Sugar daddy-ish part 4 (Patreon)

They are just the stinkin' cutest, so in loveee, sexual tension has risen to it's peak! 

part 1 

part 2 

part 3 

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Harry was a wreck. 

An incredible wreck. 

He almost didn’t sleep the entire night after, tossing and turning no matter how comfortable the new mattress was, her words running through his mind in a loop, again and again and again. His chest grows tight from the way his heart inflates, his body tingles, his lips gnawed raw from his teeth. He felt restless, like he needed to jog around the flat just to wear himself out. 

S’too bad you aren’t in love with me -- then y’could jus’ take my virginity.

Was she just oblivious or was he not being obvious? Could she not tell that he had overwhelming feelings for her? The sort of feelings where he’s certain if he got drunk enough, he would tell not only her, but everyone in his contact list and anyone that he ran into on the street. The kind that bubble up within him and leave him fidgety and antsy, like being a kid and the night before a trip to the zoo or a rollercoaster park. Anxious for what’s to come but ultimately excited despite the fact. 

Hell, around 4AM, the only thing that was able to lull his eyes closed was turning to face her, seeing her cuddling a pillow close to her chest, her face squished against it. She looked so peaceful, sleeping besides him so tranquilly, soothed and gentle. It pushes him towards a sense of his own calm, allowing him to breathe, drift off to sleep for a little while. 

When he woke up, Y/N wasn’t beside him, and his heart sank for a moment until he hears the distinct clatter and clink of pots against the sink, the smell of breakfast filtering into his nose and ultimately guiding him out of the bed (that somehow already smelled like her). The clothes he’d been wearing the night before are still glued to his body, rumpled and wrinkled from his flopping and he wonders if it’s the same for her, until he rounds the corner and sees that she had changed into something comfier -- including shorts that just barely went over her bum and a soft looking sweater. If things were different, and he was her boyfriend, he’s fairly certain he would swoop in, swat her bum and nestle his face into the curve of her throat. 

Y/N notices him after a few moments of him staring, a grin widening her mouth, “Morning, sunshine!” She chirped brightly, “The man of the hour gets waffles, scrambled eggs, and strawberries sliced like a proper chef did it!” Her happiness is contagious no matter the fact that Harry was exhausted. He’s shaking his head, walking over to the small table she has set up in her kitchen where she has the plate set up, beside it a glass of what appears to be apple juice, “You didn’t have to do this for me.” He murmured and she only waves at the air. 

“What’d I say? You’re being treated like a King, even more so now that I’ve woken up without it feeling like I slept on a table all night.” She pulls out the chair for him and he rolls his eyes as he sits, letting her push him in towards the table, “Plus, I like cooking brekkie for house guests. What kind of shit host would I be if you woke up to a bowl of cereal?” 

Harry doesn’t even think about it when he remarks wistfully, “You’re g’na make someone really happy one day.” 

Tutting her tongue, Y/N leans over his shoulder to set the maple syrup down next to his plate, “Do I make you happy?” 

The question stuns him, as he tick his face up to look at her, watching as she sets her own plate down at the spot next to him. His mouth has fallen open for a second, nodding fast, “Of course. . .of course you make me happy.” He responds, conviction laced within his tone. 

“Then I’m making someone happy currently, this is the day!” She concludes, “Happy that it’s you. You’re much nicer than some of the blokes I’ve had over.” 

Harry’s happy that it’s him too. 

                                                                   .                           .                         .

Y/N has been so sweet on Harry his feelings were becoming unbridled. 

Being his assistant, Y/N spent loads of time one on one with him already, especially when she has work to finish and they’re both the last to be in their building. He finds that after a long day of work, this is when she is the softest, bringing a thick  pile of papers and folders and files in her hands, asking if it’d be okay for her to finish up in there with him because being alone out there gives her the creeps. Of course Harry says yes -- he can’t imagine a situation in which he wouldn’t say yes to her -- even though it proves more difficult for him to focus on his own work with her in there. Like when he’s attempting to sift through weekly reports he’d been putting off, and he catches sight of her leaning over a crate, flipping through the tan folders. He watches her face drop into a pout when she has to start at the beginning because she skimmed over it on accident the first time. Suckles on his bottom lip  when he imagines kissing her, suckling and nipping at her mouth until their bitten and swollen. Conjures up this beautiful image of taking her home, cuddled together in the soft warm flannel sheets of his mattress, wake her up between her thighs like she deserves. 

And then she looks up at him and smiles soft and he shoots his gaze down to his screen pretending like he hadn’t been staring. 

On the days they leave the office under the pretense of work to be done, when really Harry finished early, an event was coming up and he needed a new suit but he wanted Y/N’s opinion on it (or if he simply wanted to shop). This also gave him an excuse to see her try on fanciful dresses, some that cling to her body closely, some that are floaty and free (he finds she likes those much better), in jumpsuits that she gives him a show of dancing in only to slug his bicep when he buys it for her. There’s something so enjoyable about trying on suits with her, all the “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” like she hadn’t seen most of them before, fixing the collar of it for him, telling him he looks spiffy. 

Y/N only proves time and time again that she is so wonderful to spend time with, even when they’re out and about at more than boring things or she’s finishing up telling him his detailed schedule of the day, before he requests she sit in on a meeting with him (just to have her near). She’s like a lantern of joy that he gets to carry around with him even though it pains him that he’s not able to do all he wants with her, cuddles and kisses, gentle caresses. Being with her in a much more intimate context. .  .the thought of it leaves him a gooey mess. 

Harry knows he’s really done for though, when she sends him a message on this cold Friday night saying that she’s stressed out of her mind and wondering if he had any tips to help her through it. Instead of responding to her though, he immediately slips on his Stegmann slippers, pulls on his winter coat and heads out to the store. He purchases everything he would for himself had he been stressed, including but not limited to: chamomile tea, chocolates (the expensive nuget filled ones he knows she won’t purchase on her own), the ingredients for a warming potato soup, a rice sake bubble bath, a bottle of melatonin, a new lavender candle, and a heated back massager (she’s always talking about the knots in her back but never does a thing about them, and Harry doesn’t have the balls to just offer his hand). 

No matter the nipple biting weather that left his whole face blushed rosy and his balls shriveled to his body for warmth, the thought of her stressed upsets him greatly. He does everything in his power to make sure that she’s not stressed when it comes to work, which means it may be for another reason, and since this reason might be out of his control he panics some. Whatever it is, he decides he’ll help all he can, if he can even help at all. 

He had prepared himself to find a very angry Y/N when she opens up the door, because he had bought her things and she’s shown often she’s not keen on when he surprises her with it, but instead her shoulders slump. She almost looks relieved to see him and instead of her brows furrowing as she gripes and grumbles but lets him in anyway -- she darts forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and burrowing her face in the curve of his throat. Harry’s eyes go wide, glad that he had only been carrying the bags with one hand so that the other could loop around her waist, “Oi, oi, oi, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” He questions, alarm soaking his words. Feeling her tremble in his arms shoots worry right through his body, like it’d been pumped from his heart in place of blood, “Sweetheart, what’s happened?” He asks again when she doesn’t respond immediately. 

Harry feels her give a shaky breath against his throat before she pulls away just enough for him to make out the tears pooling at her waterline, “I tol’ my friend I would plan out her whole birthday party n’it’s next week n’I’ve got nothing booked or even a present and I was supposed to be doing this all throughout the span of four months but I’ve been so busy that I forgot.” She takes in another weak, wobbled breath, “And now m’gonna be the friend that ruined her birthday! I ruined it because I’m a shit friend and I couldn’t even remember to order the four tier red velvet cake she’d like, n’all of the bakeries are telling me that they would’ve needed two to three weeks notice.” 

As troubled as she is, Harry can’t help but feel himself relax; all of that was fixable, especially with him involved. He nods his head, letting her know that he’s listened and it’s all sunk in, “C’mon, let’s get inside,” he murmurs and though she agrees, she barely lets go of him to step back up into her flat, and when she does its only to help him set the bags down on the floor, but when she moves to peek inside he lays his hands over hers, “We’ll get to that in a second, yeah? G’na fix things up first so you’re in a good headspace to appreciate ‘em.” 

They sit in her living room, Y/N knee-ing down to the ground, knuckling at her eyes while Harry sat down besides her. There’s a notebook open on her table, a ton of numbers and names scribbled out, sad faces that she scratched out onto the thin sheets of paper. Harry takes the notebook and the swarovski crystal embedded pen that he had surprised her with a week ago, flipping the page and writing in his best handwriting he could. 

Birthday Party Put on by the best person in the world 

“Regarding the venue,” he writes as he speaks, “There’s a club on the west end, m’friends with the owner -- real nice bloke named James, we had a Sociology lecture back in Sophmore year -- I put the down payment on the space when he started out so if there’s ever a party or an event I want to throw, he does it for free.” He puts the phone number beside it, “I’ll message him that I’m interested tonight and he should have it booked by tomorrow, so that we can check off. They decorate it up real pretty too, so you don’t have to worry about that, we just got to give them a general idea -- like a photobooth area, yada yada.” He does put a little check next to it, and a little smiley face to counteract all the frownies she had put before hand. Going to the next line, he scrawls out, Cake, “You know the bakery I have you pick up the employee’s breakfasts from? Miss. Geraldine makes a killer two-tiered cake that she’ll put on my tab, and --” he adds, putting more emphasis on it before she can start with it not costing her, “If it’s important to you that you pay for it, you can cover it later.” He adds another check, “I know a few catering companies, all varying prices so we can look into those tomorrow, call them and see all who has openings for her birthday date -- some I have a discount code on since we advertise them in our stores.” Another check and bit by bit as he glances up at her to explain himself, he watches her visibly relax, the worry in her brow floating away, easing his own mind to some degree. 

Biting his lip, he looks down, kissing his teeth to decide what else might make the birthday special and snaps his fingers when he comes up with it, “Balloons! Got to have balloons, don’t you darling?” He writes it down, the sound of the pen scritching against the surface of the paper audible in the quiet room as she listens intently, quietly, “I know there’s a party store off Woodborrow, they’ve got a  deal -- think it’s 100 balloons for 50, and they sell those number ones for half off on Saturdays but you can book in advance and still get the deal.” 

“I’ve done gift baggies at a few birthday parties myself, I found everyone leaves a little happier when they get something to. Actually, m’gonna enforce that we do this so I’ll help with this. M’thinking a little bottle of liquor for each one, maybe those imported Swedish chocolates you bring in some times? Everyone gets one of them, ummmm. . .” he ticks his tongue against the inside of his teeth, “Maybe a throw blanket, or gift cards, I dunno’, we can decide later -- if you’re free, we’ll go to the shop tomorrow. What else?” 

Y/N looks at him with her eyes still a little glassy, yet dreamy in a way -- she’s staring at him like he’s something of a god and that makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip through a smile. Precious thing, he thinks to himself.  Her mouth is hung open for a second, before her eyes pool up again, and she crawls the short ways to him and tackles him with another hug, and Harry chuckles warm, letting himself soak this in as he slips his arms around her, and he even allows himself to push a kiss against the side of her head. “Thank you so much,” she rattles, “So, so, so much -- you’re the best.” She hugs him tighter, her face tucked closer into his throat, “I love you so much, you’re the best person in the world.” 

His heart stops and he can feel her tense at the realization, slipping back from him but he doesn’t loosen his hold on her, “I’m sorry I --” she begins but Harry cuts her off quickly, like he’s so good at doing, but twenty times faster than he ever has before. 

“I love you too,” he rushes to assure her, shaking his head, “Don’t apologize.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, the both of them staring at one another, their words steep into the air surrounding them.  It was a lot to say -- a lot to sink in, and Harry. . .god he revels within it, his lips quirking up into a smile, watching as her mouth matches his own. 

Harry’s not sure who moves first, but he decides that its Y/N, considering that he’s still pretty much in the same spot when their lips meet. Soft, warm -- plushy against him, as he takes ahold of her hips and drags her closer into his lap, his hand sliding up the length of her body towards her face where he slips his fingers around her ear. She’s sweet and gentle, the movement of her lips thought out and calculated, forcing him to be the same and reel in his frantic desire to peck and kiss and suckle. It’s better than he could have ever imagined. Hell, even when he was the one to lick and pull at her bottom lip like a silent request to taste her, she was the one to slip her tongue into his mouth. She was experimental, testing the waters as they glide together, sitting up a little higher in his lap so that she could kiss him deeper. 

His heart is hammering as the cold tips of his fingers graze against the skin of her hip, goosebumps tickling up where he’d touched. Y/N squeals into his mouth and against his lips at the sudden chilliness, but rather than jumping from him she only clings to him tighter. The feelings that are swarming inside of him are plentiful and vigorous, bumping around excitedly like an excited pup in a crate, a pleasant warmth coming upon him all over -- all over -- and he hates that he can’t quite control the way he begins to chub up in his pants. There’s a moment where he’s trying to figure out how he’s going to make sure she doesn’t feel it, like if he needs to bend a certain way or hunch his back just right or lift her hips up or stop the kiss. But he doesn’t want to stop this kiss and it feels good when she excitedly and unintentionally ruts her hips closer to him, and though he attempts to fight it, he whimpers a small moan into her mouth. 

It’s like his moan almost makes her kiss him more ardently though, only stopping when she has to catch her breath, peeling back, looking down between them to see the obvious tent in his pajama pants. He’s opening his mouth to apologize -- tell her it’s been a while and he likes her. . .god, he really, really likes her, bloody told her he loved her even! And he feels guilty. He doesn’t want her to think that it was only for the intent of something sexual, because it wasn’t. . .it was so much more than that. 

Y/N doesn’t seem bothered though, as she beats him to it, leaning back as she attempts to catch her breath. 

“S’that ‘cos of me?”