Harry is probably part cat (Patreon)

Just some fluffy stuff for ya! :D I hope you're all doing well!! 

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i.

Harry is really just part cat — at least Y/N thinks so. 

She would say in many behaviors he was, besides some of the more blatant ones. He wasn’t flopping down in front of her feet to trip her up while she walked down the hall, but he did bump against her often like he was scenting her. He would grumble and whine when he was hungry, if she isn’t paying attention to him for what he deems is too long an interval of time he will lay his body over her things (so long as it won’t destroy them). Sometimes if he woke up before her, he would crawl on top of her body and pepper chaste kisses all over her face and mouth until she stirred. And while he doesn’t bring her dead birds he found in the yard, he will more often than not bring home something to show her, whether it be a present or just something for their flat.

The most patent reason though, Y/N would have to say, is how he wriggles his head into her lap and waits for her to pet him. 

So she does — she doesn’t mind it. Harry has the softest hair, that’s smooth and easy to thread through; he puts effort into the care of it, with only the best shampoo and conditioner, hair masks every Wednesday, and it always smelled like strawberries. Strawberries, warm summer nights, even in the depths of winter. If Y/N had the chance to bury her nose into Harry’s nose and breathe in deep, then she would. Which happened to be a very good match for Harry, who adored having his hair played with. It was one of the ways that they just worked together without it having to be discussed. 

With this, it meant every moment that he could place his head on her thighs, he would. If they were watching the Telly, old reruns, or a movie, and they were sprawled out on the couch. When Y/N is lying in bed reading, he might come in from a long day, kick off his shoe and push face down in her lap as he gives muffled grumbles about his day. Or in the tub, he wouldn’t necessarily put his head in her lap (he’d be underwater then and ‘I haven’t got gills, Babe’) but he would slump low between her legs, so his head rested on her chest and she would card her fingers through the wet strands (if she washed his hair, he would be a puddle, melting against her). 

This also meant that he had no problem doing this at parties like he was now. Y/N had been sat on the couch, having lost track of him an hour or so back as he mingled around the room like he usually did. She was caught up in a discussion about whether or not Emeril Lagasse, Rachel Ray, or Gordon Ramsey was the best cook with someone she had only met thirty minutes ago (her name was Laila, she was or model or something -- Y/N couldn’t tell you, really, she always met too many people at these parties she tags along with Harry to and they muddled in her brain -- she was pretty enough to be a model though) when he reappeared. His presence was felt first, and as he first placed his knee beside her Y/N knew what he wanted without him having to speak it. She uncurled her legs from how they were criss-cross on the couch, removed the pillow from her lap, scooted backward so her bum was pressed to the cushions, and moved her arms out of the way. 

Wordlessly, Harry lowers his body down and his head drops into her lap as he’d wanted, and as she prepared for. Y/N fit her fingers into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and she watched as his eyelids fluttered closed. Laila had paused what she was saying as they got situated, but Y/N looked back up to her as if there were not an addition to their small conversation, “I don’t know, it feels like they all kind of do different things so it’s almost unfair to compare them.”  

Nobody questions him -- Harry was always a sleepy lug. One of the things everyone had warned her about when they had started dating was that someone could be having a full conversation with him one minute, and in the next, he had his eyes closed and he was floating around in whatever dreamland had called for him at that moment. Y/N never minded it. The first time it happened she’d been asking him if he wanted to go to the cinema and see what films they were playing, and she was out of the room calling to him. When she didn’t receive a response, she peeked her head back into her living room (he came over to her flat often when they’d first started seeing one another), “Oh,” she whispered quietly, more so to herself, and a small smile had laced her lips. 

He was so cute...Y/N had always thought he was so cute, and this had been her first time seeing him asleep. His cheek was smushed against the plaid throw pillow she had at the time (he later spilled wine on the same pillow about three months after and promptly cried when he realized the stain wouldn’t come out), his lips were parted gently, and his arms were crossed like he was trying to keep his body warm (it was cold out but she had the window cracked to let in the fresh air -- she remembers he complained about it being nipply in there). She wondered how she had gotten so lucky to catch his eye as she withdrew one of the many throw blankets from the basket in her living room, fanning it out quietly so that she could stretch it across his body. 

And when he woke up an hour or so later, confusion written all over his face as he looked at Y/N who was sat on the floor in front of the couch painting her nails. He snuffled, stretched out his sinewy body before scooting down so his face was closer to her head and he could closely watch what she was doing, “Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly. 

“You’re just fine,” she assured him, “Must’ve needed the nap, yeah?” 

He smiled -- it was that dimpled, halfway shy smile he did often, but no matter how many times she saw it her heart still raced in her chest, “Will you paint mine?” 

That night Y/N painted Harry’s nails a pretty mint green that matched her own, and he let her play with his rings while they dried. She thinks he likes when she plays with his rings too -- really, Y/N thinks Harry just liked to be touched in any way. He always acted like he was so touch starved, no matter how much she was always petting on him, but again, she minded none. She liked to touch him, and hold him, caress him and kiss him. It’s like she’s constantly being reminded that he is real, and not some fairytale she cooked up in her head that everyone is going along with. 

“Is he asleep?” Laila asks after about ten minutes, and when Y/N looks down in her lap to check, she smiles softly as she begins to run her thumb over his brow. 

“Yeah, guess he is,” she murmured, “Silly thing -- what were you saying?” 

“We don’t have to keep going if you need to get him home! I would hate to keep you.” 

Y/N snorts, shaking her head, “No, it’s okay, he’ll be asleep for about 20 minutes and he’ll be back up and go putz around again.” 

Lo and behold, around 20 minutes later his eyes fluttered open, all bleary. He was disoriented some -- anyone would be after falling asleep at a party -- but when his gaze locks with hers and she smiles down at him, he smiles back, “G’morning Sleeping Beauty,” she teases him, tracing her fingers along the shell of his ear, “Have a good nap?” 

“Mhm,” he hums, tilting his head back so he could visualize who she was speaking to, “Oh, hi Laila,” he greets her, “Do you mind if I steal her for a second?” 

Laila rose her hands, “She’s all yours.” 

Harry pushes himself up from the couch, holding out his hand for her to help her up. They both had drunk some -- not enough to be off their faces, but enough to be a little giggly when she stumbles into his body a bit. Y/N doesn’t know where he’s leading her but she doesn’t question him either, just allows him to take her up a set of stairs, down a quiet hall, and into a room that she finds is the bathroom once he flicks the light switch. He pulls her in, shuts the door quietly, and turns to face her. 

“Hi,” he greets her, walking her back up against the sink, only stopping when his hands meet the counter on either side of her, “Missed you.” 

“You’ve been in my lap for the past half hour, Sweetheart,” she tells him as he leans down, nosing at her jawline.

He hums again, dipping his nose into the side of her throat and breathing in deep. Through his exhale, he murmurs, “Still missed you,” and she feels a shiver trickle down her spine. He withdraws, hovering his lips over hers and Y//N would skim their lips together just barely, but every time he tried to deepen the kiss she would pull back just a little. It took her doing it three times for him to notice, so by the fourth time she did it a whine left him low in his throat while she smiled against his mouth, “Heyyyyy,” he complained, “Let me.” 

“Hm?” She continues to tease him, “Let you what?” 

His brows pinch, “Kiss me,” he demanded and Y/N couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Kiss you?” She pressed, narrowly dodging his loose attempt to push their lips together, “Go on then, Sweetheart, I’m not stopping you.” 

Another grumbled whine leaves him as he makes another futile attempt, “Baby!” He all but huffs, “Stop being mean.” 

Y/N chuckles this time, tutting her tongue before tilting up and meeting his mouth. She finally gives him the kiss he’d been requesting; he was tender and gentle. His palm cradled her cheek, the cold of his rings bites at her warm skin, their lips slot together, a soft opening and closing of their mouths against one another. Harry dances his tongue along her bottom lip but she refuses to open up for him, shaking her head and humming. 

If Harry knew that his soft little grouses were what made her tease him so badly, she thinks he would stop doing them. She loved how flustered he got -- how he parts from her, his face contorted in a deep pout with his bottom lip shiny, slicked with spit and too pink for her to not reach up and pluck it with her thumb, “Oh, I’m just playing with you, put this away.” 

“You don’t play nice,” he leans in and bumps their foreheads together, “Lemme take you home.” 

“Why?” 

“So we can cuddle,” he presses his hips into her, and she feels the bump that’s beginning to form in his trousers, “And other stuff.” 

With a snort, she presses him back by the abdomen, “You’re so subtle,” she hums, “Does this other stuff include you rubbing my back?” 

“Mhm, and other things,” his hands creep up her thighs, but she catches them, “I’d do it now if I weren’t so sure you’d be too loud.” 

“I’m the loud one?” Y/N swats at his shoulder, “I don’ know if you recall, but I’m the one who has to slide my fingers into your mouth to quiet you down,” she cleared her throat, before deepening her voice to mock him, “Oh, yeah, right there, right there -- oh fuck me, I’ll cum if you squeeze me like that baby, oh -- ohhhh --” 

“Okay! Fine, I got it,” he slid his arms around her, “Bully.” 

“I’m not a bully, baby,” she shakes her head, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Come on, take me home Stallion so we can cuddle.” 

His face brightens considerably, “And the other stuff?” 

“And the other stuff.”