Y/N sees a text she wasn't supposed to (Patreon)

A little bit of angst! But also you know I can never be too angsty for long.

__________________________________________________________________

i.

Harry is frustrated.. 

He’d been at his mate’s house when he’d invited a couple people over to watch the footie game, one whom his ex knew and was friends with as well, and while he expected her to be there and to be friendly, he hadn’t expected them to talk as much as they did. It wasn’t like he was looking to get back with her, nor was he speaking with her alone exactly, but eventually the footie game ended, they all kept drinking, and most of them shared the gift of gab so they were all just chatting. 

How the conversation had turned towards Harry’s new relationship, he couldn’t exactly say. All he knows is that they went from talking about sexual encounters in general to specifically Harry and Y/N’s, and he had been uncomfortable to say the least. He didn’t want to discuss his private life like that, especially without her being around, but somehow his ex had wormed information out of him, asking in a not so discreet manner if they had, had a threesome yet, as they had. 

“No,” Harry had responded, brows furrowed, “We don’t -- that’s not, um --” 

“Oh, come on,” she shook her head, flickering her lighter and brushing it in front of her cigarette before breathing in a puff, “You loved it when we were together. She’s too prudish about it?” 

A spark of anger sizzled through him, his brows deepened in an angry furrow, “No!” He answered sternly, “I just -- it’s never come up.” 

She shrugged her shoulders, “Well then ask. If she’s as open and accepting as you say, then she shouldn’t be off-put by it, even if she doesn’t want to try. And if you ever want to, well -- you know where to find me.” 

It was stupid, and Harry was drunk, and when he got home later that night he cuddled so closely to Y/N she had asked him several times if he were okay. A cold brush of guilt soaked him the following morning when he remembered discussing their private life with his ex. It had felt like he wronged her in some way -- like he might have betrayed her. He felt even worse when she had stepped out of the bathroom and her eyes brightened, “Good morning, beautiful,” she had said sweetly, “I’m treating you to brekkie today, so get your bum out of bed.” 

The worst of it? How she found out was just atrocious. Utterly horrible and disgusting, and if Harry had ever found out in the way that she had then he’s sure himself he would throw a massive fit. Because he was just going to let the whole situation die out -- he wasn’t ever going to allow someone to pry into their private life again if she were not around, and he would surely never discuss it with his ex of all people, even if she and Y/N weren’t on horrible terms. 

Yet when Harry asked Y/N to grab his phone off the nightstand, a message pinged and her eyes caught sight of it before she handed it over to him. Her brows furrow, her shoulders tense, and Harry feels his heart drop to his stomach, “What the hell?” Is all she says. 

You tell her about the threesome? How’d she react? 

And in a scramble he tried to explain -- he tried to get her to understand that he was drunk, that they were all talking, that she had brought it up, but his mind was a mess and his words came out jumbled, and she wasn’t understanding what he was saying. She looked disgusted with him and it made his heart sore. 

“So what, you want to have a threesome with your ex?” 

“No!” 

“Then what the hell does that mean?” 

“She just -- it was something that we used to do, she asked if you were into it.” 

“That’s -- for fuck sake, Harry, you can’t -- oh jesus christ,” she was so upset with him, he felt his whole body flush with distress -- Y/N doesn’t get angry. She’s normally so cool, calm and collected, it takes a lot to truly get her so flustered she’s borderline yelling, and she has every right to, “If I went to a party and started chatting up my ex about our sex life, you’d hate it, wouldn’t you? Especially when you’re not there!” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t -- I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking and she kept prying, I didn’t mean to speak about it.” 

“Is that all it was? Did you. . .did you two. . .” 

Her implications were clear and it made Harry sick to his stomach; he shook his head furiously, “No! God, no, I would never -- I could never do that! Why would you even think I would cheat on you?” 

“Babe, I don’t know what to fucking think, okay? I need some air, yeah? I just need a fucking minute.” 

And that’s where they were now. Y/N had been gone for hours, the sky had been brushed a starless, inky black, and Harry was pacing back and forth anxiously in their living room. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to give her space -- give her the minute that she needed to breathe and cool down, but Harry also wanted to know if she was alright. Where she had gone -- if she was okay. Despite everything, he thinks she’s taking this far better than he even would have, so he can’t fault her for needing to leave, but. . .hell, Harry isn’t sure what to do with himself. He messed up and he doesn’t usually mess up, they don’t usually fight, and if he’d ever fought with anyone before it was rare he was on the wrong end of it. 

So he just paces, and his tummy keeps turning, and he wants her to be home. He wants to kiss her, and hold her, and apologize. Fuck, why couldn’t he just have kept his stupid mouth shut? The prying. . .the consistent questioning and probing was one of the reasons he and his ex hadn’t worked out in the first place, so how could he let her drag this information out of him? And why would she message him like that? For Y/N to think that he was cheating on her -- god he just wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there. 

Around ten, he hears the soft slick of the key sliding into the lock before the door creaks open. His head perks up from where he’d been sitting in bed, looking toward their bedroom door, listening as she kicks off her shoes and dumps her keys in the petri dish on the coffee table. The floorboards shift beneath her shuffling weight as she goes to the kitchen -- he hears her grab for a glass, fill it with water, and he wonders if she was honestly thirsty or was just prolonging the inevitable of seeing him. Under normal circumstances, she would have come sought him out immediately, so this only proves to make his heart crack. 

When she finally appears in the doorway, Harry’s sitting on the edge of the bed facing her, eyes swollen from tears he had shed earlier. Y/N gives a soft, worn sigh as she walks deeper into the bedroom, standing before him, wedging her knee between his thighs so she could stand comfortably between his legs. With a gentle caress, she rubs her thumb over his flushed cheek, “You know I hate it when you cry, Sweetheart,” she murmured softly, and Harry’s eyes flutter closed as he melts into her touch, “Breaks my heart.” 

“I’m sorry,” he responded, not so much to her prior statements, but to the situation at hand in general, “I’m so sorry, I should have -- I should have shut the conversation down before it even started, and I -- I shouldn’t have even entertained it.” 

“S’fine, Babe, what’s done is done, and I’m not gonna fault you for it. I’ve said some pretty out of pocket shit when I’ve been drunk, I’d be a hypocrite to hold it against you. By no means am I saying I’m alright with you chatting about our personal life with your ex, but I also understand it's easy to get caught up in a conversation before you even really comprehend the fact that you’re having it.” 

He whimpered when she withdrew her hand from his face, his eyes reopening just as she presses gently on his chest, “That being said,” she continued, straddling his thighs and looking down at him as she presses the soft fabric of his t-shirt up his torso, her fingertips skimming against the skin of his belly, “I think you do deserve to be punished for not telling me after the fact. Could have avoided this whole mess and all this turmoil, if you’d just been honest with me the next morning. Told me you said a few things about our sex life to other people and had a chat with your ex that went to in-depth. I would’ve understood. . .the text would have been a lot less unsettling as well.” 

“I know,” he murmurs as goosebumps pimple along his skin in the wake of her dancing caresses, “I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are, Sweetheart,” she drags the pad of her thumb over the soft tip of his nipple, drawing a small circle around it, and Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, his cock twitching in his trousers, “That’s why you’re gonna make it better by being a good boy for me, hm?” He nods enthusiastically, besides himself with happiness that she wasn’t ignoring him -- his biggest fear had been that she would completely brush past him, get ready for bed silently, and sleep in the guest room. The mere thought of it made his heartache, so the fact that she’s touching him. . he could sing. 

Harry’s even more excited when she leans down, fixes her lips around his nipple, and slides her tongue over the bud. A soft moan escapes him, hips canting against her and his toes curl, “I’ll be good,” he shivers as she scrapes her teeth against him before moving over to the opposite nipple, “Promise, I’ll be good.” 

She hums, pushing a chaste kiss to the swallow tattoo on his left side.

“Yeah, reckon you oughta be, I’d hate to be even meaner than I’m planning on being.”