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he pushed her thighs apart and notched his head against her entrance. "Fuck, baby..." He hissed, feeling how sweet and sticky she was. Her cunt was always perfect but he especially appreciated it today. Slick, like she had been waiting for this exact thing. Always waiting for his cock. “S’good. Good little pussy…” The words were slurred against her throat, holding her still as he pushed the thick tip further into her.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp as he entered her, back arching slightly from the sudden- but welcomed- intrusion. Though they'd made love countless times, the sheer size of him never failed to take her breath away. One of her hands went for his wrist, nails digging in as she anchored herself. A whimper escaped her, muffled against the pillow as he buried himself deeper. The feeling of him inside of her was more satisfying than anything else she had experienced- Having her mate so close to her was a dream. She felt her inner walls flutter around him, welcoming him home.

Her reaction spurred him on, his hips starting to move in a slow, deep rhythm. Each thrust was measured, designed to make her feel as good as possible. It was all instinct at this point, knowing exactly how she liked it because they were designed in the stars to compliment each other. His forehead pressed against her shoulder, breath coming in short pants as he focused on the feeling of her wrapped around snugly him. "So fucking tight." He groaned, his fingers flexing on her soft skin. "Missed this. Missed you. Missed being inside my girl..." It didn’t matter if he had fucked her awake this morning, it was never enough. “So good.” His voice was ragged, filled with hints of that primal need that had been clawing at him all day long.

"Sweetest flower..." The Alpha breathed against her ear, thrusting slower but deeper. Each careful push hitting that spot inside her that made her mewl. His free hand slid down to toy with her clit, knowing exactly how sensitive she was there, feeling her tighten up around him as he found the swollen little thing. Her slick coated both his cock and fingers, the sound of their fucking filling the quiet room. "Feel how perfectly you take me? You were made just for me..." His teeth nipped at her neck, holding her in place while he continued to worship her body. “This pussy was made t’take this cock all the way in.”

"Harry..." She panted, her voice going up an octave. He knew that voice. Knew that she was getting there. Knew that she was loving how he filled her up. Her inner muscles tightened around his length, sucking him deeper.

"Mmhmm?" He hummed, his fingers swirling around her clit faster. He knew her body better than she knew herself sometimes. Like how she liked to be touched. Like how she liked to be kissed. Like how she liked to be stretched around him. He could hear it in her voice every single time, the slight hitching, the way she was panting his name. He knew she was begging without actually begging.

"You need something, petal?" He growled, his fingers pausing their swirling motion. "You need me deeper? Harder? More?" He flexed his hips experimentally, pushing a little deeper inside her. "You need me to mark you up again?" He licked over the side her neck, inhaling her scent deeply as it got thicker, sweeter with the arousal she leaked all over him.

The reaction was obvious to him as she clenched up around his cock, letting out a keening little whine. She wanted to be marked up, to be bitten again. Nothing would compare to the bond mark she had, but she loved the snap of pain. More marks and bruises on her to show how well loved and fucked she was. Just because she was sensitive and sweet didn’t mean she wasn’t just as jealous and possessive as her mate.

Harry's response was immediate, his teeth sinking into the tender skin of her neck. He held her in place with his arm wrapped around her waist, his other hand gripping her hip as he fucked her harder, deeper. The bite was hard enough to leave a mark, his canines piercing her skin as he claimed her once more. "Mine. My perfect Blossom… All I ever need." The growl of his voice vibrated against her neck, hot breath panting against her. "Always mine." He sucked at the mark, his tongue soothing the bite before he bit her again, this time on the other side of her neck.

"F-Fuck..." She whimpered, the sharp stings of his bites making her clench around his cock with such intensity that he could barely hold himself back. She melted into him completely, one hand reaching up to grip his hair, nails digging into his scalp, pulling him closer. "Harry- I love you." The words were panted out as her hips moved with his rhythm, meeting each thrust desperately.

"Love you too, baby. So much." He kissed the marks, his hips snapping forward and back at a bruising pace. "Gonna fill you up, mark you inside and out." His fingers found her clit again, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub as he fucked her towards her building orgasm. "Cum f’me, Blossom. Squeeze my dick with that sweet little cunt. Show me who it belongs to." The order was low and commanding, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.

The sound of their flesh meeting filled the room along with her breathy moans and his gravelly growls. Every stroke of his cock felt like heaven, stretching and filling her completely. It was the way it was supposed to be, having him keep her full. His tongue grazed her new marks occasionally, sending jolts of pleasure and pain through her body.

His movements became more insistent, his cock swelling slightly. "Need your tight little pussy to milk me." His hand moved from her clit down to rub against the sensitive spot where they joined, feeling where his cock was stretching her open, where his knot had begun to slowly swell. "Need me to breed you deep and keep you filled?" His voice was raw with desire, knowing exactly what she craved. It’s precisely what she always wanted. His girl always wanted it, craved it just as much as he did.

"Mhm." She pushed back against him, taking him deeper. "Your knot, Harry..." She whined softly, spreading her thighs wider for him. "Want it inside me..." Her hips rolled back to meet his thrusts, her hole fluttering around him already. "Fill me up." She loved his knot. Loved how it stretched her out, how it locked them together, kept him as deep as he could get. It was possessive and dirty and she really, really loved it. “Harry-“ She moaned softly. “Want to be full of you. Please?”

"Fuck, my heart..." He groaned, his knot swelling larger as he fucked her with growing desperation. "Gonna lock you up with my knot. Give you what y’want." His voice was strained, words slipping off his tongue as he had no filter when he was inside of her. "Gonna make you cum on my dick, milk my knot. I'll keep you full of me all night. S’what you deserve." The thought of it was too much, his control snapping as he felt her slicked up pussy starting to convulse around him.

His knot swelled, thick and ready to take her as it pressed against her tight hole. Holding himself there for a moment, he savored the feeling of her, of her cunt trying to milk him for all he was worth- but he didn’t want to hold it from her any longer. With a grunt, he pushed forward, his knot seating itself inside her with a soft pop. He was trapped, locked inside her, unable to pull out even if he wanted to. And he never wanted to. He wanted to stay buried inside her, keeping her full and satisfied as he got to stay warm.

As his knot sealed them together, Y/N's orgasm crashed over her, her pussy clamping down around him like a vice as she let out a high pitched whine. "Fuck yes, cum on me. Give it all to me, my love." Harry groaned, grinding into her. He could feel her pulsing around him as he emptied himself deep inside her, marking her as thoroughly as possible. Each twitch of his cock sent another spurt of his seed flooding her, his hips making shallow grinding motions, ensuring every last drop stayed buried within her.

"Gods, you're the most beautiful thing to walk this plane of existence." He murmured, his lips finding her shoulder as his hips moved slowly, working them through it. "Look at you taking everything I give you...The most incredible woman alive. You are what I live for." Petting her hair back softly, his voice dropping lower as he felt her body relax around his knot. "Best I've ever had. You ruin me. I never want anything else."

She let out a soft little mewl, feeling the pulses of him emptying every drop in her. Intimacy like this was something she had never even fathomed, but it was everything needed. "Harry. My love." His name was like a purr, her body languid and happy. "You make me feel incredible. Always so sweet." Her voice was dreamy as she sunk into his embrace. "You know how to make me feel loved..." He made love to her body and her mind each and every time. I was impossible to not feel the adoration pouring off of him. "You always protect me. You are the best Alpha.” Turning her head, she met his eyes. “Kiss me, please.”

A soft, adoring smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he shifted slightly to catch her lips in a tender kiss. One hand remained possessively on her hip while the other caressed her face. "How could I not protect my perfect mate? My everything?" He murmured against her lips before deepening the kiss, showing her exactly how much she meant. If he could figure out a way to hang the stars in an order she found pleasing, he would do so. He would rearrange the hours in a day if he had the power. Never in his life had he found a motivator like she had become for him. He would change the entire world just to see the ghost of a smile on her perfect lips. He would move mountains, shift tectonic plates, and rewrite the laws of physics if it meant seeing her happy. "You are my reason, Blossom." He whispered against her lips, his voice filled with an overwhelming amount of love and devotion. "My reason for breathing, for living, for being. You own all of my love.”

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daylightmidnights · 18 days ago

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

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

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

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

part 1

part 2

(18k+)

iii.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N nods again, “I’m always good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would I want that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she tells him, “Yes please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry pulls away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Horrible,” she replied.

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously my huge dic–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry’s brows furrow, “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

“Shut up Ni.”

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

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

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

“Ladybug?” Niall furrowed his brows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry?”

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

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

“Thank you.” She murmurs and Harry nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew you were a size queen.”

. . .

There’s a lot of buzz in the kitchen.

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” Y/N tilted her head, “Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was super nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

Things feel a little tense.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay with kissing?”

Y/N blinks at him, “Huh?”

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

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

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

“Well, no but –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#about to faint #about to die #need the next part right now #need 100000 parts of this #why is this so fucking hot #can't handle this #I'm shivering #chef harry #jawllines

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daylightmidnights · 27 days ago

Text

Sugardaddy Harry

Good Girl, My Best Girl

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daylightmidnights · 27 days ago

Text

Wedding Band Cuts

prompt: YN goes into a massage and things go haywire quickly

word count: 8k (oooops)

warnings: this is all filth, i couldn't get this concept out of my mind

author's note:

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one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

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=================

YN may or may not have a slight crush on the owner of the health club that she belongs to.

An boujee, exclusive type of place that there was a waitlist for membership and the prices to join were insane.

The only reason she could attend was because she got a massive discount because of her work.

He wasn’t what someone would imagine the typical gym owner to look like.

No, he wasn’t a meathead with bulging biceps, thick veins protruding from his forearms, and a protein shake in hand at all times.

Harry was lean.

Built in a way that was quietly powerful, his strength evident but not flaunted.

The kind of muscular that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect nonetheless.

He was intimidating in a different way—not because he towered over people or grunted loudly when lifting weights, but because he moved with an effortless grace that made everything he did look easy.

The men who spent their time flexing in the mirror and slamming weights to the ground were often left in the dust by him. He bypassed them without so much as a labored breath, but he was never condescending about it.

He didn’t rub it in their faces or attempt to show off.

That, somehow, made him even more attractive.

YN knows that she has never, in her whole life, found someone as attractive as Harry.

It was almost embarrassing how her stomach flipped whenever she caught sight of him in those tiny workout shorts, the ones that made it impossible not to stare.

She wanted to drool like a dog when he lifted weights shirtless, every muscle in his torso shifting in perfect harmony.

But she wasn’t the only one who felt this way—every woman at the gym seemed to have the same not-so-subtle admiration.

The issue was with her (and the other women) she was married.

Despite being the owner, Harry was always around.

Sometimes he was doing administrative tasks, other times he was covering for employees who had called in sick.

Hiring college kids meant dealing with last-minute schedule changes, so he often found himself playing the role of front desk attendant, janitor, or—on rare occasions—masseuse.

It was a health club, after all.

The gym offered more than just workout equipment; there was a spa with facials, manicures, and, of course, massages. While Harry wasn’t an esthetician and couldn’t fill in for those services, he was a certified masseuse.

However, he rarely stepped in for that role because his staff was dependable.

That didn’t stop the women from hoping.

It was common knowledge among the female members that if someone called out, there was a slight—very slight—chance that Harry might step in.

None of them had been lucky enough for it to happen, though.

And when news spread that Jerry, a seventy-one-year-old man, had received a massage from Harry when his assigned therapist had to leave due to a stomach bug, the collective jealousy among the women was almost comical.

Jerry, blissfully unaware of the silent resentment directed his way, had wobbled out of the building looking loose-limbed and content, oblivious to the scowls of women who had never before envied an elderly man quite so much.

Tiffany, one of the braver women, decided to test her luck.

With a sickly sweet smile, she had approached the front desk where Harry was working, tilting her head just so as she asked if he might be able to squeeze her in for a massage.

Harry, ever professional, had simply glanced up from the computer screen, offered her a polite but firm smile, and informed her that since the therapist had left early, they unfortunately wouldn’t be able to accommodate her request.

He didn’t offer to step in himself, and Tiffany had to swallow her disappointment as she rejoined her friends, shoulders slumping in defeat.

YN was excited for the massage because she kept such tension in her lower back, her thighs, her glutes.

And she definitely didn’t get them regularly enough because life was busy so the strain and stiffness built and built until her body ached enough to have her make an appointment.

It was last minute, they were able to squeeze her in at the last session available, eight in the evening.

The gym was closed at that point but the spa was open until nine.

When YN steps into the dimly lit lobby of the building, she immediately notices how quiet it is.

The usual low hum of voices or the distant clinking of weights from the gym is missing.

Instead, the only sound is the faint buzzing of the overhead light and the gentle click of the door settling back into place behind her. She makes her way toward the receptionist’s desk, her steps echoing slightly against the polished tile floor.

The desk is empty.

No receptionist in sight, no signs of life beyond the unlocked door.

If the entrance hadn’t been open, she would have assumed the place had already shut down for the night.

It’s unsettling, the stillness of it all.

There had been only one other car in the parking lot—a sleek black sedan parked near the entrance.

She could only hope it belonged to her massage therapist because if she didn’t get the relief she was craving, she might actually scream.

Her shoulders ached, tension coiled tightly along her spine, and she needed to feel like jelly by the time she walked out of here.

YN lingers at the front desk, her fingertips lightly tapping along the smooth oak surface as she chews on the inside of her lip.

She glances over her shoulder toward the hallway leading to the massage rooms, her nerves prickling when she hears footsteps approaching.

The rhythmic sound of sneakers hitting the linoleum floor grows louder with each step.

She fully expects to see Pedro—her regular massage therapist. Pedro, who always greeted her with a knowing smirk and a shake of his head, chastising her for letting herself get so tense.

But it’s not Pedro who steps around the corner.

No, it’s Harry.

Harry, the owner of the gym.

He’s always been effortlessly charming, the kind of man who draws attention without even trying.

Women often mistook his friendliness for flirting, but that was just his nature—engaging, attentive, and naturally likable. He had one of those faces that made it hard to pinpoint his exact age.

Deep-set dimples softened the sharpness of his jawline, giving him an almost boyish appeal, while the light scruff and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed his real age.

“Hello, I’m sorry about that,” he says as he moves behind the desk, leaning down to click around on the computer, hiis voice is smooth, deep, the kind that makes you want to lean in just a little closer, “You must be… YN, right? Here for your massage with Pedro?”

“It’s okay,” YN reassures him with an easy smile, a bit fluttery because he was cute, “Yes, that’s me,”

“Pedro had to leave earlier due to a family emergency,” Harry informs her as he clicks around a bit more before looking up at her, “I should have called to cancel but I got distracted with some paperwork. Are you comfortable with having one with me? Or I can reschedule and give you a free massage on the house for the inconvenience.”

YN hesitates. A free massage sounded tempting—nearly $200 worth of pampering for nothing.

But then there was the other option: a paid session with Harry, the hot gym owner with broad shoulders and an easy smile.

She hadn’t expected to find herself in this predicament, but now that she was here, her stomach gave a nervous little flip.

“I really need one. I’m really stiff,” YN’s eyes darted away nervously, something akin to the feeling when you’re about to drop down on a rollercoaster creeping into her stomach, “But I don’t want to inconvenience you at all.”

“It wouldn’t be an inconvenience to massage you,” Harry replies, his words slow and this morbid monotone that somehow works for him, his eyes narrow just the slightest, and even though nothing he said was inappropriate.

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine.

It’s not the words themselves—it’s how they linger in the air between them, heavy with something unspoken.

YN presses her thighs together instinctively, pulse quickening as heat creeps up the back of her neck.

YN rolls her lip between her teeth, she doesn’t know when she got so brazen but she gives him a small, unsure smile, “Hopefully you’re as good as Pedro.”

Harry’s grin falters slightly, eyes narrowing at the challenge, “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands.”

“Pedro’s hands are amazing though, not just good, you know?” YN keeps her tone casually like she’s not trying to bait him but she’s pretty sure that she’s not misconstruing the sexual tension for him just being nice, he wasn’t like this all the time.

“I'm sure you’ll be satisfied with my services. Are you hard to please?” Harry asks with a tilt of his head, a slight smirk she's never seen before.

YN lets out a breathy laugh, tapping her fingers against the desk, “Most people would say no. My husband, on the other hand? He might say something different.”

Harry’s eyes flicker down to her left hand, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly when he finds her ring finger bare.

His jaw clenches just the slightest bit before his tone turns cool, more businesslike, “I’ll show you to the room we’ll be using.”

YN wonders if she shouldn't have mentioned she had a husband, maybe she had led him on with the fact that she didn't have her wedding band on.

She knew she would have to take it off anyways, and didn't want to get the lotion rubbed into nooks and crannies that are difficult to clean.

He steps out from behind the desk.

YN’s eyes drop to do a full body scan, she often subtly checked him out when she was here but now with a bit of arousal pooling in her tummy - she had a whole other perspective on him.

How his legs were such a sweet juxtaposition of lean but thick at the same time, she could easily imagine herself sinking her nails into them.

The shorts he wore showed them off entirely too well, he absolutely knew what he was doing when he stepped into those short shorts that morning.

And when he turns to start walking down the hallway, YN can appreciate how broad his shoulders are, and they're accentuated by the way they lead down into narrow hips.

The definition of manly.

As they walk down the hallway, YN peeks into the other offices—empty, confirming that they are, indeed, alone.

It shouldn’t matter.

This was a professional massage.

Nothing more.

“I didn't know you were certified in massages,” YN chimes in as they walk, just to break the silence that had fallen in between them.

YN deemed it awkward but she didn't know if he did.

He doesn't turn around but he does reply, “I got a certification when I got my doctorate in exercise science and kinesiology. It was an elective. I did them more when I started the business but now I have employees for that.”

“So you're rusty, is what you're telling me?” YN teases, she should stop baiting him because he seems easy to react and not always in a good way.

YN has seen Harry yell at grown men over poor form that could have seriously injured their backs or throwing them out for not respecting the gym rules.

He was intimidating to say the least.

“Did I say that?” Harry turns to look over his shoulder, “My wife requests them enough that I don't get to become rusty.”

“Oh,” YN replies lamely, eyes darting down to see that he did in fact have a gold wedding band on his ring finger, hard to miss, and proudly shining.

It’s hard to miss.

And yet, for a moment, she had.

“Oh?” Harry questions, still glancing back, “Is there an issue?”

YN swallows harshly, his eyes were laxer focused and challenging her to say something that she shouldn't.

She shouldn't because he's married.

She shouldn’t because she’s married.

“N-no,” YN stammers at the sudden question, tightened uncertainty winding in her belly - mixing with the hot, subtle arousal.

“Good,” Harry nods before he's stopping one of the last doors on the left, his hand curls around the knob, “Undress to your comfort. Some people prefer keeping their bra and underwear on, others go nude. Whatever you feel best doing.”

YN hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Normally, she’d strip off her bra but keep her underwear on—just enough coverage to maintain a sliver of modesty.

But something inside her stirs, something unfamiliar yet enticing, daring her to step beyond her usual boundaries.

She bites her bottom lip, the decision swirling in her head as she looks at Harry.

But his expression gives nothing away, his patience unwavering as he waits for her to step inside.

“I'll give you a few minutes to get settled. Please lay face-down under the sheet, pull it up to your lower back. Do you have any questions?” Harry asks as he flips on the light, the beautiful room already set up, and a twinkling zen music filters through the built-in speaker.

“No,” YN says again, quiet as she steps past him into the space, “Thank you.”

Harry dips his chin in a silent nod before stepping back, allowing her to move past him.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

It takes longer than she expects for him to return.

At least ten minutes pass, maybe more.

She can tell by the way the medley of soft instrumentals has shifted two or three times, a seamless transition of calming melodies.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the mix of essential oils perfuming the air, but the stillness is beginning to make her twitch.

The way that she can feel her nipples against the sheet, the way that every part of her skin is touching it actually.

It’s warm in the room, enough that she can feel the perspiration start to prickle at her lower back, and she can’t decipher whether or not it’s from the temperature of the room or the flush of her body.

YN digs her fingernails into her palms momentarily, to ground herself, to get a hold of herself.

She’s not in some fucking fantasy novel.

Harry is a professional.

He’s probably oblivious to the thoughts swirling in her head.

He’s married.

She told him that she is married.

The last thing he probably wants is a client sexualizing him in the middle of his job.

Before she can scold herself enough to feel guilt of her rather debach thoughts - the door opens and her heart squeezes with anticipation.

He cracks the door before stepping in, “Ready?”

“Yes,” YN swallows as she squeezes her eyes shut, the door clicks closed behind him.

YN had pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, every masseuse had different protocol, and as soons as he steps over - she realizes that she already hadn’t been great at following his very simple instructions.

She hears his measured footsteps approach before feeling his hands on the sheet—his fingers brushing against the warmth of her bare back as he carefully folds the fabric down.

It settles just above the swell of her bum, exposing the curve of her lower back.

He stills for the briefest moment.

Then, a deep inhale.

It’s almost imperceptible. A barely-there intake of breath that might be nothing—or might be something.

YN convinces herself she’s imagining things.

He’s probably adjusting his stance.

Or stretching his fingers.

Or something entirely mundane that has nothing to do with the fact that he just discovered she’s completely bare beneath the sheet.

“I'm going to begin. Please, let me know if anything is sensitive or sore during. Is there anywhere you would like me to focus in particular?” Harry inquired, he sounds formal, professional as he should.

“My glutes and calves,” YN responds after a moment of thought.

The calves part was true - they were tight and sore from her legs days at the gym.

Her glutes, however, did not need any work but she couldn't get the imagine of his hands massaging her there out of her mind.

“Noted,” Harry replies with a gruff, clipped agreement like he was gritting his teeth at her answer.

The beginning of the massage is as normal as anything, his fingers press deep into the knots lining her shoulders, working out the tension that she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

The pressure is firm, methodical.

But the moment his palms cup around the nape of her neck, a shiver bolts through her spine.

She tries to squeeze her thighs together subtly, a feeble attempt at quelling the heat pulsing low in her belly.

But it’s impossible, her legs already splayed relaxed on the table.

Harry notices the movement.

“Are you uncomfortable? Do you need to reposition?” Harry asks when he notices her fidgeting, concern in his voice that makes her feel even more guilt at her thoughts.

“No, I'm good,” YN’s reply isn't more than a strained squeak.

Harry doesn’t comment on it, but he does press his thumbs deeper into the base of her neck, a silent cue for her to relax.

“Try to relax then. You're tight,” Harry continues to move his fingers and all she can hear is that last sentence on repeat.

He's talking about back muscles, she has to remind herself.

You’re tight.

YN does finally listen, relaxing into the soft, heated cushion of the table, and purposefully clearing her mind.

“There you go, good girl,” Harry murmurs when he notices her shoulders start to loosen, neck letting her head hang more into the face cushion, and her thighs melting into the table too.

Good girl.

YN’s clear mind is now filled once again.

Her muscles should be turning to liquid under his touch, her mind blank with relaxation.

But all she can focus on is the phantom sensation of his voice curling around those words.

By the time he finishes her back—nothing but completely professional work thus far, she’s half-certain that if she were to open her mouth, she’d be panting like an overheated dog.

“I’m going to start on your calves,” Harry informs her, shifting his stance beside her, “Then I’ll work my way up to your glutes. Since you requested them, I just want to confirm you’re comfortable with my hands there.”

YN knows he’s only being professional, ensuring her comfort.

If only he knew the absolute filth running through her head.

If only he knew just how much she wanted his hands there.

“Yes,” YN replies shallowly, she had been laying down for at least the last twenty minutes and she felt like she’d just ran a marathon, her throat parched and aching.

Harry’s tone sharpens, more assertive than she’s ever heard before.

There’s a domineering edge to it that sends a shiver down her spine, “Yes, what? Yes, you are comfortable with that, or yes, you do want to change your mind?”

YN feels embarrassment flushing her at the miscommunication, it blends into the heat she already has seeping from her skin so there’s no difference.

“Yes, I am comfortable with your hands there,” YN manages to get out, she wonders if Harry thinks she’s an absolute basketcase or if he even has any awareness of the situation.

If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

Instead, he resumes his work, his hands slick with the massage oil he had been using. The scent of sweet almond fills the space between them, subtle yet intoxicating.

It’s her favorite scent—always has been.

It reminds her of the raspberry almond cake she and her husband had shared on their wedding day, the same one they’d made a tradition of enjoying every anniversary since.

Her train of thought was interrupted by an involuntary groan that she lets out when he presses on a tight spot right in the center of her calve.

The pain is sharp and sudden, and instinctively, she tries to yank her leg from his grip, but Harry’s grip is firm, steady.

He doesn’t even struggle to keep her still.

His hold is effortless, almost dismissive of her attempt to squirm away.

“You should stretch for longer than five minutes before you work out,” he chides, his tone laced with knowing disapproval,“Especially when you’re doing legs. You need to be warming up your hamstrings, groin, calves.”

He punctuates his point by pressing into the same tender spot again, and she lets out a similar sound—somewhere between a whimper and a gasp as the ache flares up once more.

“How do you know I’m not?” YN challenges, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

She hadn’t even realized Harry was paying attention to her.

She hadn’t thought he noticed her at all, let alone enough to critique her habits.

Harry chuckles, the sound low and rough, curling at the edges with amusement, “That reaction, right there.”

YN is about to deflate because it wasn’t because of him noticing her until -

“I’ve seen you stretch. You sit on your mat and scroll on your phone for five minutes while barely trying to touch your toes,” Harry calls her out.

His assessment is shockingly accurate, and she doesn’t have much of a defense.

Instead, she deflects.

“I’m plenty flexible without stretching,” YN quips, allowing a teasing edge to slip into her tone.

The innuendo is obvious, intentional.

Harry doesn’t rise to it in the way she expects.

He doesn’t laugh or smirk or falter.

Instead, his response is delivered in the same flat, unimpressed drawl.

“Are you?” His thumb digs into her calf again, pressing into another tight knot of tension, “You’re just as tight as you are flexible.”

Touché.

She doesn’t realize just how tightly she’s been clenching her thighs until Harry’s palms press flat against the backs of them.

Firm but not forceful.

“Spread your legs for me.”

Fuck.

His voice is steady, authoritative, yet devoid of hesitation.

There is no question in his command.

She obeys without thinking, parting her legs easily, pliantly.

But as soon as the sheet shifts—just slightly, the reality of her own arousal crashes over her in a suffocating wave.

Embarrassment sinks its claws into her as she wonders—can he see?

Can he tell? Is there enough of a telltale sheen on her inner thighs to give her away?

A visible wet spot on the table?

“Why are you clenching—” Harry starts, but then he stops.

Silence.

A sharp inhale.

It’s as if something clicks into place, something he wasn’t expecting, and it cuts off his line of questioning entirely.

“Wha—” YN begins to ask, shifting slightly to glance behind her, but before she can move too far, a hand comes down to the base of her neck.

His palm cups it, firm yet controlled, pressing her back down into the face cradle.

The pressure isn’t rough, but it’s purposeful.

It’s the first real slip—something that isn’t professional, not even close.

The way he grips her isn’t the neutral, detached touch of a masseuse simply guiding their client.

No.

This is something else entirely.

“Don’t move.”

His voice is rougher now, deeper.

There’s something strained in the way he speaks, his accent thickening as if he’s forcing himself to remain composed.

It takes her an extra beat to process his words, to pick them apart through the weight of his tone.

“Jesus. S’ridiculous. Just trying to do my fucking job.”

The words aren’t meant for her, not really.

He’s speaking to himself as much as he is to her.

And yet, they hit her like a slap.

Embarrassment rattles through her, her heart climbing up into her throat.

He sounds frustrated.

With her.

The realization makes her shrink, makes her feel small—like a child being scolded.

“I’m s-sorry,” YN stammers, her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue thick and useless in her mouth.

She doesn’t even know what she’s apologizing for—only that she feels like she should.

Because whatever he saw, whatever he realized, it was enough to shift the entire dynamic between them in a matter of seconds.

To Harry’s credit, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t pull away.

His hands remain on her, though now they focus on her glutes, kneading into the muscle with a more methodical, calculated touch.

Subconsciously, she starts to clench her thighs again, as if trying to ground herself.

As if trying to remind herself that this is just a massage.

That she isn’t some… deviant, reacting to something as simple as his hands on her.

She isn’t.

But then…

His hand moves.

It grips the soft flesh of her ass, squeezing just hard enough that the tips of his fingers press deep into the skin, surely turning it white beneath his grasp.

The gasp that rips from her chest is instant, shocked, sharp.

Because this isn’t just crossing a line.

This isn’t just towing the boundary of professionalism.

This is tearing right through it, shattering it to pieces, leaving nothing behind.

“Stop apologizing and stay still,” Harry orders, his voice rough with unspoken tension.

His fingers remain where they are, digging in just enough to make a point, to drive something unspoken between them.

“Do you understand me?”

YN swallowed hard, her heart was trying to escape her chest at the moment.

Yes.

Yes, she understands.

The massage resumes, thumbs pressing into knots, trading the ache for a different kind.

Should she end the appointment?

Apologize and never show her face in the gym again?

YN does better, she does, she lasts at least another five minutes as she tries to stay as stock still as possible.

His touches are back to professional and she’s starting to question herself, start to question whether or not he had even squeezed her ass like that.

But then her thoughts start to spiral again, horny and desperate in a way they’ve never been.

It must have been a wiggle of her hips, maybe even a subtle attempt to see if she could find any friction against the table, but whatever it was—Harry had noticed.

He had noticed, and she knew it the moment the air in the room seemed to shift, thickening with the weight of his attention.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Harry scolded with no more softness in his voice, that upbeat bubbly man that everyone around the gym knew and loved - nowhere to be found and it was as intimidating, thrilling as it was frightening.

The smack comes fast, hard, landing squarely on her left ass cheek with a force that makes her gasp before she even realizes what’s happened.

The sharp sting spreads out in waves across her skin, the heat sinking into her already sore muscles.

She jerks, instinctively trying to sit up, but she doesn’t get far before his palm is at the base of her neck, pressing her face back into the cushioned cut-out of the massage table.

The stinging sensation lingers, blooming like fire just beneath the surface of her skin

It’s different, though—not just the typical burn of an open-handed slap.

It’s sharper, pinpointed.

And then she realizes—

His wedding band.

It had cut her.

Only slightly, just enough for her to feel the tiny scrape, but still, the knowledge of how it had happened made her stomach clench.

Her cunt shouldn’t pulse around nothing at that thought, but it does.

It totally does.

“You’re ruining my sheets,” Harry observes, full of judgement and disapproval, like she was inconvenience more than anything.

YN stays quiet because he had told her to stop apologizing and is she pouting about because she just got smacked?

Maybe.

Harry leans forward, his body heat radiating against her back.

The soft cotton of his t-shirt brushes against her skin, and she can feel the cool chain of his necklace ghosting over her shoulder.

When he speaks next, his voice is quieter, deliberate, “You have four options.”

Her breath catches.

“You can either stay still and get your normal massage. You can keep moving and have an ass that aches for the next week. You can end the massage right now and walk out the door. Or…”

YN waits for him but she realizes that he’s teasing it, edging it, her voice is barely above a whisper, “Or what?”

“Or you can tell me exactly what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it,” Harry hums as he stands back up, his hands gripping the back of her thighs, and pushing them apart from where they started to drift together once again.

She could tell him.

She could put it into words, could give voice to the heat curling low in her belly, but the thought alone makes her want to squirm in embarrassment.

She’s already acted desperate enough—she refuses to push herself further into that category.

The tension in her stomach, the feeling of his wedding band leaving a mark on her ass.

“I’ll stay still,” YN replies with as much of a steady voice that she can manage.

Harry laughs, deep and mean, amusement tinged with something almost cruel.

It makes the humiliation simmer hotter beneath the surface of her skin.

“Do you soak Pedro’s table?” he asks conversationally, like he’s discussing nothing more than the weather, “Because he’s never mentioned it. And I think I’d remember something that pathetic.”

She knows exactly what he’s doing.

He’s trying to break her, to make her react.

His hand twitches against her skin, like it’s itching to leave more marks. But she refuses to give him the satisfaction.

She clenches her jaw, grits her teeth, forces herself to keep still even as his hands press into her muscles with increasing pressure.

YN doesn’t bite, has to squeeze her eyes shut but she doesn’t, teeth gritting as the pressure of the massage increases.

Then, he revisits the small cut, pressing his thumb against it, rubbing over it in a way that makes her tense involuntarily.

“Does your husband not fuck you?” His voice is scalding, lips brushing her cheek as he speaks, “You’re squirming like you’ve never been touched before.”

The impulse to shoot an insult at him is hard to not take but she’s staying still out of spite.

Harry’s hands start to dip further in between her inner thighs, his fingers swipe against the damp skin of her thighs, and he then rubs it on her asscheek, “Can’t tell when the massage oil ends and your slick starts.”

Her thighs part slightly wider, a silent offering, even though she knows better than to expect mercy.

She should have anticipated it—the punishment that follows.

The next smack is harder, sharper.

It radiates through her lower half, a forceful enough hit that her nipples brush against the sheet below her.

She swallows back a moan, biting her bottom lip until she nearly draws blood.

“You should be thanking me, do you know how many women wish they were in your position right now?”

Even though it was true, he didn’t have to be a cocky prick about it.

YN stays silent, she didn’t know how he still managed to get up the massage at this point.

“I said thank me.”

Another slap.

Same spot.

This time, the band on his finger catches her skin just right—or just wrong.

She feels the sting of it cutting into her, nothing deep, just enough to make her gasp softly.

Her breath shudders as she exhales.

YN gnaws on her bottom lip to prevent herself from speaking.

Harry’s patience snaps.

His hand knots in her hair, jerking her head up so that her cheek is exposed to him.

His lips hover on her cheek, just near the corner of her mouth, but he doesn’t close the distance, “Speak the fuck up,” he growls, “or I’m stopping.”

She can’t believe she’s in this situation.

With a married man.

As a married woman.

But when she speaks, her voice is even, measured.,“I would like my massage to continue.”.

Harry exhales sharply, nostrils flaring.

He unwinds his fingers from her hair, pushing her head back down onto the table.

“Fair enough.”

He does exactly as she asked.

He massages her like nothing happened, his hands working over her shoulders, the backs of her arms, expertly kneading out tension.

It’s frustrating.

Infuriating.

Because he has more energy for edging, doing things out of spite than her.

And fifteen minutes later—she’s the one struggling not to move again.

Harry actually starts to hum, an annoying tune from an old game show, completely out of place in the dimly lit room.

It breaks into the soft rhythms playing from the speakers.

YN squirms.

Harry smacks her again, sharp and precise, the sound echoing through the space, echoing in the thick air between them.

It stings.

Of course it fucking does.

It leaves heat blooming across her skin, a reminder of his control.

But he does not speak.

Instead, he returns to the slow, methodical touches that are driving her mad—too firm to be teasing, but nowhere near what she needs.

She breaks.

She fucking breaks.

"Touch me, please," YN throws her pride out the fucking window, off a bridge, down into the deepest black hole where she doesn’t have to face it again.

Desperation drips from her words, heavy and undeniable.

Harry exhales a long-suffering sigh, unbothered by her distress, "I am touching you," he bleats, his voice laced with indifference.

His fingers trace aimless patterns along her skin, not nearly enough, "We have about ten minutes left of the hour. Where would you like me to focus the rest of the massage?"

“I need something, please,” YN asks with a pathetic plead starting to work her way into her tone.

Harry, ever unyielding, remains unaffected, "You came in with the complaint of calves and glutes. Are you still not—"

YN wants to cut the shit.

“Please, fuck me. Please,” YN feels like she’s on the line of sobbing for relief at this point, she doesn’t know if she’s even been this worked up, and the inability to see him somehow makes it worse, makes her feel more vulnerable, more desperater, “Please.”

“You could have had it fifteen minutes ago,” Harry chastises but his hands - they slide down her body, teasing the sensitive skin, but they don’t go directly to where she needs them the most.

“Harry, I -”

A smack.

Unraveling her like that wedding band on her sensitive skin.

Then his hands are gone entirely.

The loss is immediate, unbearable.

The air crackles with unspoken tension before she realizes—he’s just looking at her.

"Knees," he commands, his voice sharp enough to slice through the thick fog of her arousal.

“I-” YN begins to asks but he’s not patient any longer.

“I said get on your fucking knees,” Harry repeats, louder and thankfully, no one else is here.

Before she can fully process, he takes it upon himself to move her, gripping her hips and lifting them effortlessly.

Her knees slide inward, bringing them closer to her chest, forcing her body into a position that leaves her fully exposed, fully at his mercy.

He winds his fingers into her hair again, fisting the strands tight enough to pull her out of the cradle of the cushion.

Her cheek is smushed sideways against the table now, breaths coming in shallow, uneven pants.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry has no manners, taking what he wants by spreading her cheeks to get a better look at her.

There is no manners left in him.

No pretense of control.

YN realizes belatedly that there are fat tears rolling down her cheeks, that Harry must now be able to see, and in a break from the thick tension in the room.

He does something oddly sweet, it reminds her of her husband actually, he presses his lips to her cheek.

His voice is soft, more so like she hears around the gym or when he greets her in reception, “Okay?”

“Okay,” YN nods in agreement, her voice cracks, and she can see him smile before slipping back into a scowl.

She appreciated him checking in, warming her up in a different way.

“Never seen a needier thing in my life. God, your husband must not do shit for you. You're clenching around nothing—both holes,” Harry murmurs thoughtfully, his tone a perfect blend of mockery and amusement.

His words are crude, biting, but they set her nerve endings on fire.

YN barely has time to react before she feels it—his spit landing on her tighter hole, warm and slick, quickly chased by the rough pad of his thumb spreading it around.

Her skin prickles, her breath catches, and then he continues, his voice dripping with sinful amusement.

“Everyone around this gym thinks you're this sweet, kind person. I hear them talk,” He pauses, tilting his head as if considering something. “What would they think if I told them about this? A bored housewife coming into a massage and begging to be fucked decently.”

It's a monologue, she knows he isn't expecting an answer.

“Spread out on this table, showing me everything with no shame.”

Two fingers—his index and middle, drag lazily through her folds, teasing, pressing at her entrance but never quite pushing in.

YN is trembling, trying not to move but everything aches.

“I would have subbed in much soone for Pedro if I knew I'd get such a sweet cunt out of it. I should have known you'd have the prettiest one I've ever seen,” Harry accentuates it with tucking his fingers into her, the slight stretch of his two thick digits were welcome with how ready she already was, “Those little bike shorts you wear hide absolutely nothing.”

YN pushes back, pulling him in even deeper, and luckily, he doesn't scold her.

But he makes her work for it.

“Ride ‘em. My hands are tired from the massage,” Harry curls them forward against her spongy front wall, hitting her spot head on like he had it memorized on a map.

YN was sweating, hair matted to her skin, and visibly droplets of west gathering around her temples as she started to push back on him.

She couldn't believe what she was doing right now.

“You hear that?” Harry asks, thrusting his fingers a few times to make the sound even more obscene, slick and lewd in the quiet room, “Should record that and make it the spa soundtrack. S’that sound like a good idea, baby?”

Her head drops forward, a loud moan tearing from her throat when his thumb presses into her tighter hole, sending pleasure ricocheting through her body.

She’s never been this full before—never felt this close to unraveling without even having her clit touched.

Harry’s laugh cuts through the haze of her pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” he groans, watching her. “You like your ass played with too? This is my lucky day, huh? Is that how you’ll tip me? Let me choose?”

“Yes, yes—you can choose,” YN babbles, her voice high and desperate, her stomach tightening, her body coiling tighter and tighter.

She’s grinding now, less controlled, more frantic, chasing something she’s not sure she could explain, “Please, I just need to come. I need it, please—”

But Harry pulls his fingers out.

The loss is devastating.

Tears sting at her eyes, spilling freely, mixing with sweat, with spit, with the sheer mess of her.

Her hair is frizzy from where he’s pulled it, her cheeks damp, her mouth parted as she gasps through the absence of him.

Harry grips her hip harshly, not giving her choice as he helps flip her over until she's on her back.

And it's the first time in all of this that she's been able to really see him.

It was nice to see that he was affected too with huffing breaths, nostrils flaring, and sweat on his temple from the heat of the room.

And then he’s peeling his shirt off, tugging it over his head in a way that looks effortless.

His body is all sharp lines and defined muscle, the kind she sees every day in the gym but never gets to touch.

Her legs automatically close, a futile attempt to shield herself, to protect her most vulnerable spot.

But Harry frowns at that, smacking her thigh sharply, silently telling her to open back up.

He tuts, shaking his head as he looks down at her, “Puppy, if you were this desperate for cock, you could have just asked me. You’re cute enough. I’d fuck you in front of everyone—bend you over a weight bench, let those little biker shorts trap your thigh and watch your squirms.”

YN can tell he’s about to put his mouth on her—but she can’t.

She can’t take any more teasing.

Her hands shake as she reaches up, fingers pressing to the side of his neck, thumb pressing beneath his jaw.

She’s sniffling, trying to speak through her sobs of frustration.

“I can’t—I need you to fuck me. Please, H, please.”

The hour of foreplay was more than enough.

Harry blinks, his gaze locking onto hers, searching.

And then….

He moves up the table, his hand cradling her jaw as he kisses her, slow and deep, melting away her desperation for just a moment.

“You want me to fuck you?” he murmurs, the rasp was thick in his tone, “You’re ready?”

She nods frantically, clinging to him. “Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t—”

Harry kisses her quiet before pulling back just enough to push his shorts and briefs off.

She doesn’t get a chance to look at him before he’s guiding himself to her core, pressing in, inch by thick inch, until their pubic bones meet.

He lets out this euphoric, beautiful low moan when he pushing in until their pubic bones meet, and he's big - really fucking big and she's so fucking full that it's insane.

Don’t need to wait,” she breathes, voice trembling with urgency, her fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders.

Her legs wind around his narrow hips instinctively, locking him in, heels pressing into the firm curve of his bum as if to keep him right where he belongs,“Please move.”

And Harry fucks like he weightlifts.

Hard. Determined. Precise.

Every powerful thrust sends electric pleasure sparking through her veins, his strokes deliberate and deep, like he’s got something to prove—like he won’t stop until he’s got her unraveling completely beneath him.

His pace is relentless, the force of his movements pushing her up the table in tiny, helpless jolts before he’s tugging her back down onto his cock without missing a beat.

The friction is dizzying, intoxicating, and YN feels herself slipping closer and closer to the edge with every merciless snap of his hips.

“I’m gonna—if you rub my-” she pants, but she doesn’t even need to finish.

Harry already knows.

With a low grunt, he shifts, his weight shifting back slightly as his hand snakes between them.

His fingers find her clit with ease, with skill, and he presses down, rubbing tight, fast circles with a very specific intent in mind.

His voice is rough and coaxing as he groans, “Yeah, fuck, yeah. C’mon, baby. I deserve it, don’t I? Soak me.”

And that’s all it takes.

A sharp, wrecked cry tears from her throat as her body gives in completely, pleasure overtaking her in a crashing, uncontrollable wave.

YN’s limbs go boneless, loose like a marionette with its strings cut, as her orgasm seizes her, dragging her under with white-hot intensity.

The overwhelming sensation floods her lower half, a gush of wetness spilling out between them, coating both of them in the aftermath.

The slick, obscene sounds of him fucking her through it echo in the room, each thrust impossibly louder, wetter, filthier.

“Holy shit,” Harry growls, his voice thick with awe and arousal, “That’s the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

His breath hitches, his control slipping,“You just squirted on me—look at you, all swollen and puffy for me.”

His gaze is locked on where they’re connected, utterly mesmerized, before something shifts in his expression—something primal.

He grips her hips tighter, holding her open as he starts pounding into her even harder, chasing his own release with ruthless determination.

The force of it knocks the breath from her lungs, and before she can even process the sheer intensity of it all, he’s surging forward, crushing his mouth against hers in a desperate, bruising kiss.

It’s messy—more teeth and tongue than finesse—but it’s everything.

A claiming, a surrender, a moment of pure, unfiltered need.

He pulses inside her with a deep, guttural groan, spilling into her with a final, shuddering thrust, his body going rigid before finally melting against her.

He stays there, buried deep, chest rising and falling against hers as he slowly comes back down from his high.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is their mingled, heavy breathing.

Then, Harry huffs out a breathless chuckle, forehead pressed to hers, body warm and weighty on top of her.

“Told you,” he murmurs smugly, voice thick with satisfaction, “Told you you wouldn’t be patient enough for foreplay.”

YN scoffs, though there’s no real heat behind it.

Her fingers find their way into his damp curls, scratching lightly at his scalp as her lips twitch into a lazy smile.

“The whole massage was foreplay,” she argues, pressing a kiss to his temple, “I think I did okay.”

A playful smirk tugs at her mouth as she adds, “I don’t have the patience you do.”

“You never have,” Harry murmurs, his thumb brushing her slick hair off her forehead with a tenderness that makes her stomach flip.

He presses a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, voice laced with affection as he murmurs against her lips, “You’re an impatient little thing for orgasms.”

His tone is teasing, but the warmth in his gaze, the soft adoration in his touch - it’s so much love and fondness interwoven between them.

“Don’t like this one bit,” Harry grumped after a moment, pulling her hand up and giving a pointed gaze towards her bare ring finger, “Made me almost break character.”

YN giggles as she allows Harry to pull her up to sit, he slips off the table, “I didn’t want to get massage oil on it. It makes the diamond all foggy and I have to take it to the jeweler to get it cleaned then.”

“Hey,” Harry grips her chin, buttoning their lips together for a long moment, “Happy anniversary. I love you and I hope this met your expectations of the scene you were fantasizing about. I’m just glad your fantasies are with me.”

“I’m in love with you, have been for ages and never plan not to be. It was absolutely perfect but now I’m worried I’ll get greedy for more,” YN laughs as she spreads her loegs once again, letting Harry start to wipe her off with a warm towel he takes from the towel warmer that’s conveniently in the room.

“You’re always greedy,” Harry argues gently, blinking up at her, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk into this room again without getting a hard-on.”

YN shakes her head with another bout of laughter, “You’re going to be fucked. I have a lot of fantasys about fucking a gym owner.” “Mm,” Harry rumbles as he tosses the towel, his touches getting more full of intent once again, “Lucky you’re married to one, hm?”

whew. i hope you enjoyed!

now if you are confused about anything the synoposis - harry and yn are a married couple, they own a gym, and yn wants to roleplay masseuse/client for their anniversary. there is no cheating!

now i recommend going back and reading it and finding all the little hints that they were married couple the whole time.

i would super love to know your feedback on it

#fucking god #this was like a suspense drama or some shit #like i was really sceptical while reading it #I didn't like what they were doing given their marital status but I still read it #but I was also like maybe nothing would happen and it's like a would they won't they situation #then they did it and I'm glad it ended that way #loved it so fucking much

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daylightmidnights · 1 month ago

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Summary: You’re moving into your first apartment after graduating college and you use a moving service your friend recommended. Not really expecting much of the company with a name like “College Hunks Hauling Junk” you take extra care to box your things up really well. But no amount of bubble wrap can keep the cocky, snarky, semi retired frat bro Harry Styles from damaging a few of your boxes which leads to him learning the hard way that sometimes he’s going to have to handle things with a little more care than he’s used to. 📦✨

Pairing: frat!Harry x fem!reader

Trope: Grumpy x sunshine

CW: Frat Harry (some people really aren’t into this lol), language, tiny bit of angst, one drunken moment

Story Type: Mini Series (5 parts)

A/N: This is gonna be a whirlwind of an emotional roller coaster for Harry from the very start so if you’re into that then this is the story for you! ✨

Status: Completed ✨

Tag List: Open

Extras: here

Highly Recommended

This Can’t Be Happening

Are You Okay?

Sunshine and Citrus

What Have You Heard?

#loved it #the last chapter was so good #I love when an asshole man turns into a smitten puppy #i wanna see more tho #like them going on first official date #or like they go to a frat party and she meets his other friends #or they run into Cody somewhere but this time she doesn't give him a chance to be mean #I wanna see harry worshipping her #I wanna see moreeeeeee

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daylightmidnights · 1 month ago

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Fake Dating Harry

Y/N pretends to be Harry's girlfriend, Part 2 blurb

The Fake Girlfriend

Harry has to be in pr relationship with Y/N, who he resents

The Sun Will Rise

Failed, Faked, Fallen

A Favor, Part 2, Part 3, extra

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daylightmidnights · 1 month ago

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Cop/Detective/PI Harry

Harry is hired to follow Y/N (and she's kind of weird)

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daylightmidnights · 1 month ago

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This was such a treat. I loved it. He is so hot. His whole personality is so hot. I loved that he's so obsessed with her already. And the fact that he did chase her and stalked her. Going on a date just because the girl looked like her and then cancelling when he found her..... he's whipped. And they didn't even have to say it out loud to each other that this is not gonna be another hook up, that they are gonna do this for real now. They both just knew what they wanted and it worked out without verbalising because the other wanted the same thing. It was cute. I love how confident she comes across as even when she's crumbling inside and putting on a tough act. It's refreshing that she doesn't give in easily, that she tries to have some control first. Like yes she's gonna drool for him but she's not gonna make it easy for him either. Love it. Then Harry is like not sure if they're gonna be together or it's gonna casual dating for a while. But I think he's gonna end up being way too obsessed with her to let it be casual. He's gonna fall for her first and he's gonna be so clingy, show her off to everyone, go to club with her friends and kiss her breathless infront of the whole club, gonna be all pouty when she has to go somewhere alone and she's gonna be like what did I do to deserve this man!

I'm sorry there's just so many possibilities and you write them so good I can't help but want more 😭 They're so cute

DILF [2] | older!harry

→ MAIN MASTERLIST ←

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again months later on Valentine's Day. It's unexpected, but very much welcome.

A/N: First part here! This isn't really super focused on Valentine's Day, it just happens to takes place on Valentine's Day.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warning: age gap, smut, alcohol consumption (light), spanking, a touch of jealousrry

. .

Y/n wasn't big on Valentine's Day. She'd never dated anyone long enough for it to be of much importance. Though she did fondly remember the little heart-shaped candies and tiny Valentine's cards that would get shared in school when she was little, things were different as an adult.

So, instead of celebrating the holiday (if it could be called a holiday), she'd be going out with her single girlfriends and celebrating being a single girl instead. A single girl with a few drinks in her belly and a little dancing to get the blood flowing. Tara tried to do some kind of seductive dip to the beat of the song while Warren and Y/n laughed.

"This is how you do it!" Warren shouted over the loud club music and grooved her way down with the beat. She was the one with all the rhythm. Y/n and Tara were fighting for their lives to keep rhythm, but they were having fun, nonetheless.

"Priya commented on the post. Look…" Tara held her phone out to Y/n to look at the comment on her Instagram account.

"J said Y/n's looking yummy tonight!"

Y/n laughed and looked at Tara. "J? Oh my god, I haven't talked to him in ages. Let me respond!"

She took Tara's phone and typed a comment.

"You both should come out with us!"

After another round of drinks and dancing, Priya and J had joined the group at the club. Y/n wasn't necessarily interested in J. In fact, she hadn't really been interested in anyone since Harry. It'd been a couple of months since she'd seen him. Their night together was engraved under her skin and in her brain. She thought that with some time she'd forget about the older man, but her fingertips tingled and her chest grew tight whenever she thought about him, which was daily.

She didn't know why she had never called him. Maybe she was just stubborn, hoping he'd find her somehow and reach out himself. She had his number, but he didn't have hers. When he dropped her off at her place the morning after, he gave it to her and told her to call him.

And the more time that had passed, the more awkward it felt to randomly reach out to him. Now the window was surely closed, and she'd blown it. Which she regretted. She regretted that she was stubborn and wanted him to chase her that time. Wanted him to work to find her—which wouldn't have been all that hard. She had every social media account known to man, and everything was public. All he had to do was type her name into a Google search bar, and he'd find a dozen ways to contact her.

But she didn't call, and he didn't search her up, and that felt like the end of that. Unfortunately. It was unfortunate because he'd been so good. So exceptional compared to every other man she'd been with (if she could even call anyone who came before Harry a man). She was way more into him than she realized. Of course, by the time she realized it was too late, and now she was kicking herself.

"Hey, you here with us?" Tara took Y/n's hand and moved her away from the dance floor.

"Yeah. What do you mean?"

"You were zoned out there for a sec. Staring off toward the exit. You okay?"

Blinking her eyes and looking around, she nodded. "I'm good. Just started thinking. Sorry. Maybe I need a water. Probably should slow down a little anyway."

"Of course. Yeah, go get water. And stop thinking. I know who you're thinking about. He's in the past now. Okay?"

Tara knew that Y/n was kind of stuck on Harry. She'd confided in her a couple of weeks later. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was eating away at her.

"You're right. I'll be right back."

No sooner had she stepped away from Tara than J was on her heels. "I'll come with you!"

The oak bar was cast in reds and pinks for Valentine's Day. A sappy, upbeat song played loudly as she waved toward the bartender to order a water. J stood next to her, leaned into the veneered wood. "Just water?"

Yn nodded. "Need to cool off a little. Not interested in getting sloppy, ya know?"

She tried to ignore the way he was looking at her, turning her head to peer around the space and pretend she wasn't aware of where his eyes were wandering. She could deal with J. He was nice enough, and she knew he wouldn't push or anything. He was a bit too mild for that.

When her water was handed to her, the pink straw inside was tucked next to a stirrer with a heart at the top. Lifting the glass to her mouth, she took a drink as J slid in a little closer. "Do you wanna dance?"

She really didn't want to, not with him. It wasn't that he was ugly or unlikable or anything… she just didn't want to give him the wrong impression. Leading men on wasn't her style.

But before she even had the chance to tell him no, she saw a familiar hand attached to a familiar arm placed down on the bar next to her. She slowly turned, looking upward at the man whom she'd just been thinking about. He wasn't smiling as he leaned closer to speak. "You never called."

Turning so she could face him, she placed her elbows behind her on the bar top and lifted her brows in an attempt to feign complete control and calm. "Correct."

She watched as Harry looked past her to J and then back down at her. "Who's this?"

"A friend. Why? Jealous?"

She didn't know what angle she was going for with her hard-to-get act, but that's all it was—an act. Deep down, under her cool facade, she wanted to finish unbuttoning his shirt, the top three buttons already free, so anyone could see what he was working with underneath.

"Jealous of a boy? No."

Y/n reached for his button and pressed at it, her eyes on his. "Now, Harry. Honestly… He's my age. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to find someone my age. Thought you'd be happy for me."

"Thought you said he was just a friend."

She laughed and looked back at J, who was just standing by silently, looking between Harry and Y/n. Far too mild. She turned back to Harry. "See? You are jealous."

"Why didn't you call?"

Clearing her throat, she shifted her footing to get a little closer. "Because I wanted you to find me. I worked so hard to get you to crack that night we met and thought maybe you could put in a little effort if you were interested."

"That's not how it works," he spoke as he dipped his head closer, placing his other palm down on the edge of the bar to cage her in. "I gave you my number. You didn't give me any of your contact info. Didn't want to overstep. Ball was in your court."

"I'm easy to find, Harry. All you had to do was Google my name."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Saw your post on Instagram."

She lifted her brows, and a smile pulled at her mouth. "Is that so? And did you select this outfit just for me?" She reached again for his shirt, letting her pointer finger trail down the cotton edge along the button slits before she ran the pad of her finger on his warm skin.

Harry looked down at her hand and then back into her eyes. "Was gonna go on a date tonight. That's why I'm dressed like this."

She blinked, moving her hand away.

"Hey, uh… should we like… go back? Or, uh…" J spoke tentatively as he stepped closer.

"She's with me. You're welcome to go wherever you please, though," Harry responded, his gaze locked on Y/n's.

"I think—actually, um…" J stumbled on his words.

Y/n lifted her hand and looked over at J. "It's fine. Harry and I have a lot to discuss. You can go back to our table."

J opened his mouth and searched Harry's face, then looking back at Y/n and nodding, he scuttled away like a dog with his tail between his legs. She felt a little bad. Clearly, he thought he might have had a chance even though he never did.

"See? A boy. Couldn't even form a sentence. What are you doing with him anyway?"

"We were having fun is what we were doing. Hanging out with people my age. Why do you care anyway? You said you were gonna go on a date. Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is. Maybe at home. I didn't want to go out with her, so I cancelled."

"Then why did you plan a date?"

"So I could try and move on from you."

She hadn't expected that level of honesty from him, but his confession had her heart thumping hard in her chest.

"Coming here to find me doesn't make it seem like you want to move on."

He shook his head, his eyes shifting downward over her dress before pinning them back on hers. "I didn't think we were done yet. Really expected you to call."

"And I really expected you to figure out how to find me. Should have been easy."

"You like the chase, then. Is that what you want? For me to chase you? Follow you around like a puppy dog?"

She laughed softly. "I don't think being a puppy is quite your style. But I do like that you came all this way just to see me."

He edged his hand toward her arm, running a thumb over her skin. "I'm too old to play games, Y/n. If you expect me to run after you, jump through hoops just to see you, and beg you for your time, then I'm not your guy."

"But you came here to see me."

"Yes, I did. Consider this your freebie cause I won't do something like this again. Ball's in your court now. What do you want? To go back and play with that little boy I sent away? Or to stop fucking around and come back home with me tonight again?"

Her lips parted as heat rose up her spine. A wanton need wrapped itself around her throat as she swallowed thickly. She enjoyed being the one with all the power and feeling like she was in charge. But it was different with Harry. Despite everything, he was the one calling the shots. And she wanted him so bad she could taste it. After all, he'd ditched a date so he could come find her.

"You like me." She grinned.

The tension outlining his posture softened as he rolled his eyes, and she watched as the edge of his lips turned upward. "What gave it away?"

"I like you, too. But my place is closer this time."

Y/n's friends were already watching the whole thing go down before she returned and told them she was heading out. Tara smiled. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Her apartment was only a few minutes' drive away. The small talk they'd been making before they stepped inside her place all but vanished the moment Harry pushed her to the wall and placed his knee between her thighs with a desperate kiss.

She even gasped in surprise when he moved her and she felt the plaster of her wall behind her back. He ran a rough palm up her bare thigh, the skirt of her dress shifting upward until the stretchy material was at her hips and he groped her ass.

"Wanted to do this the second I saw you standing at the bar. Show everyone who's taking you home…" he spoke against her mouth as his thumb caught on the slinky elastic string of her thong. She felt his thigh inching up between her legs as he moved in closer.

She was pinned to the wall as he worked his mouth down her neck and continued kneading at her ass. But then she felt the material of his pants against the crotch of her panties as his thigh pressed solidly into her.

A small, weak-sounding whimper fell from her mouth when he nudged against her, signaling for her to move her hips. The spot where his mouth kissed and sucked over her throat had her head spinning and it was almost involuntary as she began to rub herself on his thigh. She gripped onto his shoulders when he began to guide her hips.

It was kind of pathetic, the way they hadn't even made it into her bedroom. Barely'd made it past her door before they were all over one another. And now, there she was, grinding her pussy against his thigh like she was in some kind of dire need, a pitiful girl so wrapped up in desperation that she was reduced to humping his thigh like a pup in heat.

The most embarrassing thing was how good it felt. His lips on her skin, his thick thigh pressed against her, his hands on her ass. "Oh god…"

Harry moved his face and looked down at her with a smirk. "Making a mess, Y/n. Guess your tough girl act was all fake. Now look at you…"

Slowing her hips, she reached up to his face. "You started it."

A boyish dimple scored into his cheek as he lifted his brows. "Did I now? Clearly, you like it. Soaking right through my pants."

"Mmm… You like it too, though. Love how wet I get, don't you?"

He licked his lips and shook his head like he couldn't believe how tenacious she was, even when pinned against her wall. "So sure of yourself, Y/n. When my day started, I imagined I'd be doing this with someone else by the end of it. Bet she'd get just as wet for me."

Y/n let out a serrated breath, though she never stopped grinding over his thigh. "Doubtful. You wanted me. Practically dragged me out of the club 'cause you knew that other chick wouldn't do it for you like I can."

"Do what for me? Huh? Hump my thigh like a desperate, horny little girl?" He teased as she moaned at the way he nudged his leg up harder.

"You wanted me a little desperate, and that's what you got. You knew nothing was gonna feel as good as me. You missed it."

"Maybe. Maybe I kept imagining you every time I got off for the past two months. Maybe the only reason I agreed to a date with that other woman was because she kind of resembled you. Wanted to pretend I was fucking you again."

Y/n let out a moan. "I want you to fuck me."

"Do you deserve that, Y/n? After that little stunt you pulled? Huh? Leaving me high and dry like that? Wasn't nice."

"I wanted to call you. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Hmm… but you wanted to play games. Not sure sorry cuts it."

He moved his leg away, and Y/n stumbled forward, her hands on his shoulders as he pulled her dress back down over her thighs.

"What can I do to make you believe me?" She looked at him with rounded eyes, hoping that he wasn't changing his mind as he pushed away and took a step back.

"Not sure. Maybe that's something you're gonna have to have to figure out. This is a lot of work, you know? Telling you what to do and how to do it. Might be nice for you to try and use that brain of yours for once."

She scoffed as he grinned at her. She knew he was mocking her, and it was meant to be playful, but still. "For once? You don't think I use my brain?"

He shrugged as he paced into her living room, and she watched him look around like he was assessing. Following behind him, she kept her eyes on his strong build and turned a light on. It was clear he was sporting a thick erection under his pants at that point. She smiled when she stepped toward him.

Taking his belt, she gripped at the leather and pulled it through the buckle before she opened his pants and cupped around his length. "You can fuck my mouth. I won't even complain. I'll let you use me however you want."

She got onto her knees and kept her eyes on his as she peeled his underwear down. His big cock had been straining against the material of his boxers and it nearly hit her in the face when it was released. She cooed and gripped around the base of him to lift it upward and began kissing gently along the underside and down to his sac.

Harry stitched his brows together, and his lips parted as he watched her. He placed a hand at the back of her head and moaned. He didn't really care about an apology, but he was going to make damn sure she understood he wasn't into the little games. He'd had plenty of that kind of thing when he was younger. When he was closer to her age, and he'd never been a fan of it.

If she really did want to be with him, or at least date a while, she'd need to learn that he wanted things clear and well communicated. "That's a good girl. Keep going."

She stroked from root to tip as she tongued along his skin, making a wet path as she went. But suddenly, he grasped her chin and tilted her head back before he shoved his thick head past her lips and slid it down her tongue, bumping against the roof of her mouth as he went. She steadied herself, quickly, gripping his muscled thighs as he held the back of her head and worked himself in and out.

He was going easy on her, not pressing his full length down her throat. Not yet. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use. Show me you can work for it, yeah?"

Harry thrust in, his mushroomed crown glided over her tongue and back out to her soft lips before he did it again, a little deeper that time, the slit of his cock kissing the back of her mouth just before it curved into her throat. He kept his eyes on her face and the way her lips wrapped around him just right.

"Fuck you're so pretty, Y/n." He thumbed at the edge of her lip as he drove into her, feeling the saliva from her mouth coating his cock. He moaned when she blinked her eyes up at him. "Didn't want anyone else to suck my cock but you. Didn't want to even touch anyone else. Know that?"

She hummed over him in answer as he pushed deeper, making her gag lightly as the metal on his buckle clanked with his movements. "I know you know that. Proved it to you by making a fool of myself, stalking your Instagram so I knew where you were gonna be. Got me all wrapped up in you after just one goddamn night."

Y/n felt her eyes blur as tears roll down her cheeks when he nuzzled his dick in deeper and she swallowed around his tip with an embarrassing wet spluttering sound. She'd let him choke her with his cock if that's what it took. After hearing his confession, she only wanted to show him how much she had missed him and how sorry she was for not calling.

So, she leaned into him further, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to force the rest of him into her throat. The gagging and gargling noises she made were loud. It sounded like someone was being waterboarded.

"Fuck…" he gasped as she sputtered around him. He bent his knees the slightest as he let her suck and swallow around him. She was treating his cock so good he didn't know if he should just let her continue milking him like that until he was nutting down her throat or if he should reward her by returning the favor.

But damn did she feel good on his dick. She was giving it her all, and he'd decided she was forgiven.

Pulling her back, his wet dick slid past her lips and hung heavy in front of her face as he helped her stand up. She inhaled sharp breaths between little coughs as she wiped her face. "Was it okay?"

"Better than okay. You're a fuckin' star, Y/n. I need you in your bed, though. Got a condom?"

Knocking her head up and down affirmatively, she blinked her bleary eyes. Harry followed her to her bedroom and watched as she pulled a small box of condoms from her underwear drawer, and he took it from it before he pointed at her dress. "Clothes off. Then get your ass on the bed."

The thrill of having him there made her shaky. She yanked at her dress and removed the fabric before shedding the rest of her underthings.

Harry kicked his pants and his boxers off before his shirt joined the pile of clothes on the floor. He watched her climb onto her bed and sit at the middle in wait. He tossed the box of condoms onto her mattress (secretly pleased it was unopened, unused) and crawled after her on the bed, adjusting her legs and pushing her thighs apart before he thumbed her clit smoothly.

"Do you deserve to come? Think you deserve my cock?"

Y/n blinked at him as she nodded. "Yes. I just want to be good. Make you come too. Please…"

He grinned as he let his eyes coast down her denuded body. She rolled into his thumb before he took his other hand and pressed his middle finger inside. Everything that touched her pussy was glistening wet. The gushy sound his finger made as he fucked into her was lewd. She spread her legs apart further for him and dropped her mouth open as she kept her eyes on his.

She was so pretty like that. Naked and spread apart for him, lusting for him, wanting him. He added another finger and pumped into her harder. Her tits swayed as her pussy swallowed his fingers whole. She was so confident and bold it had his insides pulsing with need.

With his eyes pinned to hers he dipped down to replace his thumb on her clit with his lips and his tongue. Y/n fell backward to her mattress and moaned from the pleasure. His tongue stroked her clit and pressed flat over it before he pulled at it and repeated all while he fucked her as deep as his fingers could reach.

He held her down as she arched her back. His chin and his nose were wet, slurping and groaning into her as he worked her so close to the edge she was already seeing stars. "Yes… right there… right there…"

But he suddenly moved away. His fingers, his mouth, his body. She sat up to look at him and watched in satisfaction as she saw him digging into the box of condoms. His face was flushed and matched the shade of heat on his heaving chest.

He rolled the tight rubber down his shaft and then looked at her with dark eyes. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

With a smirk, she got to her knees and made sure to let her eyes linger on his cock before she turned and placed her palms flat onto the mattress. "Like this?" She wiggled her ass at him.

Harry moaned deeply and placed his hands on the curve of her hips, smoothing his palms over every inch slowly. "Exactly like this."

She felt him lean over her back, his mouth at her ear as he palmed at her tit. "How do you feel about me spanking you a little?" His dick was warm between her thighs as she pushed back against him.

"Whatever you do, I'm gonna love." She reared back again and turned her face to look at him as he sat back. She watched him raise his arm before his palm struck her bum with a sting.

She keened sharply and jolted forward. He did it again in the same spot as he locked his irises with hers. "Other side now."

As promised, he landed his hand over the globe of her ass again, once and then twice, a burning sensation left behind making her inhale sharply.

Then he kneed in closer and she felt him line up his dick with her entrance, fitting himself into her slowly before he plowed in with one thick, harsh thud that had her bending forward face down.

She yelped into the soft comforter when he issued her another spanking, one to each side, as he began to thrust in and out of her, long and languid with heavy palms burning into her skin.

The bite of pain blossomed with heat and curled outward, spreading along her flesh until she could almost feel the detail of his fingerprints searing into her, marking her. He groaned as he drove in deep, glutes flexing as he forced his cock through her sensitive insides.

Her bottom was stinging, aching, burning with every smack of his hand… until it wasn't. Until the gooey, pleasurable warmth of her walls that stretched around his cock deliciously melded with the sharp barbed pain of his swats… That was—it felt like her body was thrumming with a lusty, satisfying ecstasy that sent liquid fire through her veins.

"Fuck, oh god, fuck…" she mumbled into the blankets as her body was spanked and fucked and swatted and pounded. She loved it.

Harry halted, planting his palms down on the mattress to catch his breath, cock buried whole into her. They were both panting, reeling… Y/n's muffled moans pulled a smile onto his lips.

"Apology accepted," he spoke quietly as he kissed the center of her back between her shoulder blades and then reached forward to gently wrap his big hand around the front of her neck to lift her head.

"Hear me?" His deep voice sounded in her ear.

She nodded, the column of her throat bobbing into his palm, eyes still closed as she let out a feminine grunt that was probably meant to mean yes.

"You okay?"

Again, she nodded slowly, this time her eyes fluttered open. "Mmhmm. Yes."

"Hurt?" He punctuated his question with a rock of his hips forward, nudging into the end of her sharply.

She hissed, and her spine bowed. "Yes."

Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding out and in when he felt her swallow thickly before her moans vibrated into his palm. She was dripping. Every time his hips met her skin, it wetted his lap and the front of his thighs.

She had been all he wanted. Ever since the morning he dropped her off. Thought for sure he'd hear from her by the way she was acting around him. All flustered and soft and dreamy-eyed as she looked at him. Pouted when he said he couldn't come in but gave her his number. And then she just never called.

That was a hit to his ego. That he thought he somehow had the upper hand with her. But now he had her drooling, moaning, and sobbing his name as he railed her deep. He would see to it that she didn't leave him hanging like that again. He'd give it to her so good she wouldn't be able to even think about another man. At least for a little while.

But Y/n was feeling the same kind of way about him. And now he was at her place, in her bed, fucking her with his big cock like he had something to prove.

"Mmm… Harry…"

"Yeah?" He pushed in firmly, swiveling his hips to let her feel all of him. "Is that good?"

"Fuck… it's deep—sh…shit!"

Letting go of her neck, Harry used both hands to guide her rhythm as he fucked into her, tilting her into an angle that had the big crown of his cock hitting a tender spot inside her. She tensed and clawed at the blankets in response to how he commanded her movements.

He loved watching her pussy slickly spread apart on his cock, how tight it wrapped around him, how wet she made everything, the way her ass wobbled. He was tempted to give her another swat but thought better of it, knowing that he'd already done a number on her backside. Her skin was raised just enough that he could feel the small welts from his hands. He didn't want to break the skin.

His abs clenched as he plowed his dick through her, their bodies clapping together, her bed wrenching under them from the force of his thrusts. She was mumbling nonsense, straining to keep herself steady as he worked her over him with his hands gripping the meat of her hips tight.

But he slowed his motions, loosening his hold on her as he pushed in deep and stilled. He stared down at the space where they were connected as he thumbed softly at the flesh of her ass. When he was buried in like that, he couldn't see the end of the condom at the base of his shaft, so it looked like he wasn't wearing one. The dirty thought trickled warm down his chest and made his cock throb before he pulled himself out.

He pulled her up and helped her turn before he positioned her flat on her back, her tits spreading softly as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. He sat back on his haunches. "Still okay?"

She nodded, a smile slowly turned her lips upward. "I'm fantastic."

"Good. Gonna pull you up like this…" He took her thighs and dragged her up so her hips were off the bed and the backs of her thighs were draped over the tops of his. "Fuck you nice and deep, work your clit til you come. How's that sound?"

"Mmm…" Y/n nodded and squeezed her tits as she bucked her hips upward. "Yes."

He grinned down at her. He loved how confident she was. How unashamed of her body she seemed to be. Liked the way she carried herself. It was sexy to see a woman happy in her own skin.

He reached down and slowly stroked her clit, eyes connected to hers to watch her expression soften and then her brows arch as she parted her lips and moaned. "Yeah?" He murmured with a grin.

"Yes… You're so good. Fuck…" she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, a soft gasp fell from her lips as he slid his fingers in circles on her clit and mushed into her swollen hood. She pushed her breasts together and arched her back before shifting her head to look back up at him. "Fuck me. Please."

"Want my cock, Y/n?" He nudged his hips forward, poking his condom-covered tip to the tight ring of muscle that would stretch nicely around him once he pushed his way back in.

"I need it," she pleaded in a breath, canting her hip toward him.

The harsh line of his brow as he took all of her in, spread out for him, was that of a man ready to devour. Y/n watched as he wrapped his long fingers around his base and shifted his pelvis, dipping his thick cock head just inside of her.

"Fffuck…" she stretched her neck and moaned as she took every inch he fed into her.

He slid deeper, taking his time as if he hadn't just been pounding into her and pushing her to her limit moments before. He moved his thumb over her bud as he went, her arousal smeared filthy on his fingers and all over her pussy lips.

Y/n shifted her sight to Harry's face, admiring his handsome features and the way his lips parted, how his muscles tensed as he rolled into her. He was enjoying her body, reveling in the way he felt inside of her. "Does it feel good? My pussy's good for you?"

"Your pussy feels incredible. Even with this fucking condom…" he laughed softly. "The kind of pussy I'd chase after and make a fool of myself for."

With their eyes connected, Y/n felt her heart ravaging behind her ribcage. She understood what he meant. Because, while she didn't think he'd made a fool of himself, he had chased after her to find her at the club. And he said that wasn't something he normally did. She was grateful he had, though.

His rough palm pushed her hand to the side so he could grope her tit. He continued working at her clit as he stuffed himself in to the brim and they both panted hot breaths as their connected bodies throbbed in unison.

He pressed down as he circled her wet bud, and the extra friction had her skin buzzing, pulsing with desire. Heat stretched over her thighs and curled viciously through her insides.

Harry slowly inched back and then pushed in deeper, his thighs flexing as he plunged wetly, gently smacking into her. A breathless sob fell from her mouth as she took him to his root over and over again.

His slow thrusts were deliberate, calculated. Every stroke of his rigid cock through her soft walls, every press of his thumb on her sensitive clit, every brush of his fingertips on her nipple had her rippling around him, trembling. The luscious stretch of her pussy around him as he drove in and dragged out made his tip leak into his condom.

Y/n began circling her hips to press harder into his thumb, using her leverage to get him deeper, to feel the biting pressure of his thumbprint. The soft, wet spread of her pussy around his shaft ached and squeezed and slushed.

His moan vibrated deep from his chest as he felt his balls tighten when he buried in and pressed himself flush to her. The shadows in her bedroom cast a moody expression over his features. He tilted his neck back, angling his face toward her ceiling as if he were in ecstasy.

And the languid thrusting suddenly turned into a heated pace. Harry's eyes darkened on hers when he looked back down at the girl he was fucking. He stroked her clit and released her breast, yanking her hip to meet his powerful thrusts. He battered her tender insides with his brutally thick column of rigid flesh. The sounds of plapping skin, her mattress springs bouncing, Harry's rhythmic grunts and groans as he drove in faded to a white noise as Y/n realized she was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of him inside her.

She cried his name and her body shivered with every harsh plunge of his cock, the orgasm dotting white stars behind her eyes. Harry's own desperate moans were a giveaway that he was about to come just as hard.

"Fuck!"

Her body bounced and gushed as he drove in and in. The deep, ragged sounds he made were erotic, and a convulsive shudder wracked his powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. His cock jerked inside her and then he was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into her clutching cunt.

Somehow, she'd found herself lying on top of him. He'd brought them to lie back together, and her chest was pressed to his. She felt his hand on her naked back, slowly caressing her skin as their hearts began to slow and calm.

"Mmm…" Y/n smiled as she nuzzled into his chest.

His hand drew down over her ass gently. "How's this feel?"

Lifting her head to press her chin into his pec, she raised her brows. "Sore. But that's what you wanted. To show me I was a bad girl. I deserved it."

Harry pushed a breath through his nose. "You're not a bad girl. Just stubborn. But now you know better than to play games."

Y/n shifted her gaze toward the edge of the room and pushed herself up from him as Harry watched her get off her bed and traipse to her dresser. "What are you doing?"

She turned to him and lifted her phone before pressing a few buttons, and then Harry's phone rang from his pants.

"There. Now you have my number, too. We've got no excuses anymore."

He reached his hand out toward her as she walked back to her bed and curled up next to him. "You shouldn't need an excuse. If you want to see me, then that should be enough."

She placed her palm on his chest and angled her head back to look at him. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I mean it when I say that. I regretted not reaching out. I promise no more games."

"Mmm…" He ran his hand down the back of her head. "Sounds like I finally fucked some sense into you then."

Y/n laughed. "Guess I needed that, too."

"I think you did. So did I, to be honest."

"You needed some sense fucked into you?"

Harry chuckled, his handsome smile making her heart flutter as he shook his head. "No. I meant I needed to fuck some sense into you. I'm already chock full of good sense. Don't need any more."

"Can't argue with that. So what now? You gonna stay the night with me?"

"Yep. Then, tomorrow, we'll make plans for a date. A real one."

"Why not make plans now?"

"Because we're gonna do it tomorrow. Cause I said."

"What if I'm busy tomorrow?" Y/n teased and bit her lip.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He grinned.

"Hmm… It looks like all my plans have suddenly been canceled. Guess I'm all yours."

. .

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#I can't get enough of them #stubborn characters are my favourite #especially when they're filthy too #gurugirl #harry styles fic

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daylightmidnights · 1 month ago

Text

Um. I'm sorry, what?!!! What the fuck did you do Miss Olivia?? Do you plan on killing us? This is INSANE. Crazy, absolutely crazy. I'm shaking. I can't breath properly. The whole fic was crazy. Every paragraph is crazy. Then you ended it there? How dare you!!!! Why would you do that!!???; I can't wait for the next chapter. I think I'd die. So good so good soooooooooo fucking good

Did she hear him right?

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

part 1

(18K+ words)

ii.

“He said what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He said what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh God, goodnight Ni.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N stilled, blinking at him.

Did she hear him right?

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!!!

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

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

. . .

The thing is – Harry is a professional.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

Y/N was in a bad mood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. Let’s begin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry beats her to it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Six.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, Harry’s hand raises to her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked at him.

“Oh, uh….no?”

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

. . .

Y/N hasn’t stopped thinking about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you. . .are you offering?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” She agreed urgently.

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

Y/N wheezes, practically, “Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he feels how wet she is, he cusses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” she nods, “Thank you.”

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

“He did it again?” Niall exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Big virgin dummy?”

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

“Is that a bad thing?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You planted that.” Harry cut him off.

The man stops, blinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I – I did not –”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N is confused instantly.

“Wait, what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#it's so hot I think I burned my brain #rest in peace me #r.i.p me #i died dead #chef harry #jawllines #harry styles fanfic

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daylightmidnights · 2 months ago

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Guru my girl, I don't think I need to tell you that this is insanely good and hot and cute and sweet and I was giggling so much throughout that bowling alley scene. Thank you so much for sharing this with us tumblr girlies. I am definitely gonna re read this.

But I am annoying you know that so I am gonna share my real concern here. WHAT ABOUT HER CAREER? Did she get a good job after she gained some experience from the work she was forced to do? An internship at least? Did she move out of her parents house? Cause idk why the whole time I was expecting that maybe at the end we'll see that she got a decent enough job for now. I NEED her to have a good job you know and I need her to move out. Like with her first month salary she has a day out and goes shopping and to a fancy restaurant and then a fancy club and almost spends too much money just to make up for the shitty after graduation life she lived. And if there weren't any Harry in her life I'd imagine her buying guys drink and having hot sex in the club bathroom. Just because she is happy and she could do that. Because she absolutely deserves to have some careless fun. Why am I like this? Why can't I just stick to the plot!!!!! I'm sorry 😭

Maybe Fate

MAIN MASTERLIST

This was first posted on Patreon one year ago! Figured I’d share it here with y’all on tumblr! 💕

Summary: The first time you meet Harry is under odd circumstances. But the second time you meet him it feels like fate. Well, if you believe in that sort of thing.

A/N: I have a couple of songs linked through to Spotify if you are interested in listening to set the scene - it's not necessary, though!

Word Count: 8,347

Warning: smut, cuteness, loud sex that can be heard by others

Your roommate K had some gall. You could hear her and whoever it was she brought home from the bar going at it for what seemed like an exaggerated amount of time. How was it possible that they could last that long? Why were they still having sex?

As annoying as it was to lose sleep (you had a test in the morning so it was a little more than just annoying) you could admit, it did sound like she was getting it good.

The man, who you’d not yet seen and probably would not be seeing, had a deep voice. And not just any deep voice. He sounded—hot. You couldn’t hear everything that that he said but he was vocal and he was definitely talking dirty to her.

Of course, there was also her bed wildly bouncing and frame smacking into the wall which told you he was plowing her in a way that made you a little jealous. You hadn’t been laid in a while. It was your senior year at university and you were busting your ass like the good student you were. You needed a good grade to get the internship you were up for that summer.

So sleep was vital. And here you were listening as K was getting the life fucked out of her. She sounded like she was crying but then you’d hear her long drawn-out moans of pleasure…

You stuffed your pillow over your head and groaned. If you failed your test the following day you’d be having a word with her about proper roommate etiquette. They could keep it down. There was no way they weren’t aware you could hear every little thing happening on her bed. You could even hear their bodies colliding every time he thrust into her.

Jesus. You needed sleep. But you also needed to get laid.

. . .

You didn’t fail your test, but you barely passed. But a passing grade was a passing grade you thought to yourself as you ordered your cappuccino. You were exhausted. Memories of what had kept you up had you rolling your eyes.

K was nice. You didn’t know her well, though. You were renting a small two-bedroom apartment and found it through an ad she’d posted. It would have been nice to have a place of your own but who could afford that? So, being stuck with K was more out of necessity than anything. You didn’t have much choice.

And up until the night before you’d really had no major complaints. She was six years older than you and had a regular job. She brought men home from time to time but nothing like her most recent Casanova that shook the whole apartment. And it was funny to you how she was always out partying and drinking while you stayed in on the weekends and studied til your eyes bulged out of your head. It should have been the opposite with you being the college kid and her the more mature adult.

Your plan had been to go home and crawl back into bed to catch up on the sleep you’d missed out on. But when you walked into your apartment you realized that K was still home. Which was odd since it was midday Thursday. Normally she was working.

You tossed your bag in your room and toed off your tennis shoes before making your way to the shared bathroom in the hallway and pushing open the door.

But instead of finding the bathroom unoccupied, you were met with a naked man who looked just as surprised as you were, “Oh shit!”

You turned quickly and put your hands over your eyes, “Sorry! Oh my god!”

The shock of seeing a man’s naked dick when you were not expecting it had you a bit dazed.

“Sorry, I’m covered now. Sorry,” you heard his voice and realized immediately who the offender was. The rowdy Casanova from the night before.

You kept your fingers over your eyes as you turned and slowly parted your digits to make sure it was safe.

He laughed and you verified he was indeed covered. But you did notice all the tattoos on his chest and arms, and his dark curls and soft green eyes… Yeah K was a lucky girl. Damn.

You didn’t stare long, though. But you could tell his body looked like he had a lot of stamina, and after everything you’d heard the night before you understood it all now.

“I’m Harry,” he held a hand out to you in greeting.

You smiled up at him and slid your palm into his, “Y/n. Uh… I’m guessing you’re K’s friend?”

He laughed again. Even his laugh was attractive with a big grin and nice teeth, “Yeah. I guess you could call me her friend.”

“Got it,” you nodded as you backed up out of the bathroom, “Well, I’ll come back when you’re done in here. Honestly didn’t mean to see…” you waved your hand around, “any of that.”

. . .

You didn’t see Harry again after that. You did hear him again the following night, though. But this time you had a picture in your head of the man who was obliterating K with that big thing between his legs and his nicely built body with broad shoulders and thick, muscled thighs.

It was no wonder she was crying out in ecstasy. You wondered if she’d need to repaint the wall where the frame was knocking into the plaster repeatedly. Wondered if other neighbors could hear (surely they could). Wondered what position he was putting her in and how he might look doing it.

Then you heard a loud pop and K’s choked gasp and then another three or four pops. He was spanking her.

You rolled your eyes so hard you felt the force of your sockets nearly separate from your eyeballs. It wasn’t fair. God, what you wouldn’t give to have a man that looked like that fucking you so hard into your mattress you were a blubbering mess and then to have him spank you with those big hands…

You could almost see the dimpled smirk on his face as he landed his palms over her bum. You could hear his voice but it was difficult to make out the words he was saying over the racket of the squeaky bed and K’s high-pitched moans.

And once again, the amount of stamina he had to last as long as he did was quite amazing to you. Most of the guys you’d slept with couldn’t keep going like that or they’d come too fast.

But of course, the longer they lasted, the less sleep you were awarded.

. . .

Graduating from university felt different than you imagined it would. Nothing much really changed. You envisioned getting that internship and starting a new life and making new friends with people who had the same interests as you.

But instead, you found yourself not getting picked for the internship even though you were more than qualified, and moving back in with your parents once your lease with K was up.

Honestly, it felt a lot like high school again, except this time you needed to get a job. And as it turned out having your engineering degree meant zilch when you had no experience to speak of. So you were forced to find something that had nothing to do with the framed certificate hung on the wall in your childhood bedroom.

So that’s why you needed a night out or something. Something to break up the monotony of what this very disappointing after-graduation life looked like so far.

“I know it might sound really lame, but I am going bowling with some friends. On Fridays, they have $10 pitchers of beer and pizza. Cheap fun.” Your cousin, Lee, told you over the phone when you called to find out what her plans were.

But even if you were terrible at bowling, beer and pizza with adults your age sounded really fun. You needed to get out of your parent's house and do anything else. Bowling sounded more appealing than listening to your dad talk about his coworkers and what time he was gonna light up the grill and make hamburgers (then hear him complain about how you don’t eat meat).

Rocket Soul Bowl was one of those dirty, old bowling alleys. The parking lot was filled with potholes and had weeds growing up through the cracks and the inside smelled of stale cigarette smoke, had dim lighting, with old school rock and R&B playing. It was perfect.

Well. Better than watching your parents eat hamburgers while you stuck with chips and potato salad.

You found Lee with one of her friends after you got your used (and hopefully sanitized) bowling shoes and she already had a pitcher of beer on the table with plastic cups.

“Y/n!” She jumped up and hugged you, “This is Chris,” she gestured toward the guy who stood up to reach his hand out for you to shake. “We’re waiting on Harry. And then we’ll start bowling and order pizza.”

You smiled at Lee and Chris and then poured beer into your cup as you sat down on the hard, smooth plastic bench at the table. It wasn’t often you heard the name Harry. Immediately your mind went to the tall curly-headed man with tattoos. Part of you thought how funny it would be if that was the Harry who was meeting up with your cousin at the bowling alley. In all the world, to have it be the same Harry seemed impossible.

But when a Bill Withers song began playing over the speakers and Chris stood up to greet someone who approached you from behind, “Hey man! Good to see you!” It was like something inside of you just knew. Before you even heard his voice or looked at his green eyes.

Placing your plastic cup down you stood up and turned to see him. Harry hugged Lee but the moment they parted from the hug he saw you and the smile on his face changed to a flirty grin. “Y/n, what a surprise. Are you the cousin?” You noted he had a black helmet tucked under his arm.

You nodded and looked at Lee and back at Harry, “Yeah. I’m Lee’s cousin. You guys know each other?”

Lee laughed, “For years. Wait? You know Harry?”

Before you could speak Harry grabbed your hand and pulled you into his side, draping his arm over your shoulder, “We do,” he looked down at you, “Intimately.”

Chris laughed and you shook your head, pushing yourself out from under his arm, “We know each other, but not really. Definitely not intimately. He’s joking,” you laughed.

Harry’s demeanor did not falter, “But we do, Y/n. You’ve seen my cock and balls and bush. I’d say that’s intimate.”

You looked at Lee, still shaking your head, “No, that was an accident–“

“She’s playing shy. Knows very well some other very intimate details about me as well,” he kept his eyes on you, the edge of his mouth playing upward in a smirk, “Isn’t that right?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed as you squinted at him, “You’re crazy.”

Harry pulled you back into his side and put his arm over your shoulder, “I am a little.”

When Lee put everyone’s name in the computer and the match started it was your turn first. You picked a bowling ball you liked the color of and stood along the lines on the slick floors and attempted to launch the ball down the center of the lane but once it got toward the end the ball suddenly veered to the left and only knocked down two pins.

You repeated your move, trying to make the ball stay toward the center but it rolled in nearly the same path as before, veering to the left at the end, this time hitting nothing before it rolled into the gutter and then it was Harry’s turn.

“Better luck next time, Cherry,” he eyed your shirt as he spoke and picked up his ball.

You were wearing a black t-shirt with cherries on the front with the words Have a cherry good time! You rolled your eyes as you sat down and sipped your beer. But inside you were feeling something other than annoyed. In fact, you could say you were quite pleased that Harry was there.

It turned out, as was no surprise, that you were a terrible bowler. So was Lee. Chris was good enough to hold his own, but what was surprising was how good Harry was. He claimed he rarely bowled, that it was just luck. But you weren’t sure about all that.

The four of you sat on the plastic chairs after your first set and ate pizza (you opted for cheese) with a fresh pitcher of beer, “I’m just good at most things I do. I have no idea why,” Harry laughed before taking a huge bite of his slice of pizza.

“It’s true. This guy just learns how to do something and immediately he’s good at it. In our sophomore year at university, I was on the track team and one day I was at practice and Harry just pops in because he wants to chat about something so I tell him I’ve got to run laps so he just goes with me. The whole team was out there practicing in our athletic gear, like just dragging and sweating and Harry’s in jeans and a t-shirt and he’s running next to me not even breaking a sweat. He held a whole conversation while we were full-on running without skipping a beat.”

Chris took a drink from his cup, “Oh, and then there was the time that girl was showing us how to play chess and Harry sits and watches and listens to her explain the game so he plays a round with her and he fucking beats her. Like?”

The four of you laugh but the truth is you’re a bit impressed. You also happen to know another thing he’s really good at, but you stop yourself from allowing that thought to develop further.

The next game you play, you also suck. You barely hit any pins but you were having such a good time you could have cared less. Of course, Harry was just strike after strike. One time he went up with his plastic cup, launched his ball with one hand while he took a sip of beer and hit all but two pins. On his next try, he threw the ball, knocking down the two remaining. But that was him showing off. His cocky grin aimed at you as he sat down.

But the best part was that he sat next to you every time he went back to the seats when his turn was over. He kept his arm over your shoulder with his thigh flush against yours.

It made you hot having him so close. Every time you looked down at his thighs you were reminded of that day you saw him. You knew what he looked like with no jeans covering his bottom half. And you knew those muscles were definitely good for something.

It was hard not to think about Harry that way. He was hot and he was flirty.

And when your mind was wandering into the figurative gutters (unlike the literal ones your bowling ball kept wandering into) about what he’d be like with you in bed you didn’t realize it was your turn as you listened to his husky voice with his arm over your shoulder and his fingers brushing the skin just under your t-shirt sleeve.

“Cherry girl, your turn,” he spoke into your ear, breaking you from your reverie.

Another bad round. You were terrible. You laughed as you turned back to see Harry right behind you waiting his turn, “Come here,” he pulled at your hand, “Let’s do this together. Your form is all wrong.”

“But if I bowl on your turn I’m gonna fuck up your score.”

Harry’s dimples poked into his cheeks as he smiled, “Why would I care about my score? I’m not making money on this or anything. Even if we hit no pins I’m still gonna win anyway. Now get your cute ass over here so we can figure out what’s going on.”

You coughed a laugh and looked back at Lee who was watching the exchange with her brows raised. Yeah, she’d been giving you looks the entire time. You were sure she thought you and Harry had something going on. You could only hope.

Harry moved you up to the line as he stood behind you with his hands on your shoulders and then he pushed his chest to your back, helping you hold the ball correctly, positioning your hands with his, “Hold it like this, yeah?” His voice vibrated off the shell of your ear and down the back of your neck.

“There, good girl, Cherry. Just like that.” He let go of your hands and then you felt his grip on the back of your hips, “We’re gonna take one step forward, and then as you bring your other leg up you’ll swing this back for momentum before pushing it out and letting it roll toward the pins. Follow my lead.”

He nudged you forward before putting one hand on your right arm, “Now bring it back,” he let you swing the ball back before you felt him push the ball in your hands, giving you a bit more oomph in your swing. “And release. Like that…” he stayed against your back as you both watched the ball roll down the lane and rather than either going directly into the gutter or only hitting the last two pins on the left it was almost center and hit half the pins.

You jumped up and spun around, “Oh my god! It worked!” He laughed as you hugged him and you felt his arms squeeze around your middle before letting you go.

“Now try it again. See if you can do the same thing I just showed you.”

You took your bowling ball and lined up, holding the ball upward as Harry showed you, and then moved to swing and release. The ball didn’t have as much power as when he had helped you but it still hit three more pins.

You jumped up and down and turned back, high-fiving Harry as you both took your seats next to one another. It felt good to hit more pins. Something about it was exhilarating and maybe it was the way Harry looked proud that had you feeling that excitement even more so. It didn’t matter, though. You were having so much fun.

But all good things must come to an end. When the last round was nearly over and you were still losing while Harry was blowing everyone out of the water, you were feeling a bit of anxiety at that being it. Maybe you’d never see him again. He hadn’t asked for your number and even though he was obviously flirting with you there was no guarantee it actually meant much of anything.

When Lee took her turn and a Bruce Springsteen song came on you felt Harry’s fingers move to the back of your neck, “What are you doing after this?”

You smiled as you looked at him, his face was incredibly close to yours, “No plans. You?”

“What a coincidence that two young and attractive people have no plans on a Friday night after bowling. Wouldn’t you say?”

You laughed as his fingers trailed over the skin on your neck, “Yeah. Wild coincidence.”

“Actually it is. Maybe fate even,” he grinned teasingly, “I’m pretty sure this means we’re meant to hang out after this. Me and you, Cherry. You can’t say no to fate.”

The smile on your face couldn’t be removed if anyone tried. Because maybe Harry was right. Maybe it was fate. Maybe the coincidences in life that we think of as just coincidences are more than just random occurrences.

“That’s true. Who can say no to fate.”

You watched him lick his lips before Lee sat at the computer and tallied up the score. Obviously, Harry had won, to no one’s surprise.

Everyone stood up to say their goodbyes. Lee hugged you as she pulled you toward the exit with Harry and Chris following behind after you’d dropped off your rented shoes, “So, you and Harry?”

You laughed and shook your head, “I don’t know. He invited me to hang out after this. Maybe just a little fun,” you raised your brows and Lee laughed.

Harry had a black motorcycle, which explained the helmet he had with him, that had coincidentally (once again) been parked right next to your little shitter car.

“Where are you parked?” He said as he looked at you. Lee and Chris were already headed away toward their cars.

You pointed to the car right next to Harry’s motorcycle, “That’s me.”

Harry’s eyes took in your old beater and he leaned against the door, “Wanna take a ride with me? I can bring you back to your car later.”

You nodded, “Should I have a helmet?”

Harry raised up the black one that he had, “You’ll wear this. Okay?”

“But what about you?”

Harry inched in closer to you as he unhooked the buckle on the helmet, “I’ll be fine. My place is pretty close if you want to go there,” he raised his brows at you in question.

“Oh. Sure. Okay.” His place.

“Yeah? Did you want to go somewhere else instead?” He pulled the helmet over your head and adjusted the straps as you looked at his face.

“Your place is fine, Harry. I’d like that.”

When he’d fixed the helmet tight to your head he looked at you and lowered his gaze over your frame with a sexy grin, “Cute.”

You’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. Harry got on first and held your hand to help you on behind him, “Put your arms around me and hold on.” Turned out you really enjoyed the ride. The cool night air whipped around your body while the world around you flew by in a fuzzy blur as Harry safely took you to your destination.

You liked sitting behind him and holding onto his waist. The smell of his cologne or soap was fresh and his body was warm. You felt like a different person on the back of that bike with Harry. You didn’t know what to expect exactly but that was part of the thrill.

Harry turned into an apartment complex and parked at the front before helping you off the bike, “This is my place,” he gestured toward the second floor of the building and then helped you take the helmet off. Which you didn’t need him to do but found you loved his attention on you.

Following behind Harry you walked up the steps to the second level and he got to his door and stuck his key in. Before he opened his door he turned to look at you, “Kind of messy inside. Didn’t expect to have company.”

When you stepped in and he turned on the lights you looked around. It was about as messy as seemed appropriate. Nothing crazy. An empty glass of water next to a bowl of what looked like dry cereal on the coffee table, a blanket bunched up on the couch, trainers by the door with socks tucked inside, and some books on the floor next to a chair by the couch.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water? Beer? Uh… that’s really all I’ve got.”

“Nah. I’m good. Thank you, Harry.”

He sat the helmet down on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch, patting the space next to him, “Come here, Cherry.”

You laughed and sat next to him. Harry pushed his arm over your shoulders, his body angled toward you, “You know that day you walked in on me in the bathroom?”

You raised a brow at him, looking up to his face, “Yeah?”

“I kind of wanted to get your number. Is that bad of me since I was there with K?”

You breathed a laugh through your nose, “A little bad. But why? Sounded like you really liked K.”

Harry cackled loudly and his body shook the couch as he gripped your shoulder, “I liked her. But she was just using me for my body,” he teased, “But seriously. You were so cute and then I never saw you again. Thought about you a few times after.”

You grinned as you squinted at him, “You did not think about me after. Seemed you forgot anyone else existed while you were in her bed that night.”

He watched your lips as you spoke and he nodded, “I tend to just give it my all when I’m with someone, casual or not. If other people happen to hear then that’s fine. I’ve got no shame.”

“Clearly,” you grinned.

Harry scrunched his brows and looked over your face, “What do you like, Y/n? Does it bother you when other people can hear you having sex?”

You dropped your mouth open and blinked at him in surprise, “I… Well, first of all, I don’t think anyone has ever overheard me having sex. It tends to be relatively quiet I guess?”

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that was quiet. Unless I’m wanking myself off but that doesn’t count. So you like quiet sex, then?” He smirked at you and tucked his lips into his mouth.

You shook your head, “I just mean I haven’t had loud sex is all,” you smiled, “I think it could be fun. Sounded like it was fun…”

“It was. But I like to have fun. Bet you’d like it too.”

You were caught in the moment with Harry like there was a force that made looking away from him impossible. You smiled shyly and pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“How are you this cute?” He lifted his hand up to your cheek and you watched his pupils wind over your features. “Cherry girl with cherry lips,” he settled his gaze on your irises, “Pretty eyes.”

He lowered his hand to brush his knuckles down your neck softly and you closed your eyes at the light touch as you released your bottom lip from your teeth.

“Likes her neck touched,” his voice lowered as he spoke, moving in closer to you, “Probably likes it kissed too. Yeah?”

You opened your eyes to look at him and nodded. You did like your neck kissed, that was true.

His thumb pressed the side of your neck as he looked at the skin under his fingers, “Is it okay if I do? Right here?”

“Yeah,” you spoke in a breath before you felt his warm pink lips on your skin and the whole world melted away the moment you felt his tongue lave up to your jaw.

He pressed gentle kisses down your neck and then up to the lobe of your ear, “Tastes like cherries,” his breath warming your skin and making you breakout in goosebumps as he continued using his mouth and tongue all around your skin, his damp lips leaving traces of his saliva in each spot he kissed.

Your breath deepened as you moved your hand to the top of his thigh, “Oh my god,” you whispered, not even realizing you’d spoken.

Harry smiled as he lowered his lips to the collar of your shirt, dotting the skin just above the fabric with pecks, and then you felt his hand grip the back of your head before his mouth was pressed against yours and now you were in space kissing the man that coincidence (or fate) had brought back into your life.

You moaned into his mouth as you placed your hands on his broad back and he leaned over you, moving your back into the couch and licking the seam of your lips before you pressed your tongue against his.

Soft and smooth kisses slowly became eager and wanton. Harry’s mouth and his hands directed the whole thing. He pushed your legs apart and settled himself down between them, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

When he lowered his mouth to your neck again you let out a helpless gasp and he puffed a laugh against your skin but he didn’t stop. You felt his mouth at the curve of where your neck and shoulder met as his free hand grasped your side, his hips pinning you down. It made you dizzy.

You pulled at his shirt, the material bunching in your hands so you could feel his skin under your palm. He was warm and even his back was strong. You could feel him flexing under your hand as he sat up and slid his shirt off over his head.

You followed suit, pushing yourself to sit up and remove your cherry t-shirt. Harry’s eyes honed in on your bra-covered breasts and he dipped down, cupping both sides with his hands and licking over the thin fabric to wet the spot right over your nipple. You were pushed back down into the couch as Harry’s lips worked over your bra and his hands squeezed.

He moaned as he used his thumb to pull the fabric down slowly and then pressed his lips to the plump skin on your tits where the fabric was pulled down.

“Take it off,” you moaned as Harry’s green eyes settled on yours and he pushed his hands behind your back to unhook your bra. He dropped his mouth to your clavicle as he worked to get your bra undone and when he’d finally had success you felt the material being pulled out from under your back as he dragged the bra from you and draped it over the back of the couch.

He dove in right away. Lips parted, tongue out as he wetted your skin and kissed your nipples one by one.

You put your hands into his hair, thick brown curls between your fingers as he began to lower his lips down to your belly button.

You quickly released his hair and unbuttoned your pants, giving him permission to take them off if he chose.

And he definitely did. With his lips parted and shiny he looked at you as he tugged your jeans down your legs before squeezing at your soft thighs running his palms up to your hips over your panties, “Fucking beautiful.”

He kneaded your tits in his hands again and then softly coaxed his hands down your sides to the tops of your thighs, pressing his fingers into the meat as he took you in.

You saw a grin pull up on his face as he dragged his thumb to the edge of the fabric of your panties, “You like me don’t you?”

You laughed, “Well I think that should be obvious, I’m sitting here in my panties in your apartment.”

Harry looked back down to your panties and smiled, “That you are. I can see just how much you like me too,” he looked up at you as he ran his knuckle down the crotch of your panties and that’s when you realized what he meant. You were wet through your panties.

Out of instinct, you began to close your legs when Harry held your thighs apart and tutted at you, “But guess what? I like you too. Want to get to know you real good, cherry. Wanna know just what you like and how you like it.”

You wiggled your toes as your heart pounded with your legs spread out for Harry to inspect as he pleased.

Harry looked up at you, letting go of your thighs, and began to unzip his jeans, “Wanna see how much I like you?”

You nodded and laughed nervously as you watched him peel his jeans off and you could see the clear erection under his briefs. It was curved to the left a bit, tucked under the band of his underwear until he reached his hand in and positioned his cock upward.

You swallowed. You weren’t sure where to look. His strong thighs, his soft abs, his muscled pecs, or the glorious thick erection bulging at this underwear.

Tonight was your lucky night you decided.

“See? Pretty good match yeah?” He grinned as he smoothed his hands over your thighs again and up to your panties, “What do you want, Y/n? Should we take this further?”

You nodded, “Yes.”

He licked his lips again as he looked at your pretty face, “Okay. How far do you want to go with me?”

You inhaled and blinked your eyes. You wanted it all. Wanted whatever he wanted. Hoped he wanted to fuck you with that big thing but you weren’t sure that’s what he meant. Maybe he didn’t–“

Harry leaned over you and cupped your jaw gently, “Seems you’re overthinking a little so I’ll make this easy for you. I’ll tell you what I want and you just tell me if you like that or not. Okay?”

You nodded.

“First I want to touch you, under your panties. Get my fingers nice and wet, finger you a little. Then I want to taste it. Lick you up and down, make you feel good. Then I want to take you to my bed and have loud sex with you so everyone can hear how good I’m making you feel, how good you’re making me feel. Sound good?”

A cracked moan fell from your lips as you nodded, “Yeah. I like that.”

Harry’s grin widened as he let go of your face and brought both hands down to your panties, “Good. Then let’s get rid of these.”

You felt the wetness on the fabric as they were moved down your legs and then Harry’s fingers were running through your labia up and down. His eyes focused on your bare pussy.

When he pressed over your clit he watched your face and hissed when he saw your brows scrunch up and your lips part, “Right there, yeah? You like that?”

You nodded with your bottom lip bit into your mouth, looking from his face to where his thumb was pressed.

He used his free hand to push at your thigh as he continued stroking his fingers up and down, glazing his digits in your arousal before you felt him press at your entrance slowly.

“Open up for me, cherry… there we go, sweet girl. Fuck me…” he watched as he pressed two fingers inside slowly, your pussy wet and puffy. “So pretty. Look at tha’” he watched his fingers slide in and out and back in to his knuckles with the gushy sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers.

“Oh god…” you breathed out your words when he put his thumb back over your clit and began to press and circle as he continued pressing his fingers through your walls.

And the way he fingered you was only making you more wet, making you feel desperate. You moaned and ran your hands up your tummy to your tits, as you watched Harry’s arms flex as he fucked his fingers into you and stroked your front wall.

“Fuck that smells so good, cherry,” he kept his eyes on your cunt as he lowered himself down, “Gotta have some of this.”

It couldn’t have gotten any better than it was. Harry’s fingers already felt better than they should’ve but it did, in fact, get better. Because his big mouth and wide tongue on your clit had you unable to think straight as you let out a whine.

He kept his long fingers inside of you as he focused his lips and tongue on your clit. He could have taught a masterclass on cunnilingus. Even your toy didn’t feel like this. And it was a really good toy.

“Oh fuck!” You cried when he sucked your clit gently, using his tongue to press as he did so. The sound was lewd with his mouth on your pussy and his fingers tucked deep inside of you.

You’d need to bring him with you everywhere if this was how he did it. That toy was not going to cut it now that you’d felt how good it could really be.

When you’d finally lifted your head to look down at him you saw his eyes already opened, looking up at you as he swiped his tongue over your button, pink lips winding over your pussylips and up to your clit.

He let go of your thigh as he reached up for one of your hands and pushed his fingers between yours. You clung to his hand tight and gasped.

The gesture was so intimate, so sexy. It felt like everything he was doing was truly to make you feel good. He wasn’t rushing to get you off. The care and attention he gave you made you feel hot and shaky.

You couldn’t take your eyes off his as he worked your pussy and you began to shake.

You were putty in his hands. Totally unable to stop the unwinding of the tight coil in your tummy as you squeezed his hand and he moaned into your cunt.

And it happened so fast. The snap of your orgasm seemed to even shock Harry as his eyes widened when you began to come in his mouth.

He kept his mouth on you and his fingers inside of you as you cried out and threw your head back. He didn’t let go of your hand, keeping you grounded as every other part of you liquified and then evaporated into the atmosphere. The only parts of your body that remained intact, throbbing, and aching were your pussy and your hand. Only the parts he touched were whole. Everything else was hot liquid soaked into the couch.

Your chest heaved and your brain was fuzzy as he finally pulled his fingers from your hole and looked down at you, “Did you come?” The grin on his face told you he was being playful.

You laughed as you watched him wipe the edge of his mouth with his thumb and lick the mess up, his eyes on you.

And just like he said he wanted to do, he took you to his bed. He helped you up onto your wobbly legs and then kissed your lips, smearing your arousal all over your mouth. The kiss did nothing to make your legs feel solid but rather made you feel even weaker. So his assistance was very much needed to put you into his bed.

His room was lit with a lamp and his sheets felt clean as he pulled the blankets back for you and tucked a pillow under your head.

You watched him take his underwear off and then pull a condom from his drawer before he climbed onto the bed next to you, “Still want more?” He raised his brows at you in question.

You nodded and smiled, “Yeah. I do.” You couldn’t take your eyes off his cock, though. You absolutely wanted more. You wanted the whole shebang and if there was anything you knew about Harry it was that he could provide exactly that.

He grinned at you as he tore the wrapper and gripped himself at the tip, stroking down to coat himself in the bit of precome that had leaked from his slit before putting the condom over his impossibly hard cock. His entire cock was thick. From tip to base. It looked… heavy. It looked like it was going to tear you in half.

Harry watched as you ogled him. He didn’t mind. He was pretty proud of it himself. As he pushed himself up to his knees he pulled your legs apart and settled between your thighs.

He pushed his hips in close to yours and let his cock fall over your pelvis and up to your low tummy, measuring his size in comparison to you. You looked down from where his daunting cock lay heavy over you up to his face.

“I want it…” you breathed your words and Harry’s dimples smiled as he smirked at you.

“Oh, yeah? Want my cock inside your pussy, Cherry? Wanna feel it all the way up here?” He pressed over your low tummy and you moaned loudly.

Harry moved his hips back and then gripped his base as he dragged his cock through your drenched pussy, “Want me to fuck this soft pussy, slip in and out until you can’t handle it anymore?”

You nodded, “Please…”

“Please? How sweet. You are a sweet girl, aren’t you? I like sweet girls, Cherry, and you might be the sweetest one yet.”

Harry teased your pussy some more, his cockhead smoothing up and down, pushing your arousal up to your clit until you began to squirm under him and let out a small whimper.

He laughed as he finally stopped torturing you and pressed his thick crown to your entrance, pressing his bulbous crown to your entrance before he began to push through your tight, wet ring.

You gasped when you felt him entering you, slowly pushing your insides apart until he was tucked deep inside of you. He let out a deep breath when he finally had the luxury of feeling your hot pussy wrapped around him.

He thrust in again, bottoming out until his balls pressed against your ass. And again. And again.

He worked you open until he was satisfied that you were ready for more and then he leaned over you, his hands down next to your shoulders with his eyes on you, and began sinking into you so deep you thought you saw stars limning your vision.

“Your pussy feels just as good as it tastes, Cherry,” he moaned before he began to rock into you with more force, and you could hear the sound of his body smacking into yours each time he plunged in.

“Umph…” you grunted when he dipped in sharp.

“Yeah? Deep isn’t it? Pussy needed stuffed properly. Hm?”

Your body was being pounded into and there were no words that could form on your lips as your tits jolted up and down.

“Let me hear you, Cherry. Let me hear how good it feels. I can tell your pussy loves this, so wet and puffy for me…” his voice was shaky as he railed into you, “Am I treating you right, baby?”

You coughed out a moan and nodded your head as you held on to his forearms, “God! Fuck yes, Harry! Oh fuck!”

Harry’s own moan was loud as he watched your face twist up and listened to the way your pussy took his big cock.

“Yeah? Fuck that feels good, doesn’t it? Pretty thing was made to be fucked. Pussy so sweet needs to have her insides split open every day. Hm?” Harry was breathing hard between words.

“Oh my god… yes. Yes!”

Harry sat back onto his haunches and pulled you up so you were sitting on his lap as he spread his thighs for leverage to continue fucking into you. You yelped at the change of position and how deep he felt inside.

The new angle had his tip slamming into your guts and you grabbed onto his strong shoulders while his hands held your ass, guiding you over him.

Your body flopped up and down on his cock and against his pelvis as he sunk into you over and over again, his hips hammering up into yours.

You began to roll your hips down, smushing your button against him for friction as he continued thrusting upward.

When you finally let out a choked moan Harry gasped and pulled you in by the back of your neck to kiss your mouth. Soft licks against your tongue as your pussy was getting fucked into, had you beginning to shake and fall off the edge of the earth again.

Harry parted from the kiss and held you down on his lap, keeping his dick nudged against your cervix, “Already, Cherry?” He gently rolled upward, “Gonna come on my cock so soon? Can you hold off for a bit longer?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, “Yes. Sorry.”

“Shh… shh… Nothing to be sorry about. Means you like it,” he rutted up into you with a grin before laying you down to your back again, pushing your legs apart.

He began to push into you, his hips slamming against yours making his bed creak and your pussy clench around him. You didn’t know if you could hang on much longer as your thighs began to quiver. His cock was coaxing another orgasm from your body without you even focusing on it, which you normally had to do when you had sex. It was as if you had no say in whether your body should come or not.

“Shit!” He slowed his motions a little and leaned over you to brush his fingers along your cheekbone, “Are you okay?” He laughed as he asked.

You nodded, “I’m gonna come, Harry. I’m sorry I can’t stop it. If you fuck me like that…” Your rounded eyes and heavy breaths had Harry’s heart feverishly pounding.

“It’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong, Cherry. You just needed a good fucking didn’t you?”

You nodded and pulled your lips into your mouth.

“Yeah. That’s good, then. We’ll give you a nice good fucking,” he slowly pulled out to his tip and languidly moved himself back in making you moan.

“We can go nice and slow,” he repeated his motions, his thighs flexing as he held himself steady to fuck into you in long strokes, “Getting you all creamy. Hear it, Cherry?”

You did hear it as you nodded with a whine. The wetness coming from your pussy. The way his cock fucked your cream into your cunt. The way it sounded when he buried himself into the hilt and ground his hips against yours.

Harry watched your face scrunch up and your moans grow louder as he pushed his way into your tummy until he knew you couldn’t hold on any longer.

He sat back and fucked into you faster as he pressed his hand over your tummy, putting pressure on the spot where his cock was sliding through your insides and you lost it. You cried out his name and gurgles of nonsense as the frame of the bed began to rock into the wall and Harry coughed out a laugh at the way you began to thrash around on his cock.

He watched as he rutted into you, his cock disappearing into your cunt, your slick arousal all over his base and in his pubic hair.

You clamped down on him with your legs wobbly and he felt your walls contracting, squeezing his cock tight. He snapped his hips forward, pressing through your spasming cunt as his balls slapped into your ass and he moaned with you.

“Fuck! There you go, honey! Coming on my cock, yeah? Oh shit…” he watched your body press up each time he slammed into you, your face in ecstasy, and your wet pussy swallowing him whole as he finally began to come, releasing into his condom with a groan, “Draining my cock, cherry. Ohhh, ffff…”

Harry punched through your slick opening with the thick crown of his cock as he gushed into the rubber surrounding his dick until he stilled his hips and ground into you, swiveling in circles to empty every drop of himself.

You could feel him pumping inside of you, the heavy throbbing in his dick as he unloaded his sperm.

You both gasped when you’d finished and he lowered himself to kiss you hard. His hands cradled your face as his sensitive dick twitched inside of you.

Lifting your knees you wrapped your legs around his low back and he brought you down to your side, leaving you both connected fully, still kissing, his cock still deep inside of you.

The wave of euphoria that covered your entire being had you feeling so relaxed and so at peace you sighed and pushed your fingers into his hair.

You were surprised by your reaction to how he fucked you. And you wished you could have gone longer but he was so good, or… you didn’t know what it was exactly.

Harry parted from the kiss, keeping his face close to yours, “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable with it.”

You nodded, “Yeah.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex? I don’t mean masturbating either. Just curious.”

You squinted and looked toward the corner of the room before putting your eyes back on his, “Like, maybe a year? Something like that.”

Harry’s thumb grazed your cheek, “A year? So that means when you were living with K at that time you hadn’t had sex since before that even.”

You grinned and nodded, “I was in university. It was my senior year and I was super focused. And it just didn’t happen.”

“Poor thing. No wonder you were so sensitive to me. Came so fast, Cherry.”

You laughed, “I know. It’s never been like that before. Surprised me too.”

“I’m glad we met again. Feels like we should honor the universe and stick together for a while. Stay the night with me?”

You puffed out a laugh and rolled your eyes, “Let’s honor the universe. Obviously, she wants us to have sex and hang out.”

Harry watched your eyes crinkle up as you grinned and he chuckled, “She really does. I’m sure of it. So that’s a yes?”

You scratched your nails along the back of Harry’s head and smiled at him, “It’s definitely a yes.”

. .

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daylightmidnights · 3 months ago

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Sportsman Harry

MLB!Harry (Major League Baseball)

Harry is on the football team and Y/N steals a dog

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daylightmidnights · 3 months ago

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MLB!Harry Verse

DATING AND ENGAGED

PREGNANCY

KIDS

BLURBS

JUST MLBRRY & YN BLURBS

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daylightmidnights · 3 months ago

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OH. MY. GOD. I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS PATIENTLY AND IT WAS WORTH IT. THIS IS SOOOOOOOOO GOOD. THE NEXT CHAPTER IS GONNA BE DELICIOUS AND YUMMY OOHHHHHH. I'M SCREAMING AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH CAN'T WAIT CAN'T WAIT CAN'T WAIT

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

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

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

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

(16k+ words)

Y/N is not going to cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

“How are your allergies today?”

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

“My what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe one day she’d learn more about him.

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you’re so gross–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for the upbeat pep talk, Ni.”

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

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

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

That’s what Harry expects of her.

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

Are you busy?

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

Is everything okay?

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

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

Come to the kitchen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you automatically assumed you did something wrong?”

“You were being cryptic!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Si–”

“Ah.” He cuts her off.

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Niall, this is a lot to follow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The time before that?”

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

“I mean I won’t deny it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ok–”

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

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

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

“Don’t worry about –”

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

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

But a different idea is what struck him.

“How did you get here?” Harry inquired.

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I –”

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

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

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

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

. . .has a dimple.

He has fucking dimples!

“Rest well, Y/N,” he advises her, “Drink lots of water and enjoy your time off.”

With one more pat on Hazelnut’s bum, Harry opens the door and steps out of her flat.

#jawllines #chef harry #this is smoking sizzling hot #love it love it love it

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