iv.

Y/N is. . .not used to this Harry. 

The Harry that Y/N met and had been privy to for the months that she’d been here was mean. With eyes that cut daggers through her for breathing and harsh, annoyed groans and sighs whenever she was what he deemed too close to him – he made her feel hated. It was never a secret that he disliked her; if anything, it was public knowledge that Harry didn’t care for his classmate. That he thought she was annoying and loud, and wasn’t as good of a dancer as people hyped her up to be. Hell, he’d never even said anything nice to her except by accident. 

(It was within the first month of her being at the school; Y/N had hugged Niall because he gave her his extra bagel prior to them walking into the studio. When Niall made his way over to Harry, he leaned in and sniffed at him, “Are you wearing perfume? It smells good.” And when Niall takes a sniff of himself and lets Harry know that it was actually Y/N’s perfume he was smelling, his face soured and puckered before replying, “You know, the longer it stays in the air, it’s too fucking strong – kind of grating don’t you think? Shouldn’t you change?”) 

And then after her incredibly embarrassing, drunken complaints about him being the absolute worst to her. . .he’d started to soften up a little. Baby steps, of course, because he was still rolling his eyes at her, and he’d still call her stupid, or dumb – but he was praising her too. He’d tell her she did well with a certain move, or compliment her posture, or – away from the dancing aspect of it – he’d even say he liked her shirt if it represented a band or a show that he recognized. The way that he danced with her was more gentle, and when she spoke to him it didn’t seem like he wanted to scream just to drown her voice out. 

Then, within all of that, there were the odd moments of almost uncharacteristic kindness that he would give her. Letting her sleep in his bed when she had knocked out on his bean bag during an impromptu movie night she wasn’t technically invited to. Giving her his snack when she hadn’t eaten breakfast, taking care of her when she had a fever (even though she’d snapped at him before that), spending time with her before the show, letting her fall asleep in his bed again. 

And, of course, there was the kiss. He didn’t scold her for stumbling during the show – the only person scolding her, was herself, but she’d always imagined that if she fucked something up Harry would be her worst critic. So imagine her surprise when instead of immediately telling her how stupid she was for not practicing that move enough times that there would be no reason to stress over it – he took her somewhere quiet. He promised her that it was in her head, that it wasn’t that big of a mistake, that nobody would notice unless they were waiting for it, that she had been doing so well. . .and then he kissed her. A careful, tender press, not enough to even smudge her makeup but still her heart was racing. 

There was a significant shift in how Harry looked at her, from the beginning of this semester to the night of the show. A gaze heavy with disdain, irritation, and animosity is replaced by one of sentiment, warmth, and care; his features soften when he sees her rather than harden. Y/N felt comfort under his eyes rather than uneasy or agitated. Being around him wasn’t a problem, it was something she looked forward to, and that alone was something difficult to process. 

The morning after the show, when Y/N wakes up, she’s in her hotel bed – or at least, she’s in the hotel bed that was supposed to be Christopher’s but since he never showed back up last night, she figured it was hers now. Sunlight funnels through the curtains, leaving the room bright and Y/N has to squint in order to see. She was confused because she knew she didn’t wake up on her own – her alarm hadn’t blared in her ear either, which could only mean that her bladder woke her up, or an outside source. 

And the outside source, who was hovering over her bed, looked like he could have only woken up just a couple of moments prior to her. “Do you want breakfast?” He inquired, “I can order room service, but they switch to the brunch menu in like ten minutes and it looks like shit.” 

Y/N’s nowhere near awake enough to be making decisions – she’s barely awake enough to open her mouth – so she pushes herself to a seat and pats around for her phone. It was tucked under the pillow beside her head. When she pressed the screen to wake it up the time read 10:02. Harry, at some point, had sat down on the bed beside her close to her feet, and with the position she was suddenly accosted by the memories of him having her split open, his tongue on her, his filthy mouth saying filthy words, and Oh my god! 

“Helloooo?” He waved his hand in front of her face, “Do you need to go back to bed?” 

“No, no,” yes, actually, she does, because her mind swarms with the images of him with swollen, red lips glistening with spit and with her – and not only that, she’s confronted with the bewildering feelings that flooded her at the same time, “I’m – I want –” she pressed her knuckles into her eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them, and make the world slightly less bleary, “I want what you want.” 

He snorted, pushing the hair back from his face. It was now Y/N realized he was shirtless, and his pajama bottoms slung low on his hips – his muscles shifted beneath the skin, and his biceps looked extra. . .beefy today, almost as if to torture her. He’s wearing wire glasses that she’s never seen before, they rest on the bridge of his nose, and his chin is speckled with a beard trying to grow. His hair was mussed and soft and she wanted to run her fingers through it, then she remembered how it felt between her fingers last night, and she felt like her face was hotter than a skillet. 

“I was looking around, and there’s a little spot we could walk to, as long as your legs aren’t hurting.” Then, as if she wouldn’t know what body part he was talking about, he laid his hands on her shin, “Hm? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were sore?” 

Y/N cleared her throat, “I – a little, but. . .but nothing more than usual. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” 

He smiled, “Okay,” he told her, “But if you wanted to stay here and sleep a little more, I can always just go grab it.” 

And he was nice to her last night – he was so fucking nice last night, but she had just figured that was because of the show. Everyone feels closer to each other on show nights, no matter the feelings they held for them prior, each person was tender with one another. There was solidarity between them and their desire to put on a good performance, so it was easy to forget if you disliked someone in the weeks leading up to it. Who cared about petty rivalries then? 

So she’d imagined he was just running off the pleasant vibes from the show, running off a high, and the immense, bittersweet relief of not stressing or worrying over it anymore. They’d done what was needed, he could finally let the tension seep out of his muscles and enjoy the night, whether Y/N was there occupying the space beside him or not. 

But if that were the case, and that was the reasoning behind his kindness last night, then why was Harry being nice to her this morning? Y/N didn’t know whether she should just ask zero questions and enjoy the continued tenderness, or should she be suspicious of it. Was she being lured into a false sense of security just for him to forget any of this the next time they stepped foot into the studio? Sure, he’d been nicer the last couple of weeks, but who’s to say that wasn’t just to remove excess strain from their performance? What if he still disliked her just as much but he was just better at hiding it? 

Another memory flutters through her, sudden and surprising – how could she forget the most important part of last night? What he had said to her, that had opened up the floodgates to emotions Y/N did not even want to begin to sort through? 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, for everything.” 

“. . .But I was awful – horrible to you, and you never deserved it. What I saw out there tonight – you’re beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful, and I was such an asshole. Just want to make it up to you.” 

He’d apologized, he’d called her beautiful, and he’d finally been praising her for what she was doing. Technically, he had started praising her a couple of weeks before the show, but last night was the first time she’d really believed it. It felt earnest like he was desperate to convince her, and with all he had done last night with his words, and his mouth, it had worked. 

So Y/N was at a loss, now. Why was he being so nice after the show? Did he really feel that bad for being mean to her before? Had seeing her dance and dancing with her really changed his mind so drastically that he would still be pleasant with her after the show finished? It was just hard to believe that. 

“Why’re you still being sweet to me?” She narrowed her eyes at him, her hands settled in her lap still covered by the pillowy comforter. Harry, who had previously been looking at his phone, flickered his eyes up and tilted his head. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” she cleared her throat, shifting in her spot, “Isn’t it. . .like you don’t have to keep it up, is what I’m saying. The show is over and you apologized, so if you – you just don’t have to keep being sweet if you don’t want to.” 

Harry looked confused — the kind of look you’d give someone if you’d already discussed something and they were acting like they’d never heard about it before. His brows dipped inward and he lowered his phone from his face, “I already told you, I deserve to grovel.” 

“Wha–” 

“I was a prick for nine months of knowing you when you didn’t deserve it. I want to make it up to you,” he explained, “I haven’t said what I have because of the show, or because I was faking any of it for the sake of the show. I don’t know if you remember but I begged to eat your pussy last night, so I would hardly say that’s pretending.” He sighed, shaking his head, “But I only have myself to blame that you would think I was being fake nice when I offered to go pick up breakfast. I just have a lot of work to do.” 

Y/N’s mind is whirling, “You – you mean it? Because if you’re planning on fixing it then that would mean we’re spending time together still? Even without the showcase?” 

“I mean I was planning on it, yes?” He leaned back some, “Unless you didn’t want to.” 

“No, I do! I want to, I just. . .I guess I'm not used to this, that's all. I don’t know how to. . respond to this version of you.” 

Harry huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes a little, “I’ll be sure to still act like an asshole so I don’t throw your system into shock, yeah? How does that sound?” 

They did end up going to the cafe together, and they bumped into a few of their classmates who sang praises of their performance and the chemistry they had together. She and Harry occupied a little booth in the corner, and while Harry nursed a warm mocha latte between his palms, he inquired if she had any plans with Mei and Adam that day. Y/N nodded somewhat regretfully (why was she regretful? Because she realized that she’d actually just rather stay at the hotel and keep sleeping until her brain feels less fuzzy and her bones and muscles less weary? Or because she realized that she wanted to spend time with Harry too?) and told him about their plans to go shopping. He explained that he and Niall were visiting an art museum, because of an interactive exhibit they had for this month on desserts around the world. 

At the mention of desserts, Harry’s face lights up like he’d only just remembered something, “Hey, who’s watching Custard while you’re gone?” 

Honestly, Y/N wasn’t expecting Harry to take to Custard as well as he did. She didn’t even think he was the type to like animals, but when he’d taken care of her when she was sick he and the kitten must have bonded. Y/N vaguely remembered waking up after falling asleep in his bed the night before the show, to find Custard snuggled up against Harry’s back (and since Custard was so comfortable, so was Y/N, so she snuggled back into Harry’s side and let herself slide back into a dream). Maybe this was all a convoluted plan for him to get closer to the kitten – you have to be kind to the owner to get to the pet, that’s just a basic fact. 

“Oh, just my friend Felix,” she told him, “He said he would pop in on her every day a couple of times a day to make sure she isn’t lonely and her food is still full.” 

Harry hums, low and slow, “Who’s Felix?” He pressed. 

Y/N peels apart her croissant, pressing it between her fingers, “Mm, I never brought him up? He works at the bakery a couple of blocks from us – you’ve been there, right? He’s so sweet,” she smiled at the thought of him, letting the piece of croissant hover over her mouth, “You’d know him if you saw him! He’s the one with the freckles.” 

She was an avid bakery visitor and was frequent enough of a face that Felix started recognizing her and her orders relatively quickly. He’s very sweet, and runs this shop with his family; the flat that sits atop the bakery is where he lives, and there are always the prettiest flowers on the balcony. Felix has a cat too, named Lucy, and sometimes she and Custard have playdates but Lucy is a bit older and gets annoyed with Custard’s kittenish energy quickly. Still, it’s a nice time for her and Felix to drink coffee and gossip – he even comes to see the shows! 

Y/N explained all of this to Harry, who hummed and nodded in a noncommittal way, and the lighthearted atmosphere shifted ever so slightly, so she figured she’d stop talking about him. Who wants to hear about how much fun you have with someone else? “So, yeah, Custard is doing okay. I miss her already though,” she sighed, “Nothing like waking up to her stomping all over my head.” 

A small smile twitches over Harry’s mouth, “She does have an affinity for stomping on heads, doesn’t she?” And just like that, whatever shift had happened, reverted just as quickly. Y/N wondered if maybe Harry actually did know Felix and they didn’t take too well to each other; it wouldn’t surprise her, honestly. Because Felix was sweet and warm and kind, and Harry had a knack for coming off as impassive, distant, and cold when you first meet him (and several months after that too, in Y/N’s case). It would make sense that they didn’t mesh well with one another. 

Still, if Harry was going to stay true to his word and hang around her, he might bump into Felix once or twice. She could only hope they could get past their first impressions of each other if that were the case. 

                                                                     .                       .                      .

“Turkish desserts date back thousands of years to the Byzantine Empire,” Niall read off the plaque in front of them, making a show of actually caring about the dessert facts when both he and Harry knew he was just after the free sample beside the display. Harry is unsure why Niall felt like it was necessary to show some interest when most people just came right up and plucked the baklava from the serving tray without a blink, but he doesn’t question it. Even if he did, it wasn’t like it would stop Niall from doing it. 

The days following a showcase were always weird; having nothing to focus all his energy and effort on leaves Harry with a lot of time – too much time, really, until they start working on their winter showcase. But the winter showcase was the same every year, so save for the people who had to learn it for the first time, it was a pretty lax experience. This time around, it would definitely be relaxed for him and Y/N, because they would not be given the lead parts since they just had them. Despite the competitive and strict nature of their school, they were surprisingly fair when it really came down to it. 

But they don’t really start working on it until their mid-semester break is over, so everyone has time to relax their overworked bodies and submit to self-care that may have been sacrificed before. 

Harry wondered what Y/N would do with her time off and if she would be opposed to spending any of it with him. He has an overarching goal to make up for all his time being shitty to her, but he was realizing he might have his work cut out for him. Because even after he’d practically begged to eat her out, cleaned her up, and pressed a kiss to her temple as she was falling asleep (though she doesn’t seem to remember that part), Y/N was still confused this morning as to why he was being kind to her. 

Really, Harry only had himself to blame. After being treated in such a shitty way by someone for so long, it was probably hard to accept that they were turning a new leaf. Harry’s old,  negative feelings toward her had stripped away the same as the trees shedding their summer coat. New buds stem from the branches, but Y/N’s convinced the breeze might shake them off. He’ll have to try extra hard to prove to her otherwise. 

And then there’s the. . feeling that took him by surprise, at the mention of her friend. The one who was checking on Custard while they were out of town – Felix who is so sweet and has freckles, and Harry knew exactly who she was talking about. He’s been to the same bakery, he’s met the same Felix, and she isn’t lying – he’s incredibly sweet and his freckles speckle his cheeks like a constellation, and now, suddenly, Harry bemoans that he’s not sweet with freckles. 

It’s so challenging to face the consequences of his actions; Harry has never been more irritated with himself than he is right now.

“What was going on in the Byzantine Empire, you think?” Niall murmured around a mouthful.

                                                           .                            .                        .

Harry wondered if Y/N would have tried to figure out the sleeping situation, or if Christopher and Dasia would have fought again and she’d be requesting Y/N back in her room, but nothing like that happens. When Harry gets back to the hotel room, Y/N is already there, with one of those big fuzzy bow headbands tucked around her head and a face mask drying on her skin. She’s in her pajamas – or what passes for pajamas, so an oversized shirt and a pair of pajama pants that look soft. Y/N is sitting on top of the made bed, her laptop cracked open in the space in front of her, and scrolling. The air around the bathroom is still humid so he figures she only just recently left the shower. 

At the sound of him entering the room, she perks up, her gaze pulled from the computer, “How were the sweets?” She inquired, tilting her head, “I was kind of so jealous about halfway through Adam trying on what looked like the same pair of jeans that I wasn’t stuffing my face with you and Ni, instead.” 

He snorted, kicking his shoes off by toeing at the heel, “Very filling,” he gave a short nod, “I can feel plenty of cavities already forming.” 

“Lucky,” she pouted at him, “I don’t think I took all the hot water so you can have a shower if you like.” 

“Thank you,” Harry replied, shuffling toward his suitcase, throwing the top of it open, and scruffing through his clothes to find his pajamas. He tucks his body wash and shampoo up under his arm, his clothes folded in his hands with the conditioner bottled tucked between his fingers. At the time of him walking into the bathroom and turning on the water, it was an entirely innocent endeavor. He stripped down, dropped the clothes in a pile on the floor, and stepped under the hot spray, and it was still innocent then too. 

Until he was thinking about Y/N. . until he started thinking about last night. When he thought about how she split her thighs for him, how she tasted, and the sounds that left her mouth when he licked her. Honestly, it feels like a hyperrealistic wet dream now that he thinks about it, and they were acting so normal around each other – or as normal as they could with their circumstances. And the thought of it makes his cock twitch, which he could ignore. . .but if he could get rid of the memory of her moaning for him, her asking so sweetly if he’d rub against her if he would fit inside of her. 

He shudders at the thought. Maybe he soaps up his cock for a little too long, and he keeps going, getting harder and harder until he’s dripping. And then he has to take care of it, the tip ruddy and swollen, slick and soapy. He sucks in a deep breath, not taking time to tease and edge himself how he normally might like to. If he takes too long in the shower Y/N definitely knows what he’s doing and he doesn’t want her to think he’s a pervert, even when he was begging her last night to taste her. 

So Harry fucks his hand nice and quick, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to suppress any noises. When he cums, he has to clear his throat to cover up a moan, it shoots against the wall and dribbles over his knuckles. Harry breathes out, washes it off the wall, and cleans off his hands before he finishes his shower. He washes his hair, finishes cleaning off his body, and turns the water off. The hotel towels are never very nice, rough fibers that barely soak up the droplets of water on his damp skin, but he makes do and gets dressed. After he brushes his teeth (a little more intensely than he normally would after all the sweets he ate) and washes his face, he makes his way back out. Y/N sighed, “Thank god,” she murmured, “I needed to wash this off my face like forever ago.” 

Harry snorted, “Sorry, babe. It was weirdly humid in the exhibit, I felt like I was sweating my ass off.” 

Y/N doesn’t stay around for his reasoning and he’s thankful because he’s positive that she would have seen how bright his cheeks got at being halfway called out. Harry rumples his lips once he hears the sink turn on while she washes off the mask, and Harry crawls into bed. He snuggled up under his blanket, hooked his phone to the charger, and scrolled through Twitter. Once Y/N came back, she clicked the lights off and dove into her bed across from him, sighing contentedly once she was comfortable under her blankets. 

Harry thinks it should be out of his system by now, honestly, because he came not even ten minutes ago but now something bubbles and itches beneath his skin. She’s just there, across from him, and Harry wondered if he could get something started like he did last night. But how does he go about it? He’s usually a bit more suave with conquests but Y/N isn’t a conquest. Hell, he isn’t even really sure what he wants from her! He wants to make up for what he’s said to her and how he’s treated her, he wants to at least be friends with her, at the very least just be friendly with her. But Harry just can’t shake this pressing need to touch her, to taste her, to make it better that way. He wants to soothe away any angst between them with the very same tongue that lashed so much hate toward her. Wants to make her forget any negative connotations she might have had with his mouth. 

“Y/N?” He tries to keep his voice calm and measured – indifferent, even, so she doesn't feel pressured, and she hums to let him know that she is listening, “Do you want me to eat you out again?” 

There was a pause, it felt like the room was holding its breath waiting for her response. He’s playing with his hands over the covers, avoiding looking at her, but when he hears the mattress creak and her head slide against the pillow to look at him, Harry turns to face her. 

“Again?” Her brows are raised, and there’s this look on her face that suggests she’s genuinely surprised – he doesn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed he’d probably be pretty confused too, since there had been nothing leading up to this sudden desire to. All he’d done was see her in pajamas then take a shower. . .there was nothing flirty or suggestive. A couple of weeks ago he hated the thought of being around her, and now he was asking to taste her for the second time in just two nights. 

He nods, his face feels hot and he wonders if his ears betray him, glowing red, “Yeah, again.” 

“But why?” Her head tilts a little, “I mean, I guess what I’m wondering is what you get out of it? Even last night I was the one who wanted you to cum with me and you were fine with just. . .with just cumming in your pants.” 

Harry feels embarrassed now, more so than before, and he wants to shrivel back beneath the covers, “I just like it and I want to,” he tells her truthfully, “If you don’t want it, that’s fine.” 

“No, I – I want to,” she sits up in bed, turning toward him more, “I do. Just, nobody has ever wanted to get me off that badly.” She clears her throat a little, “You really want to? It isn’t because you’re feeling guilty? Because if it is you know you could just buy me brekkie every once in a while, you don’t have to force yourself to do anything.” 

This would be easier to sort through if it was only because I was feeling guilty, is what Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t, “I’m definitely not forcing myself to do anything. I really want to,” is how he replies instead. Harry would grovel – he’d buy her breakfast and he’d be extra kind to her and he’d invite her over to take control of his projector for whatever Korean drama she wanted to put on – but he didn’t necessarily need to make it up in a sexual way. What, was he going to eat her out every night until he felt like he’d made it up to her? As delightful as being snug between her thighs sounded, he knew that wasn’t a feasible way to correct a friendship. This was a more. . .selfish desire of his. 

Still, he pulls the blankets off of him in the bed, and takes the short two steps between their beds before he kneels up on hers again, “You’ve been with shite blokes if nobody has wanted to get you off.” 

Y/N takes in a shaky breath, watching as he pulls up the blankets and reveals her body beneath it, still in her shirt but she’d shrugged the pajama bottoms off after climbing in, “I just sometimes wonder if your amygdala is confusing anger and arousal or something.” He presses the hem of her shirt up, uncovering ribbed, cotton panties that fit snugly around her hips, “Like your neurons are misfiring.” 

“I don’t get it either,” he replied truthfully, lowering down between her spread thighs, “I reckon it’s needless to question though. Isn’t this a nice change compared to what our relationship was before?” 

Harry does wonder why he was able to give up that remaining dislike for her so quickly; the way Niall puts it is that Harry isn’t as big of an asshole as he tries to make himself out to be, but he hardly thinks that’s the reason. And Harry had never considered himself one of those knob-headed pricks who disliked someone because they wanted to fuck them so badly either – no, he thinks his feelings were legitimate. He didn’t like Y/N at the start, and up until a month or two ago, he had only thought of her in a negative light. 

But he had no true basis for these feelings – he thinks that’s the difference. The feelings were easily evaporated because he had no reason to dislike her, other than some twisted form of envy and annoyance that he handled like a child. Y/N had always played into it before – always ribbed him back, countered his verbal attacks and eye rolls, so he’d always thought they were in the same boat. When she called him out on it though – when he was able to look past his own shitty way of dealing with emotions, he’d realized how stupid they were. 

He remembers the first time they did something like this, fueled by anger, the passion and distaste for one another mixing and merging into a confusing feeling. Harry remembers how well she took to him teasing and taunting her; how even though she was whining, she squeezed and pulsed around nothing. How wet she was, dripping and slicking up her thighs, tightening up around her fingers. Does she like it when he’s rougher with her or more tender? Does she want him to tease her or give her what she wants? 

Harry doesn’t really waste much time getting into it. He presses kisses around the waistband of her panties, sucking and nipping at the skin but not hard enough to leave marks. Y/N readjusts her hips when Harry’s large palms encompass them, squeezing her when he plucks at the elastic with his teeth. Last night he was driven by guilt and the need to apologize – he didn’t feel that tonight. This was different, more carnal, and when he runs the flat of his tongue up her slit and she sighs out like it’s the best thing she’s ever felt – that’s what drives him now. 

He finds his place and pace easily since it has been just under 24 hours since they were last in this position. Y/N tastes just as good as she did the night prior, while his tongue separates her folds around it, slick and warm. Her voice wavers when she moans, the hand beside her head curls up in the pillow she’s lying on and her thighs twitch like she wants to close them. There’s a familiarity there now that Harry can appreciate; he remembers what makes her hips spasm and her breathing stutter. How when he finally tightens his lips around her clit and sucks, she gasps and reaches down to thread her fingers through his hair. 

Despite himself, he needs a breath at some point, so he pulls off with a deep breath but replaces his tongue with his fingers for the time being. Y/N watched him closely, just as he wanted her to last night, and her lips pouted out, “What?” He probed, “I need to breathe too.” 

“You really won’t fuck me?” Y/N says, still pouting, “You won’t even try?” 

Harry stares at her for a second, his fingers never stopping the swirl over her swollen button, “Don’t you want that to be special?” He inquired, “It’d be your first time, hm? You want that with a dick who routinely makes you angry?” 

She frowns, “It being special isn’t important to me, I just want it to be good,” she reasoned with him, “And I feel like you would make it good, wouldn’t you? You know what you’re doing.” 

He tries to ignore how his cock twitches, heat renewed and coiling in his lower belly as he slows his fingers down. He paints the pad of his forefinger up and down her slit, pausing at her hole, where she’s wet and a little drippy, “Hmmm,” he pretends to think about it – Harry would if she wanted to; he wasn’t one to ignore his more base desires if consent was given and both parties were willing – but he also hadn’t been lying back when he said he didn’t fuck virgins. Harry was big, and he wasn’t trying to stroke himself off when he said it – he was hard to take in, for men and women alike. If Harry was going to fuck her, he feels like they would need to build up to that – it would take time and effort, and he thinks it would give her a good amount of time to decide if this is something she really wants. Or if she was just running high off post-show endorphins and their newfound friendship. 

“I do know what I’m doing,” he murmured, letting a single finger sink in down to the knuckle and Y/N sucks in a sharp breath, “And I know that your tiny little pussy couldn’t handle me straight off, hm? Remember how I said I’d need to train you to take me?” She nods, her heels digging into the mattress, “If that’s what you want, then we’ll start slow. I’ll fuck you open with one finger tonight and if you take them well, we’ll do two next time, hm? And work up all the way until I can just slide my cock right inside.” 

Even with a single finger, her walls are tight around him, a snug fit that milks around it. He kisses her clit, gentle and slow, his mouth slightly parted and his tongue out. Harry doesn’t mind being noisy with it, slurping, curling his finger, and finding the spot his fingers had been acquainted with in the studio when he bent her over the barre. Harry is already throbbing in his briefs again, despite just having gotten off, but her taste, the sounds leaving her mouth, and how tight she feels around just a single finger. 

It doesn’t take her long to get close, and when he really puts effort in fucking into her, Y/N’s hips twitch, “I’m going to –” she gasps out, “Harry, I’m going to cum” 

He pulls his tongue away, “Should I let you?” 

“Yes,” she frowns like she couldn’t believe he would even suggest a possibility where she didn’t cum, and there’s a flood of arousal that smacks into him — it makes him want to make her wait. Makes him want to edge her until she’s trembling and begging and thinks that he’s not going to let her cum at all.

 But he isn’t that mean, is the thing, especially when he hears, “Yes, please.”

So Harry lets her. He sucks her clit back into his mouth and heavily pets the spongy bundle inside of her until she milks his fingers, her thighs fighting to close around his head, her back arching just slightly, a whimpered noise pulling from her throat. Harry watches her with a keen eye because she’s just so fucking cute he could barely stand it, and keeps up the movement of his lips and fingers until she’s pushing his head away, “No more, no more,” she shakes her head, and Harry titters, lulling his tongue over his mouth, “I – fuck,” 

Harry pushes a kiss that is maybe a little too tender to her hip, pulling back just enough so that he can flop the blankets over her lower half, “You’re sensitive,” he noted, “That’s cute. You look pretty when you cum too.” 

“Shut up,” she frowns, “Am I better at cumming or dancing? Be honest.” 

“You’re best at being a dummy.”

Harry retrieves a warm cloth for her to wipe her up, though Y/N takes it from his hand to do it herself without hesitation. She shivers, still slightly out of breath, and Harry feels a sense of pride bubble beneath his skin and his cock twitch absently in his boxers, “Did you mean it?” She inquired as Harry crawled back into bed, willing his stiffy away – he didn’t need to cum twice in a night, he hardly believed he deserved it. If Y/N weren’t asking to see it then he’d just think of wet parsley or something until it finally settled out, “About training me for it? Or was that just dirty talk?” 

He turns to face her again and the way they resumed their positions, it looks like neither of them had left bed. 

“If it’s something that you’re interested in,” he explained, “I’d be willing.” 

She made a noise in her throat, “Okay,” she murmured, “Yeah, I think that would be fine. I’ve waited so long to lose it, I think I made it up in my head that it needed to be special, but virginity is a social construct made to make women feel impure when they aren’t. Why contribute to that?” She sighs, “Plus, I feel like as soon as someone finds out, they’ll cheat me out of a good time and expect me to believe that I shouldn’t enjoy the first time – I’ve heard horror stories about that. As obnoxious as you are, you’ve always been. . .adept at getting me worked up. I think it would be good, and beneficial for both of us.”

“What a very pragmatic approach,” Harry can’t help how his tone is filled with taunting mirth, “Feels like I’m speaking to a politician.” 

“You know what, never mind, I’ll find someone else.” She huffed. 

                                                             .                                  .                                .

The rest of the trip was pleasant. On their last day on the trip, he and Y/N order breakfast from room service and are pleasantly surprised with the quality of it. Really, Harry is the one who orders the brekkie, because Y/N sleeps in relatively late he finds out when she’s got nowhere to be. There were several times he thought she had woken up, but she merely stirred for a couple of seconds and her breathing evened out again, so Harry just quietly pads about the room. He tries to get his suitcase somewhat reorganized for when they leave tomorrow morning, so he doesn’t have to rush around and do it all tonight (which Y/N will undoubtedly have to do).

When Y/N still wasn’t awake around 9 AM, he ordered them food. He remembers a few of the things Y/N likes to eat for breakfast, one of which includes french toast and this hotel in particular had a strawberries and creme flavor. With her perpetual sweet tooth, he thought she might enjoy it, so he gets her that and a smoothie and himself avocado toast. Once it arrives around 40 minutes later, he finally relents and wakes her up himself, “Oi,” he pats her shoulder first, then rubs it just a little, “Wake up, I got us food.” 

“Mm?” Her face is stuffed into her pillow and halfway covered by the downy feather blanket tucked around her body. Y/N’s hand emerges, she pats around blindly for a little while then makes a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat, “Custard?” It’s muffled and a little warbly but Harry does make out the kitten’s name. He holds back a giggle, his hand still on her shoulder as he pats her again.

“Try again.” This encourages Y/N to pop her face from the blankets, her brows furrowed. 

“You’re not small and furry.” She whined, but Harry only rolled his eyes. 

“It’s time to eat, Lazy,” he waddles back over to the trays of food, plucking hers up from where he’d balanced it on the edge of the TV stand and bringing it back over to her, “Then you can go back to bed if you want.” 

“What time is it?” 

“20 minutes till 10.” 

Her eyes widen, as much as they can still sleep swollen and puffy, and she presses herself up from the mattress, “Oh my god, why’d you let me sleep so long?” 

“You were clearly tired –” 

“You still hate me, I knew it,” she knuckled her eyes, sighing dramatically, “Adam is going to beat my ass, he wanted to go for a walk before sunrise.” 

Harry scrunched his nose, “Oof, well you missed that by a long shot didn’t you?” Y/N glares at him, frowning, and he holds out her tray again, “Eat and then plead for his forgiveness. You can’t grovel on an empty tummy.” 

Eating breakfast is an unintentionally domestic affair, when they’re both in their respective beds forking food into their mouths. Y/N is still clearly trying to become one with the world again, but her blinks are still slow and syrupy as she tries to reacclimate to being awake. Harry doesn’t try to start a conversation, just scrolls through his phone, but the silence isn’t the same stiff, tense air that used to hang between them. It was surprisingly comfortable. 

Y/N’s phone starts vibrating and she digs around in the blankets before she finally finds it, sliding it open and pushing it on speaker so she can keep eating, “Hi traitor,” Adam’s voice rings through the speaker, “I enjoyed a refreshing, pre-sunrise walk alone, the weather was beautiful.” 

“Adam, I got an alert that said it was 4°C (40°F), so I know you were freezing your ass off.”

He scoffs on the other end, “Well, maybe I was, but that doesn’t excuse the fact you abandoned me,” he breathes out a sigh, “I know you and Harry have finally worked it out halfway, whether that was by fucking like you’ve wanted to or –” 

Y/N fumbles to grab for her phone, taking him off speaker with wild eyes as she shoves it against her ear, “Shut up!” She all but squeaks and Harry can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest, “Listen, I messaged you that I was sorry! I was going to buy you something good to eat for being such a good sport about it and not blowing my phone up, but now I’m unsure.” She glanced over in Harry’s direction, and her face immediately sours when he sees the shit eating-grin on his face, “God, you’ve got a loud mouth sometimes, d’ya know that?” 

Once she got off the phone with him, Harry just can’t help himself, “You’ve talked about wanting to fuck me?” 

“No,” she stresses, “I actually would vehemently deny that I wanted to even look at you, but Mei and Adam always loved poking fun. Always said we needed to like – fuck out the tension or something.” She shook her head to herself, slicing back into her food – at least the embarrassment hadn’t ruined her appetite, “I’d always tell them you hated me too much to do anything like that.” 

“But you wanted to?” He is still smiling. 

“What I want is to smother you with a pillow.” 

“That’s very kinky, babe, but we should probably lose our virginity before we explore that,” he is immediately assaulted by a pillow careening from her bed to his, slapping him in the head, “Hey –” 

“You’re obnoxious,” she groans, “I can’t tell if you hating me was better than you not.” 

The rest of the day goes by somewhat in a blur – Adam, despite his previous whinging, had invited Y/N to try this Mediterranean place for lunch and told her to invite Harry too. Besides a few comments here and there, everyone has seemed to accept this merge of each other into one another’s life seamlessly. it was welcomed, even, and Harry wondered just how much everyone had suffered in the face of his anger and envy. 

Their dynamic is still. . .different; they haven’t had the chance to truly flesh it out, Harry feels. They are in that middle ground of rivals warily stepping into a friendship, so he isn’t sure what his place is, especially among her friends. Mei isn’t there, so it’s a little better and he doesn’t feel like a fourth wheel, which is a little worse than feeling like a third wheel (having three people who are willing to ignore you in favor of each other as opposed to two is just a little shittier) but he doesn’t even feel like that. 

Y/N, despite all the things he had found wrong with her in the first couple of months of knowing her, had a lot of good attributes too. One of which, he finds, is never letting another person feel left out. If there’s an inside joke Adam or she brings up at lunch, she’ll turn to explain it to him thoroughly so he’s in on the giggle (even if it isn’t that funny, he appreciates the sentiment). They discuss things that Y/N knew Harry had some knowledge of, from pop culture to their show the other night, to Christopher and Dasia’s neverending toxic romance. There’s still banter (just because he’s being kinder now, doesn’t mean his tongue has softened) but now when they go back and forth with each other, Adam isn’t looking at them both with horror written in his gaze. 

Adam does eventually get his walk with Y/N, though it isn’t during sunrise, they amble through a little cobblestone part of the town with small shops with a variety of different themes from European spices to Gothic, whimsical witch stores. Thankfully the sun was out, warming them in the chilly weather. Harry could appreciate how Y/N looks in a thick jumper, with sleeves that fall over the palms of her hands, and arms wrapped tight around her body when a particularly cold breeze whistles past them. Harry’s fingers twitch at his sides – he wants to brush the hair from her face when the wind blows it into her eye, but he refrains. It’s the same itch he got when she was sick with a fever, and she’d fallen asleep with it covering her cheeks and over her nose. Harry thinks he must have brushed the hair from her face for about five minutes, even when the hair was no longer covering her – then he was just caressing her hairline tenderly. 

And he really couldn’t do that without a slew of questions being thrown at him, so he just looked straight ahead again and tried to tune into the conversation. 

There is something Harry can do with his hands now though – something that they discussed last night. Something that he’s sure will quell this odd, newly developed urge to brush the hair from her face, loop his fingers around her wrist, or hold her how he was able to during the show. Going from having his hands all over her hips and waist and legs all day, nearly every day practicing for the show to never having his hands on her at all. . .was sudden and slightly disconcerting. That must be the reason he’s feeling this pressing itch to have his hands on her all of the time – why for two nights in a row, all he wanted was to be snuggled between her thighs with his mouth on her. 

All of this was so confusing, and a little overwhelming, and Harry wondered if these wants and feelings had always lingered within him but he’d refused to let them surface. 

That didn’t matter though. What mattered, was after they had returned from running around all day with Adam (and eventually Niall, who complained that he hadn’t been invited out for lunch but was placated by them trying an “authentic Irish restaurant” for dinner), Harry had inquired if she wanted him to make her cum again. Y/N’s eyes nearly popped out of her head from how wide they grew. 

“Do you get off on getting other people off?” She asks him, bewildered, “This will be the third night in a row, you’re really spoiling me.” 

Harry feels his face heat up but refuses to let her know how embarrassed he is for being so desperate for it, “Well, I’ll only have myself to blame when you start acting like a spoiled brat then, won’t I?” 

“Are you going to – are we starting like, you stretching me out and everything?” Y/N is kicking off her shoes, rolling her socks off her feet as she plops down on the hotel bed. Harry lounges across from her, one of his legs kicked up on the mattress as he leans into his pillows. 

“You want my cock so bad, you think we need to get started right away?” 

“You know what, stuff it, I’m not letting you tonight.” 

Harry would have taken the loss since he never really did know when to shut his mouth, but after Y/N gets out of the shower (she “allowed” Harry to go first this time, since she did the night prior), she’s dropping down on his mattress and looking expectantly. Harry could have teased her about it, made her work for it, made her ask him instead of looking at him and assuming he’d connect the dots himself – but he didn’t think he should test her patience any more than he already had. He patted her calf and motioned for her to sit up higher on the bed, leaning against his pillows, and while he didn’t make her request it verbally, he did playfully murmur, “I knew you’d change your mind.” 

“I’ll change it back just as fast.” 

Before she could do that, Harry slid his hand over her right thigh, his palm flattened against the inside and he squeezed gently and then moved to hook them in the waistband of her bottoms,  “Mm, how many have I put in you, huh? Just one so far right?” 

She shakes her head quickly, “No, I’ve had two before! The first time – when you. . .over the barre.” 

“Oh, when I finger fucked you over the barre?” He wriggles the fabric down her thighs, over her knees, and down her legs. Harry shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of underwear, but for some reason he still is – she must have forgone them, knowing she was going to ask him to go through with it. Her pussy is still so pretty to him; a feast for his gaze, all swollen and wet, like she’d been working herself up in the shower. Harry’s mouth waters like he’s been Pavlov'd into the response every time he looks between her thighs. Distantly he heard her complain about him being vulgar but he can’t really focus on it. 

Harry leans forward and spits over her slit, reveling in the sharp gasp she sucks into her chest. The saliva drips down over her clit, swollen and begging for attention, so Harry meets it with the pad of his thumb and rolls over it in tight circles. Her thighs twitch but he uses his free hand to keep her pressed open, shushing her when she makes a little noise in her throat, that sounds awfully close to a complaint, “No whining,” he chastises but there’s not much strength behind it, “You should take what you’re given gratefully. . .or are you still a rude little brat you don’t know how to do that?”

He’s testing the waters – his gaze flickers up to her, reading her expression. If she seemed even a little put off by it he would back down, be more tender with her, and more careful with his words. But Y/N, as he recalls, loved the teasing even when they didn’t really like each other. Harry remembered how she squeezed his fingers tightly any time he taunted her, threatened to leave her wet and needy. 

And she seems to like it now when her perfect pussy clenches in front of him, beckoning his attention and expressing her wants, though her face is pouted, “Please?” She tried, instead of her usual tactic of telling him to shut the fuck up or reminding him that he’s mean. Harry doesn’t know if it was strategic or not, but it does yank at his heart slightly and presses him into action. 

It’s like she sucks his finger in when he slides his index down knuckle deep inside of her. Y/N squeezes and pulses around him like it's the first time anything has been inside of her; her walls feel like they’re inspecting the intrusion, accommodating it, coaxing it deeper so it strokes against the bundle of nerves inside of her. The moan that leaves her is high and needy, her legs falling out wider for him while he watches the rim squeeze and tighten around the base. Harry has to check his own desperation – what he’d give to push the head of his cock inside of her – just the tip, letting her warm him. 

But the tip would lead him to sink his hips in, down to his balls, to feel the sticky, wet cling of her juices against the tender skin. God, he’s so excited about it he could almost bust in his pants. It’s hard to be patient and when Harry’s horny, he’s horny right then, he wants to get it taken care of. Of course, he’ll put in as much effort as he can to make sure his partner is pleased as well, but his goal next to that is to cum. And right then, when he curls his finger up and presses right into the spot that has her sucking in a sharp breath and rocking her hips down, his bloated cock twitches again. A blurt of precum wets the fabric of his briefs – by the end of this, he’ll probably be just as wet, messy, and desperate as she is.

He would be patient though – he wasn’t going to rush this. Y/N deserves patience from him, after so long of her not even getting a fraction of his tolerance before, he wants to make this good for her. Though it isn’t something Y/N considers special, he knows a shoddy first time could ruin the outlook on sex entirely, and he refuses to give her a shitty first fuck. 

This helps too, with working out all the unresolved tension that still lingers between them sometimes. It isn’t the hatred, anger, or envy. . .it was something else entirely. Something that Harry hadn’t really felt routinely until all of that was stripped away – what made him finger fuck her over the barre, what made Niall beg and plead for them to just fuck their emotions out and get it over with. Something that manifests in the air with them, when Harry’s drinking up her body with his gaze, wondering how he could lash her with such horrible words when she’s so cute like this. 

Her hand is at her mouth, her knuckle nestled between her teeth but it does little to filter out the sounds she’s making so he doesn’t chastise her for it. The lips around them should be pretty and swollen from his kissing, he thinks, but maybe he’ll explore that later. Nip and bite and suckle until they’re slick with his spit and filled up with blood beneath the sensitive skin, making them brighter, and pinker. 

Harry started to move his finger, rubbing loosely now over her clit and leaning forward. He wonders if it looks as desperate as it feels when he bends down to take her nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her shirt. The cloth immediately dampens from his saliva and Y/N’s moaning a sound so lewd and wanton he thinks he could have cum in his pants if he were pushing up against the mattress. Her nipples had already pebbled beneath her clothes so that’s how he could easily spot them, pulling it into his mouth and running his teeth over them, biting down. He could be a little rougher because there was a barrier between them, and finally, Y/N’s hands came to meet him at some capacity. The fingers of her left-hand thread through his hair, squeezing tight near the scalp, and her other hand meets his shoulder blade, her fingertips pinching down into the lean muscle. 

He’s much closer to the source of her moaning and whimpering, so he even picks up on the little sounds that barely escape her throat. Harry balances himself on his knees, his legs are snuggled around her waist but her thighs lay over his so he can keep his finger inside of her. Her own knees are pulled closer to her chest, feet dangling in the air on either side of him – Harry isn’t even into feet, but he wants to bite at her ankles and make her squeal. 

As he swaps from one nipple to the other, Harry cradles the other with his free hand, withdraws his finger, and slips a second inside. The fit is tight; Y/N’s moan and rut of her hips say she wants it but the way her cunt squeezes and pulses, he could tell it felt like too much, “Let me do the work,” he popped off of her chest to chastise her gently when she was trying to fuck herself down further, “Fuck, you gotta relax baby, or I’ll never be able to stretch you out.” 

“It just feels so good,” she mewled, a pout deep in her mouth and her hands hovering just outside of it – Y/N looks positively fucked out from one-and-a-half fingers inside of her. Harry is enamored by the blown look of her pupils, the muss of her hair, and her lips looking a little too normal. And that was enough to drive him to kiss her. 

At first, it’s just a peck, then he nudges his nose against hers, “I know baby,” he soothes, “Let me in, hm? It’ll feel even better.” 

It takes some time, and the smooth glide of their mouths together, before Harry finally feels her walls give. He sinks his second finger inside and as her reward, immediately curls them both into the nerves. Y/N sighed into his mouth once he bottomed out, then keens at the steady press to her G-spot – he could tell she wanted to wrap both her legs around him but she could only hook around his left side, while the right was impeded by the arm doing all the work. 

“Good girl,” he praised her and she all but melted through a whimper, while his fingers twisted and stretched around inside of her – she was so wet, his fingers squelched around as he moved inside, and he swears he could feel her getting wetter, drenching him, “Oh, you liked that didn’t you?” He murmured, and she nodded, but still had sense enough to look shy about it, “Hmm, poor Y/N, you just wanna be praised all day don’t you? While we’re all working hard practicing, are you trying so hard to get compliments so you can get this filthy pussy wet?” 

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest but when Harry’s thumb speeds up around her clit, a broken-off moan rattles through her, “Yeah, I bet,” he continued, while she bucks her hips down on him and he doesn’t stop her this time, “Probably leave fucking drenched ‘cos the instructors telling you how good you are, hm? And all our classmates? I can only imagine the state of your panties afterward.” 

“I’m not –” she breathes out, “I’m not a pervert! I don’t – I know how to keep a hold of myself.” 

“Who said anything about that, hm? You can’t help what you like to hear,” he raises back up and spits over her again, the sound of his fingers fucking into her is much much sloppier and he contemplates adding a third now that she’s finally eased up around him. When he lets his ring finger dance along the entrance, Y/N’s eyes widen, “You think you could fit another?” 

“I think – I think so,” she nodded, “I’ll definitely cum if you do.” 

Harry squeezes in a third, rocking his fingers back and forth as he wiggles it inside beside the other two. He flips up her pajama shirt and reveals her swollen nipples, still pert from the previous attention. Harry holds his other hand out to her mouth and instructs her to lick, so she does. She rolls her pink tongue over the pads, down the knuckle – Harry thinks if he sunk these fingers into her mouth she’d be perfectly content having both her holes filled. She’d look so cute, he thinks, and the thought of her being content and full and warm makes his heart flutter. It’s something he’d have to explore later. 

He uses these wet fingers to pinch, pull, and play with her tits while he spreads out his three fingers the most he can. But she gobbles him up and sucks him in – the squeeze is tight but she wants it so badly, Harry thinks if he stopped moving his fingers she would do all the work trying to fuck herself down onto him (not without some complaining, but it sounds pretty while she moans).

Harry can tell – he can feel it before she cums. The pulsations around his fingers get more frequent and the leg hooked around his right hip tightens, and she’s simultaneously trying to roll her hips closer to him, then away, “Harry,” she breathes out, her hand grips his forearm, and he wondered if she could feel the muscles shift as he continues his ministrations, “Please, please, please.” 

“See, if I knew you begged as pretty as this, maybe I would’ve gotten my head out of my ass sooner, hm?” He looks down where they meet, then back at Y/N, who watches him through lidded eyes threatening to close, “God, I want to fucking taste you again, my mouth is watering so badly.” 

Apparently, this is all she needed to be sent over the edge. Her moans grow louder, she tries to muffle them against her palm but Harry pulls it away and replaces it with his mouth. They can’t be too loud – their walls are paper thin, and he isn’t necessarily interested in getting a noise complaint – so he swallows these pretty little noises, deep and warm in his belly. Her body draws up tight, quivering and shaking, and she’s useless trying to kiss right now, her lips slow, meeting him and then parting her lips to suck in air and mewl. Harry’s cock is leaking so much in his pants he’s sure there’s a huge spot on his briefs now – he’s drippy and wet, and the thought of his cock replacing his fingers is almost enough to make him nearly cum untouched. 

She gets wetter around his fingers, she trembles around him as he presses kisses to her mouth, wanting to pepper them all over her face but refraining. Harry works her through it, as long as it seems, only slowing down when all the tension oozes from her muscles, her thighs twitch and the hand holding his wrist loosens. He thinks she could probably melt through the mattress if he let her.

Harry is glad to have gotten her off – he was going to run and take care of his own problem after he cleaned her up, but when he even made the effort to move, Y/N’s other leg finally looped around his waist and she held him in place. She whined again, this time more in protest than pleasure, “Don’t leave,” she frowned at him, “Want to see you do it.” 

He blinked a couple of times, her words sinking in, and Harry decided it wasn’t worth it to waste time. He reaches into his pants and briefs and pulls out his cock. When he lets go of it for a second, it slaps up against his tummy, hard and dripping, the tip a swollen red from being neglected. Harry hisses when he gets a hand around his cock – the same one covered in his spit and her juices and pumps himself at a relatively quick pace to start. Y/N seems entranced, or she’s just still sleepy from her own orgasm, but she watches intently and keeps him locked between her legs tightly. 

Harry came, sticky and wet, shot after shot that collided with her belly and drools over his knuckles. He groaned low in his throat, it rumbled through his chest, and when his eyes (that he’d not realized had closed) fluttered open, Y/N was still looking at him.

“You always cum so much,” she remarked, rolling the pads of her fingers through the puddles and stripes on her belly, “You must be really pent up.” 

“Says the virgin.” 

The foot that was nestled against his lower back, lifts up and kicks him. Harry grunts and falls forward a bit, “Jesus,” he sighed, “You’re so rough with me.” 

By the time they are both cleaned up (Harry has to strip the loose sheet off his bed, which makes him smile but Y/N whines about being embarrassed), they’re in their respective beds. Harry had never realized how much of a cuddler post-sex he was until it didn’t necessarily feel like an option. He knew that he and Y/N had snuggled up close together before, but it was different to initiate it when they were both awake. 

So instead, he just holds his pillow close to his body, spooning that rather than the warm body he has vague memories of cuddling close with the night before their show. 

It isn’t as good. 

                                                                .                          .                        .

Autumn mornings are always nice; the smell in the air is something Harry couldn’t quite compare to anything else other than fall. The air is crisp, biting at his cheeks and flushing them pink, whipping his hair around with each gust of wind that brings promises of chillier weather. Harry thinks jogging during this time of year is always quite calming, especially when he’s up just before the sun and the sky is a gentle hazy glow. He usually has his headphones in but if he doesn’t, then the only sounds are the tap of his feet against the pavement, his breathing, the birds that haven’t fled for the winter yet. 

Harry feels content on mornings like these, and they are typically essential to decompressing before they start practicing for the winter showcase. He goes between jogging and walking for about three kilometers, in one large loop around the dorm, through a trail at a park nearby, and since he passes by the cafe near the dorm he usually stops in. However, today, instead of stopping by the cafe he realizes that he’s about to pass by the bakery Y/N briefly mentioned the other day. 

And usually, Harry runs right past it. Doesn’t even think twice about what they might have in there actually, because he’s forced himself into the mindset that sweets should be reserved for special occasions. Treats are treats because they aren’t often – they’re something out of the ordinary that can bring someone joy. If you have them all the time, then they aren’t treats anymore, they’re just a precursor to a dentist seat and multiple fillings in different teeth. He’d done his fair share of dealing in refined sugars while they were out of town, so he’d been planning on doing some form of cleanse to reboot his body and hopefully reduce any bloat or general heaviness he might feel otherwise. 

So why was he slowing to a stop in front of the bakery door? Harry really didn’t have a good answer, as he fits his hand around the knob and tugs it open, the bells hanging on the handle clinking together brightly. It’s still early enough that he’s certain only one person is there right now, working hard to get fresh pieces of bread, muffins, and croissants on the warming trays in the glass display cases. The smell alone is enough to make his mouth water; maybe he would get a little something. Technically, he hadn’t started his cleanse at full force yet – he could still afford to get something warm and apple-y. Maybe he would even try his hand at being nice and get Y//N something too, she would like that. 

Because now that there isn’t a reason to see her every day, Harry is having trouble coming up with one without feeling like he’s trying too hard or being annoying. Harry isn’t trying to be a dick about it, it just takes a lot for him to come out and ask someone to spend time with him – even with Niall, who he’s known forever, Harry prefers that he make the first move in the request. He’s sure it says something about him and a fear of rejection or whatever, but he’s never taken the time to psychoanalyze himself over it, so he doesn’t. And nobody had really forced himself to either – Niall always makes the first suggestion, and eventually, others figured out that was how they could become friends with Harry. If they extended a hand, typically he would take it. 

(Unless you were some random ballet prodigy who started on a whim and he didn’t know how to deal with the realization he wasn’t truly the best in the class anymore, then he’d bite the hand.) 

Y/N isn’t doing that though – he thinks Y/N is waiting for him to come to her, and he doesn’t blame her. Why should she want to exert any effort in their friendship when the first time she tried, she’d been graced with months and months' worth of verbal attacks and passive-aggressive tendencies? Harry wouldn’t want to try again either, so he understood where she was coming from, probably more than she would realize. And since this is such a unique situation for them, and one Harry had never really experienced before, he figured that he could at least make an attempt. He would be nonchalant about it, to not make it weird – he’d scan the danishes, pick one that seemed suitable to her taste, then stop it by her dorm. Or. . .no, maybe he would just bring it to their studio today and she could eat it during their break. Would that be too much? He really isn’t in the mood for the rumors, so maybe he should get Niall something too. 

“Good morning!” A voice, all too bright and chipper for Harry’s dilemma, rings through the small bakery. Harry is affronted with Felix, the one with the nice smile and the smattering of freckles over his cheeks – the guy who Y/N was apparently close enough with that he could go to her dorm without her being there. It was no secret that this guy was sweet, and at first, Harry was overwhelmingly suspicious about it. A sweet baker was a little too cliche and raised all sorts of red flags to him when he’d first come here with Niall. He was certain he was probably a stalker, or a killer of some sort until he was walking by an alleyway and saw him filling a small tin of food for a couple of stray cats that were meowing at his feet. And then again, when he watched him handing out extra food from the bakery to a homeless shelter a couple of blocks away. 

Felix was genuinely kind, he could see why Y/N would trust him with Custard, and for some reason that makes a hot and itchy feeling fizzle beneath his skin. One that he’d felt when Y/N brought him up the first time, that is unearthing itself again long since Harry had snuffed out the flame a couple of hours afterward when he was wondering why he hadn’t been graced with freckles. 

Charming Felix, with his charming voice, and his charming pink mouth and pretty smile – if Y/N had a crush on him, Harry would get it. Why did even give a fuck about that though? Y/N hadn’t even given any indication that she could have feelings for him like that, but. . .Harry could just see it! Why wouldn’t Y/N have soft, tender feelings for this guy? Why wouldn’t Y/N want him to take her virginity, why was she asking Harry? 

“What can I get you today?” Felix seems undeterred by the furrow Harry knew was on his brows, wiping flour off his hands with an orange rag, “I just took some pumpkin bread out of the oven, if you’re interested.” His smile is bright and Harry is feeling very inadequate and lackluster in comparison – what a horrible idea to come in here! He isn’t used to feeling anything less than confident, normally, and when he does his knee-jerk reaction is to be an asshole. 

But where did that get him before? Absolutely nowhere. 

So he clears his throat, and tries to soothe the irritation from his brows, “Um, yeah, I’ll take that then,” he replied, “I’ll take the whole loaf.” 

And maybe Harry has to jog the rest of the way home with a loaf of pumpkin bread and the companion frosting in his arms – maybe it is inconvenient, and he’s wondering how he’s supposed to present this to Y/N. He tries not to overthink it too much, but maybe he should have, because now he’s standing at Y/N’s door, half past six in the morning waiting for her to open the door. She should be awake because their studio time starts in just a little over an hour, but Harry started getting nervous, thinking maybe it would have been wise to message her beforehand. Even if it was a kind gesture, who wants to be pulled from sleep for pumpkin bread?

The door opens, just a crack at first until Y/N realizes who it is, and then her shoulders sink as she relaxes, “Oh thank god,” she brushed the hair from her face, “I thought you were a killer or something.” 

“So you opened the door?” He pressed, but Y/N didn’t bother replying to him. Instead, she blinks, points at the loaf in his hand and her head tilted to the side just a little bit. Harry holds it out for her, “This is for you.” 

Her brows raise, “For me?” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “I was on a run and stopped by the bakery – he said that he made too much, so he gave it to me for free.” It was a lie, Harry actually spent close to fifteen on it but he wouldn’t tell her that. He doesn’t know why he felt like he needed to lie about it – honestly, he doesn’t know why he feels so giddy about seeing her either. If this was the trade-off from blindly hating her, then he wasn’t sure if he liked this much at all; his palms felt sweaty, and he felt slightly out of his body when a smile grew over her mouth. 

“Thank you,” she held her hands out to receive it, “But aren’t you always the one talking about how refined sugar is the devil?” 

Harry’s face almost immediately sours, and he reaffirmed his grip on the box, “You know what, maybe I’ll give it to Niall –” 

“No!” She rushed, plucking it from his hands and shaking her head, “Nooo, come on, I was just teasing! Thank you, thank you,” she took it from his hands, “I’m – do you want to come in and we can eat some together? Custard says she misses you.” 

Harry pauses – he should really go get ready for their class, but. . .well, he doesn’t think a couple of minutes would hurt, right

                                                                  .                         .                       .

“Hmm, maybe I was right before,” Harry sighs, “We’re all working hard in class, and you’re just getting wet over being praised. It’s kind of filthy of you, isn’t it?” 

Harry is quick to find that being friends with Y/N is kind of like a trade-off. Since he’d extended his hand first, Y/N was the second to do it, so after they had eaten pumpkin bread together she asked him if he’d be willing to go to a haunted house. At first, he thinks she’s going to use Adam and Mei as an excuse – she opens up the offer by saying they’re both pleased that she and Harry had sorted out their differences well enough to spend time together because they all wanted to hang out as a group. Mei, Niall, Adam, Harry, and Y/N as a unit rather than this disjointed, fragmented friendship because the two of them hated each other’s guts (and Harry feels a gnawing guilt again, that it was his fault they couldn’t all coexist happily together). 

Harry probably would have left it there, if it was him – he wouldn’t have added the part where he admits that he wanted to hang out with her too, but Y/N doesn’t omit the fact. 

“I think it’s nice that we can hang out now without wanting to kill each other,” she tells him, “Plus, I have more fun with you than I thought I’d be able to! You always came off as some stiff, prude-ish asshole, but you’re a way better time than that.” 

The compliment is a little backhanded but Harry couldn’t blame her for it – he did come off as a stiff, prude-ish asshole, even to his closest friends, so he can only imagine how Y/N must have felt. Even so, the warmth that bubbles beneath his bones when she says she has fun with him, is something that Harry can’t be arsed to explore. Not right then, at least, when he was trying to keep his cheeks from turning pink. 

She’d asked him at the beginning of practice, so by the end of it, she was suggesting that they walk back to their dorms together and discuss the details that she had already talked about with the others. Harry isn’t necessarily sure why they needed to do it on the way to their dorm when Niall could fill him in later, but he didn’t question it too much either – he and Y/N lived closest to each other anyway. It made sense for them to walk home together sometimes, and if Y/N was the one planning it, it’d be better to get information out of her rather than Niall, who was always just slightly wrong about most plans.

Y/N had done well in practice, for this to be her first time learning the material for this showcase, but Harry expected nothing less. Still, she’s practically run over with praise from their instructors, from their peers, and even from Harry – he doesn’t overdo it, just tells her that her relevés were well done, but Y/N still bristles from them. Honestly, Harry probably wouldn’t have even realized she was worked up if not for the way she grabs his wrist when he’s about to leave down the hallway to his room. Then she levels him with a look – one that’s asking a lot without her saying a lot, and if Harry were just a little bit nicer, then he would fill in the blanks for her. 

But, at the end of the day, Harry is a newly refined asshole. Some prick-ish tendencies don’t evaporate overnight. 

“Hm? What is it?” 

Y/N noticeably swallows thickly, her hand falling from his wrist but she still stands close to him, “I was wondering if maybe we could. . .you know.” 

“No, I don’t know.” 

Her face scrunched at him, frustration evident,  “Yes you do,” she grumbled at him, “We haven’t since we’ve gotten back. How are we supposed to train me to take it, if we take such long breaks?” 

So that’s how they ended up here – Harry had pressed her inside his dorm and ushered her toward his bed. Y/N was wearing jeans today, much to his displeasure, because it takes a way longer time to wriggle her out of those than it would the sweatpants she usually has on, but he deals. It was easy to fall back into this, even with the small, unintentional break they had taken – he’d briefly worried that maybe this was something that would never get mentioned again and Harry would be stuck touching himself to the old memories of her moaning. He’s lucky if he gets through a full day without thinking about it and his cock threatening to twitch, but he didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. Harry wanted to go at her pace, for the most part – he didn’t want to come off as pushy or as a pervert. 

But it seems like he hasn’t been the only one thinking about it. Harry splits Y/N’s thighs once her jeans are off and the damp spot over the fabric is enough to make his head spin. She doesn’t seem shy about it – not even when Harry drags the pads of his fingers over the wet cotton and tuts his tongue, We’re all working hard in class, and you’re just getting wet over being praised. It’s kind of filthy of you, isn’t it? 

Y/N pouted at him, her lip wet and plump, and Harry wanted to dig his teeth into it and pull, “I can take four, this time,” she told him, “I tried by myself, but it doesn’t – my fingers aren’t as big. And it doesn’t feel as good.”

If any more blood flooded to Harry’s cock, he was sure he’d be dizzy from it. He takes a slow, deep breath, tucking his fingers into the band and pulling the underwear to the side. Just as pretty, swollen, and wet as she looked before, her pussy drools for him, and Harry couldn’t waste his time teasing her. Not when she had admitted to him she’d tried to make herself feel good on her own fingers, only to realize that Harry’s felt better. He imagined her writhing in bed, needy and unsatisfied, wanting him. Maybe she’d been too nervous to message and ask him to come over and help that night – so she just waited, however long it was that it took her to gather the courage to ask him. Had she even been able to cum that night? Or had she gotten frustrated and given up? 

Harry doesn’t know at first, but from the sound and face that she makes when he sinks two fingers in, he could gather that the latter had been right. Y/N’s legs fell open and out to the side, making more room for him, “There we go,” he purred, his freehand pressed against the sensitive inside of her left thigh, “You need to let me know when this poor needy pussy wants attention, hm? How was I supposed to know you still wanted my help?” 

“I thought you would just know,” she frowned at him, “Or – I thought at least you would ask me or something. Or schedule a day that we could – ah – that you would stretch me out.” 

He hums, curling his fingers up and steadily petting at the soft spot of nerves inside of her,  “And why do I have to do all the work, Sweetheart? Shouldn’t you meet me halfway? I am the one who suggested it last time – isn’t it a little selfish to expect me to come to you each time?” 

Y/N looks like she wants to respond – there are probably plenty of things she could say or things that she could call him (a hypocrite, namely), but he leans forward and drools over her clit before she could get a word out. She swallows his fingers up when he slides a third one in, and while the fit is still tight he can feel her walls give way to him, stretching and accommodating them. Her hips are rocking down into his and she’s squeezing and milking around him, “Are you g’na cum already?” He cooed, though it came out more taunting, “But we haven’t even gotten to four fingers. This really is a greedy pussy.” 

“Not greedy,” she whines, hiding her face in her palms – it’s cute, how worked up she gets. Were all virgins like this? Harry took his rule to heart, really, so he wondered if the intense flood of arousal and the amount she was leaking around his fingers was because of that. Or maybe this was just something specific to Y/N – either way, his cock feels so hard he could cut glass with it, as he slips in the fourth finger. This one is a bit harder than the third – it takes a little more time and he has to remind her to relax for him. 

“Take a deep breath with me,” he instructs her, “Then sort of push like you’re trying to push me out, hm? I think that’ll open you up more for me.” It does – Harry’s able to squeeze his fourth finger inside of her, and he presses kisses down her thighs and all over her hips, singing praises to her that make her pulsate and clench around him, “Look at that,” he murmurs, “You’re doing so good, opening up for me,” Harry pauses over her clit, he debates it for all of a millisecond before he leans down and smears his mouth over it, pushing a sucking kiss to the throbbing button. She mewls when he pops off, fluttering his tongue over it, “You wanna cum?” 

Y/N nodded, her hips rolling down on his fingers. They hadn’t necessarily discussed Harry controlling whether or not she came in any capacity, but even asking the question makes goosebumps dot down his spine. Like no matter what she said, he could tell her no if he wanted to. Could pull his fingers out and let her hump at the air, letting the orgasm dissolve and crumble right in front of her. 

That’s something to explore for a different night, he thinks. 

She muffles herself when she cums, and while he hates it, he doesn’t blame her – the walls are paper thin and a noise complaint wasn’t ideal. But even partially muted by her shirt, she sounds so pretty, and her thighs twitch and close around his hand, trapping it between them as he finished fucking her through it. Harry still feels a little dizzy from the speed at which all the blood rushed to his cock, but he ignores it – he’d probably fuck his palm raw to this later anyway. Right now, Y/N is looking just a little too cute to resist teasing, as he slides his fingers from her, watching her small hole gape around nothing. 

Y/N is breathless, wiping the hair from her face, “Am I best at cumming or dancing? Make sure to answer honestly.”

“You’re best at getting on my nerves,”  he pats her thighs, “Who would have thought you were such a lewd little thing? Demanding my fingers right after practice.”

Y/N closes her legs, but the movement is slow, like her bones are jelly, “Shut up,” she muttered, in the middle of catching her breath, “You’re so confusing. You practically were jumping my bones every night while we were away and then you just stopped as soon as we came back, I didn’t know if you still wanted to or not. I had to at least try.” 

Harry ignores his intrusive thoughts telling him to push a kiss to her knee, “Sorry for making you wait,” he tells her, then looks down between her legs, “Sorry for making you wait too.” 

“Ew, enough! Don’t talk to her like she’s real.” 

Harry chuckles before standing up from the bed, pulling the blanket at the bottom of his mattress up over her bare legs so she wouldn’t feel so bare to the world, “What are you eating for dinner tonight?” 

“I dunno, I haven’t thought that far into the night yet,” Y/N answered, accepting the blanket and pulling it over her hips, “Maybe a frozen meal or something?” 

“Those are awful for you,” Harry immediately rejects the idea, “I’m making stuffed peppers, and the recipe always makes more than I can finish off. You’ll just take some with you, yeah?” 

                                                           .                         .                        .

Harry’s idea of fun isn’t necessarily paying money to be scared out of his mind but he enjoys the haunted house more than he had originally imagined he would. It was a pretty big one, with different houses and themes, from killer clowns and hillbillies to asylums and creature feature monsters in big suits. The entire run time was about an hour and that wasn’t including wait times, so since most of it was outside, Harry had dressed himself in a thicker sweatshirt and jeans with no holes (a surprisingly hard feat for him). Even then, the wind still assaults his cheeks with each freezing gust. 

Niall and Harry show up together in one car, while Mei, Adam, and Y/N show up in the other. Harry wondered how they would split up among each other so that one person wouldn’t end up walking alone, but for the most part, they seemed to move as just one, massive group together, with one person in the middle (usually Niall but sometimes Adam) and two people to the front and back of them. Harry got to walk with Y/N for most of the night, and for that, he was happy – mostly because she talked all big about how she wasn’t going to be scared, only for her to be screaming and yelping the loudest. 

Just before the asylum attraction, in about a fifteen-minute wait to be let into the fake hospital, Y/N had pressed herself up to his body, shivering, and he doesn’t even think she realizes how close she is to him when she speaks, “It’s so fucking cold,” her teeth were nearly chattering.

Harry did a sweep over her outfit (or as much as he could in the low lighting – it was pretty dark apart from some pumpkin lanterns strung up above them), the thin jacket that she wore over even thinner long sleeves – maybe her saving grace could have been the knitted pants she had on, but even they looked like there wasn’t much material there – and he was kissing his teeth, “You should have worn warmer clothes,” he chided her, “You’ll be lucky if your muscles aren’t still stiff by practice on Monday.” 

She frowns at him, but her innate desire for survival outweighs whatever pride might make her seek warmth elsewhere. Y/N stays close to him – maybe even pushes herself closer to him, so a sheet of paper could barely fit between them if they had tried. Eventually, Harry leans back into her, and for even a second he regrets not wearing a thick jacket so he could just unzip it and have her hug around his body. All he can offer is the holes of his sleeves, letting her slip her icy cold fingers in with his arms, and biting back a squawk when she touches his skin. 

“Consider this a part of your groveling fee,” Y/N shuddered to him, and he thought if he had offered for her to duck up into his sweatshirt, she would have. 

Harry has fun, screaming and jumping and “accidentally” knocking Y/N into the fake bodies hanging from the ceiling. Sometimes Y/N ends up near Mei or Adam for a little while in the dark but she eventually finds her way to him again. He kind of likes it when she hides her face into his chest too, like he is going to protect her from all the scary creatures in the dark, even though his eyes were also squeezed shut just as tightly. 

By the time they finish, Harry is still chilled to the bone and his cheeks feel sore from how much he’s been grinning and laughing in spite of his fear. Y/N’s hair is a mess on her head from walking through curtains and slamming into the decorations and fixtures in each attraction, but she’s also smiling, giggling at the sounds she made that Adam does a suspiciously good job at mimicking. 

Afterward, they decide they’ll go out for food. Almost everything is closed because it’s just about 11 PM (and Harry is regretting scheduling his morning beginners ballet class at 9 AM) so the choices are limited to a McDonald's and a 24-hour diner. Since Mei wanted a full breakfast platter this late at night, they chose the diner, but it was a cute spot nearby in a relatively safe part of town so nobody minded. 

They had just ordered (Y/N was eyeballing Harry when she added a shake to her order and then seemed more than pleased when he didn’t launch into one of his sermons about artificial sweeteners) when someone called Y/N’s name from the door. She perks up from where she’s sitting to Harry’s right at the end of the table, head-turning and her face lighting up like she’d just seen a puppy, tail wagging and panting waiting for her. 

It’s just Felix though – pretty, baker boy Felix that Harry has entirely too mixed feelings about. What he could be doing at a diner this late at night alone, Harry didn’t know, but what he did know is that Y/N had all but launched out of her seat to go greet him. He’s wearing a big cardigan that slouches over his frame and manages to make him look cuter than he already is, and Harry feels that same itch and pimple that is stuffed just beneath his epidermis. It feels like when someone mentions a product and then all of a sudden, every ad on his phone is about a cordless vacuum suitable for the toughest pet hair – Y/N mentions Felix once, and now it feels like he might as well be seeing this guy routinely. 

The first time is definitely his fault since Harry stopped by the bakery himself, but Harry has seen him out and about too. At the store, at the cafe near their dorm, and once in the library when Harry was looking for a book (one strictly on classical conditioning for an assignment Harry could not be more unmotivated to complete) – there he is, being and looking sweet, and probably perfect for Y/N. He can’t help but wonder miserably if she’s ever seemed that excited when Harry has shown up somewhere unexpectedly for her – he thinks back to when he stopped by with the pumpkin bread and the first face he’d seen was distraught confusion. 

Harry felt a pinch on his thigh, and his head turned to Niall, “Don’t be jealous,” he ordered him, and his voice was nowhere near quiet enough for Adam and Mei not to hear him, “I can see your brain working.” 

Was Harry jealous? He guesses he was but he isn’t certain what for. Y/N has given no indication that she likes Felix, Harry had kind of just assumed that she did because how couldn’t she? And when he compares himself with the guy, Harry definitely knows he doesn’t even come close; the better pick would be the person who didn’t irrationally hate her for months because she was good at something naturally. The one who indulged her love for sweets rather than scolded her for eating unhealthy because it would leave her tired and affect her dancing. 

“Guys, Felix is going to eat with us,” Y/N is tugging him by the wrist to their table, dropping him in the empty spot across from her and Harry, right beside Adam/ 

“Only if that’s okay,” he smiled politely, raising his hand, “Hello. I saw you all at your showcase the other week, and you were incredible,” he looked around the table, eyes landing on Harry, “You were really good! I’d always thought Y/N was the best dancer that I’d ever met, but I couldn’t take my eyes off either of you.” 

Hell, whoever said flattery gets you nowhere is a filthy liar. 

Nothing out of the ordinary happens and Harry doesn’t make an ass of himself, thankfully. He makes more of an effort to control his facial features since Niall has so easily been able to guess what is going on in his head, and nobody (Y/N and Felix) seems to notice anything. Which is good – Harry doesn’t even know how to put into words what he’s feeling, so if he was questioned, he’d surely fumble through a response and make a fool of himself. Felix melts into their conversation easily, as if he’d been with them the whole night, but he admits that he can’t handle anything scary so he wouldn’t have been a good fit for the adventure.

“Harry could have protected us both,” Y/N assured him, “He was very brave, even with the clowns.” 

She nudged him with her shoulder, and Harry’s mind went fuzzy and warm. God, he’s really done for, isn’t he? To get giddy over a comment like that. 

When they all part ways, Niall drops him and Y/N off at their dorms. Harry had expected the night to end there, really, because it was late and he really does have to work in the morning, but Y/N tells him that she has something to show him. Harry narrowed his eyes at her, “Something to show me? At 12 AM?” He inquired, “It better be Custard in a pumpkin outfit.” 

Her face falls, as she punches in the key for her door, unlocking it with a schlick,  “Well, now I wish it was.” 

Custard, pumpkin outfit-less, does toddle her way over to Harry when he comes in and plops down on Y/N’s bed. He picks her up by the belly, her fur soft between his fingers as he cradles her to his chest and pets between her ears. She purrs like a motor, rubbing her head against his shirt intensely, nuzzling and snuggling closer to him, and Harry feels content almost immediately. What a sweet little kitty – a couple of months ago Harry would have wondered how something so adorable would want anything to do with a brat like Y/N. But now, when this little kitten presses up against him and nuzzles, it feels all too similar to how Y/N had been seeking his warmth just a couple of hours ago. It makes him feel tender all the same. 

While Y/N disappears, her top half in her closet, Harry plays with Custard until she toddles off toward the bathroom. Y/N emerges from the closet with a box in her hand, rolling down onto her bum and spinning around to face him, balancing with only one hand, “Don’t make fun of me,” she says preemptively, and Harry lets out a heavy, slow sigh. 

“You know that just makes me want to.” 

She frowns at him, but sits up and walks on her knees toward him, holding it out, “I got this to practice since I’m so good at taking your fingers.” 

That does make him blink his eyes open, mouth dropping open slightly while her words register to him, “Oh?” The box itself is inconspicuous; discreet in a way he figured Y/N would probably search for in a place where their boxes are delivered to a front desk. Harry unhooks the cardboard tab from the box, sliding it open to reveal a dildo. It’s an average size – smaller than him still, but bigger than his fingers, and a fleshy color with a pink head. The silicone is ridged with texture, fake veins running beneath it – Harry is impressed by the amount of detail that has gone into it. He’s got a few toys for himself, but he’s usually aiming for prostate massages more than fake pricks. 

“Oh, wow,” he marveled at it, picking it up from where it sat nestled on purple crinkled paper shreddings, “You struck me more as a pretty, pink, sparkly kind of girl.” 

Y/N is still frowning at him, and he thinks she’s about to criticize him for making the assumption but instead, she says despondently, “They were sold out of the pink and purple sparkly ones. It was either this or like, a camo one, and I just. . .I just don’t understand that.” She leans back so her bum is resting on her heels, “Shouldn’t it be pretty if it’s going inside of you?” 

Harry holds it out to her, tilting it down, “What are you showing me this for, little thing?” 

She readjusts her hips, “I just thought maybe you’d help me,” she tells him, “I’ll chicken out if I do it myself, I need someone who is gonna. . .who will push me, a little.” 

Harry hums low in his throat, putting three of his fingers together and flattening them against the shaft – it’s softer and has more give than he’d imagined, “Looks like it’s three wide, isn’t it? But when I’m finger fucking you I don’t have them straight across,” he repositions them, showing overlapping his ring and index finger over the middle, “They usually curl in together like this unless I’m widening them out to stretch you. It’s thicker all around, clearly, and just a little longer. Have you ever been this full before?” 

Y/N shook her head, and a shaky breath left her, “Ah, no,” she motioned to the toy, “I’ve had – like I’ve definitely had toys but they’re usually skinny little vibrators, so this will be the first.” 

“Lucky me,” he sets it off to the side, “Well, get your kit off, yeah?” 

Y/N shuts the door to the bathroom so that Custard doesn’t come wandering out and sully her innocent little eyes, and Harry gets to work. No matter how many times he does this with her, Harry is still pleasantly surprised by the state of her cunt when he sees her – she’s always pretty wet by the time he’s taking her clothes off. Almost like she’d been thinking about it, letting herself get worked up and excited, jumpy and shivery near him. The thought drives him crazy, even more so when he’s looking at her dripping and wet, enticing him, his fingers, and his neglected cock.  

Harry does tease her a little this time, petting against her folds with one finger, and only sinking one all the way down to his knuckle. The little breath she sucks in is just barely heard over the rattle of her heater, and she watches him carefully, leaning up against her pillows. Harry feels around her soft, wet walls, the bumps and ridges that he’d get to feel on his prick one day. How still, even with just a single finger, she sucks and squeezes around it like she’s trying to milk him, beckoning for more. 

“More,” she pouts at him, “I can take more.” 

“Shh, I know you can,” he hushes her, “How long have you been like this, hm? Unless you get wet in a little under a couple of minutes like some smutty story?” 

Y/N looks cute like this, all stretched out with her jacket slouched and rumpled around her body – the sleeves are long for her arms, covering her hands and the fabric falls and bunches when she lifts one to push the hair from her face. She ran her tongue over her dry mouth, not really seductively, just to wet her lips before she spoke, “Um, when we were running through the maze, I think.” 

“Oh, you’re filthy –” 

“It isn’t because we were getting chased!” She defended herself before he could finish, “I just – I don’t know if you realized it but you were holding onto me really tightly – first it was my arm, and then your hand was on my waist at some point and you kind of – the part where were we had to squeeze through the two inflatables? You pushed me through it and I liked it.” 

Harry rewarded her with a second finger, “You like to be manhandled, hm?” He smiled to himself, “Duly noted. Still think you’re filthy getting wet in a haunted house of all places.” Turning his face into her knee, he nips at the skin playfully, “Absolutely naughty.” 

“It’s your fault.” Her hand curls up in the pillows beside her head as she spreads her thighs further for him. 

“Passing blame is unbecoming.” 

He works up to three, fucks, and stretches her open on his fingers until she’s shivering and twitching and so close that her thighs start fighting to close around him. Harry slows down when he notices she’s getting close, and bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from giggling when she starts begging him to speed up again, telling him how mean he is being. Y/N is a brat through and through, even like this, demanding and needy and frowning, pouting, and complaining. 

But he knows that when she’s getting desperate, her begging gets incredibly sweet. And Harry is just too excited for that, to care too much about her grumbling now. 

“No, no, no –” she chases after his fingers when he starts to pull them away, but Harry presses his palm against her hip to stop her, “I was going to cum, why did you stop?” 

“It isn’t about you cumming,” he reminded her, “I thought this was about stretching this tight little pussy out? Are you just using me to make you cum?” 

He holds out his clean hand for her to grab, and it takes her a second before it clicks in her head. Y/N let Harry pull her up and position her on her knees, then grabbed the fake cock by the base. “It’ll be easier if you ride it. That way you can control how much we fit inside of you, hm? Because this will be much different.” 

Y/N nods. At first, her hands are gathering the hem of her jacket and shirt, holding it up above her stomach, but he pulls her hands so that they’re resting on his shoulders, “Okay,” she replied, “How should – should we get it wetter? The dildo?” 

Harry holds it out to her, “Good idea, baby, why don’t you suck on it?” 

She does – she flattens her tongue out, from the base to the tip and she drools and soaks it with her spit. It’s an obscene sight, Harry feels like he could cum in his pants from the sight of it but he refrains. Y/N doesn’t go low enough to gag on it, but she does get a majority of it slick enough that Harry feels like it will ease the glide of it inside of her. Had he been better prepared he might have gotten lube so it would be even smoother, but this was the best that they could do. 

When he pulls it from her mouth, Y/N is frowning, “What’s wrong?” He queries. 

“If I was gonna do that, I would have rather it been yours,” she complains, and Harry pinches her cheek. 

“You’re so whiny,” he positioned the dildo on the ground, holding it steady, “I’ll help you sit down on it, okay?” 

Harry guides her hips, watching closely as she slowly begins to sink down. The head buds at her hole and she swallows thickly, her gaze flickering back up to him, watching him closely, “It feels big,” she told him, “I – it’s kind of hard to believe that you’re bigger than this. I wonder how you’ll even fit.” 

“We’ll make it fit,” he promises and urges her hips down further, “Come on, nice and slow.” 

It does take a little work to get it all inside of her. She stops and starts, rocking her hips to try and get used to it, her face pinched up and showing a little discomfort until Harry presses his thumb into her clit and rubs in circles. Y/N squeezes his shoulders tightly, gasping and moaning, rutting further and further down until Harry has to move his hand out of the way so she can get the rest inside of her. Harry slides his fingers down to the balls, fitting it between his thumb and index to keep it still, but he feels her wet and messy resting against him. 

Harry usually doesn’t kiss Y/N when they’re doing this, but he just can’t help himself this time. Her mouth is hung open and her lips are slicked with spit, a little swollen from how she’s been nipping and biting on them trying in vain to muffle her sounds. Her lips are slow as molasses, trying to keep up with him but she seems all too preoccupied by how full she feels. Y/N still ruts and rocks her hips – the tip is curved so he’s sure it’s nestled right up against the bundle of nerves she loves him pressing at – and her groans are muffled into his mouth, against his tongue as it slides along hers. 

“Fuck,” she speaks in his mouth, “So full, m’so full.” 

He purrs, his face still pressed close to hers, “I know you are,” he bites at her bottom lip, “It feels so good, doesn’t it Baby? Can you imagine how good it’s gonna feel when it’s me? When it’s warm,” his thumb quickens around it as she starts to actively ride the toy, picking up her hips and dropping them back down as much as she can in the position they’re in, using his shoulders as leverage, “When it’s throbbing inside of you? Pumping inside of you?” 

Y/N leans closer to him, and kisses him sloppy, “Want it,” she tells him, “I want it, I want it. This feels good, please, please, please,” 

Harry never knew that one day he would be jealous of a toy, yet here he is, thumbing at her clit, flicking it back and forth quickly, “Mm, but I’ll feel better,” he promises her, “I’ll feel way, way better, when you’re all dumb on my cock.” 

That does make Y/N cum, her hips stilling, her legs trembling, and she groans, grappling for the fabric of his shirt and pinching and pulling. She simultaneously bucks toward his hand and pulls away, and she drenches the dildo so much that Harry only realizes when she pulls off of it that she squirted. Harry gapes at her, his mouth had fallen open as it settles in his head, his hand covered in her juices, the way she is still shaking and he was losing it, soaking his briefs, cumming untouched. She completely slouches into him, boneless and melted. 

Y/N took a second to catch her breath, as Harry held her in his arms and rubbed up and down her back. This is new – usually, after the fact, they both get cleaned up but mostly separately. This feels very intimate, and as he feels every little shake and shiver, nuzzling close to him, once again he is reminded how similar Y/N is to a kitten. 

It seems like hours might have gone by without them speaking, just soaking in each other’s presence. Harry is almost positive that she has fallen asleep in his arms, before she does talk, “I’m embarrassed,” she finally murmurs into his chest, “So I’m hiding in here right now.” 

Harry chuckles, rubbing her back in slow, big circles, “Why would you be embarrassed?” He asked her, “That was beautiful.” 

“I made a mess,” she huffed, “And I know when I stand up my legs are going to be shaking! Post-orgasmic clarity is horrific.” 

“I came in my pants,” he told her, “Untouched, just from watching you, and you don’t see me whinging about being embarrassed. You look cute when you cum, don’t think about it too much.” 

Y/N tilted her head up finally to look at him, and she still seems so fucked out, Harry feels his softening prick give a halfhearted twitch, “Am I best at dancing or cumming? Be honest.” 

Harry snorted, patting her lower back.

“You’re best at being a brat.” 

                                                                     .                      .                   .

“Do you like me?” 

The thing was, Harry wasn’t planning on having this conversation at all. Mostly because he hadn’t even really considered this for more than a couple of hours, because Niall had been the one to mention it to him in the first place. They had been at their ramen place, Harry was in the middle of slurping noodles into his mouth and wondering if it was too much to ask for an additional boiled egg when Niall asked him. 

“So are you and Y/N dating?” 

Harry paused, two noodles dangling from his pursed lips, his gaze flickering up to the brunette across from him, “Huh?” Niall doesn’t seem phased, just a little inquisitive, and he’s looking down at a picture on his phone. He sets it down and turns the screen to him, swiping his brightness up and swiping through. Y/N had posted on her Instagram, a photo dump of pictures from the last couple of weeks, and even Harry is surprised to see that he’s in a good number of them. 

“Adam, Mei, and I were discussing it –” 

“Discussing it?” 

“--and you guys are just giving off the vibe that you’re dating. If you’re not then you at least like each other.” 

Harry blinks at him. 

“We do?” 

“You’re hopeless,” Niall sighed, “Listen, you don’t have a lot of like – crushes, ballet has always been your life, and you fuck around and all that, but I think it’s rare that I’ve seen you actually have feelings for somebody,” he explained himself, “But you’re spending so much time together, I can hear you talking her ear off about shite and you are a man of few words typically. You tease her but it doesn’t have that biting edge like you might hate her, in the way that you tease everyone else,” he makes a show of counting on his fingers, “You’ve got this dumb, love drunk look on your face every time she’s even brought up, and when she walks into the room, your face lights up! I mean fuck, you took care of her when she had a fever, H – you don’t even take care of me when I have a fever and I’ve known you since we were kids! Like you clearly have feelings for her, and I think you probably have had some form of them this whole time, but your brain got it fucked up and you thought you hated her instead.” 

Harry opens his mouth, then he closes it. 

“Adam and Mei are saying the same; how Y/N talks about you all the time, and she’s bringing up funny things you’ve said. She’s taking pictures of things she sees when she’s out because she thinks you might like to see it later – she said you’re cooking dinner for her. At the haunted house, she was fixed around you the whole time when Adam clearly would have been the better choice, because he’s huge and wasn’t acting nearly half as scared as you were so none of the scare actors would have messed with her. Then you got jealous of that bakery guy, she noticed, and instead of fucking with you, she tried to make you feel better about it, like. . .you’re a little dense sometimes Harry, but I don’t think you’re stupid.” 

Harry looks down at his noodles, floating around in the broth. He guesses he hasn’t really thought about it as of late. Anytime the thought threatened to enter his brain, he brushed it off for a later date so that a later him could deal with it and sort out his emotions and feelings. But Harry already isn’t really the most adept when it comes to his own emotions, so even if he did sit down with himself and think it out, he probably would have excused it for something else. 

“Oh,” he finally replied, scratching the side of his head, “I guess I hadn’t considered that, really.” 

Niall looked at him tiredly, “You’re so stupid,” he shook his head, “I love you, Man, but you’re so stupid.” 

And Harry probably would have been content keeping the whole situation to himself. Until he could actually consider all of this, make it make sense in his head, and understand fully what his feelings toward her were. He knows he certainly doesn’t hate her anymore. He knows that he likes to spend time with her, and if they’re apart then he’s messaging her and asking what she’s doing. Harry knows that she makes him laugh, and she’s still an annoying brat but he feels more endeared than he does annoyed. Harry wouldn’t say he’s a selfish lover, but he’s never been one to just continuously make someone cum without getting anything out of it, but he doesn’t even care when he doesn’t cum, or has to touch himself after he gets her off. He finds himself thinking she’s beautiful more often than not – he’s never thought she was ugly, only that her attitude was poor, but it seems to overwhelm him lately. 

. . .Harry likes her. He does. 

Still, he wasn’t going to bring it up. He was supposed to see Y/N that night, so he would suck it up and pretend like hadn’t had any Niall-induced revelations lately, but, like most things lately, Y/N had managed to intervene in those plans. 

“Do you like me?” She had asked it almost too casually, sitting on his bean bag, the drama they were watching forgotten on his projector when she’d turned to look at him and ask. Harry was lounging on his bed, propped up on his arm, and in the middle of teaching himself how to embroider (it wasn’t going well). This makes him pause though, the needle halfway through the cotton fabric, his gaze darting to her. 

“Excuse me?” 

Y/N plucks at her nails, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, “It’s just. . .well, Adam and Mei were talking to me today –” So was this planned? There’s no way that Niall, Adam, and Mei all just happened to bring this up on the same day as a coincidence, “--and they just said something to me today that kind of made sense about us, I think. So I was wondering if you liked me?” 

Harry sets the embroidery down, off to the side of his lap, “Did they bring up how we talk about each other all the time? How I cook you dinner, and you take pictures of things that I might like, and –” 

Her eyes narrowed, “Okay, what the hell, did they talk about this without us?” 

A snort leaves him, knuckling at his eyes and wiping over his mouth, “Oh, babe, yeah I think they were. Honestly, I would have – I kind of wanted to figure out how to tell you, or how to ask you out properly, but I didn’t realize it myself until today, you know? I knew that I felt. . .soft, toward you, far softer than I did before and softer than I feel toward anyone else.” He smiles softly, “But I guess you know now. I don’t need an answer or anything right now, or if your answer is no, then you can tell me but –” 

“No, I like you too,” Y/N rushes to tell him, shaking her head, scrambling off of the bean bag to get closer, “I – okay, I’ll be honest, I definitely think I knew a couple of weeks ago but I thought maybe you would laugh in my face if I brought it up. So I just – well, I was going to ignore it.” She tosses her phone back onto the bean bag, crawling up onto the mattress with her, “But you do?” 

“I do,” he rubs at the top of her head, brushing the hair from her face, “Yeah, I do. Honestly, how Niall was explaining it, I thought maybe I’d been kind of obvious about it.” He grimaces, “And maybe a little embarrassing, you know? You couldn’t tell?” 

Y/N presses even closer, getting nearer, “No, you idiot,” she nudges her head against his shoulder, “You hated me so vehemently, I was still convinced this was just some ploy to get back in the universe’s good graces or something.” 

“Aish,” he sighs, and he cradles the side of her face in his palm, running the pad of his thumb over the smooth skin of her cheek – this poor, sweet thing. Harry feels so shitty for everything, it almost feels like he doesn’t deserve to have this version of her. For everything he’d done, and everything he’d said, he didn’t earn the right to see her so tender and affectionate, looking at him with these eyes exuding warmth, “I’m so sorry, Puppy.”  

Harry kisses her. 

The kiss is different from their other kisses. Usually, it is messy, a little sloppy and desperate, in the heat of their neediness and pretty far into whatever they were doing that neither could necessarily revel in it. But this one is nice. . calm; he takes his time to work her mouth open, explore behind her lips, taste her tongue and the sweetness of the smoothie still clung to her. Y/N’s hands are on either side of his face, holding his cheeks at first, then sliding down to his neck, to his chest, curling up in the loose fabric there. 

Harry pulls away, but dots kisses down her jaw, to her neck. He sucks the tender skin into his mouth, licking and biting over the pulse point. Her hips readjusted beneath him, pushing herself closer to him by pulling him down, and Harry had to steady himself by flattening his hand against the mattress beside her head. Y/N snakes her hands beneath his shirt, her fingers skimming and skating across the skin of his torso, thumbing over his nipple and making it pebble beneath her touch. He moans against her, “Ahh,” he breathes out, “What’re you doing?” 

“Just feeling you,” she answered, then started pushing the shirt up, “Want to feel you everywhere.” 

“Everywhere?” He repeated the hand that cradled her waist and squeezed when she nodded, “You want me to stretch that little pussy out, yeah? Show me how well you can fit me?” 

Y/N rocks her hips up again, “Mhm,” she murmured, but a grin stretches over her mouth, teasing, “Try – try not to cum in your pants though, yeah?” 

A laugh coughs out of him when he leans down and nips at her bottom lip, “Very funny.” 

Undressing Y/N is always delightful, like opening up a little gift for himself. He’s seen all of her body at this point, but he still feels like he could drool as he pulls her shirt over her head, bunching the fabric up and tossing it off to the side before working on her pants. As he flicks the button open, he takes her nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over it, smushing kisses between the valley of her breasts to her other nipple and tugging that into his mouth too. Y/N is always so responsive to what he does to her, but she seems even more sensitive today – like if he even panted warm air on her it might feel good. 

Goosebumps dot and pimples all over her body as he tugs her bottoms down her legs. Y/N opens her legs and Harry latches onto her, licking between her folds, a slow drag of his tongue back and forth from where she’s leaking to where all the blood had collected and left her clit engorged and seeking his attention. He buries his face into her, not caring if his nose rubs into her while he slides his tongue in and out of her dripping center. This Harry does allow himself to revert to his usual messiness, spreading her all over his mouth, and his cheeks. Y/N’s first orgasm always comes relatively quickly, so he isn’t surprised when her hands are buried in his curls, tugging and pulling, rutting against his tongue when he holds it out for her. Harry just lets her – usually, he holds her down but he doesn’t mind tonight, having her use him to get off. The wetter she is, the more relaxed she is, the easier it would be for him to fit inside of her. 

When she cums, it’s with a full-body shudder, his heart thunders in his ears as he works her through it, finally pursing his lips back around her clit and sucking gently. He does it until Y/N is twitching away from him, pushing at his head, and Harry unlatches to busy himself kissing the inside of her thighs. “Always so pretty when you cum,” he wiggles his hand between his body and the mattress, his index and middle fingers sliding along the juncture of her thigh and labia, framing her, “You cum whenever you want, okay, baby?” 

Harry blows cool air over her slit and watches as she pulses around nothing before he sinks two fingers into her. Y/N sucks them in easily, twitching, still sensitive from the first orgasm but not enough that she would be pulling away from him. Harry moves slowly and gently as he works her back up, stroking and rubbing against her walls, feeling the ridges, trying not to get too excited at the thought of how his cock would be snug between them in just a little bit. He spends more time stretching her this time around, pushing out his fingers to either wall, scissoring her open until he’s sliding three fingers in. Y/N doesn’t seem all too concerned that he’s being more clinical about stretching her rather than solely rubbing at her g-spot. She mewls and keens for him, her fingers stuffed in her mouth and she sucks on them idly. 

Harry pulls her wrist from her mouth, replacing her fingers with his, and Y/N accommodates the change easily. She suckles at them, sighing contentedly through her nose and letting her eyes flutter shut. Harry continues to fuck her open, “You just like having something in your mouth, don’t you?” She nods, letting her tongue slide along the dips between his fingers, “Should keep it full more often then, shouldn’t I? Let you keep my cock warm.” When she squeezes around the fingers inside of her, he laughs a little bit, “Ahh, you like that, don’t you?” 

Finally, Harry focuses on the spongy bundle of nerves, rubbing and pressing against it insistently until she’s coming apart again. Her eyes had opened again, watching him closely, but as soon as it hit her they fluttered to the back of her head and she was clamping down on his knuckles, with her walls and her teeth. Harry kisses her tummy this time, peppering them around her belly button, smiling against her skin when she giggles, squirming, murmuring that she’s ticklish. 

“M’ready,” she tells him, knocking her heel against his bum, “I – seriously, if you make me cum again, I’ll pass out. I want to feel you, please?”

How could Harry say no to that? He pulls himself up and lets her help take his shirt off, prying it off his head and letting it puddle on the ground with hers. His pants come shortly after, and his briefs too, and his cock all but pops up, leveling and slapping against his lower abdomen. Harry has to squeeze around himself to relieve some of the pressure building there – he’s so hard, it’s going to take everything in him not to bust as soon as he even feels the warmth of her radiating onto him. 

Y/N reaches down, fitting her fingers around his prick and squeezing with him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and they both watch as a blurt of precum drips from the tip, slowly stringing down to a spot on her thigh, “It’s so big,” she murmured, “I know that’s why we’re doing all of this in the first place, but I just – wow,” she’s breathless, “Want it to fit inside of me so bad.” 

“It’s going to,” Harry covers her hand with his own, moving it up and down with each other, “Gonna fuck my shape into you, hm?” 

Once Harry gets the condom on, takes the tube of lube, and squirts it all over his prick, he sits back, looking her up and down, “Do you want to sit on my cock? Or do you want me to push in?” 

“Want you to do the work,” she breathes out, reaching down and grabbing the back of her thighs, holding herself open and spreading for him – the sight makes Harry lightheaded, “I’m too tired.” 

Harry laughs, “Okay, princess,” he kisses her forehead, holding the base of his cock and sliding himself between her folds, getting wetter and wetter, smearing the lubricant and her juices around, “Just keep holding yourself open for me, don’t worry about a thing.” 

Like everything tonight, he’s slow and measured. He nudges the tip on her hole, pressing forward, and Y/N is so pliant and relaxed from her earlier orgasms that her walls give way. The head goes in easier than he had imagined, and Y/N is breathing nice and even, rolling her ankles around slightly, her toes curling a little bit, and Harry has to grip hard on the blankets. Harry desperately wants to sink all the way in, down to his balls, but what would the point of any of the stretching have been if he did it like that? He wants her to feel good – doesn’t want it to hurt. 

Things are going well until about a quarter of the way in, and then her hand rests on his belly, walls clamping down on him. Harry pauses, lowering so their chests press together, “Do you need a break?” 

“Just a second,” Harry agrees and pushes a kiss to her lips – a couple, actually, and then he’s introducing his tongue again, slowly curling them together, slipping his hand between them so he could roll two fingers over her clit. He feels her relax again, and he rolls his hips just a little bit, sinking in more, and Y/N moans, “Keep going,” she murmured, “It’s good, keep going.” 

They do this a couple of times, languidly, and carefully, and Y/N swallows him right up. By the time he’s made it all the way inside, nestled deep and close inside of her, Harry lets out his own quivering breath, “F-fuck,” he rubbed the tips of their noses together, “Good, so good, you’re so fucking good for me,” he praised her and Y/N responds, mewling, pulsing more around him, “Such a sweet little thing.” 

Y/N rests her hand on her lower stomach, “Move a little,” she orders, and Harry listens, rocking his hips just slightly, and whatever Y/N feels makes her groan. She reaches for his hand that’s sitting on her waist, moving it where hers had been lying. Harry moves again when she nods, and when he does, he feels it – the head of his cock nudging against her from the inside. Harry throbs hard inside of her, dipping his head down to her throat, “I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

It’s so much – so tight. Y/N is surrounding him everywhere: his cock, his head, and her legs shift and move to lock around his hips again. Harry’s hand finds a place at the nape of her neck, cradling it in his palm, and with his other hand, he slides down behind her back. He presses her close to his body, speaking against her mouth, “Can I move, baby? Are you okay if I move?” 

“Yes, yes, I want it.” 

As soon as Harry starts rolling his hips, he knows that he isn’t going to last. It feels too good – she’s wet and slippery and still tight, clenching around him, and they keep kissing. He’s breathing her air, whispering praises, suckling and biting at her bottom lip, making it swollen. Her nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders, Y/N is whimpering, and when their heads are pressed together, she pulls the lobe of his ear between her teeth. She nibbles at it and runs her tongue over the skin beneath it. 

Harry isn’t sure when Y/N started meeting his hips, but once she does, Harry knows he can go a little quicker. The slide in and out of her is much smoother than it started, and when he lifts her hips just slightly, she starts moaning so much louder, “Want you to cum,” he tells her, “Need you to cum, baby, wanna feel it around me, fuck – I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” His fingers sped up around the swollen bud between her lips, “Please, please, please.” 

Her arms slide around him tighter, holding him, squeezing him. Once her walls clamp down on him, Harry’s done for – a heat coils deep in his belly, swirling, extending out through his vessels, zipping through him. Harry ruts into her, once, twice, three times hard and he’s digging his fingers into her body. 

He fills the condom, his blood roars in his ears, brain fizzy and buzzing in his ears. Harry slouches into Y/N’s body and closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. 

Harry thinks he could fall asleep like this, as Y/N’s personal weighted blanket, and he thinks for a while Y/N is pretty content with it too. Eventually, she does start wiggling, patting him with the bottom of her foot to his calf, “Okay, enough,” she murmured, “You’re heavy and I’m sore.” 

“Well, that won’t do.” 

Harry cleans them both up, wiping between her thighs with a warm cloth as tentatively as he can, soft and careful. When he brushes over her center, she twitches and pulls away some from the sensitivity of it, “Sorry,” he murmured, “I know, I know, almost done.” He feels pleasantly buzzy and warm; his mind is flooded with a haze of emotions but all of them are good, sweet, and bright. Harry picks his softest, biggest shirt for her to pull over her head, and changes the sheets around her, peeling the top sheet that was still messy with lube, cum, and juices. Y/N lay on the top of his fitted sheet, but the thick comforter he’d pushed to the bottom of the mattress was still clean. He pulls it up, covering her legs before he crawls into bed beside her. 

Y/N snuggles up to his side, molding into his body, and lifting her cheek to rest it on his bare chest. Harry wonders when the last time he felt this content was and honestly. . honestly, he doesn’t think he ever has. This feeling, the warmth that bubbles through him, how he melts into her body. It feels good. Harry can’t believe he’d denied himself the possibility of this for so long. 

“Am I best at cumming or dancing? Be honest.” She murmurs, this little quiz she likes to do with him now, sliding her hand down his forearm and Harry warps their hands so he can slot their fingers together. 

Harry nestles closer to her, hiding his face in her hair. 

“You’re just the best. Do you like the sound of that?” 

Y/N melts closer to him.