Jealous Y/N (Patreon)

Sometimes you just can't help being a little possessive

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Y/N is not typically a jealous person. 

Or at least she’d like to think she wasn’t. Seldom did she ever look upon another, resentfully coveting what they had. Clothes were clothes, she could get them if she really wanted them, if she truly wanted a skill then she would buckle down to learn it, if she wanted a food, then she would go out and get it. All in all, if Y/N wanted something that badly that she might be bitter towards another person for it, then she would do what she needed to get it -- save for breaking apart relationships. 

However, it becomes very clear to her, very early on, that she is not the same person that she usually is when someone has their hands on Harry. 

Now, let her preface this by saying, she is a reasonable person. With little to no temper, a placid, insouciant way about her, Y/N could get along with most anybody in most circumstances. She went with the flow, channeled the energy in the room and matched it, attempted to make everyone feel comfortable with her presence as she was with theirs. She had been a bit neurotic her first few years in college, but as time passed, and she got older, she relaxed, deciding that there was not enough time in the world to focus on every little nuisance that might disrupt her day. 

Which came in handy when dating Harry, because. . .well, Harry was Harry -- something short of a magnet towards people of all ages, all genders, all races. . .any variation that one could think of, Harry had garnered that person’s attention. He was kind, sweet, and warm. He gave off a gentle, comforting aura that could soothe the ache from your bones and the worry from your head. Were you nervous about an exam? He would flatter your ego by reminding you how smart you were and how you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t. Sad over anything? He came to your side with cuddles and homemade cookies that had smiley faces on them, because “it’s hard to not smile when a cookie is smiling at you, y’know?” You couldn’t sleep? With his steady, silvery voice that possessed soporific like tendencies, he’d have you lulled to sleep by the time he finished reciting information he’d heard from his most recent documentary endeavor. 

And Y/N didn’t mind that people liked being around him. Hell, if anything, it just made her realize how lucky she was to be so close to him in the first place. No matter if she had spent a lot of time with him that night or not, she was the one who got to take him home. The one who got to strip down to her undies with him and cuddle. To roll out of bed after an hour flopping around for a midnight snack. Who she got to snuggle up against when it was cold outside but toasty in their flat, soaking in the other’s body heat with something mindless on the telly. 

Whether someone (or multiple people) were flirting with him that night didn’t quite matter. If anything, she felt for them -- she knew what it was like to be so taken by him. . .so enamored that all you can do is blink at him owlishly, stumble over a few words, and let your cheeks fill with warmth. Despite that, almost everyone recognized that he was with her and didn’t overstep any clear boundaries that were just unspoken rules. 

Almost everyone. 

It was a small gathering; Harry’s friend Mitch was having a few people over to celebrate his job resignation from a place he loathed spending his 9 to 5 before taking a job that he knew he was going to love. There would be food ordered, fruity cocktails, a two-tiered cake buttercream icing cake that Y/N had suggested as a surprise (to which Harry smeared a kiss over her mouth and bragged about having the smartest girlfriend ever). There were a few mutual friends to attend so Y/N would have some people to speak with while Harry fluttered about in all his social butterfly tendencies, and they planned on making their attendance brief -- long enough to get a nice feel for everything, but short enough that they wouldn’t miss 2-for-1 happy hour shakes at the steak-burger place a block or so away.

(That was a bit of an undeclared ritual that they had when they went out together, and was collectively their favorite part of the night.) 

Y/N knew almost everyone there, give or take a few people from Mitch’s new job. There was one woman in particular who had caught Y/N’s eye, mostly because she was gorgeous -- at a model’s height, with a blunt auburn bob, big blue eyes, and one of those sultry type smiles Y/N could never get the hang of. She seemed like the type of person who might wear nice lingerie every day without fail -- period panties didn’t exist in her closet, like the antichrist in a church. In a short red dress, she hung around an equally attractive man, who had his arm secured around her waist, his hand often migrating to the round portion of her bum. They both held champagne flutes and slithered through the group of people, attracting the full attention of whomever they stepped up to. 

Though she acknowledged their attractiveness, she really paid no mind to them apart from the fleeting thought that Harry had socialite competition. Or she didn’t, until she found that she saw the woman saddle up beside Harry, who was pouring himself a glass of one of Mitch’s fancy bourbons. Y/N had sent him to do it, having noticed he was reluctant to drink because he’d been under the presumption he was driving, but she told him she hadn’t felt much like drinking anyway (really, he had just had a rough week at work and Y/N thought he deserved to unwind some -- sometimes guided meditation wasn’t the best way to decompress). 

Now, Y/N normally doesn’t do this, but she eyeballs them. Her stare could burn holes into the two as she watched the scene unfold -- Harry smiled at her familiarly, nodded at whatever she was saying and followed her finger as she pointed to the man she came with. His brows raise, he says something in that way he does, that makes people feel like the center of the world. In response, the woman leans into him so she could speak into his ear and says something that makes his eyes widen. 

Y/N feels that sick, ugly, dark feeling sizzle from the pit of her stomach outward. She can’t focus on the conversation that she had been engaged in before seeing her follow after him. And she hadn’t really cared before, is the thing, when she had walked up to Harry she hadn’t minded but it was the body language that struck her. She was within his personal space, she noticed now the hand that had fallen to his shoulder in a way that didn’t seem a mere good natured squeeze, she whispered something in his ear and drew back with that sultry smile Y/N had noted prior. . .Y/N was so hyper aware of every movement this woman was making, that it made her blood boil. Simmer and froth with a heat that she disliked. 

It’d be one thing if she hadn’t noticed Y/N -- if Y/N had been in the other rooms for a majority of the night, or outside, then maybe she wouldn’t be putting out all the stops that might garner Harry’s attention -- but Y/N was in the same room. She’d been in the same room as them all night, with Harry at her side, who she was leaning into and cuddled close with. If she was looking at Harry -- which she must have been to see that he went over to the drinks -- then she would have had to see Y/N with him. Which meant she was just intentionally ignoring the fact. Not only that, but her prick of a boyfriend didn’t seem to mind much either, an impish smile on his lips as he watched from across the room. 

She wasn’t jealous because she was worried, especially when Harry gives a small, awkward smile and shakes his head politely declining whatever it was that she had said. He then duplicates her earlier movements, only instead of pointing to the bloke across the room, he’s pointing toward Y/N and she quickly flickers her gaze back to the others in the group so it didn’t look like she was glaring at them. Y/N doesn’t look back in his direction until he’s coming over to her, the diamond imprinted glass secure in his palm. Instead of returning to his spot beside her and going on with the night, he pats her hip first before slipping his ringed index finger into the loop of her jeans and gives her a tug, “Come with me, yeah?” 

Y/N is on his heels as he leads her outside on Mitch’s balcony, overlooking the city, bright twinkling lights as far as her eyes could make out (he was on one of the top floors). The air was frigid, sending shivers wracking through her body -- no matter how fiery she felt on the inside, her skin’s sensory cells were not suited to deal with this weather. 

Harry wore one of his big cardigans, that slumped around his body in a chunky knit with a hood he could hide his ears in when the air bit his lobes red, and fell around his arms in a ballooned wave. He slid out of it, balancing his glass on the railing as he held it out for her, “Put this on, baby,” he murmured, and Y/N took it gratefully, snuggling into the soft, multicolored yarn that smelled so immensely of him, he might as well have bathed with it on, “Now, you aren’t sneaky, I saw you staring and I thought I oughta let you know what she said -- it would feel like I was keeping it from you if I didn’t tell ya, anyway.” 

“Get on with it then,” her teeth chattered, sinking further into the cardigan, “What’d she have to say?” 

There’s a spark in his eyes that so clearly reads he’s intrigued by her response already -- because Y/N didn’t ever get like this -- but he spares his amusement to explain to her, “That was Cara -- she came with her boyfriend James, they worked at Mitch’s old job but quit a while back. . .I think all four of us got coffee once, maybe sandwiches.” He picks up his drink off the rail, swirling it idly in his hand, clinking the ice against the glass,  “Apparently, they’ve been discussing the possibility of a threesome with me -- that’s what she came and whispered in me ear. Don’t know why they would think I’d be interested though. . .they know I’m with you, and I’ve never thought of them like that. Do I give off a vibe or summat?” 

Anger pellets through her like bolts of electricity sparking from a wet plug, and she shakes her head angrily, “Are you fucking me?” She’s seething -- she feels as if she could spit, “That’s so disrespectful, I’ve been with you the whole damn night! There’s no fucking way she doesn’t know we’re together.” 

“You’re preachin’ to the choir, babe -- it rubbed me the wrong way.”

“Did it make you uncomfortable?” Y/N questions, “Because I’ll go in n’fucking say something to the both of them--” 

“Aish, cool off McGregor, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Harry chuckles softly, putting his hand on her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms despite him having already given her a barrier against the wind, “Sweet thing, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you jealous.” 

He drags her into his body, her face pressed to his chest and shivered, “S’annoying,” she utters, words muffled by the cotton fabric, shaking her head, “You’re mine, that much is obvious, innit? Who is rude enough to just -- blatantly ignore that. They’re lucky if I don’t go back in n’embarrass them.” 

Harry hums, tipping his nose into her head and she feels him breathe in deep before exhaling soundly, his fingers dance along her hips, “Y’know you’ve got nothing to worry about, right baby? Would never do that to you.” 

“M’not stupid Harry, I know that,” another shudder rummages through her body. “I’m wild in the sack, I account for like four people already -- you have a foursome every other night with me.” He laughs and it dazzles her as it always does but she still frizzles, hissing like water that slid from the pot on the stove burner. Her arms worm around him, tugging him into a bone crushing hug that works a small, startled squeak from him, “I reckon we go in there, you whip your cock out and I’ll suck you off right there - you think she’ll get the hint that you’re mine?” 

“Fuck sake,” he puffs out another breathless laugh, his arms swallow around her neck as he begins to rock them back and forth idly, “Like when you call me yours.”

Y/N sighs, ignoring the way the wind whips beneath the cardigan, slithering up her shirt letting her hands wander down his torso, sliding over the meaty portion of his hips and squeezing, “Then I’ll call you mine until all the breath leaves my lungs. Didn’t think I needed to, honestly -- thought it was obvious. What’ve I got to do hm? Fuck you right here? Make you cry out for me so loudly they hear you straight through the glass?” Harry shivers. . .it isn’t because of the wind, “Or maybe we can go inside, get all cuddled beneath a blanket on the couch and you can slide right into me, yeah? We can’t move too much then though, or you might start doing that pitiful little moan when you wanna move but I don’t let you.” 

“Baby,” his voice is thick and syrupy, slurred almost, like when he has a few too many bevvies, but he’d barely drunken anything, “You’re g’na make me hard if you don’t stop.” 

“Maybe I want you hard,” she teases, tipping her face back against his chest, bumping their thighs together gently, “Maybe I want them both to see that m’the only one who can get you like this.” She skates her hand up the hem of his shirt, trailing her fingers just above the waistband of his trousers, coaxing goosebumps in her wake and his muscles contracting, tensing beneath the skin. For a moment, she dances the pads of her thumbs over the small patch of hair trailing from his belly button that disappeared beneath his pants. 

She withdraws her hand though, biting down on the inside of her lip when a whine slithers from his throat, as he leans up and rubs the chilly tip of her nose against his, “We should get you inside though, hm? It’s too cold out here.” 

Harry huffs, his hand raising to cradle her cheek, thumb smoothing over her drying lips but Y/N lulls her tongue out to not only wet them, but to pull the digit into her mouth. She suckles, taking him down to the knuckle where her lips brush against the thick, brashy green jeweled ring he’d recently began wearing. He exhales a thin stream from his parted mouth, a cloudy tendril whirls in the air before him, “Baby,” he says again, murmured low. It was something between a plea to stop and adjuring her to continue; she scrapes her teeth carefully against his knuckle as she drags her mouth away from him. His thumb leaves her lips with an obscene pop and she punctuates it by raising to smear their lips together -- Harry melts into the kiss, but she ends this just before he can deepen it.

“Let’s go inside.” She repeats, grinning when he groans. 

“You’re evil.”