The one where Harry's a med student and Y/N fell out of his hammock (Patreon)

part 1  

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ii.

Y/N is having trouble staying focused. 

It wasn’t for any obvious reason though. She sat (more like slumped) on Harry’s couch, waiting patiently for him to finish his Molecular Cell Biology exam and come home, looking along his walls at all the art that was now familiar to her (for only having met a few months ago because Y/N decided to steal his hammock, fall out of it, and worried him enough to put her on a twenty-four-hour concussion watch --  they had become increasingly close). The jagged, clustered lines of neurons painted by his artistically gifted friend Mitch was hung and sat pretty adjacent from the couch, above the small fireplace that sat there. Above the couch is a beautiful mural of the thoracic cavity, flowers and foliage blooming from every orifice, this one seeming more like a printed piece that he must have bought. Scattered around are little art prints of different things, gorgeous pieces, pictures of friends -- everything just kind of works together beautifully. 

There was a chair that hung from the ceiling, into a seat that had a woven basket like backing and soft, plush white cushioning on the inside. His cat swung back and forth silently, completely ungrateful to the fact that Y/N had helped him put it together and got an ass ton of cuts and scrapes on her finger trying to help him screw it into the wall, and she should have a right to sit there. There was no coffee table, because Harry liked having free-range of motion for his gangly limbs and easy yoga access, but he did have a small laptop stand that he used to work on the floor with if he didn’t work at his desk in his room. He had one sofa and a recliner that he had been given by his sister when she moved, covered in a beautiful quilt  Y/N had declared as her own when she was visiting, and normally wrapped up in. 

And she would be now, if she weren’t feeling so. . .odd. 

She had come around about thirty minutes ago, greeted McStuffins the cat with a scratch on his head, and when he promptly screamed at her, she went to the kitchen to fill up his food dish for a midday snack. Once she had shoved the food bag back into the bottom of the pantry, she had caught sight of this nice, big plate of what appeared to be homemade chocolate chip cookies. And she thought it wouldn’t hurt if she ate one. . .Harry was always baking and would bring in treats for her all the time, or just have baked dishes around his flat, and the ones he didn’t want her to touch usually had a note that they were going to someone or for her to keep her grubby paws off them. 

So she took one, ate it, realized that it might have just been the best thing she’d ever eaten and went to go sit on his couch and relax around on her phone until he returned. 

Relaxing was the last thing she could do though and she isn’t sure why. Her skin was clammy but not in a way where she felt sick. . .moreso in a way where she was excited; her heart hammering, her skin prickled in goosebumps, her nipples in hard peaks that brush against the stiff cups of her bra. Y/N wants to crawl out of her skin, unable to just sit still, and she can feel herself squirming. She was attempting to scroll through her phone, but she was wriggling and flopping around, unable to get comfortable, checking her phone every thirty seconds to see if it were closer to the time Harry was coming home. 

She wanted him there so she could quiz him about her symptoms, because she had never felt like this before (it’s very useful to have a friend who is interested in the medical field, because it saved her a lot of panicked midnight Googling. Y/N had gotten up to pull open the window, the crisp autumn air entering in a cooled swirl that only momentarily settles her. McStuffins looks up, facing the window only for a moment, before snuggling deeper against the cushion to maintain warmth. She envied how comfortable he seemed in comparison to her right now. Her skin is sweaty but she wants to be pushed close and snuggled up. . .she wanted to be held down and touched and stroked and -- god, what was wrong with her? What was in that fucking cookie? 

By the time she heard the lock in Harry’s door click around noon, Y/N is just about ready to explode. 

His brows raise and he smiles wide, “Look who's here!” He begins but then he furrows his brows, “Oh -- oh fuck, are you alright? You look frazzled.” 

Shaking her head, she takes a deep breath, “No, no, I feel so. . .like whoa?” She shuffles,  the center of her core has a fire being carefully stoked and prodded at, heating her right up, “I’m --” 

“When did you start feeling like this?” He questioned her, letting his backpack slip from his shoulders, letting it slump against the hearth of the fireplace, coming towards her and placing himself on the couch beside her. This almost made it worse, actually, curling her fingers into the couch cushions. He smells so good -- warm and sweet, but just a little like sweat because the conditioning in his car was always iffy. Y/N wanted to dip her nose into his throat and breath in deep, let his whole scent smother her. 

It’s not like she hasn’t had these thoughts before, because she definitely had, hadn’t she? Harry was beautiful, she’d known that from the very first moment she met him and once she got to poke his brain, she found that his mind was just as beautiful. She’d been pretty good at not botching the whole situation by letting her feelings get in the way, both emotional and physical. 

But right now, pure filth spews into her brain like someone might be whispering it into her ear. 

“Um, it was --” she tries to regain her conscious thought, desperate to not get lost in the pure sea green of his eyes, swimming in his irises, “I ate a cookie and things got kinda.  . .weird.” 

Y/N expected him to look confused but Harry’s face almost immediately drops, a look of sheer worry drowning his features, “The ones in the pantry?” She nods, and he covers his face for a moment, rubbing his hands over his cheeks, “Fuck, Y/N, those were -- oh god.” He tilts his head back, “Pet, why don’t you ask --” 

“There was no note!” She protests before he can finish, “What was in them?” 

“Fuck if I know, Babe, my friend gave them to me as a joke -- called ‘em love cookies.” He shakes his head, “They’re like an aphrodisiac babe.” 

Y/N huffs, “A who?”

“It’s something that increases sex drive when you eat it,” he swallows thickly, “Normally the onset isn’t for a few days but there was something about these that was meant to be more. . .more potent, so you’re feeling it now.” 

Her heart speeds up, her gaze focused on how the veins and muscles in his hands and forearms shift as he gestures with them. She’d eaten a fucking love drug cookie? Fuck sake! “That --” she begins, taking a deep breath, “That blows.” 

Harry chuckles in disbelief, “I -- we don’t have to go to the movie if you don’t want Babe. If you need’a go home and like. . .take care of it.” 

Y/N shakes her head, even though she feels herself clench around nothing, pulsating in a kind of throb that tells her she should go take care of it. However, she liked the time she spent with him, valued it, and wouldn’t cancel it just because she was a bit sticky between her thighs. Plus she really wanted to see the movie and knew he would buy the large tub of popcorn, and she was kind of really looking forward to the movie theatre popcorn. She was willing to ignore it. 

“Let’s go, then we can still get the before preview, previews and have the whole theater to ourselves.”

“We already will have the whole theater to ourselves, we’re seeing a movie at lunch time — not even the matinee.”

Y/N remarks a dreamy, “Yeah,” before she pushes herself to a stand, “Lemme go sort myself and then we can go.”

Harry nods and Y/N walks briskly to the bathroom so she can wipe herself up, and splash some water on her face. 

She just hopes she’ll be able to keep it together tonight. 

                              .                   .                    .

Harry doesn’t know how he’s going to keep it together tonight.

Because Y/N ate a cookie that his friend told him was filled with “special properties” to make him so hard he might just cum in his boxers before he could have sex with someone, but his stamina would be increased ten fold. Harry had laughed, took the gag gift, and put them in his pantry just in case someone swung by and thought to eat them if they were on the counter. He’d planned on maybe trying one later that week to see if they actually worked, since he didn’t want to chance anything when he had things to do. 

Yet here they were, with him waiting on the couch while Y/N no doubt wiped away at the slick insides of her thighs, very notably horny out of her mind, but determined to watch this movie together. He could see her staring at him. . .could feel her energy radiating off of her onto him in waves, as her gaze strayed to his pulse point, swallowing thickly and attempting to form together sentences. And Harry wanted to help but he knew that he couldn’t. God he knew he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.

But when Y/N walks back out, a small smile on her face but still noticeably frazzled, her lower lip had been so worried between her teeth that it was slicked wet and nibbled puffy. . .

Fuck,  how is he going to keep it together tonight?