FWB part 3 (Patreon)

NOT FOB i keep typing that for some reason because I'm a big dummy (it's what the google doc is titled too, I guess fall out boy was just on the brain), but here these two "definitely not lovebirds" lovebirds are :)

part 1 

part 2 

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iii.

“Need ya to come with me to a dinner.” 

“Eh?” 

Harry had slid his way into the booth they were both acquainted to in the library, based on the picture she had sent him of her notes when he asked her what she was doing. His presence had only startled her for a moment before she realized that it was him, looking up from where she hovered over the bento box of noodles she had packed for lunch that day (along with sugared sliced strawberries that she knew his greedy fingers would grab at). She didn’t even have the chance to hum a greeting towards him before the words fell from his mouth. Though that was expected from Harry -- he didn’t bother with greetings really. . .straight to the point was how he liked it, no hello’s and how are you’s. If Harry was speaking to you, he had a reason, and he would cut it right down to it. 

“My cousin is getting married and none of us have met the bloke, so the lot of us are having dinner at me mum’s to meet him.” He unzips his satchel, dragging out his computer with a pink snapped case on it (Y/N had purchased it for him off a whim when she got her own because it was with a deal, thinking that he would throw it away, but instead he had snapped it on almost immediately) and places it gently on the table, cementing his place across from her, “They’re always on my arse about finding a nice girl. You’re a nice girl.” He reaches forward for her strawberries, taking a slice and sliding it between his lips, “They get off my back, you get a free dinner -- it’s a win-win.” 

She’s having trouble wrapping her head around his request, a stuttered, “Oh, wha--” but he cuts her off. 

“Plus, mum is making a full Sunday Roast on a Friday ‘cos I said it’s your favorite, so you can’t say no.” 

“I wasn’t going to say no,” she shakes her head, clearing her throat, trying not to feel giddy that he not only remembered how much she liked a good roast, he told his mother! Fuck sake, what the hell were they exactly? “I’m just a lil confused why you would want to take me -- how am I supposed to say we met, hm? ‘Hi! Lovely to meet you, your son fucked me into oblivion the first night and now he steals my strawberries.” 

It’s one of those rare moments that she coaxes a chuckle from him as he swallows, “Oblivion, yeah? You can let my cousin Mark know, s’been a long-running joke that I’m not a good lay that I would love to squash.” 

Meeting Harry’s family would be a lot on her psyche, Y/N knows that. Ever since Harry had shown up at her flat, muttering and blurting out things about how she’s the only one this and only one that, she had been wondering what the implication of their relationship was now. Adam gave her very little input, only telling her that she needed to discuss it with Harry, but the problem was Harry absolutely refused to discuss it. No matter how she attempted to bring it up, he shushed her, whether that be by changing the subject rapidly, stuffing food into her mouth (he always had some on hand for one reason or another), or heaving her up and spreading her out, dipping between her thighs. 

Y/N wasn’t stupid -- she tried five separate times and when he dodged each attempt, she felt like she should just give it to him at that point. She wouldn’t question him any longer, because their. . .arrangement didn’t involve questioning one another. Even if their “arrangement” was the thing in question. 

Though she can’t say she wasn’t nervous about meeting them. There should feel like there were no stakes in it but the importance of being acquainted to his family still weighs on her like stones. Her palms feel clammy and her heart starts to hammer. . .what would she wear? What were they like? Was she about to walk into a room full of Harry? Would they deadpan her, avoid questions, and remind her several times that this doesn’t mean that she had been inaugurated into the family? Would they start out cold but then cuddle closer to her each time she stayed over? Would they show up at her place at 1 AM and refuse to explain themselves? 

“What if they don’t like me?” She asks him, instead of the million questions roaming through her head. 

Harry answers without missing a beat. 

“I like you, and I’m the hardest one out of the bunch to impress. They’ll adore you.” 

                                                      .                            .                        .

The entire night prior, Y/N had not only demanded Harry come over to help her pick an outfit, but to stay over so she wouldn't be alone with her thoughts for the next fifteen hours. Her nerves were insuperable, no matter how many times Harry attempted to reassure her that there was nothing to worry about. Y/N worried though because Harry was bringing her over to make an impression on his family so that they would believe he could have a nice girl and settle down even for a moment, and if she wasn’t up to par. . .well, she doesn’t know. She wants to do this well for him -- wants his family to know that he is capable of keeping someone around despite his less than amicable way about him, even if it wasn’t necessarily within the context that they would be told. 

“You don’t have to dress fancy. A t-shirt and jeans would do you nicely.” Harry had told her, lounging diagonally over her mattress as he watched her tear through her closet for something suitable. His attention deviated between her and the docuseries he had playing on her telly and it had been for about an hour, but she could barely scold him for it, too overcome in her own panic.

“What are you wearing then?” She questioned after she pulled out a blouse, felt a brief moment of triumph, and then realized there was a hole at the hem. 

Harry kissed his teeth, “Hm, maybe them corduroy sea-green pants with the matching jacket -- y’know the ones with the red and black stripes? Or maybe just my one corduroy trousers and that shirt you got me for my birthday -- rather like that.” 

“So I look like a sewer rat in a regular t-shirt and jeans, but you get to look like some model?” She grumbled, brows furrowed when he playfully rolled his eyes, “What are you dressing nice for, huh? This is your family, you don’t have to impress them.” 

He exhaled loudly -- obnoxiously -- before he rolled out of her bed, padding his way over to her in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else (his usual nighttime attire), and she is too disgruntled to be distracted by the way his sinewy frame is always so enchanting. Harry reaches into her closet, cards through the clothes for about three seconds before withdrawing a corduroy pinafore dress and taking the crumbled white blouse out of her hands, “Wear these two -- the dress will hide the hole. It’s supposed to be cold tomorrow so you can wear leggings or tights with it, plus you’ll look on the side of stylish but also like you might make me do six hail mary’s before bed.” He shoves them both in her hands, “Stop worrying about tomorrow, I’ve already told you they’ll like you and I have no doubt in that -- you could show up in two crackers and swim bottoms, but I think you’d still manage to win over me mum.” 

Y/N tried not to melt, and hid the way she softens for him with a sly, “I think that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Again, Harry rolled his eyes, before pivoting on his heels and retreating back to bed, “I’m beat, yeah? Let’s go to bed.” 

“Don’t you want to cum in my mouth first?” She asked as she pulled the clothes on a hanger -- the act would be more so for her than it would be for him. There was something soothing about Harry’s prick, or at least it is for her, and the thought of him nutting off on her tongue before she goes to bed sounds just as nice as chamomile tea warm in her belly. 

Harry flops on the bed, patting his thigh as he spread his legs open to accommodate for her -- he knew what she needed. He always did.

“Take what you need from me, Bug.” 

                                                             .                           .                       .

Harry made her breakfast the following morning, and while he did tell her this by snatching the covers from her body to wake her up, she was both alarmed and grateful. She knuckled at her eyes, wondered aloud what the occasion was, and he uttered, “You’ll starve yourself to eat three plates to make me mum happy, so I reckon I might have to force-feed you a crepe so you don’t pass out on me.” His inclination of what she would do was almost too accurate and she wonders if she had ever told him this was something she did or if he just picked up on this attribute in their time together.  

He had sliced strawberries for her and doused it in chocolate syrup, and albeit the fact he scolded her for such terrible choices in health, he knows it’s her favorite. Harry remains casual, squeezes her shoulder and tells her he would be back around three to pick her up, “S’about an hour drive out, so make a playlist.” 

This gave Y/N about three hours to shower, bother Adam by explaining that she would be meeting Harry’s family and that he is the worst person for not telling her what it was exactly that Harry had decided to share with him that night, ironing her outfit, and stressing over how it would go. She was still unbelievably nervous, especially when Harry messages her that he was in route to pick her up -- it felt a little bit like a date. A first date, where she was immediately meeting his family, pretending that they were a cute little couple when really their relative revels in the fact she calls him Daddy. She had never met someone’s family before, even in relationships that she had been in, nobody had ever deemed her important enough to shake hands with the dad or hug their mother. 

Which messes with her head, because Harry keeps telling her how much they’ll like her, and how good it will be. He told his mum her favorite meal for fuck sake! What the hell were they exactly? Because she’s had friends who’ve had fuck buddies before and family meetings just didn’t fit into the mix. Most of the things that they did didn’t fit into the mix, the cuddles, the cooking, the library dates, the kisses that had begun extending from sex. More than a few times since he had appeared at her flat in the middle of the night, she would be roused awake just a little by the push of his mouth to her temple whether it be before he had to get up for class or if he just went to have a wee. The other day, he had even pecked her mouth before he left the library to make it to work, leaving before she could question him on it. 

Aish! 

She showers uses the sweet rose jam wash that is Harry’s favorite, the same scented lotion before she wriggled into the outfit that he helped her choose. Desperately she tries to soothe her nerves by watching needle felting videos online but little aids in comfort. Especially when Harry sends her a message saying he’s outside, her heart begins racing all over again, as she gathers her purse and phone, takes one last fleeting glance in the mirror, and runs out to see him. 

Y/N crawled into the sleek, black Range Rover and Harry sniffs the air before a small smile graces his mouth while she drags the seatbelt across her chest,, “You smell good,” he murmured, and left it at that, “Found out Mark is bringing a girl too, so you won’t be the only newbie.”

“Mark’s the one who teases you about sex right?” Harry nods as he puts the car in drive, “So we have to be the better couple.” 

“Hm?” His brows furrowed in confusion, and Y/N lets out an exasperated sigh -- boys are so stupid sometimes. 

“Everyone knows at family functions if there are two new couples attending they have to duke it out passive-aggressively on who is the better couple. How are we saying we met?” 

Harry still didn’t seem to follow the first bit, and only makes certain that he has never brought a girl home before when he says, “At a party,” matter of factly. 

“Wrong -- meeting at a party implies we fucked on the first day --” 

“We did though.” 

“They don’t need to know that! God, you’re more hopeless than I thought -- we need a game plan.” 

From there on, the car ride was utilized in refining their story: they met at the library because Harry dropped his ID and Y/N saw it happen, grabbed it, then chased after him, he wanted to thank her because he thought she was just the “prettiest girl he’d ever seen” (Y/N added in that bit) so they went out for coffee -- sparks flew. Harry is gentle and soft and definitely not a grumpy monster when he wants to be, and Y/N is definitely not calling him Daddy when they fuck, and aftercare? What is that? Like post-tattoo or something? Never heard of it! 

This is innocent -- what they have is very innocent for tonight, and Y/N doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because on one hand, this is something she’s daydreamed about for a few months into their arrangement. The first time she had gotten floaty and he had snuggled her, helped her find her grounding, fed her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and let her stay the night cuddled in his comforter -- that’s when Y/N felt her heart soften for him. She would imagine what it would be like if they were together. . .if for the first few months, Harry called her over and it wasn’t for a fuck. The message she got at 10 PM was because he just wanted to see her, not because he’d been out a little earlier than usual and couldn’t find anyone he particularly wanted to fuck. Hell, there was no thought of other people in his mind when she was around, she was all he needed. 

And apparently, the last wish had been granted, but she doesn’t think it was worth a damn if they never discussed it. This, with the addition that he seemed frustrated by the fact. . .she couldn’t even enjoy it. 

When they pull up an hour later, Y/N feels better suited but still a little nervous. Even more so when his hand finds her lower back, guiding her through the terribly adorable trail through a garden up to his mum’s cottage-like home. What it lacked in length, it made up for in width, because it was easily the widest house she had ever stepped foot in. Once Harry called out a, “Mum, s’us!” Through the foyer, she realized that it was showtime. 

His mother was ineffably sweet. . .like, almost so sweet that Y/N had never been more confused in her life how she ended up with a son so grumpy. She drags Y/N in for a hug, kisses her cheek, gushes about how much she likes her outfit and how delighted she was to meet her. Harry has her eyes, Y/N finds, and they crinkle at the corner when she smiles and laughs just how Harry’s do. Her name is Anne, she grabs a hold of Y/N’s hand with a grin, and tells her, “I put extra garlic potatoes in the roast -- the bugger over there tol’ me how much you like them.” 

“Thank you,” Y/N feels her face warm under the attention, especially when another person roams in to greet Harry, “For everything -- and thank you for inviting me. I’m so happy to finally meet all of you.” 

“Please, the pleasure’s mine. If you could tame this beast, I’m certain you’re a saint.” 

“Didn’t bring her ‘round for you to like her more than me,” Harry grumbled, shaking his head but his mum makes a show of pinch his cheek and puckering her lips at him as she brings him in to kiss his forehead. 

Meeting everyone else happens in a rapid-fire type of way. His sister Gemma is next, who hugs her just as his mum did and when Y/N compliments her flower pressed earrings, she squeezes her shoulder and looks to Harry, “I already love her.” The other family members are more a blur of kissing cheeks, handshakes, small cuddles, and teasing questions on how she managed to lock Harry down. She meets the cousin, who is with the mysterious guy that nobody has ever met, and the guy as well who seemed. . .well, kind of like the worst. And she meets their unspoken competitors Mark and Stephanie -- whom she is polite to upfront, but as soon as she finishes shaking their hands, she walks up to Harry and whispers low in his ear, “Let’s shred them.” To which he chuckles and rolls his eyes. 

They giggled with one another, and Harry made jokes that he told her he otherwise would have to keep to himself. For some reason throughout the course of the night, he had taken to tickling her sides, scrunching his hand at the soft skin there, but she realizes he was checking in on her (he would only do it if she were mid-conversation or if she zoned out a bit when nobody was speaking with her specifically). Y/N takes to playing with the rings on his fingers when they are standing idly, subtly playing the game of which couple is the better one with Mark and Stephanie. Harry calls her Sweetheart, Y/N puckers her mouth at him for a peck before she leaves for the bathroom and Harry doesn’t even blink before he reciprocates it. 

As she walked away, she could hear Mark, “Fuck sake man, she’s got you soft doesn’t she?” 

The dinner wasn’t really a sit-down and stare at one another across the table ordeal, it was more of a free for all. They grabbed their plates, Harry sat them in the living room where most of the family took residence, and they all chatted about anything and everything. They tell stories about school, their late-night trips to the grocery that nine times out of ten result in a weird experience (including but not limited to a drunk frat boy pissing in the bread aisle and a woman whose water broke in the candy section), and how Harry is gassy after fajitas (that apparently had been a long-standing situation between him and his parents). Y/N thinks they’re doing really good, especially when Harry swipes at her mouth with a napkin, murmuring, “You’re messy,” around his own mouthful. And when she noticed his mum had begun gathering plates to take to the kitchen, Y/N took Harry’s and started with their half of the room’s plates, Harry places his hands on her hips and steadies when she nearly trips over her own feet.

She insists on helping Anne wash the dishes and she dries, there is sound chatter but when the door swung closed it was muffled. She makes Anne laugh, which fills her with a satisfaction that she is unable to accurately describe. Anne bumped their elbows together, drawing Y/N’s gaze from the light blue plate she was dragging the cloth over, “He really likes you, y’know?” 

Y/N snorts, shaking her head with a giggle, patting their own bums for a stand-up show, “I hope so.”

Anne smiles good-naturedly, “I mean it, Babe -- I’ve never seen him act like that with anyone before. He looks at you like you posted up the sun in the sky, and. . .you didn’t hear it from me Babe. . .but he talks you up like a star. And not in the fake way he does when he’s trying to convince me he’s settled down with someone. S’real.” She scrubs the sponge in the bowl, the suds floating in the air around them, “Tells me little anecdotes about you -- he even sent me that picture of the two of you, with the whipped cream on your noses,” she shook her head, smiling, and Y/N is thrown because she had thought he deleted that off his phone— he said he was going to at least, “He’s never done that before -- with anyone, actually, not even his friends. I know he can be a grumpy lug but I think you make him happy.” 

And so she’s all screwed up again, feeling warm in the face, and watery in the eyes. 

It’s too much! 

Because by the end of the night, Y/N feels so welcomed by his family and connected with them as a whole. Y/N’s still reeling from the conversation by the time Harry has decided to lean back into her lap and subtly demand that she play with his hair by placing her hand in his curls. She cards her fingers through the soft strands, trying not to melt when his eyes flutter closed, his hand on his full tummy -- this is a side of Harry she hadn’t seen before. Soft, full, surrounded by family, and appearing completely at ease. 

Y/N wants to interrogate him and cuddle him, and scold him and kiss him, and demand answers that she knows he doesn’t want to give. 

And she doesn’t think when she leans forward, pushing a long, slow kiss between his brows, watching as his eyes flutter open as she pulls back. His irises seem greener, blinking up at her, “You still smell good.” He murmured, turning his face to the side, his face tucked into her palm where he pressed a gentle kiss. They stay like this for a while, until the first few people begin to leave, and Harry cracks his eyes back open, “We can sleep in my old room.” 

Harry’s old room is -- well, she can’t say she’s surprised. There’s something short of a mural for Fleetwood Mac on the wall adjacent to his door, where a record player sits atop of a dresser, Tango in the Night and Rumors were in vinyl frames beside it. There are a few band posters, an art piece that she can imagine a young Harry being taken by (an intricate sab of colors in various shades of blues, white flowers overlaying the canvas). There was an empty hamper tucked in the corner, between two doors which she presumes are the bathroom and the closet. Across from that, his bed is centered against the wall, a large dark oak bed frame for the queen-sized mattress, the sheets an olive color. 

As she takes in his room, he rolls open one of his dresser drawers and digs around for a moment, before a big, grey Oxford shirt comes barreling at her face. Once she’s changed clothes, swallowed in the shirt that somehow manages to smell like him despite being in a drawer for however long -- she crawls into bed beside him, where he had already snuggled beneath the comforter, and despite the amount of space that could have been between them (unlike her tiny bed), Harry finds her hip immediately and pulls her into his body, her back to his chest. A squeal leaves her mouth as he burrows his face into the curve of her throat, overcome with giggles when he blows a raspberry into the skin. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmured, “Mum is askin’ when I’ll bring ya back -- thinks you’re proper funny. Told me to give her your number so that you could go out for lunch.” 

Y/N smiles to herself, “I did good then?” 

“More than good,” his lips stroke against her neck, words slower than normal, breathing even -- it’s how he sounds when he’s falling asleep,  “I want to fuck you so badly but m’so sleepy, Baby, so I’ll just. . .lemme just hold you, yeah?” 

“Okay,” she lays her arm over his, slotting their fingers together, “Goodnight sleepyhead.” 

Harry pulls her impossibly closer, “Love you.”

Y/N nearly loses her breath. 

For fuck sake.