Y/N works at a sex shop and Harry comes in part 3 (Patreon)

Hiii! I hope you enjoy it (Harry is becoming smitten) :) 

part 1

part 2 

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 iii.

As if it were anything new (it wasn’t) Harry was once again nervous to see Y/N. 

He thinks he bloody hell had a reason to this time though! Last time he’d seen her he had just drunkenly nutted off into a fleshlight as she watched, in a muddled sex ridden mess, his mind such a load of mush by the end of the night that he’d idly watched her reclean his fleshlight for him (no matter how many times he told her it was okay, he could do it) while drinking from the bottle of water she’d told him he needed to drink. She’d even led him to his bedroom, helped him into bed and tucked him in, making sure he rolled over and laid on his side, petting his head for a moment before murmuring, “M’g’na go sleep on your couch, Lovie, call me if ya need anything. Sweet Dreams.” 

Harry woke up the next morning with a terrible headache and a sweet little note on his bedside table, accompanied with two paracetamol and a bottle of water. 

Had an early shift, but I’ll see you later! Remember to eat a banana. 

Attached was her number and Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. Could he message her? Should he message her? Hey, sorry for cumming and then falling asleep and leaving you bored, do you want to get coffee? That would be abhorrent! The thought of what he did in front of her had left his face pink and warm for the entirety of the weekend, coupled with the obnoxious twitch of his cock when he remembers how she looked watching him work himself over, and how she’d told him she couldn’t look away from him -- how he was going to soak her panties had he kept it up. 

He’d had a handful of guilty orgasms reliving the moment, cumming in his fleshlight, then rolling around on his mattress and wondering if he should message her. Would she be weirded out that he’d waited so long? Or would she be happy that he finally did? He couldn’t not message her and then see her on Monday -- that would just be weird. But he wasn’t sure what he should say. 

It was after he’d decided to deep clean his flat Sunday night, from bathroom, to bedroom, to living room, to kitchen, on his hands and knees to scrub floors and hand vacuum the corners and crevices -- that he’d finally did it. Had made himself tea, sat down on his couch with a throw blanket pulled around his shoulders, and debating whether or not he should start a spooky series or a romantic one before remembering something Y/N had said about being great at tie breakers. That was the final push he needed to do it, plucking the slip of paper from his coffee table (where he’d left it while he’d been contemplating earlier in that day), typing her number into his phone, and messaging her a simple. 

Hi. This is Harry. 

After he presses send, his heart starts kicking up in his chest when he immediately begins regretting it. Was that stupid? He should’ve asked how she was, shouldn’t he have? He shouldn’t double text though -- what if she wasn’t up for conversation? 

His phone buzzes before he could go any further down his panic. 

Hiiii! Thank god you messaged me, m’doing a late shift at the shop and it’s been the slowest of my life. 

Lips twitching up into a smile, he has a response and he’s never been more excited to reply to a message. 

It’s sunday, after all -- guilty Catholics go Monday through Saturday. 

He gnaws on his bottom lip as he waits, before he realizes that he’d never asked if she was Catholic, or religious for that matter, and he wonders if that was insulting or offensive anyway until her response blooms up on his screen. 

StOPPPP! You’re the worst and I love it. 

Harry relaxes, slumping into the couch with a grin. 

                                                         .                            .                               .

They talk throughout the whole night, until it’s so late that his eyelids are heavy and he barely wants to move from the couch to the bed. He doesn’t want to end the conversation himself, and somehow Y/N seems just as lively and awake as she would be midday opposed to middle of the night. It was until she sent a oh shit it’s 2AM, we need to sleep before letting him know that she would see him tomorrow and told him to have sweet dreams. In the morning he’d definitely been incredibly tired and sluggish as he dragged himself from the comfort of his bed so that he could go to his lecture, but he wasn’t pissed off as he would normally be. No, he was happy with the reason that he’d been up so late last night, so much so that it’d even put a bit of a kick in his step for the day. 

When he got to class, Y/N’s head perked up at the sound of the door swinging open and she waved him over. She looks just as exhausted as he feels, her eyes puffy from sleep, like she might’ve just rolled out of bed at the same time he had and come here straight after. The only thing that leads him to believe this wasn’t the case, was the fact she had a paper cup from the coffee shop on campus before her, and the second one she’s slipping over to the side that he’s lying his backpack beside, “Got you a vanilla latte -- you like them, right?” 

Harry doesn’t know if nobody has ever been nice before, but the amount in which this fills his heart is almost sad. Something as simple as a coffee gesture has him ready to ask for her hand -- he’d never had this happen before, especially with someone he’d only just met. Liam he could usually guilt trip into purchasing him things but not usually of his own volition, which only makes this that much more special. 

“Thank you,” he smiles softly, “How much was it, I can give you --” 

“This one’s on the house, Pet, you kept me busy last night which is more than I could’ve asked for.” She shakes her head, “Only like four people came in and none of them even bought anything! I was seconds away from scrolling through the porn selection and picking one out to watch and past the time but all of them sounded unappealing.” 

He nods, his voice lowered despite nobody being near them to listen in, “The stuff like that isn’t ever great, it never really -- you know. . .” 

“Does it for you?” She adds in and he nods again as she hums her assent, “Me too; much prefer homemade if not just the real thing. Speaking of which we got a new shipment in, and there’s quite a few things I think you might like! You can use my discount too!” 

Harry’s opening his mouth to ask her what it was, and he would drop his voice lower so that they could start whispering because he doesn’t particularly fancy someone knowing what they’re talking about exactly, but before he can a bloke behind them leans forward a bit, “Excuse me,” he begins and it startles the both of them to a jump, “I promise that I wasn’t eavesdropping, but where do you work? Is it in retail?” Harry feels his heart drop to his stomach, “I only ask because m’looking for new clothes and my girl really digs his kind of style.” 

Y/N grins, nodding, “I work with sunglasses sadly, but I do know that there’s a nice little shop off Rosewood called Patrick’s Closet that has loads of clothes similar to his style. Me and the manager there are real close, he’ll help you find something that suits you best. If you want I can give you his number?” 

By the time she’d finished scrawling the number out on a sheet of paper and telling him what to say, Harry was left in absolute awe in the effortlessness in which she’d done so. When she looks at him her eyes are wide and she has a sneaky smile as they share a knowing glance to one another right as the professor ambles in. He could hardly focus on anything in lecture though, not only because he hadn’t slept incredibly well but he was just so enamoured by the girl beside him he didn’t know what to do. It’s like she’d been crafted by cunning, sex positive God’s who instilled her with a quickness on her feet that would be unmatched by any politician he’s sure of it, and a smile and heart made from golden rays of sunshine. 

She was incredible and if Harry had any sort of confidence at all, he would ask her out on a date with him. 

Harry wasn’t confident in the slightest though. 

                                                       .                           .                         .

The next time Y/N’s over to his house, it’s a Wednesday night and under the pretense of studying for Psychology because Harry was having difficulties with the case study they were assigned and Y/N propositioned that they work on it together. Very little work ended up being involved though, considering she brought him Chinese takeout and they spent about an hour attempting to do the project, getting bored, and chatting with one another instead. 

How did this end up with them speaking about fleshlights again? Well, he couldn’t tell you, but he figures that sort of comes with having a friend who works in a sex shop. She’d asked him he’d used it since, if he liked the lube she’d brought because if he didn’t then she could bring more, and if he’d taken a look at the pictures she’d sent him with their new shipment. Harry had to fight past his sheepish ways to tell her what he did like about the one he had been using in order for her to give him a proper recommendation. When Harry lets her know that she’s really good at her job, she grins wide and lets him know that she’d been employee of the month since she’d started working there about a year ago, which he could definitely see. She was personable and positive and never made him feel weird about discussing things like this -- she’d peeled away a stigma regarding sex and masturbation within the first few moments of really knowing each other. 

The discussion of fleshlights turned into a discussion of masturbation methods in general though, and Harry was struggling awfully hard to keep himself from getting to worked up over it. 

“I prefer just my fingers I think, which is weird coming from someone who works where I do, I know,” she sighs, leaning back against the couch pillow she’d taken from him, “There’s something so magical about knowing how to get yourself to that place, y’know? You know your body better than anyone else does -- it’s like a deep kind of self connection. S’that make sense?” 

Harry hums his assent, “Yeah, I get it. S’ppose I always feel closer with myself after getting off.” He scratches at his knee as he slides the lid of his laptop shut, “Sometimes -- like, you know when you don’t even need to watch anything or read anything to really get it going? Like, you’re sort of just amazed by the way that you can make yourself feel good it sort of propels you off the edge?” 

“Yes, exactly!” She cheers, nodding quickly, “Hell, I thought I was the only one who did that. It’s practically enlightening, I love it. I love feeling good, and there’s nothing better than feeling good about doing what’s making you feel good.” Her face is propped up by her hand, as she rests her elbow on the floor, the couch pillow tucked under her armpit, “You and I think on the same boat when it comes to this stuff, I’ve never met a guy more open about it than you. The person you want to give your virginity to, is g’na be very lucky. Reckon I’ll be jealous of them.” 

Harry wonders if it’s possible to be jealous of herself.