Harry’s a dick, and Y/N hates him for it.
WARNINGS: small dick energy from Harry until all of a sudden it’s big dick energy, if anyone treats you like this at work, please for the love of god go to HR, switch Harry and Y/N, degrading sex, PIV sex, oral (fem and male receiving,) rimming, spit kink, idk man lots of different sex things in this, lots o’ swearing bc it wouldn’t be a fic by me without it and lots of plot where they just hate each other so much lol.
(A/N Here it is; love you all. Pls let me know your thoughts!)
Y/N hated Harry.
She hated his perfectly coiffed hair and his smooth, glowy skin. She hated his award-winning smile, which drew people in like a siren or summat, his melodic laugh and the swoon of his voice, which could charm even the grumpiest of coworkers. She hated his leather jackets and his heeled boots, his vanilla and tobacco scent and his tattoos.
And she especially hated the way he teased her.
Y/N would consider herself a strong and willful woman; she was intelligent and knowledgeable about her work. She cared about her clients and the colleagues around her, even if they were more often laughing at her than actually talking to her. She was well-spoken and confident, but something about Harry riddled her into a bumbling fool for some reason. She could hardly form a sentence around him. And if, by some miracle, she did, it was primitive and nonsensical, often made more embarrassing by the fact that she was usually trying to defend herself against his incessant taunting.
It was infuriating. Each time she saw him leaving one of the elevators across from her desk, she would internally groan, duck her head and try and focus on whatever was on her computer screen. Anything to avoid capturing his attention, and no doubt his mockery straight after. Why did he need to come down here so often? It felt like he was doing it on purpose. None of the other members on the associate's team would bother to come down to the analyst floor (too busy dealing with actual clients and pretending they were much better than any analyst still wading through spreadsheets and numbers), but each day he would arrive, waltzing down and gliding across the shitty commercial carpet as if he owned the place, and Y/N fucking hated it.
