Cold to most, except to the girl that had him burning up. That bit of warmth that had his icy exterior melting the closer he gets, no matter how far he tried to stand.
Or, harry’s a grumpy CEO and his sunshiney assistant has him a bit wrecked.
An older series I’m bringing back and editing, started out as just one blurb and spiraled into many. I’m working on editing them and updating the series so bear with me for any mistakes!
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Warnings: slight age gap, power imbalance (boss x assistant), Harry’s a dick to most people, shows of wealth, bullying in the workplace, etc (will add more as it continues)
“No Sir, I am not in love with him,” she replied, still refusing to look him in the eye.
Harry hums lowly, stepping closer, biting down on a smile when he saw her dirt-covered fingers tremble, “Ah, I see,” he replied, “Forgive my questioning, I suppose I’m just curious what your relationship is with him that would have you run and tattle on me for yesterday.”
“I didn’t tattle,” she rushes to say, and now she looks back up to him, her eyes still wide -- pleading with him to believe her, “I only told him I met you yesterday, and I feared you did not like me very much. That is all I said! He. . .if he said anything that was of his own volition.”
Oh, what a great king he will be -- Harry thinks to himself. A snort leaves him, “Well, I don’t doubt it was of his own volition. What, did you think I thought he took the orders of a servant?”
or
Harry is an asshole and Y/N didn't know a prince could be so mean
(21k+ words)
i.
Harry is pissed off.
The morning had been difficult starting with when he woke; late, with his night clothes drenched in sweat from the same foolish nightmare he’d been having since he was a child with no chambermaid near to change his bedding, nor draw his bath. By the time he made it to the dining hall for breakfast, all the good of the feast had been picked over and the pastries had grown cold. He bumped into his smug-faced prick of a brother as Harry exited with a large peach wrapped in a handkerchief to at least quell the grumble in his belly, and was promptly scolded for sleeping in (to which Harry smiled gently at him and replied, “Mind your fucking business, Your highness,”). Really, the only thing that could fettle this shit of a morning would be seeing his favorite beautiful garden.
On his walks near the East-end, just past one of the inner flanking towers on the castle grounds, there is a gorgeous flourish of flowers. Harry always found beauty in plants, of course, and at some point in childhood, he had gathered as many written books about all different types, from marjoram, rosemary, and thyme to chrysanthemums, edelweiss, and orchids -- his favorite were lotus flowers. If his father had allowed it, Harry is sure he would have clung to one of the elder gardeners throughout his entire childhood, but this was back when most of the people in the court believed Harry still had a chance at reform -- to be a good boy, who listened well and did his duties as the second son. Had they known how Harry would turn out, he’s certain they would have let him neglect his studies and done as he wished. . .he had started doing that in his teen years anyway.
But his adoration for plants was not his reasoning for appreciating the East-end garden. No, he liked this garden as opposed to all the others, because of the pretty brunette woman tending to it. She was nice to look at; her breasts were large, her skin appeared soft and regularly tended to, her hair combed through and drawn from her face in perfect braids. Harry didn’t know her name, but he did know she smelled like gardenias and a beautiful set of lips he liked to imagine fixed around his cock while he shamelessly flirted with her. For a servant, she was a sight to see, and he had no problem entertaining thoughts of taking her right in the soft soil her knees usually lie in.
The woman was sweet, her cheeks grew rosy when Harry bid her compliments, and he loved the slow burn of a chase that would surely end in him fucking her stupid.
Yet as his teeth dug into the flesh of the fruit in his palm, and he rounded the corner where he’d usually see her arse up as her hands were covered in soil (but still managed to remain delicate and unscathed), he didn't find her there. No, instead he finds a different girl there entirely, and maybe on a different day, Harry wouldn’t have much cared. On a different day, he would have shrugged his shoulders, continued his walk, and contemplated how he would be spending the rest of his morning.
But today had just been so awful to start, and Harry had not rested well, so the anger that spiked through him was a tad unreasonable -- he could admit that -- but that didn’t stop him from acting on it.
He whistles to catch her attention; the girl’s head pops up and snaps over to look at him before her eyes go wide. She scrambles to sit upright, straightening out her back and bowing her head, with her hands -- covered in dirt -- rested atop of her thighs. The smock she wore was ill-fitting, unlike the way the other gardener’s clothes clung to her every curve and dip, this was much too big. So much so that it nearly swallowed her within it, “Good Morning, Your Highness! I hope the day is treating you well thus far.”
“Where is the other girl?” Harry inquired, ignoring her greeting as he paused right in front of her. His shoe stood just before her knee and his proximity noticeably shook her, “The one who typically gardens here.”
“Imogen?” The girl before him questioned, brows furrowed -- all this time and Harry had never learned her name; he reckons it didn’t much matter to him at that time, “I, um, I’m sorry Sir, but. . .well, she ran off with a baker boy from the village. My name is Y/N. I’m actually a chambermaid, but I’m filling in until they find a replacement.”
A baker boy! For fuck sake, she could have been bed by Harry -- the son of the bloody king, and she chose to run off with someone who makes bread to survive? It’s risible, really -- absolutely annoying! Had she not picked up on the obvious signs he’d been giving her? The clues that he was interested in something more than idle chatter on tepid days? Why the fuck would Harry take this route day-in and day-out if not for an interest in something there, and other than her and the garden, there was dick all to look at on the East-end.
And this chambermaid as her replacement?Y/N?
“I didn’t ask for your name,” he utters impassively, giving her a once over, scrutinizing every possible aspect of her and comparing it to the girl from before -- he was disappointed in this replacement, and confused by this gardener’s desire for a village boy when she could have spent her days getting fucked on silk sheets in the bed of a prince. Sure, maybe she had not known he bore any sort of desire toward her, but still -- shouldn’t she have had a crush on him by then? “You’re filthy.”
The girl’s face falls and Harry pivots on his heel, stalking off back toward the castle. He had decided then that he would keep his walks on the West-end for now -- there was no point to his current route anymore.
Or at least that had been the plan. Harry probably would have never bothered to see that girl again if not for his brother Edgar storming into the seamstress’s room while Harry was getting fitted for a new blouse (one that would be dazzling, with fabric dyed a beautiful shade of lavender to match his favorite trousers). He turned to glance at him before rolling his eyes, letting his gaze fall back onto the mirror as he watched the seamstress measure around his waist, “Ah, the future king came for a visit! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Don’t be a prick to Y/N,” Edgar demanded crossly, “She is gentle and kind; just because she’s replaced the woman you’ve been touching yourself to for the past three months doesn’t give you any reason to be such a fucking twat.”
Harry’s brows raised -- it was very rare that his brother was so passionately angered by something. Had their relationship been any different, then Harry thinks he probably would have heard him out. Shockingly, he isn’t a prick to everyone around him; it was truly just his brother that dug so deeply beneath his skin.
The firstborn and heir to the throne, Harry couldn’t hate him for the luck of the draw. He was brought into this world at the right time, by the right people, and he would be king because of it -- Harry didn’t care about that. He held no desire to be king, actually, and oftentimes pitied his brother for having no real choice in the matter. As a child he was always busier, their parents were far more critical of him, and a lot was expected of him, even when he was just barely nine years old. In that regard, Harry felt sorry for him.
But Edgar had always been a self-righteous dick, with a massive ego, and a superiority complex -- or at least after he turned eleven he sure was. When Edgar realized the severity and weight of the difference between him and Harry, he left his little brother behind and treated him poorly. Teased Harry horribly with their cousins, pushed him in mud, purposefully scared him, and his favorite move was to call him a cry baby when they took it too far and he sought out their mother or someone to help him, though Edgar never got reprimanded. He treated Harry as lesser than for being born second, which maybe it wouldn’t hurt him as badly as it had, had the rest of his family and all those in the castle did not treat him the same. He was worth nothing to them. He wasn’t as smart as Edgar, he wasn’t as personable nor friendly; when they were 12, Edgar set him up to think one of the court girls ruined his favorite knitted blanket by smashing blueberries into the yarn, and when Harry had rightfully scolded her for it, she began to cry, and Edgar spread the rumor that he was a rotten, horrible, mean-spirited brat too.
There was not much he could do against it; he had been a gentle child before Edgar destroyed that side of him, so Harry decided to be precisely the little brother that was rumored. He was bratty, crude, and a little bit mean; all he was good at was spending their wealth, wearing priceless cloth, and gorging on food, men, and women to his heart’s content. When Edgar became King, Harry would continue to fuck off and do as he pleased. . .what a shame they hadn’t gotten a third, more reliable, better son.
And maybe he could forgive him for all of that, passing it off as just kids being kids (and little boys were always the worst of them) -- but Edgar. . .left him that night. The night that plagues his dreams with horrid, awful, dreadful things.
He’d never forgive him for that.
“I didn’t take you as someone who fucked chambermaids brother, but I guess you never really know a bloke.” Harry taunted, raising his arms under the instruction of the seamstress, “What -- did your whore come crying to you that I was cruel?”
“I’m not sleeping with her,” Edgar fixed his gaze on him, incensed as he straightened out the cuffs of his button-front shirt, “She is a friend of mine. I won’t bother asking you to be kind to her because I know you won’t, but just leave her be, yeah?”
“Is that an order, Your Majesty?” He sneers.
Edgar rolls his eyes, “I’m serious.” He replied before stalking off, letting the door swing shut behind him as Harry watched.
How interesting -- he’s certain their relationship surpasses that of friends. What business did a prince have with a chambermaid anyway? Harry would be almost positive that they were fucking if not for the look in his brother’s eye. Edgar could say his little brother knew nothing about him, but the truth was, Harry thinks he knew the most about Edgar of all -- he especially knew when he was lying to him, and the fixed glare suggested that their “friendship” was more platonic than anything else. Perhaps Edgar had fallen in love with her or something. . .that’d be funny -- even more so if that love was unrequited.
While he may not know or understand the intricacies of their relationship, one thing that is for certain is that no friend of Edgar’s is a friend of Harry’s. If he’d minded his business, Harry would have probably forgotten the poor girl existed, but now he just has to go out of his way to see her. Harry thinks if teasing and taunting her is a novel way to get beneath his brother’s skin, he would enjoy every moment of it.
This would be fun.
. . .
A breeze carried the promise of autumn the next time Harry saw her, a day following Edgar’s disapproval of him speaking to her. The clouds were large, white, and fluffy, the sky a bright blue, but the sun was still partially hidden so there was a small chill in his bones. He was happy he thought to bring his knitted jacket that slung lazily over his shoulders to keep him at least partially covered because he might have retreated until the weather warmed. And if he had, he wouldn’t have gotten to enact his goading of Edgar’s dear friend.
Y/N was practically buried within the plants, her top half emerged in the hydrangea bushes and her bottom half stuck out. Harry whistles again to draw her attention from the bushes and is greeted with a small, startled, “Ah!’ and a jump of her shoulders, before she pulls back. There are few leaves in her hair but she brushes them away quickly, “Oh, good morning again, Your Highness.”
“Are you fucking Edgar?” Harry has never been one to beat around the bush -- he prefers to get answers to his questions with very little preamble. It was another of the many reasons he’d been told it was a good thing he hadn’t been born first; King’s had to have tact and prudence, both of which Harry was apparently lacking.
While Harry was certain he had already found the answer out, the blunt question was worth seeing her eyes grow wide (nobody ever expected a prince to have such a foul tongue), “No! Not at all, we -- I am only his friend,” she looked at him earnestly -- the spike in volume of her voice, and the tonal shift was amusing. It had almost been like she’d forgotten who she was speaking to, and Harry didn’t mind it. He thought the Your Highness this and Your Majesty that, was bollocks and outdated. He really only allows people to refer to him as such so they won’t get in trouble otherwise -- especially the servants. Referring to royalty in a way deemed disrespectful could spell punishment for them, sometimes very brutal depending on who you’ve “offended”. In closed quarters, Harry’s servants refer to him by name, and if they are uncomfortable with that, Sir works as well, “We do not do such things.” Her voice was quieter toward the end as she tipped her head down.
“Hm, are you in love with him then?” Harry pressed and she shook her head, “I like verbal answers, Chambermaid.”
“No Sir, I am not in love with him,” she replied, still refusing to look him in the eye.
Harry hums lowly, stepping closer, biting down on a smile when he saw her dirt-covered fingers tremble, “Ah, I see,” he replied, “Forgive my questioning, I suppose I’m just curious what your relationship is with him that would have you run and tattle on me for yesterday.”
“I didn’t tattle,” she rushes to say, and now she looks back up to him, her eyes still wide -- pleading with him to believe her, “I only told him I met you yesterday, and I feared you did not like me very much. That is all I said! He. . .if he said anything that was of his own volition.”
Oh, what a great king he will be -- Harry thinks to himself. A snort leaves him, “Well, I don’t doubt it was of his own volition. What, did you think I thought he took the orders of a servant?”
“I --” she began, lowering her head again but Harry cut her off.
“No matter,” he rolled his eyes, “You’re right, I don’t like you. You’re covered in filth and a companion of my brother’s, so there was really no hope of friendship between the two of us.” He crouches down, his knees bent as he holds his weight on the balls of his feet. Harry takes her by the chin with his forefinger and his thumb to guide her face back up, inspecting her with a frown at his mouth and his brows furrowed -- she seemed familiar to him in many ways. He assumes that would make sense if the girl has been around since they were children, but he wonders why he doesn’t remember her much at all, “I do feel sorry for you, however, all things considered. My brother’s got a tiny prick.”
Her face warps, distressed, disgusted, affronted, “That is -- we are not --” she began, shaking her head, her voice raising at first but when his brows raised, it was as if she remembered who she was speaking to. Her shoulders sink and she casts her gaze down toward the ground once more, “Prince Edgar and I have no physical relations, Sir. I promise you.”
Harry continued to stare for a moment. This girl may not smell like gardenias, but she did smell of fresh linen and lemon, which made sense for what her full-time duties are. It was a scent he could appreciate, at the very least.
“What a pity,” he replied, letting go of her chin and rising back to a stand, “It’s about time he got his cock wet. Maybe he’d stop being so shrewd.”
Harry turns around and returns from which he came, a pip in his step that shouldn’t be there. God, was he so cruel that teasing this girl brought him this much joy? He particularly enjoyed it when she got riled up enough to start raising her voice at him and hoped to one day press her to the point where it continues to rise. None of this sudden memory that he was royalty -- no, he wanted to see her angry. Edgar’s “gentle and kind” little servant fuming, moments from cursing, yelling at him. . .it would be amusing. Like watching a bunny get mad.
A grin pulls at his mouth as he walks away; Harry really isn’t this cruel normally. It was usually an act, he’d admit as much, and sometimes there would be slight dribbles of guilt when he did something particularly harsh, but all guilt is absolved when he remembers being sweet as a child and being told that was an act. No, Harry is not allowed to be kind -- he isn’t allowed to be sweet, gentle, or mild-mannered; his Nan had once told him it was better this way. There would be no disagreements of who would be the better King if one of them was deemed unfit for the job. What was a twelve-year-old supposed to take from that? He wondered if that had been Edgar’s plan all along -- to sabotage any claim to the throne that he might take. Preventing a civil war that probably would have never happened, and sacrifice the relationship with his little brother in the process? He’d started being a prick when Harry was 7 and he was 10 -- had a 10-year-old really been thinking that far in advance? Had someone set him up to it?
Maybe Harry is spiteful; maybe Y/N is just another of a long list of people who Edgar treats better than he does his own blood. The poor thing was just caught on the brunt end of a feud she had no part in.
But she shouldn’t have such entertaining reactions if she wanted him to leave her be.
. . .
A week goes by of Harry slightly tormenting her; the weather had been gorgeous for days and it gave Harry ample excuse to go on his walks after they finished eating (though he didn’t really need an excuse — nobody cared to ask where he was going). He would claim that she was Edgar’s whore and watch as she scrambled to try and politely, respectfully tell him he was wrong while biting back her own upset and disdain. He comments how she’s covered in soil, rags on her for the ill-fit of her clothes taunts that her only friends are the plants when he caught her speaking to them (“It is meant to help them grow, Your Highness,” she had told him, to which he replied, “Sounds like a load of bollocks to me,”), and how shite the flowers have looked in her care (the last one was a lie -- they looked just fine, actually, but he wouldn’t praise her for it).
Each day he even took something to eat with him on the walk, purposefully saving one of his pastries or fruit so that he could stalk off with it after cleaning his plate, and each day he toggles with the idea of dropping the food near the garden to attract ants, but even Harry isn’t that mean. So instead he ends up clutching onto it, fiddling with it on his stroll -- if idle hands attract the devil, then he’s certain he’d be skipped.
So today was no different; he’d chosen a slice of lemon cake that vaguely reminded him of her from scent alone, and took toward the East-end. Harry’s surprised the route he’s been taking has not worn down into a beaten path from his footwork alone. He’d never gone on this walk this many days in a row, and it was enough to even garner the guard’s attention, who he had always been quite friendly with, “Another excursion, Your Highness?” His favorite -- Adam -- inquires, the only one of the men patrolling this area without being completely stoic. He stood a little taller than Harry and was mighty good with a sword. If everything went to shit and the castle was bombarded, he’s the one that Harry would be looking for.
“Of course,” he clapped Adam on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, “The weather is perfect for it, man. You should come out with me one of these days, I won’t tell.”
“With my luck the day I do that is the day the King decides he wants to take a stroll on the East-end and is wondering why his best guard has disappeared.” Adam saluted him loosely, “Have fun with your gardening woman.”
Harry wonders how Adam knew about her -- if he’d followed him once or if Y/N was going around telling everyone other than Edgar that Harry was teasing her. He decided not to question him on it though as he continued his route, gnawing at his bottom lip as he began choosing what he would say today. Maybe he would ridicule her for her clear unrequited love with Edgar (she defends him ruthlessly every time Harry brings him up, and what else other than love and blind loyalty). That could be quite fun.
His plans are spoiled, however, when he ambles over to the garden and does not find the familiar smock-covered form he’d grown used to. Harry’s brows dip in a deep furrow, his shoulders sink only slightly, “Oi,” he calls out, and the new girl turns to face him, bowing her head slightly and she began to greet him but he ignored it entirely, “Where is the girl -- the other girl who was taking care of this place?”
The one before him seemed nervous, “Imogen? I’m sorry to tell you, Sir, but she has --”
“No, no I know, her, the baker, yeah yeah -- I’m talking about Y/N. Where is she?”
The features in her face relaxed, “Oh! Y/N was only temporary until they could find some sort of replacement. She was going to stick it through the whole time they searched, but she told them she was worried the plants weren’t doing well under her care, so they are using me.”
Irritation flooded his veins -- had she really been listening to him? Yeah, he said the flowers looked awful but he hadn’t meant that. All it would have taken was for her to take a look at them to know they were just as healthy and bright as they always were. If anything, they looked slightly better. . .maybe there was some truth in speaking to them to aid their growth. How was he supposed to know she was going to take what he said to heart? This makes his fun much harder to come across -- would he have to scout her out in the castle each time he wanted to fuck with her? How annoying!
“Where is she now?” Harry inquires, recovering the lemon cake in his hand with the cloth to protect it from bugs, “Around here? Outside? Inside?”
“She should be in the servant’s chambers at this time, Sir. Her rounding does not start for another hour or so -- I can tell her you’re looking for her.”
He shook his head, “No, don’t bother. I’ll go find her myself.”
Was it unheard of for a prince to go into the servant’s chambers? No, but it wasn’t a very frequent occurrence, and it usually spelled trouble for whoever was being sought after. Harry had many eyes locked on him as he walks through the halls but nobody questioned him -- they all seemed too scared to like if they even breathed near him he might bite their fingers off. He couldn’t say he wasn’t used to this type of treatment though; when he was younger it used to really upset him, but now it bothers him none. What could he do about it though? It wasn’t worth fighting.
A set of stairs and a large wooden door is what separated the servant’s quarters from where he and his family stay with the other court members. On either side of the halls with walls made of many stones, there are curtains in the doorways of their rooms. There is great hustle and bustle down here, people moving up and down with hands full, going in and out of rooms that couldn’t be much bigger than a shoebox. From what Harry had been told they fit either one to two beds each, and may have a desk -- families get slightly larger rooms, but not by much. Not only do the servants tend to all the rooms in the castle, but they are expected to care for their area as well and under a strict regimen. His father wanted no part of their castle considered dirty for his own, selfish reasons -- his mother, who held a soft spot for them, simply wanted them to live comfortably. She was the reason why they got the same amount of supplies to take care of their living space as they do upstairs. They get much more food than other kingdoms allow their servants; objectively, this was the better place to be in comparison, though he always believed they deserved much more for the work they do.
When Harry finally finds her, the tension eases from his muscles, and that spark of playful delight trickles through when he sees her, returns. She’s speaking to someone -- a boy covered in soot, carrying a broom who was laughing brightly at something she’d said. This piques his interest immensely and his curiosity soars. What could she possibly be saying? Harry wonders what she could have said that was so funny, or if the boy just had a pitiful little crush and wanted desperately to bed her. Did Y/N share those feelings? Or was she too busy wishing Prince Edgar would throw away the thought of arranged marriage and choose the woman he loved to share the throne with him? And who better than his soft little servant who would probably defend him with a sword pointed in her direction?
“If I didn’t know any better,” he began, and he watches as Y/N stiffens at the sound of his voice, turning to face him with a small look of distress -- she carries a bucket in her arms, and the water sloshes around soundly, “I would say you’re trying to hide from me.” The man is a muddy brunette and just a little shorter than Harry, eyes big, bright, and blue as they stare at Harry like he’d never seen someone royal before. It made him uncomfortable, and the way his gaze bore into him was displeasing, “You’re needed in the tea room of the first guard tower.” He lies.
This seems to cure whatever stupor the man had fallen into, as he snaps down at the waist in a bow, “Yes, Your Highness, thank you, Sir, I’ll be off then,” he turned, nodding toward Y/N, “I’ll see you later, Y/N. Don’t forget!”
She nodded her head gently, smiling as he skipped off, before turning her attention back to Harry, who inquired, “Why are you filthy if you’re not in the garden?”
“Charlie needed some help with a few chimneys, Sir. I haven’t had a chance to wash my smock.” She answers, demure, head tilted down so she did not meet his eyes.
Harry hums, craning his neck to look back at the bloke — Charlie — who had scurried off down the hall. He catches the tail end of him rounding the corner, “What are you not forgetting tonight? A date?” When he meets her eyes again, he watches them soften and sadden as she replies.
“No, Sir, I am…I agreed to help him set up something. He does not have feelings like that for me.”
He searches her face quietly, as a small grin begins to broaden over his face, “Ohhh, I see. You like him don’t you?” Her eyes grow wide, “I’m sure Edgar will be sad to hear his whore may be two-timing him.”
“No!” It’s just under a shout, and she looks around quickly as she shakes her head, “No, not at all, to either — Sir, please don’t say such things so loudly. The others will begin talking.”
“Oh, my apologies Your Highness! I didn’t know I had to accept orders from a chambermaid,” Y/N looked horrified, opening her mouth but Harry continued on, “Well, you tell your friend that you won’t be able to help him. You’re needed in my chambers tonight.”
A frown warps her mouth, “But I already promised Charlie that—“
“Is a promise to a chimney sweep more important than a promise to the son of a king? It wasn’t a request, it’s an order; you must learn how to listen like a good little pup.” He milks the title, though the words “son of a king” taste sour on his tongue -- he hates to be looked at as just that, but it came in handy to get what he wanted. She silently surrenders, slumping over with sad eyes that didn’t suit her face. There’s a stir in his gut, something that has the potential to be guilt until he recognizes that if Edgar was the one to ask her, she would have done so without fuss and without dejection overcoming her body. How pitiful — she really did have feelings for this boy, didn’t she? Harry wonders if she would so devoutly defend this Charlie fellow as she does Edgar if Harry were to say something mean.
The sadness filling her face is unsettling — he wanted her to be angry with him, not dispirited and downcast. Harry sighs, “Say, open your mouth.” Y/N doesn’t fight it, dropping her softened lips and showing off a very pink tongue…a pretty tongue, Harry could admit as much, “That’s a good girl. See, you do listen well,” he pulls off a piece of the lemon cake between his forefinger and thumb, and carefully places it in her mouth. She closes her mouth around it but doesn’t begin to chew, only regards him suspiciously. Harry rolled his eyes, “It is not poisoned if that’s your concern; if I wanted to do away with you it would be much more intricate and interesting.”
Y/N chews thoughtfully, slowly, like she was savoring it; the taste, how it felt in her mouth, the weight of it against her tongue. When she swallows, her face seems just a little brighter, even a smile graces her mouth, “That was very good, Sir. Thank you.”
Harry took her by the wrist, ignoring how soft and tender the skin was, and how he wondered if it was that soft everywhere else, “You eat like an animal,” he uttered, and Y/N’s brows furrow -- she looks irritated more than sad, and he almost sighs in relief; he prefers her anger to her despondence, “Take it.” He rests the handkerchief and the slice of cake into her palm, “It will be the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your life and you have me to thank for it. Doesn’t that just piss you off?”
“No, Your Highness,” the denial does not reach her eyes in the slightest, “Thank you very much.”
He huffed a laugh through his nose, “Don’t forget to tell your soot-covered friend you’re busy tonight,” he reminded her, finally removing his hand from her arm, “I expect you at nightfall, Chambermaid. Don’t disappoint me.”
With this Harry leaves.
He has trouble suppressing his smile.
. . .
Harry was in an almost sickeningly good mood for the rest of the day.
To the point where it was noticeable, by the other servants, by the people of the court -- even his mother had rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, “You’re in good spirits today,” she said it low like if she said it too loud and dragged attention to them it would sour the smile on his face, “New clothes or jewelry? A new woman, perhaps?”
Harry sighed, slid his arm around her shoulders, and brought her close to him, “Nothing in particular,” he lied, “Can’t I just be in a good mood?”
“You rarely are, Love,” she leaned against him, “Whatever you’re doing, keep it going. I enjoy you like this.”
With his mother’s blessing, Harry will do as she wished.
After dinner, Harry made sure to go to his room, though night would still be a few hours off. He told his typical servants that they were off for the night to do as they pleased and they listened with few questions and large smiles on their faces. He wondered if they would still be as happy if they knew their off time was at the expense of Y/N -- he’d heard she was well known among all of them. Harry asked around, not so much because he was intrigued by her, but he was intrigued by Edgar’s intrigue. What was it about this girl that was so special? There were plenty of chambermaids that have been around since they were little.
But this girl. . .she went above and beyond her normal duties. The work of a chambermaid is reduced to few things, though to tend to several rooms a day was hard work. They took off the dirty bedding, took it to the laundry, and before the laundry was finished they would clean up so there was not dust nor dirt anywhere within the line of sight and even that of what you could not see. They cleaned the bathing rooms, made sure no mold or mildew was growing in the cracks and crevices; they may clean the larger sitting spaces, and dining areas, tea rooms, and guard towers. All of this and they are also held responsible to care for the servant’s quarters as well. It was a lot to accomplish in regular day-to-day life, let alone when they have a ball or gathering of any kind.
All of that work, yet Y/N was always accomplishing much more in a day. Was always helping everyone do this or that -- whether it be helping prepare meals, hand washing the bedding when the laundresses have to focus their attention on the clothing, or gardening when the original gardener ran off with a boy who bakes bread. She did anything that was asked of her and things that weren’t asked of her; she exceeded the expectations of many, and for that people appreciated her. Which was sweet, sure, but he had a feeling that people were using her because of that too. Kind people are unable to exist in this world without being taken advantage of -- it was, but it was the truth after all.
No wonder Edgar paid such close attention to her; he’d always had a soft spot for unadulterated altruism.
(Harry figured it was because he was a cruel bastard, or at least he did until he realized that the only person Edgar was truly cruel to, was him.)
Knowing more about her did little to satiate his desire to make her angry with him. To peel apart the layer of her that Edgar likes so much. . .to see a part of her that Edgar had never seen. He truly feels pity for her, getting caught up in a fight that she had no stake in -- in a fight that she probably didn’t even know existed, and wouldn’t understand if Harry explained himself. He just finds himself wanting to get closer to her -- not only to piss her off but to spend and squeeze as much time as he can from her. Edgar is only probably able to give her brief visits in between things, but Harry could see her all the time if he wanted. Nobody paid attention to what the hell he was doing; he could take Y/N on as his personal servant if he so chose to, and there would be no inquiry or question. And that would piss Edgar off more than anything, wouldn’t it?
How delightful would that be?
Through his window, Harry could tell the sun was beginning to sink, and not too long after he took notice there was a gentle knock on his door. “Come in!” He responded, and the brass knob twisted, Y/N entered the room in a very meek manner, carrying a linen basket with her that she set down by her feet before she tilted her chin toward her chest, looking to the ground.
“Good evening, Prince Harry,” she greeted him, “I hope you enjoyed your dinner.”
“It was alright,” he smiled from where he sat on the bed, “What’re the linens for?”
She blinked at him, “I -- I thought you requested me here to change your linens and clean up, Sir. Is that not what you wanted?”
He shrugged his shoulders, “I mean sure, you can if you want. I called you here to prepare my bath though.”
“Oh,” she pushes the basket off to sit beside the door, “I see. I will do so quickly.”
“No need to rush, take your time. I’ve got nowhere to be,” he then adds fiendishly, “Do you?”
Y/N clears her throat, “No, Sir.” She replies through gritted teeth, “But I do work efficiently and quickly, so if prepping your bath is all that is needed, I wonder if I’ll be able to take my leave afterward.”
Harry looked at her, head tilted, “If you took your leave after prepping my bath then who would help me wash? My usual servants are all off for tonight. Besides,” he smiled gently, “I’d like to pick your brain a bit, Chambermaid. It would bring me great pleasure to do so. Would you deny me that?”
The truth is, Harry doesn’t even have his typical servants help him in his baths. He places the soap near so he could reach it and takes to washing himself, though he does need some aid to cover his entire back. Otherwise, he took his baths alone and had them go do whatever they wanted or needed to while he soaked, and they knew to come in a little under thirty minutes or so when he would be finished.
Not all men and women of the court are like this though; Harry’s a rare specimen in that aspect. So Y/N wouldn’t question him wanting her at his side.
“No, Sir,” she responded, “I'll begin arranging it. Please excuse me for a moment.”
Y/N disappears into the room, and Harry sighs, toeing at the heel of his shoes to kick them off. Harry’s bathroom was like the others of his family; they were spoiled with large washrooms, with a segment of the stone cut out to fit a large, round tub in the floor. A small set of stairs were built in so they could lower into the tub with ease, and the water went up to the chest. Harry was unaware of the mechanics on how they filled and drained the thing, all he knew for sure was that there was a spout fixed in the wall that they got the water from. It was typically pretty cold, so they set it in a pretty big bucket over hot coals and stone until it bubbles to a boil. After it boils, they take it off, let it cook a little, then pour it into the tub -- so on and so forth, until the entirety of it is full.
The whole process took around an hour depending on who was preparing it. When Y/N appeared in the doorway of the room only about thirty minutes had passed, and he was skeptical that she had done it correctly. “That fast?” He squinted at her, walking toward her, “Are you sure you didn’t hurry so you could meet that Charlie bloke?”
“I did not rush, Your Highness. I told you I work diligently and quickly.”
“You’re well-spoken for a servant,” he begins to unclothe when he steps foot into the washroom, starting with the buttons of his shirt while he looks upon the steaming tub, “Can you read?”
“Yes, Sir,” she told him, the sleeves of her smock had been shoved up to her elbows, and the skin of her right hand was damp like she had placed her hand in the water recently to check the temperature from it.
Harry hummed lowly, sliding the blouse from his arms and handing it over to her, “Who taught you?”
As she took the fabric from his hands, Harry started on his trousers while she began to carefully fold the top, “Prince Edgar taught me when we were younger.”
A snort left him, “Of course he did,” he uttered -- how had these two spent so much time together without Harry knowing? Or remembering her, for that matter. He supposes somewhere in his brain he recalled her because she did look very familiar to him, but that was where it stopped. It was irritating beyond belief. “Let me guess, he brings you books to read? Ones you wouldn’t be able to get your hands on otherwise?”
She places the folded blouse into an empty basket, “He used to, but he has not had much time to do so lately,” she explained to him, “Would you like these clothes washed tonight, Sir? I could do them in the basin over there if you allow me to retrieve the detergent.”
“Don’t mind that,” he waved his hand, slipping out of his trousers, “You’ve known Edgar since we were little, correct? How old were you?”
Y/N responded almost immediately, “I was around 7, Sir.”
Harry’s brows raised, “7? You are kept in the servant’s chambers until you are 12, so how was he able to meet you?”
“There was a tall woman who was teaching him at the time; she explained to him that no good leader is unaware of every type of person they’re presiding over. She took him to the village to learn about the daily life there and the servant’s quarters to learn about us and our duties. This was around the time we met.”
A low hum left him; Harry vaguely remembers when Edgar was going out to the village nearly every day, and then recalls that he used to have more dirt beneath his fingernails after doing rounds with his teacher. It makes sense — by the time they were doing that, they had already given up on Harry, so he wasn’t taken on the extra trips. Only sat and was lectured about the arts, sciences, and literature. Except for that one night. . .
When he thinks about it, around the time Edgar was going on those trips correlates closely to that night. The night that set in stone how their relationship would be -- how could he ever forgive him for that? Harry still doesn’t know exactly how he got out of there, but after the fact, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that Edgar had left him. . .fucking prick.
Harry uses the stairs to lower inside of the water; goosebumps pimple up his body when he shivers as he adjusts to the temperature change. The water was warm but not too warm and not too cold; it was similar to that of a hot spring. She hadn’t been kidding, he thinks to himself, she does work efficiently. He bends his knees so he can dip his shoulders beneath the water and let it slosh against the aching spot at the base of his neck -- he must have slept weirdly on it because it’d been tender and sore all day.
A slow, contented sigh slips through his mouth as he leans his head back against the edge of the tub, letting his eyes flicker closed. If Y/N knew Edgar around that time, then did she know about that night? Maybe she didn’t -- maybe it would ruin the outlook she has on his perfect brother. How could a perfect king do such an awful thing? A dreadful thing? Something that their teacher told them they mustn’t ever speak of aloud, lest they want talk to overrun the court and ruin everything.
And Harry listened because he was a good little boy, but nobody would know that, would day? How could they when he kept his mouth shut?
“What was it that Charlie boy wanted to do with you?” Harry inquired finally, letting his eyes flicker open to look at the steam rising from the water surrounding him; it is only then he realizes that Y/N is dropping lotus flower petals into the tub (they were good for softening the skin and reducing anxiety, and while he hadn’t requested them, it was a nice touch), “It must be something important if you were trying to run out of here to take care of it.”
Y/N drops each individual petal meticulously, “He needed help setting up his date,” she responded, and while her tone had already been particularly dry with him since she came down here, it took toward despondence almost immediately, “He wanted to tell Miri his feelings for her tonight then suggest they date and wanted to do it near the garden on the east-end where they met. He asked me to help him put it together.”
“Ohhhhh,” Harry turned to face her when she disappeared behind him, “So the boy you like wanted your help setting up a date for another girl? That’s almost enough to make me pity you,” he pouted his lip at her, gripping the side of the tub (and subsequently a bit of the floor) with his hands as she quietly closed the jar of petals, though her silence spoke volumes, “You want her to say no, don’t you? To reject his little proposal?”
Sat on her knees, she looked over to him with her eyes wide and brows furrowed, like what Harry had suggested almost made him a monster, “No!” She nearly shouted, “Of course not! I -- Charlie is my friend, I only wish for him to be happy.”
“I don’t believe you for a second,” Harry grinned, “I think you secretly hate the thought of him being happy with anybody else but you. You play like the sweet, supportive friend but at the end of the day, the thought of him getting his cock wet with “Miri” or whoever makes you livid. Which, I mean -- a bloke like that, he probably is just looking to get his cock wet, but in your little fantasy he was supposed to want to do it with you. Am I right? C’mon, I’m right aren’t I?”
Her brows remain furrowed, her lips are pulled back in a tight frown as she shakes her head, “You’re wrong,” she told him, looking away from him though it was clear his words stung, “Charlie. . .Charlie isn’t like that.”
Harry scoffs, “He’s a guy, Sweetheart, of course, he’s like that -- even your precious Edgar. I guess a virgin like you wouldn’t know though -- still hoping it happens over a bed lined with rose petals near a fire, aren’t you?” She doesn’t respond, but her emotions and words are so blatantly displayed on her face, Harry believes they could have a full conversation without her having uttered a word, “Though I guess whether it be Charlie or Edgar doesn’t matter much to you, does it? A servant boy you’ve got a crush on, or the next king you’re profoundly loyal to. Now, while your taste is severely lacking I do appreciate you at least have some range and variety,” he waves his arms back and forth, his knees still bent so his chin touches the water like he’s swimming though his feet could still touch the ground easily, “Little hint for you: Edgar doesn’t like his women inexperienced, so you’ll need to practice if you want to satisfy him.”
Her mouth falls open, and embarrassment oozes from every pore and orifice of her being. She blinks hard and looks around like she’s trying to find words to say, and while flustering her to this extent is enjoyable for Harry, he knows when to settle. Once more he sighs, “I guess it can’t be helped,” he murmured, “I am very open when it comes to sexual matters but not everyone mirrors my enthusiasm for being frank. If you’re uncomfortable with talk of your sexuality, then I will not reference you in such a way anymore.” He plucks a lotus blossom from where it floated along the top of the water, “I do have a question for you, however: why did you stop gardening at the east-end? I thought they were using you until they found an adequate replacement, but they just replaced you with another servant.”
The tension that had risen in her shoulders slowly ebbed away at the change in topic and the way her features lax suggests that she was grateful he dropped it, “You told me the flowers looked poor under my care, Sir. I thought I wasn’t doing well enough for them, and I didn’t want them to falter further, so I. . .well, I told them they ought to have someone else tend to them.”
Harry eyes her, and Y/N holds his gaze as she waits for him to continue, “Do you believe anything someone tells you?” He inquired.
“If someone of the royal family or court says something to me, Sir, I’m meant to believe it, am I not? Or at least act as I do,” she explained to him, and her candid response surprises him, “But I felt you had no reason to lie to me. You are very forthright in your distaste for me, so you have no reason to tell me I’m any good at gardening like the others. You had no reason to lie.”
I’ve plenty reason to lie -- at least that’s what he thinks, but he has no chance to remark on it. Not when he gets a glimpse of her palm for the first time, and he reaches out mindlessly to grab her by the fingers. Y/N gasps, attempting to tug her hand back but Harry fixes his grip on her, “What is this?” He inquires as he flips her hand palm up, revealing a scar that ran diagonally across it. The color of it was faint; it had clearly been quite a while since she had gotten it, but he cannot tell where it was from. It didn’t seem to impede the normal function of her hand though -- if anything, it appeared to be a birthmark.
She regards him curiously, “This is a scar I got when I was little, is all,” she responded, “Do you wish for me to wash your hair?”
Harry lets go of her fingers, allowing her to bring her hand back to herself, “Do it well,” he murmured as he spun around to face away from her, “If you get any soap on my eye, I’m telling that chimney sweep your feelings.”
He held his breath, waiting for her to finally bite back at him, nibbly hard at his bottom lip to suppress the urge to smile.
Yet there was nothing; Y/N quietly requests that he tilts his head back so she doesn’t get water in his eyes, wets his hair, and then begins to delicately massage his scalp. He blows out a breath, slightly irritated -- what would it take to make her snap at him? Everyone has a limit, don’t they? Even servants. . .especially them.
“You are a tough cookie to crack, Chambermaid,” Harry grumbled, attempting desperately not to show her how good her fingers felt, “That is not a compliment.”
“Sorry, Sir.” She replied.
. . .
It is much more of a hassle to find Y/N now that she isn’t stationed in the garden after breakfast, so Harry has to go out of his way to the servant’s chambers several times a week. He continued to bring something from the spread they had for their meal, whether it be fruit, bread, or a piece of dessert. Harry would comment on the state he found her in, say something with some bite to it, then offer (more like order her to eat) whatever he was handing to her. He watched her chew, reminded her she ate like an animal (she really didn’t), and then told her she was expected in his chamber later that night for his bath.
At first, the bath had only been something to keep her from the chimney sweep but she did so well that Harry could not imagine anyone else in there with him now. From the temperature of the water to the way her fingers felt buried in his hair -- she did so almost expertly. It made him wonder where she was getting all this practice from, so he considered that she was often in Edgar’s chambers doing this for him. However, when he brings it up, her face twisted into a horrified frown as she denied ever seeing Prince Edgar naked. Almost as if his bare body was too good for her gaze, which pissed him off a fair amount.
He was wearing her thin, he could tell. These days she’s become much more comfortable with him, showing in little ways like dropping any formalities she may place around his name after their initial greeting, or even sighing when she sees him coming up to her. Harry’s even gotten her to snip at him a few times, but she’s always able to reel herself back in before she could do anything that might be classified as “blatant disrespect”. Harry feels they are getting there though, and the amount of glee that fills him is almost absurd.
All of this work, just so that he could say he’d seen a part -- an emotion -- of Edgar’s close friend that Edgar himself hadn’t witnessed yet. It was petulant, and if he ever spoke this aloud it would make very little sense to anyone he was attempting to explain it to, but it couldn’t be helped. He never claimed to be anything above immature and could admit he was ill-tempered and childish.
But what else did he really have to do with his time, apart from relish in a small, unimportant victory like making a chambermaid mad? And he might have given up and let her be if it wasn’t so fun -- her reactions were amusing, and poking and prodding about in her head were the summit of his days lately, though he would be hard-pressed to admit it.
No matter how small, having a goal to work toward had always given Harry a sense of accomplishment.
There was buzz around the castle today; a party would be thrown in one of the smaller ballrooms (one of Harry’s favorite rooms in the entire castle, simply for the art that decorates the high dome ceiling akin to that of the Sistine Chapel; they had a woman by the name Piper Alcott swinging from a pulley system for three months painting when Harry was a child -- from what he remembers, she was paid a healthy sum in gold and diamonds). At this gathering, one of Edgar’s old teenage flings would be attending, and there are rumors that this will be to strike an agreement between the two territories. An arrangement that would ultimately lead to Edgar’s wedding.
Now, anyone who was anybody would know that the rumors were shit. It would benefit them very little to arrange anything with this territory, as Harry’s mother and father have done more for these people than they have ever done for them, but Harry doesn’t bother correcting anyone. If not just for the enjoyment he feels from petty drama, then definitely for the reason that the truth wouldn’t get around to Y/N.
Though when he brought this up to her, as she stood outside clipping sheets to lines of string to dry, she had very little reaction to it. Holding onto an apple, Harry pouted when she refuted his statement of, “I think Edgar’s leaving you for someone of the court, Chambermaid! How sad is it that both your realistic choice of a chimney sweep and your idealistic choice of a king didn't work out? I would be depressed if I were you.”
“The idea of marrying the next King to someone of a lower family would be foolish. Would it not be to someone of equal or higher standing to be worth it?” She inquired, and Harry huffed, dropping down to sit on the edge of the wall. The laundry room opened up directly off the castle into something like a balcony, the brick raised up only a few meters from the ground so the wind could catch the clothing (both for body and bed) and dry them quickly. It took Harry an ample amount of time to find this place, and he was greeted by Y/N’s pinched face as she gritted out a “Good Morning.”
“You’re no fun,” he groans, letting his palms dig into the rough edge of the brick, “Who told you that, huh? You and Edgar use politics as pillow talk?”
No matter how often he mentions it, the embarrassment still floods her face at the mention of something like that and in turn, floods him with unremitted glee, “He discussed it with me over his tea this morning,” Y/N explains, albeit sheepishly, “He told me to not believe such trivial gossip.”
Harry kisses his teeth, “What a sweet talker,” he looked up toward the sky and watches the thick, puffy white clouds gently float along, “Did he also mention that he used to fuck the princess coming to see us?”
Y/N coughs -- or, chokes, rather, “W-what?”
He bends at the waist to lean forward, looking past the billowing cotton to see she’s stilled, looking over to him with her brows furrowed, “Yeah,” he continued, “Luella Dowdenl; if I’m not mistaken, that is who he lost his virginity to.” A small grin begins to spread over his cheeks, “You didn’t know?”
“Of course I -- of course I didn’t know,” she gripes at him, brows still pinched and lips drew into a frown, “Prince Edgar and I don’t speak about things like that. He’s not vulgar towards people like you are.”
Harry bites down on his bottom lip to stop his grin from getting any bigger. So that’s what gets under her skin far enough she’s willing to grumble at him like that? He’d only been playing around before, but he guesses she did have a rather large crush on both that chimney sweep and Edgar; it’s almost sad enough for him to stop poking at her. Maybe he would have if not for such an amusing reaction he was given.
“Sure,” Harry shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe I’m vulgar, but when it comes down to it, Edgar is an absolute lecher in bed -- I’ve heard stories. Does that upset you?”
“No --” she begins to protest but Harry cuts her off briskly.
“Liar,” he accuses, “Edgar goes around acting like the primmest and most proper, most respectful bloke in the whole castle, but the truth of it is, his taste in bed is crude and filthy. You wouldn’t be able to match up to his standards in the slightest -- you’re much too virginal.”
Y/N appears from where she’d been halfway hiding within the sheets, “I am not a virgin!” She exclaims to him, a fire lit in her eyes that he’d only ever seen smoldering beneath the surface, “And I’m not -- I am not lying! I have no reason to lie, I don’t care what he does in bed, and I don’t care that he’s slept with the girl! It is none of my business, so stop bringing it up to me!”
Harry’s heart is hammering in the best way, thumping quickly in his chest; he doesn’t know what this overt, unashamed enjoyment of her frustration and dislike says about him -- but he isn’t in the mood to question it, “Ah, you’re upset,” he noted plainly, “And riled up enough to speak this way to a prince? I could have you punished, you know?” Harry rises to a stand, watching as her chest heaves with each breath and her face flips from adrenalin spiked upset, to a wave of worried anger. She stood her ground but her gaze says she regrets it, though Harry walks toward her and grabs her wrist, flipping her palm over -- the one with the scar -- and places the apple he’d been holding into her hand, “You’re lucky I find your reactions so amusing, Chambermaid. Make sure to be mindful of that tongue with the others, however -- they may not be so forgiving. I’ll see you in my chambers tonight.”
With this he leaves, his body flushed with warmth and excitement.
Harry cannot remember the last time he’d had this much fun.
. . .
Y/N couldn’t stand Harry.
How could anyone stand him? It was a near-impossible feat! He was ill-tempered, poor-mannered, unnaturally spiteful, and completely insufferable -- Y/N really had no idea how he and Prince Edgar could be related. The contrast is so stark, had she not known they were siblings she wouldn’t have even considered they were raised in the same castle, let alone by the same parents. It was absurd, honestly!
Y/N had always been aware of Harry, but they had never been very close. She saw him frequently when she was younger, but that was mostly because Edgar had taken a liking to her, and wherever he was, she was close behind. And for some time, wherever Edgar was, Harry was too, until their relationship had begun to falter. Y/N didn’t see it happening but she heard word of it whispered among the other servants and even people of the court who talk too loud with their mouths full during tea. Edgar never brought it up though, so Y/N didn’t either; she had always passed it off as some sort of sibling rivalry for the throne or something, and didn’t pay much mind to it.
But if Harry had always been like this, it wasn’t so hard to see why he and Edgar wouldn’t be close.
There was something about him that was fueled by picking on her, and Y/N had had enough of it. It had been one thing when he’d been brazen in his disgust for her replacing Imogen as the east-end caretaker of the garden. Y/N had heard there may have been somewhat of a relationship between the two and had expected him to be unhappy with the news of her departure (though Y/N believes it’s silly to be mad at the messenger). And she really hadn’t meant to “tattle” on him, but when Edgar asked how her day had been and she explained that she officially met Harry that day, and he didn’t like her very much -- well, he acted at his own discretion.
While the idea of Edgar finding Harry to scold him and defend her had made her heart flutter, she wished he’d said nothing at all. She’s got a healthy level of suspicion that suggests had Harry not realized she had any acquaintance with Edgar at all, he would have left her be. But he is insistent and obtrusive in every way imaginable, and he makes absolutely no sense at all! He says he dislikes her then goes out of his way to find her in the servant’s chambers. He continues to push and prod for her to expose her feelings about Edgar, though he already clearly knew that they existed. He refers to her by name when he’s asking others about her, but only calls her ‘Chambermaid’ in person. He told her how she ate disgusted him but still brings her fruits and desserts and bread from the hall after breakfast, and sometimes even the pastries served during lunch.
He was a bully! Prince Harry was bullying her because she has feelings for his brother? Unrequited feelings at that. And he almost seemed annoyed when she didn’t fight back with him! When she quietly resigned to his taunting and teasing, how most people of the court would expect of a chambermaid, one they claimed to dislike no less. How did that make any sense at all?
You’re right, I don’t like you. You’re covered in filth and a companion of my brother’s, so there was really no hope of friendship between the two of us.
So why won’t he leave her alone?
No matter how much Prince Harry is bothering her, she makes a point not to discuss it with Prince Edgar. He held so many responsibilities already that were far greater than a servant being mocked by royalty, and the little time they were able to share together, she’d prefer to speak about things other than his brother. Harry was right -- Y/N did have feelings for Edgar. Big, awful, dreadful, heavy feelings that had been festering since she was a child; it started out as a little gnat clinging to still water, then flourished to a horde. These feelings would probably feel lighter in weight and bright had they been for anyone else, but they weren’t. These. . .these stupid feelings were in vain -- there was no use to them. Y/N had never been so stupid to believe she ever had a chance with the future King of all people, and while it used to hurt when she was younger, she had finally accepted it.
Yet Harry wouldn’t stop reminding her. Saying this and that about how she wanted to sleep with him (she did) and she wanted to cuddle with him (she did) and how she wants to be the only woman he looks at (she wishes), but follows it up with exclaiming how sad it was for her to have such wants and desires. “I feel bad for you, Chambermaid,” he would say, his tone lacking anything that sounded remotely like empathy, “I really do.”
He saw right through her and it was troublesome. Nobody else had caught on that she had liked Charlie a little either -- not even Charlie himself -- but Harry knew (what Harry hadn’t pointed out was that Y/N forced herself to like Charlie so she could at least have a crush on someone more realistic, but she’s sure if he had spent any amount of time with the two of them he would have somehow figured it out). Everyone had always thought Y/N was just a loyal servant of Edgar’s who had been trained to his tastes since she was little, and had never considered she may be harboring any yearning to be with him -- but Harry knew. He could even tell when she’s had a long, tiring day, though he usually mentions it in a mean-spirited way.
“Tired after a day of being Edgar’s bootlicker, hm?”
He was as perceptive as he was cruel.
The one time he spared her of his pitiless spite is during the first bath she prepared, when he told her he wouldn’t speak about her sexually if that made her uncomfortable. Which in theory was kinder than she would expect from him, but was unwarranted -- she hadn’t been uncomfortable with him talking about her that way. If anything, she was more than intrigued to hear what he had to say about Edgar at the time and was desperately searching for some way to keep him speaking. Edgar didn’t like his women inexperienced? How so? What did he qualify as inexperienced? Was there any merit to these words or was Harry just speaking to get beneath her skin?
She wanted to know more, but the one time he decided to relent was the one time she didn’t want it, so in a way, it was just another sadistic move on his end.
Y/N was frustrated and curious -- what did Edgar like? Was it really vulgar? Y/N had snapped at Harry and in doing so, had told him she wasn’t a virgin, which was true, but she hardly would say she has much experience in the matter. She’d had sex the first time when she was around 17 and it was hardly anything to write home about either, but she didn’t want Harry to have the satisfaction of thinking she was just some novice -- though she definitely was.
One of her friends — Edith — had begun to poke fun at Harry’s interest in her earlier that day, “I’ve always thought he was the cuter of the two, lucky girl,” she told her as they scrubbed the stone floors of their shared room, “Do you know if he likes to bed chambermaids yet? He’s already feeding you, he might as well fuck you too.”
Objectively Y/N could admit that Harry was beautiful. Both of the brothers were, but there was an essence -- a light about him -- that even surpassed Edgar. He took after his mother more; his eyes were a pretty green and bright, his skin as smooth as porcelain, and he was always well-groomed. His jaw was sharp, his body well-toned but surprisingly soft around his hips and a little around his tummy. His hair was incredibly soft, it always looked nice even if it was more unruly (he preferred not to grease or gel it back from his face, embracing the curls that he’d gotten from the queen). He had a taste in clothing that was eccentric and eye-catching, and an all-encompassing presence as soon as he walked into a room.
But his attitude -- the vulgarity in his speech, and the brash way he regards everyone -- counteracts all of that.
“I don’t want him to bed me,” Y/N huffed, “He’s rotten!”
Edith clicked her tongue, “Liar, you so do -- who doesn’t?” She murmured as she scrubbed between the stones vigorously, “And it’s clear he wants to sleep with you. He was calling you a virgin, was he not? He probably wants you to ask him to teach you or summat.”
Y/N stuck her tongue out, “He’s probably shite in bed anyway,” she uttered decisively, voice low, “Men like that don’t care how their partner feels, they’re only ever acting in their own self-interest.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Edith dipped her brush into the bucket of warm, sudsy water, “I don’t know, I’ve heard from some in the court that he’s good. You’ll have to test him out, won’t you? Then tell me all about it so I can live through your actions, I’m so bored lately.”
Y/N replayed her conversation with Edith as she fixed his bath that night and even caught her gaze lingering a little longer on his body before he submerged in the water. The curve of his bum, the dimples at the base of his spine -- it was only when he turned around to face her that she tugged her gaze away, looking back to the jar of lotus petals she’d been fretting over, “What do you have planned for tonight?” He inquired, gripping the side of the tub.
“I’m meant to help decorate for the party,” she reached into the jar, grabbed a few petals, and let them drop into the water.
“Mm,” he hummed, “No you aren’t.”
She paused, looking at him with furrowed brows, “What?” Y/N knew somewhere in the back of her mind she needed to be careful with how she spoke to him -- he may let her get away with quite a lot, but she never knew when he would decide to snap and punish her for it. No matter how pleased he may seem when she spoke to him as if they were equals and he was just the obnoxious bloke who taunted her -- he was still the prince and she was still a subordinate. . .even lower than that.
Still, at the tone of her voice, Harry grinned incredibly wide, “I’ve decided you’re tending to my fire while I sleep. The nights are growing colder, don’t you think? I keep waking up with a shiver in my bones.”
Y/N’s fingernails cut into the flesh of her palm, “Pardon my questioning, Sir,” she gritted her teeth, attempting to keep her irritation from seeping into her voice, “But don’t you think it is a little unwarranted considering you have servants who are assigned to you for such a task. Where are they each night?”
“I give them the night off when you’re tending to me, Chambermaid,” he answered as if it were so clear, “How awful would it be for me to renege my promise of some free time from them?”
She took a steady breath to ground herself, and chewed hard on her bottom lip as she settled the anger building up inside of her, “Of course,” she spoke and struggled not to grimace, “How silly of me to think they ought to be the ones doing such a job, but Sir if I might -- if I might be able to just come tend to the fire every hour or so, so I can still perform my duties?”
“I believe your duty is to listen to me,” he dipped himself beneath the water, then re-emerges, with his hair slick down against his head and the nape of his neck, “Hm, what is it you’re to do? How are you decorating?”
“I’m embroidering,” she explained, “The queen wanted the insignia on each napkin.”
The grin never left Harry’s mouth, “Well, that’s a very portable task,” his cheeks were rosy from the warmth of the water -- had the circumstances been different, Y/N would have thought he was cute like this, but she wanted to smack him across the face, “You can just bring the supplies to my room, can you not?”
That’s how she ended up here, sitting in a chair at the side of Harry’s bed carefully stitching the looping patterns that created a tiger, into the corner of each napkin. In the grand scheme of things, it could be worse; the nights are growing colder, and the air in the servants' chambers is always very cold. There were worse things to be doing than embroidering in a room heated by fire, beside a gorgeous boy no matter how much of a prick he was.
It was intriguing to see him this way; his guard was let down, his features were soft, and he slept peacefully. Though it took him a while to settle after his bath -- he waited for her to come back to his room before he even crawled into his bed, and kept teasing her over little things as she got the fire going. It took her silently working while he quietly watched before he fell asleep.
On the fifth break she took from her needlework just after she added another log to the fire, she heard a little whimper. It was small, almost imperceptible if not for the silence of the room (apart from the crackling flames), but it was enough to drag her attention back to him. He’d worked the blankets down his body where it lay around his waist, his face was pinched, goosebumps pimpled along his body and his chest heaved. Another small sound, Y/N watches his lips part around it, “Help.”
Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever heard him sound so small before, at least not since they were little. It yanks at something in her heart that has her going to inspect him more closely, leaning over the mattress -- was he having a nightmare? The distress on his face would suggest the dream wasn’t very pleasant. Absently does she wonder what it may be about -- what did princes have to fear? There being too much food that their bellies couldn’t fit everything? The sheets they slept on not smelling of lemon? Women and men throwing themselves at their feet just for the sake of saying they looked in their direction?
When he whimpers for the third time, Y/N feels a sliver of guilt drip down to her gut at making light of the situation. Now that she thinks about it, Harry did have one thing to have nightmares about. Sometimes Edgar had nightmares too, about that night. . .she had been lucky enough that the memories of it didn’t haunt her. Really, Y/N couldn’t remember much of it at all -- she only knew that she’d been there, and it was the reason for the scar on her palm. She also knew that for some reason, Edgar had begun to show even more favor toward her than he already had, but he never explained why.
She doesn’t realize that her hand has left her side to brush the strands of hair from his face until the tips of her fingers touch the smooth skin of his forehead. Y/N keeps her touch tender and light as to not disturb him -- it was better to let him work himself through the nightmare, she thinks. If she were to wake him he’d only be irate with her, and would probably say something out of a sleepy fit of anger like the grumpy guy he is.
However, his dream may have already had him on the cusp of alertness, because as she began to pull the blanket up, a hand shot out to grab her wrist. She gasped quietly, looking back up to his face to find his eyes open, though bleary and lidded. He seems confused, alarmed, and not entirely awake -- her heart is hammering against her sternum from the way he startled but she tries to keep her voice calm, “I’m only covering you back up, Your Highness,” she murmured gently, “The blankets fell.”
He still stares at her, silently at first, before a raspy voice replies, “Stay by my side for the night?” It does not sound like an order, but a pitiful request -- she can feel her pulse drum against his fingers.
“Yes, I will,” she answered, holding his gaze, “I already told you I would tend to your fire tonight, Sir. I’ll be here when both the sun and you rise.”
Harry seemed pleased with her response, enough that he loosens his grip on her wrist and allows her to pull the blankets back up to his chest. His cheeks are flushed pink again, all rosy and sweet -- how gentle does he look like this? Almost like there was no trace of the spiteful, crude man that torments her throughout the day. Did it really take him being plagued by frightening dreams to soften even just slightly toward her?
“Thank you, Y/N.” He said moments before his eyes fluttered closed.
It was the first time he had ever called her by name.
. . .
Harry did not care much for parties.
The wine was nice and mingling with those outside the castle could be great fun as well, but Harry grew bored with that about an hour or so in. He’d always found them as thinly veiled excuses to dress in finery and allow those of the court to feel more important than they were. It also gave Edgar a chance to really strut his stuff as the predetermined king, and that irritated Harry to no end. Maybe the foods they brought out could remedy the outlook Harry had on such nights, but knowing that they would make duck and partridge because they were Edgar’s favorites soured that quickly -- nobody gave a shite what he liked, and that pissed him off even more.
So about two hours in, after Harry had his phone with a distant relative called Niall (who had plenty of stories to tell while he put away cup after cup of wine until he inevitably passed out before the four-hour mark), Harry is drunk and lounging around in a chair off in the corner, bored out of his wits. He had his leg up over the arm of the chair waving back and forth while he sloshed the little wine left in his cup around the bottom, supporting his chin with his hand. A small group had formed around him and been speaking to him for the better half of an hour at this point -- he believes one of them is named Lorene -- and Harry was only partly paying attention. He was distracted though, his eyes flitting around the room as he sought out his chambermaid.
All the servants wore different attire for their more extravagant gatherings, as it would be unsightly for them to be wandering around in their regular cleaning smocks. So they are dressed well, in matching grey gowns that cinch at the waist with halter bodices for the women, and grey ironed pants with white button-ups for the men. They even pin their hair up if it was long enough, or for those with shorter hair, they were allowed to gel it back. It was interesting to see them all done up, and Harry was incredibly curious to see what Y/N looked like this way.
He knew she would be working tonight, but in the two hours he’s spent mingling around the room, he had yet to see her. So when he catches sight of one of the other women he often sees Y/N hanging around -- he flags her down, waving his hand toward her. “Good evening, Your Highness,” she greeted him, lowering the tray of wine glasses she’s been holding, “This is mulberry wine.”
“Yes, thank you,” he reached for one, tosses back the rest of the wine he’d been playing with before exchanging the glasses, “You spend ample time with Y/N, do you not? The chambermaid?”
The girl smiled, even wider, almost as if she knew something the others around them didn’t, “Yes, I do. Would you like me to fetch her for you?”
Harry shook his head, “No, I can go to her myself if you could just direct me?”
“Of course, Sir!” She seemed all too chipper to be at his aid, and Harry wonders if Y/N has told this girl anything about their relationship. If she had, shouldn’t she have more reservations in taking him to her? He’s certain Y/N would be hard-pressed to find out the only reason Harry -- the man she quietly loathes -- found her, was because of her friend. If the roles were reversed, that would stir up a fight between Harry and any of his mates (but perhaps Harry’s temper is just poor).
As soon as he and the servant were out of earshot from the group that had been surrounding him, the women began gently, “If I might say something?” Harry hummed, encouraging her to continue, “Thank you for treating her with those sweets and fruits in the morning. Y/N often skips breakfast and barely makes time for lunch in order to get not only her duties done but others as well. She’s had much more energy the last few weeks. And since you’ve been asking her to your chambers for the bath, it stops the others from using her -- everyone knows she has trouble denying them help, and they take advantage of that.” Her voice is low, and Harry makes sure to slow down to her pace so he can hear her clearly, even tipping his ear down toward her to combat the music and chatter filling the room. “I know my gratitude may mean very little to you, but I just thought it should be said.”
Really, Harry had never considered what he was doing for her as something that needed to be thanked. Hell, Harry hadn’t even thought she was telling anybody that he was feeding her as frequently as he was. The knowledge that she shared this with someone sparked something inside of him -- he isn’t sure what it was exactly, but it was something that gave him a small smile.
“What is your name?” Harry inquired.
“I’m Edith.” She replied.
“Well, Edith, there’s no reason to thank me,” he told her, “I don’t mind taking her at night nor filling her belly with treats. Though I hadn’t thought she was very appreciative -- she always appears more like she wants to bite my head off than eat anything I’ve given her.”
Edith scrunched her face and shook her head, “She loves it,” she led him through the archway, into the corridor, pointing her finger down the hall as if to tell him ‘this way’ while she continued to speak, “Though she does get. . .confused, when it comes to you, Sir. She has no idea what you think of her.”
Harry caught sight of Y/N coming from the kitchen, gripping a tray of mini sponge cakes tightly and staring at it with a worried face. She looks. . .cute, from what he could see of her. Though there wasn’t much difference in how she looked today apart from her hair drawn up and pinned and the change in dress -- he could admit that she looked quite nice.
“Y/N!” Edith calls, rushing over as quickly as she could without tipping the tray of wine, and she dips closely, whispering something into her ear. Y/N’s eyes flicker over to where Harry stands and her face twists up like something foul had been dripped onto her tongue. Harry can distantly hear Edith remark, “Play nice!” before dipping away.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” she cleared her throat, “How are you enjoying the night?”
Harry shrugged his shoulders, “It’s like any other night, just more bodies and alcohol,” the glint of the light in her hair catches his eye, as he squints and leans forward, “What’s this? A jeweled hairpin?” He reaches out and touches it with the tip of his finger, “Ah, this is what you receive for being Edgar’s cock warmer, hm?”
Her face drops, features stern and stony, “No,” she said curtly, “He gave me this for my birthday, is all. I don’t have many excuses to wear it.”
“Hm,” Harry took a moment, chewing on whether or not he should let Y/N know that Edgar was a cheap, worthless bastard who had given her the hairpin that he’d tried to give a French princess who rejected him. . .but even Harry wasn’t that cruel. Though he does note, “I have one that would suit you much better,” because -- well, he does. It was clear that this was not bought with her in mind. A good accessory would do something to bring out the natural beauty in the owner, and this had been purchased for someone who had a specific color hair and a certain hue of their irises, both of which Y/N did not possess. Harry had bought one long ago, and he knew for a fact the carnelian crystals would not only match the trees succumbing to autumn but would suit Y/N much better.
Her brows furrow and she opens her mouth but he continues speaking so that she can’t, “Come outside with me.”
“What?” She raised the tray in her hands a little higher, like he hadn’t seen it in her hands, “Can’t you go alone, Sir? I must hand out these cakes, I’m unable to -- wait!”
It was easy to pluck the tray of desserts out of her hand with one of his, and he only has to pivot slightly to find someone walking by them, “I do not wish to be alone. You there,” he catches the bloke's attention, and watches as the man begins to bow, “No, none of that -- just take these and hand them out, won’t you?”
“Yes, Your Highness!” He says, twisting on his heel and heading back to the ballroom in which he had come.
Harry turned to face Y/N with a grin, and her shoulders sank as she acquiesced, “Okay,” she replied, “We can go outside, Sir, but I should really get back soon. The work doubles on nights like these.”
He waved his hand in the air as if he were brushing away what she said as unimportant, “I just want to step outside for a moment, then you can do as you please.”
There was no real reason that Harry wanted to go outside, other than wanting to step away from the fuss of the party. It was too much and he was beginning to develop a headache just behind his temples, which the violins were not easing in the slightest. His words had been true -- he didn’t feel like being alone, and if he was honest being outside in the night brought a chill to his spine. Harry could have gotten any servant to go out there with him, he knew that and Y/N knew that too, but he finds he is most comfortable with her. The air is not as. . .tense, as it was otherwise. Everyone else was so stiff and anxious, hoping not to upset him but their silence only bothers him. They don’t play into his whims either -- not his teases or his taunts.
Y/N’s good for that though. She reacts to everything, grumbles, and gripes, and shows every single emotion coursing through her right on her face. It was rare that someone in the court had not mastered the art of impassivity, and Y/N stood out like a kitten among rats.
So, he’s found that he likes to spend time with her best. This is why he had led her all the way outside, nodding at the guards who stood watch at one of the entries to a small balcony. With no grander reason than wanting to take a moment of fresh air with someone not completely boring to him.
He hadn’t guessed that Edgar would be outside fondling Luella’s breast, his tongue inspecting her mouth.
Y/N quietly gasps beside him, which stirs Edgar’s attention. He parts from Luella with a smack of their lips detaching, his hand falling from her chest -- the both of them look so embarrassed; Luella bashfully slinks away from him, turning away to look out toward the changing trees, while Edgar cleared his throat, “What. . .what are you two doing out here?”
The wind blows cool air, pimpling goosebumps along all of their skin. Harry lets out a startled laugh, the wine sloshing in his glass as he looked from Edgar to Luella, to Y/N, then back to his brother, “I reckon the chambermaid and I should be asking you that,” he snorted, “You couldn’t even wait for all your adoring fans to get drunk and fall asleep, huh? Had to get your cock wet this early into the night?”
“For fuck sake, Harry, there are ladies present --”
“See,” he turned toward Y/N, who had looked down toward her feet -- he couldn’t see her face very clearly in the light, “I told you he was a lecher, didn’t I, Sweetheart?”
Edgar scoffs, “I’m the lecher? You’d be a libertine if not a prince!”
Chuckling, Harry retorts, “That’s an awful fancy word, big brother, did you learn it in Princess Dowdenl’s mouth?”
“Forgive me, for speaking out of turn,” Y/N began suddenly beside him, and she tugs Harry’s attention back in her direction. Though he still could not clearly make out her face, he could hear the tremble in her voice -- the defeated inhale of a quivery breath -- and it tells him all he needs to know, of how she’s feeling in that moment, “But I must get back to help with the party. I hope you all enjoy your night.”
She turned quickly, her face still tipped down to the floor as she pushed herself back through the door. Harry begins to follow her, but now without looking at Edgar with a small shake of his head, “Well, look at what you’ve done,” he uttered, “You’ve upset the poor girl. Prick.”
Here is why Harry believes he’s much better than Edgar, despite how ruthlessly he picks on Y/N: he wasn’t giving her any false hope. Edgar may be sweet on her, sure, he may give her gifts, have tea with her, and go out of his way to make her feel special -- but that in itself is a different type of sadism. Even if Edgar truly wanted to be with Y/N, there was no earthly way that any one of the court, nor their parents, would accept a servant as the next queen, and bearer of Edgar’s heirs. He knows this, yet still, he pretends like they could be something more.
The truth of it is, Edgar probably just likes that Y/N has feelings for him without her particular gain in mind. Harry can spot someone scouting for a spouse that could make them wealthier, or give them more power, and Y/N was almost aggressively opposite of that. Not only that, he definitely just enjoyed that there was someone who thought he hung each of the stars, the rotten fuck.
Those feelings she had for Edgar, no matter how silly Harry thinks they are -- were very real to her. Probably having proliferated since childhood. . .Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Y/N was in love with Edgar, honestly, though he believes she would be in love with the idea of him more. The Edgar that Edgar decided to show her. All prior arguments and feuds aside, Harry knew his brother, and he was not the man he pretended to be for her. He was superficial, quietly rude, and incredibly fake -- Harry bets he went out of his way to confront him about messing with her so that she thought even better of him than she already did.
It’s disgusting and foul. . .at least Harry is honest with her.
Harry caught up to Y/N as she went down a more unoccupied corridor, faster than she’s ever seen her walk, and unresponsive to his calling her name. As soon as his hand rests on her shoulder, she tugs herself away from him, “Get away from me,” she demanded, and when Harry tries to stop her again, gripping her wrist, she lifts her hand up and throws it down, as she turned to face him, “I said get away from me!”
For the first time since Harry started speaking to Y/N, he feels at a loss for words.
Tears over-flood her eyes, trailing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. Her lips seemed bitten and swollen, red already like she had been gnawing and chewing at them since the moment they had stepped outside. She looked so sad as she attempted to stare him down resolutely, but it would take an imbecile to not know that all she wanted was to be held, by the very man who just broke her heart.
“I could deal with the teasing,” she began, wiping at her face, “I could deal with the taunting and the mean words, and you saying rude things -- I didn’t. . .it’s annoying, but it’s manageable but this -- this I -- you’re awful!” Fresh tears pool over her face, “I know you hate him, I know you don’t like me, but to -- to show me that? I already knew I didn’t have a chance, you remind me every day, but you didn’t need to show me. What do you get out of -- out of being such a dick?”
Stunned, Harry looked at her earnestly, “Listen, I didn’t know they were out there! How could I have orchestrated something like that? As far as I was concerned the prick was still chatting up the others in the ballroom,” he shook his head, “I’m an asshole, I know that, but even I am not as cruel as to show you the man you care for entangled with another. You must believe me.” Her chest heaves as she squints at him, searching his face for any sign of falsehood. “Why would I lie to you, Chambermaid? What would I gain from that, hm?” He reasoned with her, “If I had any part in this, would I have not taken credit immediately? You know me well enough to realize I would have.”
Her shoulders sink in defeat as she finally recognizes he was right, “Still,” she barely spoke above a whisper, “You didn’t need to laugh at me.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you. It was the situation as a whole, and how dumb he looked that made me chuckle..” Sighing, he switches the glass of wine to his left hand as he reaches out toward her face with the right. Harry is gentle as he caresses her wet cheeks, wiping away the tears from her skin with the pad of his thumb, “Pitiful little thing,” he cooed at her, using his knuckles to rub against the other cheek as she hiccuped, “You’re all worked up, over such a prat.”
What possesses Harry to cradle her face in his hand? He isn’t sure; probably the same thing that possessed him to invite her to his chambers after her eyelids flutter closed and she melts into his touch, “Come to my room. You don’t have to do anything, you may just rest for a little while. Ought to make the fucker squirm if he can’t find you, don’t you think?”
Y/N, broken and melancholy, nods her head and allows him to grab her wrist again, only this time it is to direct her through the halls to his room. It was clearly understood by both parties that she knew better than anyone all the different routes to take to get to each and every single room in the castle, but neither spoke of it. Y/N quietly lets him guide her, and Harry makes note of the way her pulse drums against his fingertips.
They make it to his room with no fuss and no interruptions. Harry presses her in first and closes the door with a click behind them. The party sounded a village away from them now, as she stood helplessly in the middle of his room, unsure of what to do if she was not working for him. Harry huffs a laugh through his nose, setting the wine glass down on his dresser, “Sit on the bed, and direct me how to start a fire.”
Her face pinched in confusion, “Sir? Should I not just start the fire myself?”
“I told you that you may rest for a while. What would I look like to say that, then put you to work immediately?” He goes to grab the basket of pine needles from near his mirror, only knowing that this was a part of it because he’d watched his servants add them, “Surely, it can’t be that hard. Little known fact, Chambermaid,” he lowers to his knees, and grabs the iron and flint that were typically left in a bucket beside the fireplace itself, “I fear very little. I should be frightened of fires due to an incident back when I was younger, but I am not scared. Pretty doughty of me, wouldn’t you say?” Harry neglects to mention that he had probably shoved the memories so deep down in his brain he couldn’t remember how it felt to be scared of it.
Y/N laughs a little, but she still sounds so tired, “Very doughty, Sir,” she began, “I. . .I think I also had a brush with fire. It still scares me some.”
“How’d you get past that?” He reaches into the bucket of pine needles, sprinkling them in between the logs that had already been replaced that evening -- now that he thinks about it, Harry believes Y/N is the one who brought these into his room. She preferred being almost over-prepared and he believes this is why she’s able to work so quickly.
He hears the bedframe shift when she takes a seat, and Harry tosses a look back to see that she was sat on the very edge of a corner. It almost makes him chuckle aloud -- he guesses it would make sense that a servant wouldn’t be comfortable sitting on a prince’s bed, no matter the fact that they were the ones preparing it each night. Harry doesn’t press the issue. He isn’t going out of his way to be kind to her, but he did decide that he would give her a little bit of a break, from both her duties and from his torment. It’s the least he could offer, after unintentionally subjecting her to what he had.
“I don’t think I ever really got past it,” she finally answered him, “But I am made to do fires often, and few people of the court accept a chambermaid ignoring a fire because she’s “scared” of it. Now that I think about it, if I would have told you, I think you might have put me on fire duty each and every night from the start.”
Harry hums lowly, “As intriguing as that thought is, I wouldn’t have,” he strikes the iron against the piece of flint -- he’d learned how to create a fire long ago actually, he’d only asked her to direct him so he could get her talking but she seemed to be doing just fine with their conversation as is, “Fire is the one thing I don’t push when it comes to people. Had you told me you hated fire, I would have agreed with you and found a separate way to trouble you.”
It takes a few tries but Harry eventually does get the fire started, pridefully turning to face her with a gentle grin, “I’m not just a pretty face, you know?”
Y/N had a faraway look in her eyes until he spoke, and when her gaze met his, it seemed like her lips were moving before her brain could catch up, “Prince Harry? You said. . .you said once that if I were to ever -- if I were to ever be with Edgar, I couldn’t be inexperienced.”
Harry stares at her for a moment, his mind bubbling up with potential responses before he settles on a heavy sigh, plopping down to the floor on his bum, resting his forearms on his knees, “So I take it this wasn’t enough to curb your feelings, huh?” She is quiet, her eyes suggest she’s not proud of herself for it, “Well, you’re a loyal one, I’ll give you that much Yes, I said you couldn’t be inexperienced, but as I recall you told me you weren’t a virgin/”
She shook her head adamantly, “Because I’m not! I haven’t been since I was 17, but I certainly am not experienced in much else other than. . .um. . .like, the normal stuff.”
A snort leaves him, “The normal stuff? And what might that be, Chambermaid?”
The look on her face gives Harry a small thrill up his spine, as he bites down hard on his bottom lip while she fights for the words to say, her brows pinched inward, “You know like. . .intercourse, in itself, Sir. He -- we, um -- we did it.”
“You’re more pathetic than you look, d’ya know that?” Harry ran the pad of his thumb over his brow, questioning the pit of disgust that plants in his belly at the thought of Y/N in bed with someone else. . .it’s an odd feeling; he wasn’t necessarily jealous, because he had no reason to be, but he definitely was something. How odd. “Well, you’d definitely want to know more than just someone sticking their cock in you, that’s for sure.”
“But how am I supposed to practice?” She tilted her head some, “I don’t know anybody to do it with. The only other person I would have chosen might have been Charlie, but he and Miri have decided to officially start dating.”
Harry knows for sure that the prospect of Y/N practicing with some random servant sends a cold chill down his spine. Like cold slick tendrils, slithering through his gut, laying eggs and setting his stomach heavy. There’s this feeling again. . .it was unusually nagging, pulling at his better judgment and he wished to do away with it immediately. If it wasn’t jealousy, then what the fuck was it? Had he ever felt this way regarding someone before?
“Would,” Y/N began, shuffling, managing to make Harry’s incredibly comfortable bed look like a mattress made of hot coal and steel, “Sir, I know this is a lot to ask but do you think that perhaps. . .perhaps you can teach me? I don’t have to touch you or anything!” She rushes the last part out, Harry thinks it was probably due to his eyes widening -- for as meek as she is, her even suggesting it would be seen as audacious, let alone actually asking him, “I know it may be an unsavory thought to allow me to touch you in any way other than what is necessary, and for that reason, I only wondered if you could talk me through it?”
In his time on this earth, Harry had learned early that he did not like to be the one caught off guard. For this reason, he forces his face to relax, a smirk replacing his once agape mouth, as he turns it back around onto her “Do you have a crush on me as well, Chambermaid? Who knew you could be so filthy!”
“No!” She denied quickly, “No, I just thought it would be easier because. . .well, you know the situation already and everything, I wouldn’t have to explain myself.”
“I can say your taste has become remarkably better if this is true,” he continued, “I’m by far the better looking out of Edgar and me, and it’s about time you see that. For this reason, I’ll help you.”
Her whole body relaxes, and she smiles gently, “Thank you!” It’s the most expressive he’s seen her being happy, and she claps her hands together once, “I promise I will not take this for granted, Sir! I will do my best to learn very well.”
Harry ignores the small flutter in his heart.
“Go get honey from the kitchen,” he instructed her, “Then you’ll come back and prepare a bath for me.”
. . .
Y/N has always worked quickly, but it appeared to be twice as fast tonight; if she was nervous that he wanted to start so soon to her telling him, then she hid it well. Even Harry wasn’t sure why he was so eager to begin, but as he’d been doing with most of his feelings tonight, he thought it would be best had he not questioned it too deeply. It had been a while since he’d done anything intimate with anyone, so it was normal for him to be excited. Cumming by something other than his hand would be relieving, even if it was just her palm in replacement.
She drew the bath, filled it with petals, and washed his hair for him as she usually does. There was a tension in the air that could be sliced through, both occupied with the anticipation of what was to come, though Harry pretended that it was only her who was waiting for something. As he was walking up the stairs and removing himself from the tub, he teased her, “I may be willing to help you, Chambermaid, but that does not mean you’re allowed to stare at my cock so openly.”
“I was not!” Y/N exclaimed, “I was looking at your feet, Sir, I always do to make sure you don’t step in a puddle.”
Harry knew this because whenever she did see he was about to step in a puddle she was quick to throw a towel down and have him step on it instead -- but still, he recants, “Likely story,” he held out his arms so she could slide his robe on, “I’ve got a pretty one, so I understand why you’re gawking.”
Y/N is twitching and jittery as she shows him she got the honey and had even brought a cup of tea with her out of the assumption that was what the honey was for. It made him laugh when she asked how much he wanted in his cup, before he tutted his tongue, and sought out the glass of wine he’d brought in there earlier. “Do you like mulberry wine?” He inquired, and Y/N looked at him with uncertainty -- almost like it was a trick question.
“We are not allowed to have mulberry wine, Sir. That is reserved for those of the court.”
“You’ve never snuck a sip?” Harry watches her closely as her hands nurse the honey between them as she shakes her head, “Would you like to try it?”
Her eyes widened, “Really?”
“What reason would I have to lie?” He motioned for her to come closer to him, where he stood near the post of his bed. She had been standing idly to his seating area beside the fire, but it took her no time to come closer to him. Harry swirled the wine around in the bowl of the cup, “Reserved for the court, hm? Well, we wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for trying it. Perhaps if it was offered from the mouth of a prince -- do you think that would do?”
“I am -- I am unsure what you mean.” She admitted to him, and it almost made him chuckle -- for as smart as she could be, she was quite clueless at times.
So Harry tips the glass back and takes the wine between his lips, he holds it instead of swallowing and takes her by the jaw carefully. Y/N squeaks when Harry draws down on her bottom lip presses his mouth to hers and pushes the wine from his tongue to hers. Some of it dribbles down her chin, a thin red stain left like a creature of the night who’d just fed, “Swallow,” he reminded her and she did, still looking dazed by what had happened, her eyes remaining puffy from her crying earlier, “Good?”
“Very good, Sir,” she answered quickly, “Thank you.”
He nodded and granted her a smile, “Good. From now on if you have wine, you’ll take it from my mouth. Understand?”
“Yes.” She wiped the wine from her face.
Harry switches her the wine glass for the honey pot, telling her to set it on his nightstand while he pulls the tie of his robe. The cloth fell open, revealing first his torso and then his prick which had been getting harder and harder -- what they were about to do was finally settling into his brain. He shivered as he lowered to the mattress, sitting near the edge and stretching out so he was leaning on his elbows. When Y/N finally turned around to face him, she looked away from him bashfully, “What do you know about sucking someone off, hm?”
Clearing her throat, she plays with her fingers, “I don’t know much, Sir. Only that it involves putting the. . .in your mouth.”
“The ‘what’, Chambermaid? You’ll have to be more specific.”
Her brows furrow and her gaze meets his, “You know what. Don’t make me say it.”
“You’ll need to get used to saying it, but since it is your first time I suppose I’ll let it slide. Don’t expect me to always be so kind,” he told her, “You put someone’s cock in your mouth, sure, but there is much more to it than that. There is build-up, edging. . .a lot goes into it that you need to know about to fully satisfy your partner.”
She nodded as she maintained hard eye contact -- it was the first time she’d looked into his eyes for this long, but he reckons it has more to do with her trying desperately not to look at his prick than it did her feeling confident, “And Prince Edgar likes that?”
“Most people like that done to them if they’ve got a cock,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I do know that he once went soft in a woman’s mouth because she wasn’t very good. That would haunt me for weeks if someone went soft in my mouth of all places -- wouldn’t it for you?” Y/N agrees quietly as Harry pries the robe open more, “Now it can be hard knowing where and how to lick, so I thought it would be easier if you had something to guide you. You like honey, don’t you, Chambermaid? I recall you saying you enjoy it in your tea.”
“I do,” she motioned toward the honey, “You want me to lick it off of you?”
Harry hums, “Yes, I think that would be easiest. Now, if at any time you want to stop and if even now you do not want to start -- tell me immediately and we will end it. You will not be punished, I am no monster. This is for your benefit, so we will tailor it to you -- I do not wish for you to be uncomfortable or in pain. Alright?”
“Of course! I -- thank you very much.”
“Don’t thank me for basic human decency,” he took the handle of the honey dipper between his fingers, spinning it around a few times before slowly withdrawing it from the pot -- he slid it across his torso. Some on his chest, some along his tummy in different spots, spots at the dip of his hips, and down to his thighs. He drops the dipper back into the pot, “Come now.”
Y/N comes to him cautiously, like he was a sleeping bear in the woods, before standing awkwardly in front of him. She was still in her gown for the party, and she wrings the skirt between her hands, eyes shifted off to stare at the side of the bed like there was something written in the blankets. Harry chuckled, tutting his tongue, “You’re so tense -- relax. I’m not going to bite you.”
“I know,” she sighed, “I am just very nervous. I want to be good, but I know that takes practice. Still, I don’t want -- I don’t want you to go soft in my mouth.”
It was endearing. . .her want and strive to be good was very endearing, Harry found. It was right then that Harry understood how pleased he was that she asked him to help.
“I hardly think that’s possible,” Harry attempted to comfort her, “Just try your best.”
Sure, Harry would tease her when she became more comfortable but he would be gentle as was possible for him right now. This was something new, and despite his cock being out, he would bet she felt more vulnerable than even he did. She doesn’t tremble, but she’s slow and steady as she leans her body over his, resting her arms on either side of him to keep her at least partially steady as she hovers. Harry felt a small shiver trip down his spine when she lowered her head, and her tongue touched tentatively, and very gently against the honey just below his chest. His cock twitches in interest as she lulls over the spot again then lifts her head to look at him -- they were much closer than he anticipated.
“Like that?”
“Exactly like that,” he murmured, “Keep going.”
Her response is a small, proud smile before she ducks back down and more confidently drag her tongue along another strip of honey between the crevice of his pecs. Who would have thought the chambermaid he’d been tormenting could make him feel fond? He was feeding off her want to do well -- nobody really tried hard to impress Harry anymore, and even if, in the end, this was because she wanted to impress someone else. . .well, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed how wet her tongue felt as she dragged it against his skin, the way she began to scoot down lower, tasting what was on his tummy, and how he felt her smile when she suckled the dollop in the dip of his lower hip.
By the time she had licked it all off of his chest, belly, and sides, Harry was already fully hard. She’d unintentionally been pressing it down with her body until she lowered down to her knees and Harry pressed himself up to a sitting position. His cock bobs as he shifts closer to the edge of the bed, the tip already flushed a ruddy red and precum threatening to bubble at the tip. Harry was maybe a little too aroused, but fuck it was hard not to be this turned on. He was all about the build-up -- the gradual rise in foreplay, as it got more desirous and eager. Y/N hadn’t reached that point yet, as she was still slow, calm, and calculated in her movements -- but Harry was reaching it. He wanted the edge, sure, but he wanted her tongue on him more than that.
It was just because he’s been pent up, he tells himself -- that would make sense. He just needs to cum so badly it’s making him impatient, but for her, he tries to keep pace. This isn’t for him, or at least not entirely. He was helping her because he benefited from it, sure, but they were not focusing solely on his pleasure. It was meant to be a learning experience that Y/N could not have with anyone else, Harry decided, without his feelings being a little weird about it.
He took the honey dipper once more and spun it around in the viscous fluid, and dribbled some around his thighs, all leading closer to his cock that stood proudly now. Y/N regarded it with awe, and Harry bit down on his bottom lip before speaking, “Biggest you’ve seen, isn’t it?”
“Your cocksure ways make much more sense now,” she tells him, then continued her ministrations only this time on his thighs -- she was diligent in licking all of the honey off of him, and Harry’s cock twitched and throbbed each time she drew closer to it. The whole scene before him was obscenely erotic, like something he would have seen in the naughty paintings they sell in the back of some stores in the village below them. He was wet at the tip, slick and close to dripping. Her tongue was soft and delicate and keen on pleasing. Each time she pauses to move to a different spot, she looks up to him as if she’s asking if it felt good, and each time he gives a small, wordless nod to assure her.
When she finished cleaning him of the honey, she sat back on her knees and waited for his next instruction, “See how hard I am?” Harry took the pad of his index finger, and starting from the base of this shaft he strokes up the center, toward the head, then swirls it around in liquid oozing from him, “This is how hard you want them to be before you even touch it with your tongue.”
“What if they aren’t that hard though?” She asks him, and it seems to be physically difficult for her to tear her eyes from his cock and it makes him smug -- everyone always gets caught up when he’s like this in front of them.
“Then they aren’t worth your time,” he answered quickly, “You’ve done well to get me like this, and I’m a hard man to please, Chambermaid. Good job.” Once again, the soft smile that fits upon her mouth out of pride in her ability is enough to make him twitch. He withdraws his finger from the tip and takes the precum that clung to it toward her mouth. Harry rubs it over her lips, “Have a taste.”
Y/N timidly traces her lips with her tongue, lulling over them slowly and somehow managing to be unintentionally seductive in doing so, “You have such a lewd little mouth,” he utters, mostly to himself, “Open up.” Obediently, she listens, relaxing her jaw and allowing him to dip two fingers against her tongue, “Have you ever had an ice lolly? Practice with these fingers, Puppy, keep your teeth covered and I’ll see about giving you a treat.”
Brows furrowed, she squints at him but swirls her tongue around his fingers, lapping and licking between them. She suckles on them and makes good on keeping her teeth covered for the most part, apart from a few scrapes here and there. He pets down, feeling the texture of her taste buds, but when Y/N tries to take more of him he scolds her, “Be careful,” he murmured, “Take them slowly and stop when it’s too much -- there is no need to impress me.” Nodding as much as she could, she sticks to where she is, her lips wrapped around his first set of knuckles.
At some point Harry feels her huff a harsh breath through her nose like she wasn’t taking enough air in at a time, so he withdrew his fingers, mindful of the spit that clung to them, “Remember to breathe. Don’t want you passing out with your mouth on someone.”
“Is -- is it good? Am I doing the right things with my tongue?”
He has to take a small, deep breath to ground himself -- god, this was turning him on almost too much, “You’re doing well at experimenting. It’s important to try different things and pay attention to the reaction you’re getting, both from the person’s face, sounds, and the cock in your mouth. Then you adapt it to them.”
Y/N sighs, “This is a lot more work than I thought,” she explained to him, “Edith says she just holds her mouth open and lets people do what they wish.”
“Well, that’s certainly one way to do it. Everyone likes separate things, it just depends on who you’re with, and it comes easier with time. Like horseback riding or summat.”
It is unfamiliar to be this way, Harry finds. There are not many opportunities that anyone comes to Harry for advice about anything at all -- even if the subject matter is quite smutty, it still feels nice. Even more so when she seems receptive to his directions and the things he’s telling her.
He took the hand that she was sucking on his fingers from, and wrapped them loosely around his cock, giving himself one pump to relieve some of the pressure that had begun to build. A small groan leaves his throat as his eyes flutter closed and he pumped a second time. He had to be slow about it, and incredibly light -- he thinks all the suspense and preparation for it was really getting to him. That, coupled with the unadulterated urge to please him that Y/N was oozing out of every pore. . .he’d have to be careful not to cum as soon as she put her mouth on him. It would be difficult.
“I think I can do it without the honey -- licking you, I mean,” she says suddenly, “I didn’t mind how you tasted from what you rubbed on my lips, and all that honey will rot my teeth.”
For fuck sake -- this would be incredibly difficult.
“Alright,” he began, and reached for her mouth again -- this time she opens up without him having to move or say anything, and it makes his cock twitch, “You’re going to rub your tongue,” he made a show of touching her tongue again, then taking it out of her mouth, and caressing his shaft once more, “And take one long lick from base to tip. From there I’m going to let you take the reins and explore some. Do as I said and try to find out what I like, then modify and adjust your technique to match it.”
Y/N barely gives him time to blink before she’s on him, wet and soft, her tongue slides up his shaft toward the head and he throbs against her because of it. The sound that leaves him is somewhere around a startled moan, not expecting her to begin so quickly -- she must have been anxious to. Or she was eager. . .maybe she had finally reached the point where it was difficult for her to wait. The thought of that nearly makes him cum, but he focuses on his breathing until he calms down.
She takes experimenting literally, from little kitten licks to sliding the broad of her tongue around the crown. When she finally decides to take him into her mouth, she only pulls the very tip in to practice sucking on just that, and Harry feels himself twitching. His fingers dig into the sheets (the honey pot that had been in his hand, he’d balanced carefully on the bed-frame at the foot of the bed but it would wobble if he moved too much) as he watches her swollen, reddened lips pull in a little bit at a time.
It’s when she dips her tongue into his slit that Harry’s hips thrust up restlessly, shoving more into her mouth when a helpless mewl tears from his chest, “Ah, fuck,” he murmured, sliding his fingers into her hair and giving her a short tug, “Sorry -- you surprised me.”
Blinking at him, she catches her breath for a moment, “That was a good -- a good sound, right?”
“Of course it was,” he answered honestly, and he had more to say -- more to praise her with -- but he’s distracted by the pin still tucked into her hair. He gripped it between his fingers, “This cheap thing,” he uttered, pulling it from the carefully crafted bun it’d been placed into, tossing it to the side on the bed, “I know he gave it to you, but get rid of it. I wasn’t lying when I said he’d gotten it for someone else.”
Her mood seems to dampen at the reminder, shoulders slumping, “I know but. . .it was still a gift.”
Harry exhales, a small shake of his head, “You’re hopeless, aren’t you, Sweetheart? It’s pitiful,” he uses his knuckle to run across her spit-slicked lips, “I guess it can’t be helped. I’ll find you one actually worth something so you see what a worthless, cheap bastard he is.” She nipped at his knuckle -- almost like a little warning -- and despite the context of it, it kept his mood from souring, “Right then, get your tongue back on my cock before your unrequited love depresses me.”
Y/N dips back in, pulling the tip back into her mouth with no preamble to it. It is sloppy, the deeper she takes him in, the more she drools, but she tries to keep her tongue swirling and moving as she hollows her cheeks to give him a proper suck. More precum drips from his cock into her mouth, so she does it again, this time adding a small bob of her head -- he doesn’t expect it, which makes his thighs quiver slightly. He keeps his hand curled up in her hair but not to force her down, but when his fingers curl up tightly and he gives a slight pull with another throb against her tongue -- she pulls off. Her brows are pinched, and she almost looks frustrated that she stopped.
The scene is so lewd, though -- the look on her face, the way her eyes are still a little watery from when he thrusted in too far, all the spit and precum attaching her mouth to the head of his prick.
“I didn’t even go too deeply that time,” she whined, “Why did you stop me? I wanted to keep going.”
His heart is racing against his chest -- how could she be this unintentionally lascivious and cute?
“I wasn’t stopping you,” he murmured, “I pulled on your hair because I felt good. There’s a little bit of a difference between me tugging you off and just clutching tightly,” he then adds, a smirk on his mouth, “You wanted to keep going, huh? Why is that?”
She shuffles impatiently, shifting her weight from knee-to-knee, “I like the sounds you’re making,” she admits to him, “And the feel of it in my mouth. Your cheeks are all rosy too, I wondered if they would get pinker when you finished.”
Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he chews on it for a moment, taking in her words, letting them roll around and settle in his belly, “When you get back on me, I’m probably going to cum,” he murmured, “Whether you swallow it or not is up to you. It’ll be a mouthful, so when you feel me throb tip it to your cheek so you don’t choke on it.”
The notice doesn’t deter her -- Y/N takes him back in with double the fervor and enthusiasm she had before, only this time she adds her hand and wraps her fingers around what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Harry’s eyelids flutter, his head tips back and he whimpers when the first wave of his orgasm flushed through him. It’s a lot — too much — like static running through his veins and fizzling throughout his body. Rope after rope empties into her mouth, and when it gets too full, she pops off of him, and he shoots one more over her face before the rest is dribbling over her lips.
He expects her to spit it out, but Y/N swallows it and gives a wet gasp shortly after. Harry laughs breathlessly, finally letting his fingers fall from her hair as he rests back on his arm, his torso stretched out before her, “How’s it taste?”
“I like it,” her chest rises and falls quickly as she sucks in air, “I thought I wouldn’t but I liked it.”
Harry thumbs away at the cum on her cheek, dipping it against her lips, “Who would have thought the Chambermaid was a cum whore? I bet your pussy’s wet too. Shall I Tell the others or will you?” He taunts her as she takes his thumb into her mouth, licking it off.
“You’re mean and vulgar and obnoxious, Your Highness,” she grumbled, “And you’re not allowed to yell at or punish me for saying it because I made you cum.”
chiaroscuro part five: things are new and different and y/n can’t stop her heart from fluttering while harry’s convinced his has begun beating just for her
wordcount: 9.5k+
—————
Since the night of their date—their date!—, (Y/N) had found it easier and easier to speak to Harry. He actually allowed her to speak, and wasn’t so stoic all of the time. It made her happy, noticing the changes he made for her.
(Y/N) was sat in Harry’s home art studio, him having invited her to join him earlier that morning to keep him company while he painted. He had been shooting her longing glances all through breakfast (just her eating while he sat at the table with her), tracing her features and seeming to hold back sighs every once in a while. His studio was exactly what she would think an Italian painter would have.
The room was full of large windows, showing the landscape behind the mansion and allowing large shafts of sunlight to stream through. It was bright and open, the space littered with different canvases with supplies tucked away in a cabinet. Many of the canvases were already filled with different scenes, majority matching that of the ones decorating the manor back home. Others depicted a different art style consisting of abstract strokes and the colorful expression of emotion. A small cushioned bed was cradled in the sill of one of the windows, warmed by the sun outside.
“Y'can sit there if you’d like, I jus’ need to get m'stuff together.” He gestured to the window seat, already moving to pick up a blank canvas and a palette for his paints.
chiaroscuro part four: y/n knew there was something off with mr. styles but there was no way she had suspected this. but he’s trying.
wordcount: 8k+
—————
That didn’t… go well.
Harry sighed as (Y/N) slumped in his arms. He could tell from the moment realization hit her, that her night wasn’t going to end well. As much as he loved being able to hold her pretty body in his arms, the circumstances never seemed to be favorable.
He carried her out of the bathroom, bypassing the bed that was meant to be hers, as it was now covered in wooden shards from the door he would have to replace. He instead brought her to his own room, gently setting her on his bed and tucking her under the duvet. He did his best to make her comfortable, knowing that this was something she would need to take the time to sleep off.
Harry couldn’t help himself—seeing her wrapped up in his bedding just like the night he found her back at the manor—from climbing on the bed next to her. He settled on top of the comforter, knowing that his low body temperature might not be the most comfortable thing for her right now.
He just wanted to be close to her.
He kept his hands to himself, but that didn’t mean his eyes couldn’t wander. He traced along the planes of her face, the slope of her nose, the high points of her cheeks, the pout of her lips, everything he wanted to commit to memory. The pump of her heartbeat rang through his ears, a comforting noise that showed him she was still alive and healthy and (hopefully) happy. He counted each of her breaths, the now evened puffs of air scenting the room with her sweet smell.
God, she’s the kind of woman poets would have prosed over when he was young.
It's been a little bit! Here is part 9, please message us what you think!
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Verboten Masterlist
WC- 2.4k
Warnings- age gap, smut, richrry, best friend's dad, etc
----
“Sweet Angel.”
His voice never got old. Fingers pried her thighs open, a soft whimper leaving her mouth as she felt his tongue swipe up her messy folds, sensitivity making her jerks before his hands gripped her hips to keep her still. “Uh-uh. None of that. Aren’t you going to let me clean up my mess?” The croon of his sexed out voice made her shiver, splaying her thighs open as she gripped the sheets that had come off the bed slightly. It didn’t matter anyways, they desperately needed a change.
Once she had opened herself back up, she was met with what she was assumed were praises falling from the older man’s mouth. “Bene, così bene per me. Ho incasinato la mia bellissima ragazza. Lascia che ti pulisca.” His hot tongue followed suit, her eyes rolling back as she resisted the urge to clench her thighs together.
This was one of Harry’s favorite parts. Getting to see the mess he made of his girl. 5 days into the trip and he had been a menace. He knew that. His attempts to take it easy had been in vain, as neither of them could keep their hands off of each other, but there had at least been an attempt on his end. It was just difficult when their feelings were finally out in the open and Y/N had let down the final wall he had been trying to tip over with his gentle pushing. She knew how much he liked her, and he was relishing in her unfiltered behavior.
Her shuddery inhale was the sweetest melody, tongue tenderly swiping up again to make sure she was clean of the remnants of their lazy morning sex. A new tradition that Harry hoped would extend back at home. His girl was soft and pliant for him in the dewy mornings. He’d woken up as the golden sun had leaked into their bedroom, the sheer white curtains that slightly hid the view of the city ocean and rock below them being lit a warm orange. A sunrise with the warm Italian breeze drifting through the cracked balcony door hitting his skin as he felt her soft breathing on his chest.
Y/N had not only spread her wings for him, but let him into her cocoon. A warm, snug area where she could be as giggly and as soft as she wanted. Limbs tangled like yarn a kitten has played with, a pure side to her that many didn’t get to even theorize about. He got to hear her little comments under her breath as they people watched out in public, let her babble about her dreams once she woke, took diligent mental notes about things she had never mentioned before- such as always wishing to go trail riding one day, her love of the particular moss colored green tile in the kitchen that she had fawned over for a bit too long, the skincare routine he had watched a million times before but looking at the brands so he knew what else to indulge in for holidays.
Harry was a man in love, love so deep that it sort of startled him when he thought about it. While the actual sentiment hadn’t been actively exchanged, he knew it was mutual. It wasn’t any sort of arrogance, but the way in which her feather soft touches caressed his face and arms. How gentle she was with him, her worries of his thoughts and feels. How she kissed him. Languid and syrupy, her soft mewls against his mouth and desire to be as close as possible even when he was buried to the hilt.
This trip was spoiling him and he was going to take every single moment and marinated in it. When they got back home, they’d have some bumps to go through.
“H-Harry…” Her sleepy voice moaned, a glance up showing her smile. “This isn’t just cleaning me up.”
Correct. The older man had been greedy for her pleasure since the first day they’d connected in an intimate way. Y/N’s orgasms, her affection, the taste of her, they were all his willing addictions. A greedy, greedy man he was, constantly taking if she allowed it. She always did.
“M’Sorry, my love.” He pulled back, pressing a kiss to her swollen clit. “Did a number on you last night… Know you must be sensitive, but you don’t understand how incredible you taste to me.” his fingers kept her spread while his other arm was hooked over her stomach, her hand holding on to his forearm to ground herself.
Y/N’s eyes glazed over as she remembered how he had taken her the night before. Murmuring things that she didn’t know the exact meaning of in Italian, lighting up her insides as he had taken her under the stars on the loungers on the patio. Lips against her ear as her hands had dragged down his back, the wet sound of their sex and distant music from a party 2 houses over filling the night. He had filled her up and fucked his seed back inside of her, whispering about how that was the only place he wanted his cum for the entire trip and how much he adored her.
“How do I taste to you?” The breathless question was asked despite her own knowledge of what would happen next. Harry was a man, a man dedicated to her pleasure and easy to trigger when it came to sex. Y/N had been bent over the kitchen counter with her dress bunched over her waist just from purring his nickname into his ear.
His tongue paused at the top, nose brushing her mound as he chuckled against her puffy cunt. What a question. She knew how she tasted, Harry’s tongue soaked in her having been dipped into her mouth plenty of times- but she wanted to know how it tasted to him. How did he describe the most addicting thing he had ever placed his tongue on?
“Honey.” He drawled, fingers spreading her open again as he took a look at her. “Sweet, sweet honey. My own brand of addiction. Syrupy and sweet, so sticky. Look how it sticks to my fingers, my love.” He pulled his fingers off momentarily and spread them apart, letting her see the strings of arousal webbed together. It was messy, sloppy, and the both of them seemed to have a like for that sort of debauchery. “The taste of you is my favorite. Do you ever wonder why I can’t drag myself away from between your thighs?” He questioned, pulling his fingers into his mouth with a moan that made her sensitive hole clench around nothing.
This man, the one who she had to taunt into being rough and dirty with her, had overtaken her in boldness and experimentation. He’d opened up and uncovered the man she had a feeling laid underneath the pristine shirts and kind eyes. The filth had been underlying and Y/N had caught on early on. Birds of a feather and all that.
“I can’t pull myself away. M’obsessed with how you taste, how you feel… You. You’ve overtaken my mind, my beautiful girl. La mia bella ragazza. Non riesco a toglierti dalla mente. Sono ossessionato.” His last words were muffled as he pulled her clit back into his mouth, Y/N’s eyes rolling back and fingers finding his hair yet again.
—-------
Y/N had been imagining what it would be like to be official with Harry. It had been something that haunted her brain since the day at the pool house. One taste of him and her single burst of confidence had melded into a whole relationship that was beyond her wildest dreams, but this had especially taken her off guard.
Harry had been attentive before they solidified any issues, but to her surprise it had only gotten better. Now it was clear that a barrier, despite it being clear, was hard acrylic. Giving her a glimpse into the nest of comfort and saccharine he could provide. With the barriers shattered on both ends, Y/N had a feeling she was going to develop cavities.
Some of her shock had been chalked up to a poor dating poor pre-Harry. She hadn’t experienced fresh flowers delivered daily, candlelit dinners on the balcony overlooking the italian coast that he cooked himself, gelato tinged kisses, body worship, least of all clear communication. Dating in college had been grim to say the least and that had been a bit of a hint that her hunches growing up would be correct. Despite the knowledge that older men were still just men, after all, she knew she craved a different sort of goal. Maturity. She wanted to be spoiled with affection.
Now that she was getting that, though, she didn’t realize how good it could be.
At first it had made her slightly uncomfortable. The lack of barriers had also introduced a clearer picture of his intentions. Harry wanted to keep her, he’d said so himself, and this relationship was supposed to be for building up their connection. Having his intense stare on her at all times, every single drop of his attention when she spoke, it had made her realize just how half assed her past attempts of dating had really been. He placed his phone face down at the table while they ate, he kept her eye contact, he remembered the tiny things she said. She hadn’t been a fan of clams and he’d made sure to request the dish they had without them, happy to pay extra for a new plate.
As sad as it could be seen as, how bare minimum people could claim, it was so new to her that it had taken a few days to get used to.
One thing she definitely hadn’t expected was Harry scheduling them a spa day. A real spa day, with massage and facials and a high class sauna. All of the bells and whistles that had her eyes wide, hand tangled with his and anxiously held to the front of her body as she looked around the expensive facility. They’d had to drive out of the village for it, Harry keeping it a surprise until they’d walked in.
She’d watched a video on her phone the night prior in bed, showing him a bit as she had said she’d need to get a facial when they got back home for her pores- which he had responded like a true boy about having the necessities for a facial right then- but she hadn’t thought much of it until walking in on marble floors as a boisterous woman greeting Harry in rapid italian.
Was this how it would always be?
“Questa è tua moglie?” The woman gestured to Y/N making her curious. What was she saying? She’d need to learn italian so she didn’t feel left out.
Harry’s fond eyes laid on her, squeezing the hand she was holding against her tummy before replying. “Non ancora. Un giorno, se mi avrà.”
“Oh, che meraviglia.” The woman clapped, looking at Y/N with bright eyes. It must be a good exchange. “Siamo onorati di averti qui. Lascia che ti controlli”
A bit more chatting was finished up before they were whisked over to locker rooms, Y/N being brought over to the women’s and H giving her a kiss on the lips before taking his towel and robe into the men’s.
“I apologize, Miss. I did not know you did not speak Italian.” The woman smiled. “We will ask that you rinse off just a bit. There is a selection of soap. Lavender, Oat, Rose, Eucalyptus and the white is unscented. When you are finished, you can leave out the side door and it will bring you to the massage room where Signore Harry will be waiting.”
Y/N thanked the woman, going into the locker room.
Wow.
It was spacious and beautifully designed with high-end finishes and luxurious amenities, with a sleek design with soothing lighting, plush seating arrangements, and an opulent ambiance.
White lockers lined the walls to accommodate guests, each of which seemed secured with a digital lock- she would need to use her birthday as a code. She was awful with them. . The lockers seemed large enough to hold double of what she had. Harry had handed her a bad with what she assumed held her clothes and whatever else he would think of as necessary. Considering how closely he had been paying attention to her, she trusted his judgment.
She placed the soft white robe and slippers, as well as a fluffy towel down once she found one that she liked, taking a look around the area again. There seemed be plenty of grooming necessities including hairbrushes and combs that you could obviously bring home- but the wooden handles showed they definitely weren’t cheap. This was not going to be a cheap activity, not by a long shot. On the wall near the showers were shelves of tiny bottles of shampoos, conditioners, and body washes. Underneath had white mini loofahs and disposable razors- and Y/N had to remind herself not to be a little rat and steal some to bring home. Temptation would be strong.
It again showed her how well off, wealthy, her now boyfriend? Lover? Was. He had a big house at home, yes, but he wasn’t one to show off besides with his cars and paying for meals. He never flaunted. It had her reminded yet again that she had been plunged into a world she had no idea how to navigate- but she couldn’t say she hated it. She deserved spoiling sometimes. Harry had been trying to tell her that the whole trip, especially after she made comments every time she put on one of the dresses he had bought her at the market.
This was a whole other way of living. Harry had obviously been one of the more down to earth rich folk, but it still made her a little shocked as she took in the qualities of each thing as she did as instructed. This was no cheap hotel body wash. Was- were the combs Versace?! Taking a look at the golden emblem, Y/N had to scream silently into her fluffy robe as she placed it down on the mirrored vanity, separated by walls to give her privacy. Fuck.
What had she gotten herself into? And how could it feel so guiltily good?
Don't yell at me I promise we are getting into the good stuff <3 bff dadrry is back!
Patreon- the next 3 parts are up there and will be here in the coming weeks!
Warnings- angst, uncomfy talk, hint of slut shaming, jealousrry
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Y/N knew something was wrong.
She’d had a tummy ache the entire night. She knew she didn’t want to be out, she knew all she had wanted was to be at Harry’s House, snuggled in his bed where he would warn her not to get cookie crumbs in his sheets with a stern look over his glasses before he would steal a bite from her hand. That had been the original plan until she had been backed into a corner by none other than Lia herself.
She had meant well. Y/N knew she did. She had wanted to help out, make Y/N happy and step out of her comfort zone, but it had been miserable. Setting her up for a date with one of her girlfriend’s friends had been a disaster, but she had no excuse she could tell her to say no.
They’d done out as a double date and Y/N had checked her phone the whole time, but he hadn’t texted her back. That ache in her stomach had traveled to her head, a pounding headache sprouting at her temples from the loud bar music and the guy who had been trying desperately to impress her the entire night.
There was nothing wrong with Micheal. He was a really nice guy, he made decent money, he had good conversation skill and he wasn’t bad looking- but he wasn’t Harry. He didn’t have those green eyes and raspberry pink mouth and the 5 o’clock shadow, he didn’t wear the right rings or have the accented voice, he didn’t had that curl that hung over his forehead and the long fingers what reached out to adjust or touch her. It wasn’t him- it was the fact he wasn’t the man Y/N was craving.
When Lia had informed her of this date, she had tried to decline and say she didn’t want to but she had been guilted. Saying that she should give him a chance, that fuck buddies weren’t forever and that she wanted to see her happy. That nasty, molding seed of guilt she had been carrying in her stomach had grown to fill the entirety of her abdomen. What was she supposed to say? She did have a man she could see a future with, a man who made her happy and fulfilled her in every way possible, but he just so happened to be her father? She would kill her.
Y/N knew she and Harry weren’t officially dating, there was no label, and yet she felt like she was cheating. She felt horrid and yucky and she dodged Micheal’s touch the entire night, every brush of their knees making her mind stray to Harry. Their canceled documentary night. How she had a feeling he had bought her favorite popcorn and candy and set it up in the den with the plethora of fuzzy blankets. That had been her ideal night that she said she had to reschedule because she got called into work.
It wasn’t something she wanted to do. This date, lying to Harry, missing out on precious time with him, lying to Lia, but she felt stuck. She couldn’t tell Harry because she was scared. Terrified that he would wake up and see that maybe she was too young and too naive and new to life, that he was wasting his expertise on her. It struck fear into her every time she thought about it. What was she offering him besides good sex?? What did he see in her? The girl knew she was worth a lot, that she was funny and pretty and witty but was that enough to keep a man like Harry happy for a long time? She really didn’t know.
He didn’t answer her texts, though, and she was scared. Why hadn’t he answered? What was he doing? Y/N felt like she was on autopilot as she followed an oblivious Lia into the bathroom, blinking a few times as she felt hands on her shoulders.
“So? What do we think?” Lia’s expectant green eyes looked at her, obviously wanting some sort of status report. “He’s cute, right?” Bouncing on the tips of her feet, she was a tiny bit tipsy and it showed. She was overly excitable with alcohol.
“Yeah.” Y/N attempted a smile. “He’s alright. I’m just not… feeling it, I don’t know.” Her eyes cast down, not wanting to hurt her feelings but also knowing she had to be showing some sort of hesitation in this. “It’s not that there’s anything wrong with him. He’s really nice but I just don’t think he’s the one for me, Lia.”
“Come on, Y/N. He’s totally your type! He’s a bit older than us too.” She wiggled her brows, trying to entice her friend. “Listen, don’t discount him too much. It’s a first meeting. I know it can be hard, but trust me. He even has Dad’s seal of approval!”
Y/N’s head snapped up so quickly she was surprised she didn’t break her neck. “What? What do you mean?” Her heart started to climb into her throat as Lia continued on, as if it was a good thing. In Lia’s eyes, it was.
“Yeah! I had lunch with him today because he kept complaining about missing me, you know how he is. So we were eating and he asked what I was up to tonight and I told him we were going on a double date! He was kinda weird and asked about who you were going to see, so I told him he’d met Micheal before and showed a photo. He said he was a very nice guy and he’d be lucky to date you.” She hummed. “Isn’t it so cute? He’s so protective of both of us.”
Y/N was going to vomit. She felt the stinging in the back of her eyes. Harry knew, he knew and he was ignoring her and she was going to lose him altogether because she didn’t have a backbone. “D-Did he say anything else?” She croaked, blinking at her friend who twisted her lips and shook her head.
“No, he said that the food wasn’t agreeing with him and he needed to go home. He left me money for the bill and booked it out of there. I think he got food poisoning.” Her nose scrunched in disgust. “But enough about my dad. We need to go on back there and build this up. I promise Micheal’s a great guy. I wouldn’t set you up with someone I didn’t think would be good.”
Y/N could barely hear her. Her body felt cold and prickly, though the contradictory heat in her face was enough to let her know she wasn’t frozen solid. She had fucked up. Fucked up majorly. He had left lunch after he found out Y/N was going on a date. He had to think very badly of the situation and Y/N couldn’t blame him. She would too. Why couldn’t she have just told him? Why did she have to be such a baby and afraid of her own feelings? Harry was one of the most understanding people she’d ever met in her life. There was no way he would be angry at her if she had just explained the situation before- but now? Now he had every right to tell her to fuck off. She wanted to fix this- needed to fix this.
“Lia, I’m feeling a little sick too. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need to go home, I keep feeling like I’m going to vomit.” She wasn’t lying. The rolling in her stomach from despair and nerves was real. “I’m just going to drive home. I didn’t drink. Tell him I said thanks and what's going on.”
“Are you sure? I can drive you-” Lia babbled, looking sad for her friend without realizing she was indeed tipsy herself. She just didn’t want to leave Y/N sick and by herself. “I’ve got tums in my purse-” Digging through it, she tried to find the mini bottle she kept around.
“Thank you, babe, but you’re tipsy and you need those more than me. I’ll stop by the pharmacy on my way home. Just go have fun.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “I’ll text you later.”
She couldn’t stop the bubbled sob as she got behind the wheel of her car, slamming her hand against the steering wheel. Damn it. Damn it! She had been so hesitant, her gut told her not to do it and now she had potentially messed up the best thing she had going for her. This feeling was tearing her up, knowing that Harry probably thought this was something she willingly agreed to. Sitting home, disappointed and sad. He was a grown man, yes, but he had such tender emotions that Y/N knew were easy to hurt. She’d seen beyond the glass.
Tearing into gear, she made her way to his house, hopeful he would listen.
—-
Perhaps it wasn’t the best move to use the key he had given her to get into the house when he had been actively avoiding her all day, but she was terrified that he wouldn’t let her in. That he would shut the door on her face and not give her a chance to explain.
Toeing her shoes off, she sniffled as she placed her bag down and padded into the house. It was mostly silent, the lights dim as she walked into the hall. “H-Harry?” Her weak voice called out, hands shaking slightly as she saw the brightest light being the kitchen. The water was running. She could hear it as she got closer, the clink of glasses and the steady stream coming from the faucet.
His back was stiff, tenseness visible on his broad shoulders as he continued to wash the dishes in the sink. He’d heard her, but didn’t reply. Stepping further into the room, she sniffed again before saying his name, making him pause his movements for a second. If she’d blinked, it would have been missed.
“Thought you were working.” His voice was calm, but echoed with hollowness. He didn’t turn to look at her, but he didn’t yell. Somehow, this felt worse.
“I-I know Lia told you.” The whisper was weak, her eyes going to her feet. She stood behind the counter, keeping quiet as she waited for him to reply. It felt like she was going to be scolded and she hated it. She hated that Harry was upset and she had been the cause.
“Oh, that?” A humorless laugh left his lips as he clenched his marbled jaw, looking down at the clean dish he continued to wash. “Yeah, that definitely was a shock. Wasn’t sure which lie you were going t’go with.” The bitterness tasted foul even on his own tongue, but he couldn’t help it. The betrayal bled from his heart, unsure where he had missed the signs.
“H-Harry.” She croaked. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I promise. I just-” She was cut off as the water shut off, hands dried by the dishtowel next to him. He turned around to face her, and she suddenly wished he had continued in the sink. The look on his face would haunt her, she was sure of it.
His jaw was tight, lips thin and eyes puffy. Paler than usual, he looked… he looked awful. She didn’t want to assume it was because of her, but the reaction was making it clear that she was to blame.
“You what, Y/N?” He asked tightly. Her heart sank as she was referred to by name. No baby, no pet, no sweetheart, no love, just her name. “What could you possibly say that’s an appropriate excuse for lying?” His eyes bore into her, irritation coating his words as he spoke next. “Can you look me in the eye when you’re trying to lie to me again?”
It stung. It hurt in her stomach, she felt almost ill when she met his eyes and saw the coldness. The guard was back up. No more softness, no more warmth that blossomed in his features when she propped herself up in front of him. Like she was a stranger. “No! No, I’m not trying to lie.” She squeaked, irritated with herself for feeling so defenseless. “I just didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to come over. That I wanted to go out over spending time with you-”
“Well, you didn’t seem that upset earlier. Saw those photos Lia posted. Looked really cozy with that guy.” The words felt caustic, tearing up her stomach as his gaze matched the tone. “Did you have fun? Is he nice?” Sarcasm laced his tone as he leaned against the counter, arms crossing his chest as he watched her face wince.
“N-No. I didn’t have fun. I was trying to be polite, but I kept thinking about you!” Her exclamation was hoarse, feeling intimidated by the new demeanor. Harry had never been this way with her in the past, and it was just as scary as she had imagined. Usually being wrapped in the soft cocoon of his affection, being ripped out of the cottony confines had been a shock to her system.
“That’s interesting.” He retorted. “You were thinking about me while on a date with another man? Letting him pose with his arm around you?” His eyes were dark, nose flaring as she tried to explain it away. “Y/N, I’m a grown man. I don’t have time for games. I don’t want to play whatever little girl shit this is. I thought we had a connection, but I suppose I fell into it a bit too deep to understand that you like to see what’s out there.” He muttered. “ Should have let it be just what you wanted. A good time and a good fuck. My mistake. At least I got one thing out of it.” The words were too much, and he regretted them as soon as he said them, but his gaze remained steely. His pride was wounded, and one of his bad traits was hitting where it hurts.
Y/N visibly recoiled, feeling like she had been smacked with those words. She knew he was hurt- but is that how he thought of her?
“I never said this was a game.” She said slowly. “I thought we had a connection too, but apparently you think I’m a little girl and that I’m just a good time. An easy fuck.” She spit, eyes glazing with tears all over again. “I’m sorry your feelings were hurt. If you’d given me even a second to explain without interrupting me and letting your insecurities eat you alive, you’d know I was basically forced to go out by your daughter and she didn’t take no for an answer.” Her chest was heaving as she tried not to let the sob that wanted to escape from coming out. The tears were bad enough.
If possible, Harry stiffened further as he cocked his head. “What do you mean forced you?”
“Oh, for fucks sake. Don’t pretend to care now.” She hissed. “If you’d given a fuck about anything other than your pride, you’d be that grown man you claim to be before making assumptions. It was wrong of me to go out, I should have just told you the situation, but I was scared.” She backed away from the counter, making some more space between them. “But it’s obvious now what this was to you. Having so little faith in me, I can see where this was headed.” She turned to leave but felt him follow her behind him.
“Now wait a fucking second. Stop.” He called to her, hot on her heels. “No. You don’t get to do that. Tell me what you meant.”
“Don’t.” Y/N recoiled when he tried to touch her, making his chest ache. She’d always leaned into him, never away. “Your daughter was saying I’d done enough fucking around and I deserved a man to treat me right. To take me out. And since I don’t tell her about what we do, she think’s I’ve just had a fuck buddy. Which…” She paused, sneering slightly. “Maybe that’s all this fucking was. She told me that I owed her a solid and Micheal had been interested in me for a bit, that I should give it a shot. She said I didn’t have a choice. You know your daughter. She’s relentless and I didn’t have an excuse as to why I couldn’t go.”
Harry knew she was right. Lia was a force to be reckoned with. She wasn’t one who took no for an answer and if Y/N didn’t have a real excuse, she wasn’t going to let it go. This was something he hadn’t considered. It still didn’t make sense though. Why hadn’t she just told him? Why had she lied?
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” He asked, throwing his arms up in the air. “I’d have thought by now you’d know you could tell me fucking anything. I thought… We both knew it was beyond sex, Y/N. You knew it would hurt me and that’s why you didn’t tell me, but why couldn’t you have at least talked to me about it? That’s what adults do.” The words were stressed as he took her in. The girl was more than upset and he knew it- but so was he.
“Do you think I wanted to? Risking telling you, risking all of this because your daughter, my best friend, was suspicious as to why I wasn’t dating, why I wouldn’t tell her who I was fucking around with and spending my time with? Don’t you see that I’m terrified you’d realize, like you already have, that I’m young and different and not like the girls you’ve dated? I’m inexperienced in a lot of shit, I can be immature, that you could do miles better than me?” She cried, bottom lip trembling as she watched his posture soften slightly. “I didn’t want to chance it. But I ruined it anyways. You think I’m a little girl who’s an easy fuck. Young pussy to break up the mature ladies you should be dating so they can keep up with you.” The words were hissed as she went to grab her bag, but Harry moved forward, bracing an arm on the wood to keep the door closed.
“No. You’re not running away. We’re talking about this.” His voice was softer now, trying to catch her eyes as he felt his heart thump in his throat. “I didn’t mean that. I was angry and I-I shouldn’t have said that. I wanted to hurt you because you hurt me, but I don’t think that you’re an easy young girl, you aren’t just a fuck to me. I wouldn’t be this upset if you were.” His hands moved to place her bag back down, trying to catch her eye.
“Hey… Look at me, Y/N.”
His body pulsed with hurt when she did. Fear, exhaustion, insecurity. He could see it all as another fresh round of tears pooled from her ducts, trailing down her cheeks. “Why?” She whispered. “Why should I stay? All I’d wanted to do is say I was sorry and hoped you’d listen to me but I will not stand here and let another man in my life degrade me. I’m good for more than my body. Maybe it started that way, but I am more than a sexual object you get to be possessive of.”
Her shaky voice made him swallow thickly, cursing to himself as he realized he had definitely fucked up with letting his anger get the best of him. At the same time, he was proud of her for setting that boundary, for saying that to him. He deserved it. “I know. I know you are. That’s why it hurt my feelings so much, darling. Can’t you see that?” He stressed. “ M’not possessive because you’re a toy of mine and I don’t want someone else to touch. M’angry because I’m insecure and nervous. I thought I’d taken it more seriously and that you didn’t care about me that way. That I’d read it all wrong.” His nails scored his palms as he tried to keep from reaching from her. When she didn’t make a move to leave again, he continued.
“I was worried about the same things. That you’d get tired of seeing an older man. M’not exactly one for going to a club or drinking, my knees aren’t what they used to be, I like to golf, read, m’a homebody. I was…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Seeing those photos and knowing that you were going on a date with someone that most would deem more age appropriate, it made all those things come right back to me.”
Y/N looked up finally, her brows narrowed as she met his eye. As much as it killed him to see them red and teary, there was some relief knowing she could at least look at him.
“Harry- I like those things about you.” She whispered. “I like that you're older, I love it actually. Do you know how secure I felt around you? How much I loved that you weren’t trying to drag me out to a bar I didn’t want to go to? I loved our nights here, cooking and swimming and watching things. I had my share of exploring that shit in uni and I didn’t really like it all that much. I don’t care that you like golf, even though I’d be bored- I’d come with you and sit in the cart. I like you because you made me feel like I could be myself around you.” Her arms curled in on themselves, not liking how exposed she felt under her gaze.
Harry’s shoulders fell, eyes following suit as he looked at the floor. A stressed hand ran over his face as he tried to gather himself from the bouts of emotion that ripped through him. He had been angry, and that was justified, but the things he had said were not. He had hurt her, and he hoped that he hadn’t damaged them too badly.
“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, looking back at her again. He hated how she looked so small. So sad. Even in her pretty dress, she looked so uncomfortable and to know he was the cause of it made him want to sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness. It was not at all how he imagined this interaction going.
“You should be.” Y/N peeped. The things he said had hit her right in the stomach, leaving a residual ache in her body. “I’m sorry for going out with that guy and lying to you. But you- you get why I did, right?” The hesitance was evident, not wanting to start a fight all over again but longing for his understanding.
“I do.” He took a hesitant step forward sighing in relief internally when she uncrossed her arms. “I do. I’m sorry I was so cruel to you.” His hand reached out, Y/N allowing him to wipe away her tears, the familiar palms making her lip tremble a bit harder. “Hey, Darling… No. No more tears. It’s breaking my heart.” His tone was miles different that before, the gentleness returning to it that she had missed so much. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be alright. M’sorry. We both made a mess, didn’t we?”
The soothing hands moved as she nodded her head, blinking up at him with her glossy eyes. “I didn’t want to go on a date with anyone except you.” The confession was laced with an uneven inhale, shaky as she moved forward. “I don’t like him. I never did. I wanted our movie night a-and I hope that this isn’t ruined because I really like you. I like us.”
The words were a peep, a soft little confession that had his chest inflating and crackling at the same time. She was so nervous about this, and instead of listening to what she had to say, he had been impulsive. But she confessed to really liking him, liking them together. That was more than he had expected from tonight.
“Yeah? D’you?” His lips twitched up, wiping the last of her tears away before placing a hand on her back, tugging her into his embrace.
“Yeah.” Y/N melted right into it, into his chest as her face nuzzled against the warmth he provided. Just as the world intended, he thinks.
“Good. This mean you’ll be mine properly? No more dancing around what we are… no more dates, you can say you’re seein’ someone properly?” Momentarily he shifted, nudging her chin up to look at him. God, he loved those eyes. “Because I’m serious about this. If you let me, we can be really good together.”
Y/N nodded, clutching his shirt in her palms with a smile that faded slightly as something else came to her mind. “But-But what are we going to do about Lia?”
The infamous question. What were they going to do about his daughter?
“Why don’t we figure out our relationship first, and then worry about her. We obviously have some things to iron out.” His fingers pinched her chin, offering up a soft smile to her. “It’s something that we will need to think about but.. I think we were doing a good job of keeping it to ourselves. I don’t intend to hide you, but I think we need to work out our things before I get to show you off.” He knew people would have a lot to say and they both needed to be secure in their relationship before other people were brought into the picture. They needed time to grow together. Unfiltered time that they could spend learning each other without a worry.
“I agree, actually.” Y/N leaned back against him. “This is why you’re the daddy. You have good ideas.. Sometimes.” She pressed a kiss to his chest. Breaking through that tension as she was so good at, it did something to his brain that scratched an itch. Her natural steps fit so well with his instincts, he knew it had to mean something.
Harry relaxed. It wasn’t the end of them, like he thought. This was just the beginning.
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Warning- age gap/taboo relationship
WC- 3.3k
Previous part
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Y/N liked playing house with Harry.
It was a real problem, actually.
Her own apartment rarely saw her as she had been spending a lot of her time with her lover at his large, fancy and now mostly empty house. Y/N had helped Lia move in with her girlfriend, albeit a little bit fast in her opinion, she wasn’t one to judge. She was quite literally banging her father. All she could do was be supportive.
It was a weird mixed feeling in her chest. On one hand, she saw how fucked up it was. How she was betraying her trust, how she understood how it would disturb her if she had done the same- though no offense to her own, but she was safe in that aspect. It was not the best person to choose to fuck around with, but this aspect may be worse.
Falling in love with your best friend’s father is arguably worse.
Y/N knew it was going to blow up in her face at some point, but ever the optimist, she had decided to try and look at the positives and understand that whenever it came out, she would need to deal with the repercussions like an adult. Take whatever reaction there was and deal with it. It would be valid, regardless.
One of the mixed things was that Lia had caught on about Harry seeing someone. She had wrinkled her nose and told Y/N that she had seen scratch marks on his back with no way he could cause them when she’d went to swim, that he had a hickey (that she had no idea Y/N had sucked onto his skin), and he had been noticeably happier. She had talked about how miserable he had been after the divorce, how for years he had hovered a bit because Lia had been his one focus, but she as glad that he was giving her space to breathe as an adult who was now out of college and supporting from a healthy distance.
“Y’know, I’m just happy he’s smiling again. He was whistling last time I came into his home office, ordering flowers. It’s gross because he’s my dad but cute because he deserves a second chance at love. Just like you!”
Y/N had felt both happy and guilty after that conversation.
Since moving out, Y/N had a steady drawer building in his closet. Her hair ties in a drawer in his bathroom. His room was their safe space considering Harry had built boundaries with Lia about it being his personal space when she got older, needing a room that wasn’t overrun with her stuff and a private place to breathe- just as he promised to stay out of her room. Y/N was free to lounge about his room without a care, use his giant marble bathroom to bathe and giggle with her bath bombs while Harry finished up work calls.
It was a nice little housewife roleplay. One Y/N realized could potentially be a reality if she played her cards right. Harry seemed to be just as into her, but she was still worried. He spoiled the shit out of her with his affection and newly, gifts, but she was always watching to make sure she didn’t overstep.
At some point they needed to have the dreaded ‘what are we’ talk, but right now? She really couldn’t risk messing it up. She was too happy, too comfortable with their slowly developing dynamic.
Sitting in the jacuzzi tub, the bubbles moved about as the jets massaged her back, a book in her hand as she enjoyed her bath. Harry’s bathroom was stupidly gorgeous. It had exquisite white and gray marble walls and floor, adding a touch of elegance to the room. The tub was surrounded by marble steps leading up to it, making getting in and out of the tub easy and safe, the depth of the tub something she hadn’t seen before.
The bathroom also had separate Mr & Missus sinks, each with their own marble countertops and elegant faucets. The Mr sink held a darker marble countertop, while the Missus sink had a lighter, veiny marble countertop. The sink was separated by a wide vanity mirror with those circular light bulbs to give the best possible lighting- though it was a tiny bit unforgiving, she could admit. No one needed to see pores that well. Underneath the vanities included cabinets and shelves for towels and other bathroom essentials- built in, Harry had provided. Made just for this particular bathroom, the black paint shiny and unscuffed.
The bathroom’s large shower with frosted glass entry doors also had a built-in bench. She could sit in the fucking shower! And… do other things. Harry liked that part and had shown her just how useful it could be.The space was complete with touches like gold-accented fixtures, eucalyptus hanging from the shower, monogrammed plushy white towels that probably cost more than her entire room at home, and a cozy, fluffy bathrobe hanging on the door- and he had sneakily brought one for her, too. The thought made her flustered. Harry was a very detail oriented person, and the things he could remember were slightly unsettling. He’d remembered her brand of face wash after seeing it once. One time!
Relaxing here had been a welcome part to her day after her shift. Being on her feet hadn’t done her well today, especially after being berated by entitled customers who thought that the prices were too high- as if Y/N herself made them. Being able to come here and crumble into Harry’s arms, have him wipe her pouty tears and promise her a meal after he finished his work for the day had made it significantly better.
“What’s the pretty girl reading?”
Y/N jumped, almost dropping the book into the foamy water as her heart pounded in her chest. She had been distracted and lost in thought, not hearing him enter in the slightest. “Fuck! You scared the shit out of me.” She squeaked, placing the narrowly saved book down on one of the steps outside the tub, her hand resting over her thundering heart.
“I wasn’t exactly quiet.” Harry laughed, that crooked grin making her want to sink down further into the bubbles. It was unfair that a man could be that devastatingly attractive. “Tripped over one of your shoes.”
Y/N pursed her lips together as she looked up at the ceiling, pretending she knew nothing about said shoe. “I dunno who’s shoe that could have been. Surely it wasn't mine!” Harry had warned her about it prior. Her two true bad habits were leaving her fake eyelashes on his nightstand- which he had once mistaken for a spider and squeaked, making Y/N laugh so hard she snorted- and leaving shoes in the middle of the room.
“Mm… I know I don’t own pink, fuzzy sandals.” He shot her a look. “”But I’ll forgive the discretion for a kiss.” Leaning over the foamy, rose and vanilla scented bathwater, he tilted her chin up and pressed his lips on to her own. The man took a seat on the side of the tub, Plaid trousers paired with a white button up that had the sleeves rolled up. His forearms looked particularly delicious, the vein she usually drooled over showing as he used his arm to hold himself up. Glasses sat in his hair, the reading pair not needed for seeing her face.
“Everything okay?” She chirped, looking at his tired eyes. Harry worked hard, despite having moved a lot of his days to work at home. He preferred it. As charming as he was, he was a homebody, a slight introvert. His work was better when he could stay home and focus.
“Mhm. Now it is.” He let out a sigh, taking one of her dampened hands in his own as he played with her fingers. “Had a long day of calls. Sort of takes the wind out of me. What was it you said- need to charge my what battery?” His eyes squinted as he tried to remember what she had told him a few weeks ago.
“Social battery?” An empathetic smile was given when he nodded. “I understand that. Mine too. We both have tomorrow off, though… So if you can stand seeing my mug for another day, we can sit and watch that show you wanted….” Even after a few months of this developing arrangement? Relationship? She felt a little nervous to invite herself to stay over.
Obviously, Harry did not feel the same. His face lit up at the suggestion, shaking his head at her self-dig. “I always want t’see your face.” He said seriously. “So pretty. My favorite one.” Leaning over, he playfully pinched her cheek to make her smile. “I think that’s a lovely idea. Don't really want to see anyone but you anyways.”
It was a little scary how quickly that had become true. Y/N had become his person very fast and it had happened without his permission.
It was easy with her. Once that tiny hint of awkwardness at the beginning where they didn’t know how to navigate the new development had fallen away, he found himself indulging in her. Spending more time than just the sex they had initially had. There was no way he could just simply fuck her and leave- even though he’s had to in the past- considering he’d always cared about her on at the very least, a human level. It had them planning nights away, Harry renting a hotel room for them for a night here or there, texting each other daily, even just to chat. She’s been so supportive and kind and he was fucked.
Her beaming grin nearly knocked the wind out of him, warm cheek leaning into his hand at his response. He could feel the smile against it, how she was flushed- from more than just from the bath. Harry had that effect on her, had her smiling and blushing and he wanted to make her giggle all over again.
He always wanted to make the woman happy. More than he wanted to make her cum- and that was a fucking lot. This was a potential problem, sure, but he wasn’t about to give her up. He knew the risks that it was taking. Greatly upsetting his daughter, ruining a friendship, hurting his own relationship with her- but he just liked her so, so much.
——-
Y/N was older than Lia by 2 years, having started uni later because she wanted to work for a bit and save up some money for when she went. The girls had clicked immediately when they’d met in their third year. The first time she and Harry met, she had been polite. Sweet. Complimenting his car as she approached it with Lia, looking in interest and offering to help them both carry up her stuff into their apartment. Harry had found them both a good place and Y/N had offered to pay rent to him- but he gave her a very discounted rate. She had said she wasn’t comfortable accepting a free place which he could understand, but she was in uni. He’d feel like shit pocketing any of the money. So instead he had simply used the money to help buy them furniture when it broke, get them meals when it was a special occasion, putting it back into them.
He had seen her quite a few other times after the first meeting. She had begun to pop up all around, coming home with Lia on a break or a long weekend, going on their boat in that first summer, hanging around the house when Harry had worked more at the office. She’d become a fixture for a while. He’d enjoyed their conversations, her energy refreshing and sweet- but he hadn’t had any sort of feelings for her. Y/N had just been a kind girl that he appreciated talking to and being a good influence on his daughter. She’s been beautiful the entire time, sure. But there had been something those few months ago that had just made it all snap into place.
Last summer they hadn’t come over in a long while. Their last year of school had been hard on both of them, and he understood that they hadn’t wanted to take the trips back up to see him as often. He’d sent groceries and care packages for both of them, knowing that he had more than enough money. Y/N didn’t ask, but had become close with his daughter and had her straightened out a little bit. He wanted to treat her as well. The man had turned a blind eye to the credit card charges for clubs and bars because she had been on a straightened path for a while and her grades had improved.
Harry loved his daughter with his entire heart, but he knew that she had been a bit of a difficult friend for Y/N for a while. She had dragged her into things and made her play mother hen quite a few times. Sure, he knew she liked to have a good time out but there had been a period of time where he had gotten a few phone calls from a frantic Y/N asking if he could track Lia’s phone, or if he could see if she used the Uber account. Most of the time she had run off with a guy or girl and Harry had been apologetic those few times when Y/N had been the one to go off and find her. After the 3rd time, Harry had properly told Lia off and scolded her, letting her know that she was lucky to have a friend who cared as much for her as Y/N had and if she continued she would more than likely lose her for her own selfish actions.
Since then she had calmed- for the most part.
Having an empty home now, with Lia now moved in with her girlfriend, would have crushed Harry if it hadn’t been for Y/N. It had been different when she was at school, but knowing she left and didn’t necessarily want to come back except to visit had hurt his heart. He’d been lonely for a while, with the divorce and his daughter going away to school, but he had always counted on her coming back and staying for a while.
The man had a decent arrangement of friends, but only a few people he trusted. He was truly a homebody and kept a very tight knit inner circle, but it hadn’t been the same as having someone with him. Within arms reach. Someone who could lounge around in the living room while he worked and a face to greet him in the kitchen when he came out at lunch to grab a snack. He loved Mitch, but he knew he wouldn’t want to sit in his kitchen and make him a snack just out of the goodness of his heart like Y/N had been doing.
He also knew Mitch was going to be a bit shocked at the revelation of who he had been spending his time with lately as he sat at the bar with him- but he hadn’t expected him to choke on his beer, coughing up a storm as he grabbed at a napkin. His friend was usually calm, cool and collected, someone he thought would never be phased. Turns out, he had been wrong.
“You’ve been seeing who?” He asked once his throat was clear and his nose didn’t burn from the uptick of beer that had gone right up it.
“Y/N.” Harry said, blinking right back at him.
“As in, Y/N your daughter’s best friend? That one? Her old roommate?” He was speaking lowly and monotone, but he knew his friend. He knew he was absolutely shocked.
“Yes, her. Listen, I know it’s not ideal but it just… it happened. And I came to tell you because I’m so fucking happy but equally as terrified. Lia is going to be so upset and I don’t want that to happen, but things are getting deeper with Y/N and I finally-” he was interrupted by his friend cutting him off.
“Yes, Harry. Lia is more than likely going to be upset that her father and best friend are involved. It’s a natural thing. I’m positive she would never expect that.” He stressed. “It will be normal for her to be upset. I’d more than count on it.”
“Gee, thanks for the support.” Harry muttered, raising his glass to the words.
“No. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be happy, H. I’m saying you need to expect that. It’s the reality of the situation. Y/N and Lia are not going to be the same but you need to ask if that’s a risk you’re willing to take.” His face softened a little bit seeing the anxiety written clearly on Harry’s features. It had been so long since he had that little light in his eyes again, and no one would want to ruin it. But he had to be a good friend. “Listen… I want you to be happy, Harry. We all do. But you need to wait and see if this is what you truly want. Don’t jump into telling her yet. In other instances I’d say honesty is the best but… If this doesn't last, if you start to get cold feet, you don’t want to cause an upheaval for no reason.”
Mitch didn’t want to doom the relationship- even though he sort of suspected he had having some sort of midlife crisis, he won’t mention it- but he wanted Harry to think and not get ahead of himself. “Have you guys talked about it yet?”
Harry squirmed slightly in discomfort, eyes falling to the glass of amber liquid in his hands. They hadn’t. It was a lot of reading between the lines. A lot of going off of emotions. He had real feelings, but what if she didn’t? What if this was just a fun fling for her? She was a twenty-something year old. Did she want to settle down? He wasn’t in a rush, but he didn’t have time for games anymore. He was grown. Did Y/N want something serious?
It had progressed over time. At first, it was a bit of dirty, naughty fun. He liked her a lot as a person and the sex had been hot and tickled a taboo part of his fantasies, but it had grown. Evolved. She stayed with him half the week, she slept in his bed, curled up in his arms as she listened to him read the news on the phone in the morning. She made him coffee and brought it to him in his office, sat in his lap while he scrolled through emails. It had gotten to the point where they didn’t even have sex every day. They’d kiss, cuddle, they’d chat, but it felt a lot like a relationship. One he had always wanted when he was younger. Far from innocent, but pure in its own form.
They needed to discuss the emotional aspects of it, but he was scared. Terrified, even, to bring it up and potentially ruin or disturb the lovely routine and vibe they had now. He didn’t want to scare her away, but Mitch was right.
Here is another installment of best friend’s dadrry!!
Part One Part Two
Warnings: age gap, forbidden/kinda taboo relationship (literally fuckin her best friends father lol), slight mention of cheating if you squint
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WC- 1.3k
——
Harry would probably be consumed with guilt if it didn’t feel so good.
Y/N was a temptress. Crimson lips and petal soft skin, a coy smile but cunning eyes. She was something he had tried so hard to stay away from, and still fell right into her soft, sticky webbed trap. The girl had some sort of enchantress powers. His mind had always known that morally, it was wrong. Legally? He was fine. She was a grown adult and he had never looked at her as anything by his daughter’s friend until that fateful day- but if she were to find out, it could cause some serious issues .
That didn’t stop her, though. Y/N was haunting him. Staying at his home, lounging by his pool, brushing past him in his kitchen, sneaking looks at the man as he sat in the living room in his phone when the girls would leave to go out. He had to act like he wasn’t seething with jealousy when his daughter bragged about how many guys she had gotten the attention of the next day as they drank mimosas on their pool deck, giggling with her as she had agreed it had been her goal. The only solace he found, however, was the fact that he knew she wasn’t getting it anywhere else.
As sick and twisted as it was, he awaited the click of his door after his daughter was asleep and the quiet snap of the lock as she padded across his bedroom floor. She would crawl into his bed, hair hanging in silky tendrils around her face as she climbed right on top of his body. Manicured fingers would stroke through his slightly dampened hair, coo about how sexy he looked in his reading glasses, and connect their lips with a kiss.
He knew that it was wrong to take her with his hand wrapped around her mouth, muffling her moans as he pounded into her welcoming cunt from behind. Holding her still as she whimpered against his palm, exhaling sharply through her nose as the tip of his cock would graze her sweetest spot and make her little hole gush around his prick, his mind was focused on making sure he could keep her quiet enough to keep anyone one from waking up- but sometimes the pleasure would be too much.
As much as Harry had fought it, he was obsessed with the girl. Knowing that she sought him out, wanting his expertise, wanting his kissing and caresses and wanted him alone out of every other man that would gladly give her whatever she wanted? It was a stroke to his bruised ego.
Even if she was always pushing limits and testing boundaries.
When his hand would fall out, filth would leave her lips. Some of the dirtiest things, the things he didn’t even know would arouse him that sparked a new sense of sick pleasure mixed with guilt. One time in particular was when she had brought up his ex wife.
“Tighter than her, aren’t I?” Her siren voice purred, a little giggle at the end of it. “Fucking me in the same bed you used to have her in… old and worn out… now you’ve got me.” She had shocked him, pulling his hand around her throat. “Dumb bitch left the best fuck…. She’s so fucking stupid. You deserve this, Harry. You deserve me.” Her pants were echoing in his brain.
It had triggered a moral deliemma, his hand pushing his fingers against the sides of her throat as he growled at her with his punishing thrusts. “Shut the fuck up.” His tone had made her moan. “Don’t talk about her when I’m inside of you.” There was the mix of pain… but also arousal. Because to a degree? She was right. It did feel good in the fucked up way it could. Having a sweet, needy, beautiful younger woman begging for his cock, needing it in the same bed she had left him in? It felt like his own reward. But that didn’t mean she should say it.
“Then why did your cock twitch?” Her weak voice escaped despite his skillful grasp, cutting some of her air. Y/N loved to goad him, to make him feel as though he was out of his goddamn mind, and this was one of them. He didn’t want to admit that his body responded to it, that her words had made him more aroused- so he didn’t. He buried her face into the pillow, continuing his fuck inside of her, pretending he couldn’t hear the little giggle that had been faded into a moan.
Y/N was an enigma. A wet dream come to life, a woman that had him by the balls- literally and metaphorically. He’s never felt more attracted to a woman in his life. Just the scent of her shampoo made his cock twitch, laying in bed the next day to smell the pillow her face had been buried in and had laid on when they’d finished their intense sex. It was always intense with her. Always fiery. Starting off soft or teasing and ending up explosive and intense. Perhaps that should be a warning sign, but Harry found himself too obsessed and entranced with the sweet girl to care.
Outside of their sex, Y/N was a true sweetheart. Besides the whole fucking her friend’s dad thing, she was a genuinely good friend to his daughter and always had been. She kept her on track but did indulge in the nights out and the drinks they’d share. She had helped keep her grades up during school and as she made herself a staple in their home, she had made sure to clean up after herself and be a real contributing factor. The guest room dedicated to her was clean and tidy, never leaving clothes all over the place or dishes in the sink. Perhaps she felt more like a guest despite spending many nights there, but Harry found her to be very peaceful to live alongside.
He had to stop himself often from imagining it being just the two of them. His daughter was looking for an apartment of her own now that she was looking for jobs, which Harry would fund until she got on her feet- but he felt terribly guilty about feeling almost excited at the prospect of having the house to himself so he could indulge in taking Y/N the way he had been craving to do. In their living room, the kitchen, in the pool, against the front door. He was torn completely. Of course he wanted his little girl to stay as long as she wanted, but knowing she was eager to move out and he was eager to have Y/N become a staple in his bed… it was a nice bandaid to the wound.
His heart stuttered in his chest as he walked into the kitchen, seeing the pair sitting in front of the island and picking at some fruit that had been cut up. Y/N sent him a large glittering smile, pushing a bowl of cut kiwi and strawberry over to him.
“Kiwi is your favorite, right?” She asked, a hopeful glint in her eye that made him want to get on his knees right there. She had cut up kiwi just for him, definitely bought it considering he knew they didn’t have any and his daughter didn’t like it, and made him a snack.
“Yeah- yeah, it is.” He cleared his throat, surprise obvious on his face. “Thank you. I appreciate that- was comin’ in to get a snack.” His eyes lingered on her face and the little stain on her lips from the strawberries and cherries she had been eating. He wanted to taste her fruit tinged mouth and make her lips swollen and bruised.
“You’re too nice, Y/N. He’s a grown man.” His daughter snorted, not noticing the way their eyes met.
“Yeah, but even grown men deserve to be taken care of sometimes. Especially when they’re as sweet to me as your dad.”
Helllooo everyone! This is part one to the Best Friend’s Dad series.
We really hope you enjoy it 👀
Part1 Warnings: age gap, smut, masturbation
If you enjoy this, check out our Patreon!
Word count: 2.8k
———
It started off innocent enough.
Mr.Styles was always incredibly kind. She was 18 when they first met and of course, she had that innocent crush that one would. He was tall, handsome, tattooed and so genuine. A music producer, he had a lot of money and his home was always the center of their hang ours.
Ophelia, or Lia as Y/N and the people closest to her called her, was a good friend. They’d become close that year and Y/N ended up at the Styles residence every weekend. It was always stocked with good, healthy food. Mr.Styles baked on his free time and usually he made them brownies or cookies from internet recipes. He was beyond smart, able to help with any question they had except chemistry- he always said he was shit at it. And best of all?
Synopsis: When not just your superior sees the security footage, but the entire research team does, one humiliation turns into a thousand more when they inform you that they wish to continue to study Eddie. Using your assistance.
Warnings: nsfw content; tentacle fucking (vaginal, oral, anal), breeding kink, belly bulge, bondage, begging, blindfolding, taunting and mockery, pheromones and aphrodisiacs (secreted by the tentacles), size difference, dirty talk, fucking in front of cams and researchers for *science*, Eddie’s cum is an aphrodisiac, dacryphilia, clit play, nipple play, oral (both receiving - tongue fucking and face fucking), a little edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, multiple tentacles cum in the reader, squirting, reader swallows, unprotected & rough sex, creampies, fucked dumb
Word Count: 10.5k
A/N: There’s more :) Happy Kinktober! This one went off the rails a little bit, so let me just say this is definitely one of those fics you read in the middle of the night when you’re a little sleep deprived and you’re craving some very specific kinda smut. I think. Either way, I also wrote this one back in May, and I’m still new to the breeding kink, so I hope this is good! Enjoy :)
“What the fuck is this?”
The word haunted you as you sat in the conference room. Up on a massive television, perfect HD, the screen was paused on you. In the cell. Were your temperature true to how it felt, your skin would have blistered and boiled. You sank down in your chair, avoiding eye contact. A pounding heart shoved out most other thoughts and sounds, and a sharp wave of panic made you feel like you were going to throw up.
Both angles were shown, but they'd been graceful enough to pause the security footage at the start of the encounter. You were merely seated in the chair in front of Eddie’s cell as he stood in front of you. They weren’t shy about letting you know they’d seen it, though. All of it. Repeatedly.
"Let's forget the numerous violations committed by going into his cell after hours, let alone without contacting any of us first. What the fuck?”
You still didn't look your superior in the eye. You were sore, sleep-deprived, and still…suffering lingering effects of whatever his tentacles had secreted. Twelve people filled the room, and feeling every single pair of eyes fall on you was maddening. You said nothing. There wasn't much you could say to justify it besides what was already pointed out in the video. And by a nearby coworker–Dylan.
"Pheromone usage is actually a fascinating study," they said. "And it's curious that (Y/N) experienced it, but the rest of us didn't. This begs the question of whether it's a targeted instrument used to breed and further their species or if it's entirely involuntary. On both parties involved." They tilted their head. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, (Y/N), but it seems like that pheromone is given a…physical state in the form of…."
Dylan’s voice caught before they cleared their throat.
“I’m not entirely sure what to refer to it as besides whatever liquid is released from the tendrils on his body.” Dylan waved at the screen again. You absolutely craved death. “All things considered, this is an incredible development.”
“It wasn’t done in a controlled environment,” someone snapped.
“And it shows that we’re merely housing the…the thing until it gets bored of us. It could break out and kill us all if it wanted to,” said another. “Am I the only one realizing that?”
“Well, he’s merely interested in more enrichment–which is another good study in itself–and enjoys (Y/N)’s…company.” Dylan shrugged. “Why should our studies cease if the alien is being cooperative and we’ve taken a major step in understanding his kind?” Dylan turned to you. “Are you willing to participate in any further studies, (Y/N)?”
Your heart thundered. Gradually, for the first time since you were practically demanded and dragged into the meeting room, you met someone's gaze. Dylan–thankfully–actually seemed genuine in their tone. A mercy you weren't sure you were fond of, considering what studies they were implying.
Did you really have a choice in whether you continued? You couldn’t leave simply because it not only would put the lives of the others at stake should Eddie not enjoy your departure, but whatever that pheromone was, you were already aching for him. Every inch of you wanted to be back in the cell with him. Hours spent with him inside you–filling, touching, fucking. Until he got tired and left you like that.
Thoughts you'd never quite had before about anyone and thoughts you couldn't have then and there. You shook them away while taking a shaking, slow breath.
“Considering he’s only cooperative with me, I would be remiss to not continue any potential research,” you muttered. Everyone had their eyes glued to you. “What studies did you have in mind?”
Dylan shrugged. A few of your superiors looked at them like they were utterly insane, but a few of the coworkers on your clearance level started to garner curious expressions.
"Repetition in a controlled environment. Study and analysis of the pheromone if possible. DNA analysis. Um." Their attention lingered on you for a moment. "Inter-species breeding and whether or not an Earthly setting affects it."
Your stomach churned. You were trying not to think about the obvious. You were still not thinking about the obvious. You pushed the obvious far from your mind despite how the process leading up to the possibility made you feel. That craving to already have him thrusting inside you and spilling that damn tingling, addictive seed had you forcing yourself still in your seat.
You swallowed hard.
"The possibilities really are endless," Dylan said, jerking their attention away from you. "Although, I suppose we ought to ask the creature. It'd be a potential mistake to simply assume he would wish to assist us in such tasks." Again, Dylan looked at you. "Bring him some books, and then we can pose the questions."
And just like that, twenty minutes later, after a fierce debate, you'd lost the argument with the sensible part of your brain, and you were carrying a stack of books to Eddie. More than a few of your fellow researchers joined you, watching through the cameras in an adjacent room and a window that was able to tint and un-tint at the press of a button. You could feel all of their eyes as you stepped into the room, immediately catching Eddie’s eye.
Seemed all were still scared of him. Or they worried what'd happened to you might happen to them. The chair was still in front of the bars, your shoes, socks, and lab coat were on the ground, and…the puddle had since dried from where you'd been positioned on the bars. And you'd made it those few steps into the room, the door shutting hard behind you when that sweet, addictive smell of his hit you. All the way from there.
You damn near dropped the books.
“You’re back,” he mused, rising slowly from the bed and coming to the bars. He curled his fingers around them, his long hair since pulled back, a few strands framing his face as he tilted his head to look at you. “And you were true to your word. Unless those aren’t for me.”
“They are,” you muttered.
You felt every breath heave your chest when those black eyes locked on you. One curl of a finger–or another appendage–and you would've been on your knees. Your new lanyard kept your ID card around your neck, and it would've been so easy to unlock the door and slip in with him again.
“Something else on your mind, (Y/N)?” he asked, his voice low and beckoning.
You actually took an involuntary step toward him. It brought an amused smile to those cruel lips.
“I’m….” You closed your eyes. Damn it. It was hard to think clearly. A shake of your head helped, but he smelled so good. And you swore you could taste that sweet, sugary…substance…whatever the hell it really was, on your tongue. “They….”
You took one step and put the books down on a nearby table. Eddie was fucking beaming as you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. The air in the room already felt too hot, and all the soreness you'd felt was creeping away. Fucking hell. Just being in the damn room with him had your thighs itching to press together. An ache formed that begged to be relieved.
“We wish to run some tests,” you snapped. You held a hand up, and when you glanced over at Eddie, the massive space was just that–obviously massive–yet it felt like you were mere inches from each other. “If you’re willing and interested.”
The bars creaked under his weight.
“What kind of tests?” he asked. His tongue flicked the corner of his mouth. In a movement that was meant to be noticeable, he peered at the glass behind you, then up at the cameras. “They were that fascinated by the footage?”
You clenched your jaw and placed both hands on the table to steady yourself. Eddie cocked a dark brow, his smile growing unbearably wider. It wasn’t hard to remember the feel of his tongue dragging over your cunt.
“Yes,” you said plainly. “But we wish…the sexual and breeding actions of an unknown, non-Earthly species is an important aspect to study and is vastly important to understanding your species to ours. And…and there’s much to study under that umbrella alone, especially with….” You dared to look at him. A mistake. You actively felt your underwear dampen as he started to run his hands along the length of the bars. “Every non-human aspect.”
“Like what?” He stepped ever closer, and he rested his head against one of his fists. He drew his tongue across the corner of his mouth as…as one tentacle slithered out and curled around his neck like a threat. A promise. “What do you wish to do to me now?”
“Provide enrichment,” you croaked, eyes glued to the little circles the tentacle drew on Eddie’s neck. “In return for your adherence regarding studies of your DNA and…practices.”
“Practices?” One brow cocked. His smirk was mocking.
“We wish to study how the effects of your pheromone, whatever…whatever secretes from the tentacles and why it can cause…that effect, and your species' breeding practices." Your cheeks burned while your head spun. The tentacle tightened around Eddie's throat, and you swore you could almost feel it on yours. His teeth glinted in a wide grin. "It's imperative to any study of a new species to observe all practices, especially ones that involve the furthering of their kind."
As if you had to justify it not for the sake of the study but for yourself. Why you'd agreed to do it. Why your body was entirely willing and desperate to do it.
“All in controlled environments, of course,” you muttered.
“And who would I be doing these experiments with?” he asked. Another tentacle came and curled around one of the bars. You actively fought a hitched breath.
“An active and willing participant,” you said plainly.
Your eyes locked, and Eddie licked his lips again.
“And what kind of enrichment is promised if I’m so…obedient and willing? Those aren’t exactly my strong suits, (Y/N).”
You shrugged. It was about bargaining, but there wasn’t much you could go over prior to your arrival without knowing what exactly Eddie might want. He’d been secretive about that all since then.
“We’re open to bargaining if it means you’ll assist us.” You tapped your fingers on the table, flicking your attention from him to them. “I’ll allow you some time to think on it–”
“I’ll do it.”
You hadn’t even turned fully. His words were like a hook drawing you back in, and you had to grab onto the back of a nearby chair to simply not turn and go to him. His eyes glinted and burned even from there, and a few more tendrils had snuck out and wrapped around the bars. Much like how they had last night to keep you suspended.
“You will?” you muttered, brows raising.
That was…fast.
He nodded once.
Your eyes locked and lingered together for a few seconds. Heat blossomed as reality set in. Him agreeing meant…. You swallowed hard. That wicked smile of his was pleasure and torture all at once. Yet you still felt yourself ruin your underwear as you blindly reached for the doorknob.
“Okay,” you breathed, quickly turning it and jerking the door back before you did something terribly foolish. “T-Then we shall return shortly with…with whatever…we….”
You shook your head, and at the sound of Eddie’s mocking laugh, you slipped from the room to get the first breath of fresh air. The door shut tight behind you, and your back went against it. Two coworkers were already on you, reaching to study the clear effects of the pheromone, and you swatted them away.
“Fascinating,” one said beside you. “And I feel nothing. I felt nothing when I was in the room with him last time.”
“Well, then,” another said, their voice stern and analytical. “Perhaps we ought to begin the testing then.”
Testing. You were asked to complete it all, given the obvious. Although, you figured most of it was simply fear on the others' parts. They were scared of getting within reach of the alien with an addicting pheromone. Either because it'd work or they simply say the wrong thing and lose their lives. Too many horrendous variables, they claimed.
Yeah, well, being the one in charge of the towering alien as you walked him through the halls to every new lab was torture. He walked too close, and there was the underlying fear that he might simply decide to bolt. Or try something else. Something else that your mind shot to every time he stepped too close to you or uncaringly grazed his hand against your arm.
But he never bolted. Had he been serious…? That staying there was better than leaving simply because of…you? Your heart thundered. To breed you. You couldn’t get a satisfying breath. Just the thought of it….
Eddie watched you during every test. There wasn't inherent and immediate agreement for each one, so you couldn't not talk to him. But you were trying not to. You were trying not to feel anything. Want anything. Crave anything. But that was fucking impossible when you were cleaning his skin and searching for a vein to draw blood.
He was so warm. So fucking warm. And he smelled so addictively good. You almost moaned when you had to step closer to draw the blood, and Eddie had a cruel smirk on the entire time. He didn’t flinch when you missed the vein the first time, and he didn’t react when you managed to get it on the next try.
“We require–” Someone said far behind you. They caught themselves a little too late, earning a cocked brow and an annoyed expression from Eddie. Required? He looked like he was about to laugh. “If you’re willing, we would like a sample of….”
You could hear their frown as their voice trailed off into an awkward silence.
“Whatever your extra appendages secrete.”
Your cheeks burned. They burned even hotter as one of those said extra appendages slid out from underneath his shirt. One came and curled around your arm that drew the blood, and your knees nearly buckled. Another spun in the air, slithering around nothing and making a show of just exactly what it was. Ridges went along it, and you already had the pattern of what they felt like inside you memorized. The feeling was seared beautifully into you. A tiny little drop formed at the tip.
“Come take it, then,” Eddie said with a wickedly mocking tone. “It’s right here. Or are you afraid of what it might make you feel?”
“(Y/N),” they said almost sharply. “Collect a sample.”
And that was all they said, their voice quivering, before they left the room. And Eddie fucking snorted.
“They saw what it does to humans,” you muttered, eyeing the retreating tendril. “And they know you can escape with ease. They’re terrified of you.”
Eddie curled his lips into a wide smile. He sat back in the chair and kicked his feet out, eyeing you as you freed the needle from his arm and set the newly filled vials aside. The tentacle on your wrist remained, and when it started to climb higher, you closed your eyes and let out an involuntary shuddering breath.
“Good.” The tendril climbed higher. Higher until it coiled around your bicep and…and up to your throat. “Let them know that I’m not the one stuck in here with them.”
Your hands trembled as you held a sample container up, and Eddie gave you a wry look. The tentacle coiled a little around your throat. Warm and slimy against your skin.
“If you want a substantial sample, (Y/N), it’s not going to come out on its own,” he mused.
You stared at where the tentacle positioned itself over the jar, but only a few clear drops fell into it. And you…you blinked at the leaking slit, then at the rest of it. Oh. One flick of your eyes went up to the camera, your heart pounding. And it took only a mere second for someone to speak through a wall-mounted speaker.
“Do it,” someone said.
It…was for science.
And they’d all already seen you do worse. So you moved, positioning the jar on the table and…and stole a nervous look at Eddie before bringing your hand up to the tentacle. You didn’t pump it, though. The second your fist closed around the phallic end, it started to thrust. Deep, rhythm thrusts that captivated. Feeling them in your hand was a reminder of what they’d felt like inside of you. An unfair feeling in that particular scenario. You were dripping just from the sight, the feel. And as you watched more drip into the container, you shuddered.
Everyone was watching.
You closed your eyes and attempted a deep breath. But just smelling Eddie had you gushing and clenching. So horrendously empty. So…mockingly.
The tentacle pulsed quickly, and Eddie gave only the slightest reaction as the substance shot from the slit. Spilling itself in large, harsh bursts into the container. Overfilling it.
That…that was what had been inside you. Where you’d knelt down in the shower the night after, still reeling from the effects, fingers on your clit as you pulled another orgasm from yourself. Gasped into the spilling water as that leaked from you. Both holes. Down the drain as your cunt spasmed.
You wore gloves and a lab coat, but even fully covered, you worried that it’d touch you. And then what? What would you do then? What everyone outside the room was expecting you to do anyway. It was one of the tasks they’d already talked about far too technically and as if you were another test subject, not their coworker.
You stared down at the overfilled jar, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Every inch of you burned and pined for that feeling again. For him. For– The chair creaked, and suddenly Eddie's breath was on your cheek.
“I’ll stuff you again, (Y/N).” His tongue flicked your jaw, and you actually stumbled closer. His hand came to grab your arm before you fell atop him in the chair. “I’ll make sure every hole of yours is so full you can’t move without leaking.”
His breath hit your ear. Then, his tongue.
“I have fifteen tentacles. Thirteen of which can produce that.” His teeth nipped at your lobe, dragging with a fierce pinch. You actually whimpered, clinging to him as you struggled to hold your own weight. “I’ll fuck you with every single one until there’s nothing left in me to give.” A low growl came into his voice. “Do you think your poor human body can handle all of that?”
“Yes,” you muttered without meaning. A simple slip of a breathy, high-pitched whine. One you tried to catch before it was too late, but it was in the air. And you felt humiliation slam into you as your eyes shot open.
Eddie beamed, gaze locked to yours, fingers dragging along your jaw.
“Good,” he said, his grin maniacal.
And that kicked you into gear to force a foot of space between you. Gasping for necessary breaths, you turned your back to him, doing your best to package up the substance without getting on your skin. All while Eddie watched.
“That substance,” cracked a voice through the speaker. “Is it fertile?”
You felt your cheek erupt once more as you wiped off the outside of the container before sterilizing it. Eddie peered over at a window that was tinted over across the way, eyeing the people hidden behind it.
“Yes.”
The container slipped from your fingers and bounced on the counter. Thankfully plastic, but still embarrassing. And Eddie snorted as you righted it, quickly moving to clean up the rest of the table.
“Is it…the same substance that is used to reproduce on your planet?”
"Yup," Eddie said plainly.
Your hands started to shake.
“Does it have addictive properties?”
"Yup." He wiped the tentacle off his shirt before it disappeared within it. Your breath caught as you labeled the lid of the jar with awful handwriting. "But more in a way of…craving the pleasure. Pheromones ensnare the interested, and this…this makes the excited ten times more. I’ve seen humans climax merely from the taste alone. And without it, well, let’s just say their future endeavors find themselves…beyond lacking.”
Eddie drew his eyes over you and landed them on the jar.
“You won’t just miss the feel of it, but you’ll miss us. And not even a dozen humans at once would compare.”
You put much-needed space between you as you slotted the blood vials and the cleaned jaw away. Others would handle it, hopefully. You couldn't do all the work. You’d be up every hour of every day. And…and when someone had to be with Eddie, that wasn’t possible.
You could hardly think, though, as you moved. His words stitched themselves into you unbearably. Even from there. Even as you washed your hands with freezing water, the feeling wouldn’t scrub off. Bound again, the tentacles inside you, filling you, giving you that taste of that damn substance. You leaned your weight against the counter and felt the seam of your jeans pressing hard where you were aching and wet.
You needed contact against your clit, or else you were going to die.
"What's next?" you croaked, planting both hands on the countertop.
“We wish to study you,” someone said. “And the effects he has on you.”
It was a cycle. For seven days straight, you worked with Eddie in some form or fashion, brought him whatever he seemed to desire, and then you were pulled aside to be immediately studied. Blood pressure, heart rate, arousal. You only gave whatever strict information was necessary and refused to elaborate beyond yes, the pheromone works from great distances. And other equally as vague sentiments.
And over the course of those seven days, you laid in bed every single night craving his touch. You couldn’t touch yourself, though. Because if you did, you had to report it. In fact, some of the researchers even wanted to record your vitals while you did it. They wanted to compare an average session to one after interacting with him. You drew the line there, even if they'd given you the option to do it alone, merely hooked up to the machines.
Except with each passing night, you were getting into more and more agony. By the seventh day, there wasn’t a moment you weren’t aching and wet. Hour after hour, regardless of the task at hand, regardless of how many rooms were put between you and Eddie–nothing fucking quelled the clenching sensation in your cunt as you ached for him. To be filled. To…to be bred.
For the last twenty minutes, you’d actually just sat in an empty room, alone, your head in your hands. You rocked your hips against the seam of your jeans, taking what little rivets of pleasure you could gather there. But it wasn’t enough. You were close to ripping your pants off and fucking yourself there.
And then you were called to do the worst.
You were tasked with studying Eddie’s anatomy.
You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t even stand near him as you walked to the examination room with him. Nothing fancy, really–a metal table for examinations of plants, a padded table for physical exams, cabinets full of necessary tools and gowns. Vials for any substances that might need to be obtained and saved. A shower and a sink. Overhead white lights that kept the room brightly lit. An observational window that all research rooms had.
“What am I doing?” you asked, voice weak and rough.
Still sleep-deprived, you were struggling to keep yourself together. Touch and climax deprived, you were trying not to let your mind slip away into an area where coherent thoughts hadn't lived. And Eddie could feel it. If there was kindness behind his silence, you couldn't tell, but his expressions told you that he knew. You were aching for him. Dripping. You were certain that you'd already leaked through your second pair of underwear that day and showed on your jeans and lab coat.
“Recording size and length of his anatomy,” someone said.
Great.
You picked up a clipboard, noting how horrendously your hands shook, and picked up a tape measure to go ahead with the torture. Eddie was already stripping down as you approached. Unnecessary at that point–you could’ve measured his arms and legs, waist and hips, thighs and arms all through his clothing. But by the time you got to him and you peered up from the clipboard? You had to clamp down not to drop it.
He stood with a snarky smile. Completely and utterly naked.
And erect.
He waved a hand at himself.
“Go ahead.” A cruel smile took over. “Touch.”
You blinked at his bare frame, your mouth…damn it. It watered. The memory of that night, all that you'd deprived yourself of…. You couldn't move for a minute. Then two. Your chest heaved, and that sweet and spicy mix of a smell slipped into your next breath. Oh, fuck. You were going to sob if he didn’t fuck you. You were going to lose yourself. But you…. You had a job to do. You couldn’t….
The tentacles came and held themselves in the air, just beckoning to you.
You can get through it.
You took a step forward. Then another. And you were at the distance you needed to be to take measurements, but you…you were letting out shaky breath after shaky breath. You weren’t entirely sure your handwriting would be legible. Still, you set the clipboard aside and started taking measurements.
His chest. His shoulders. His neck. Arms. Wingspan. Waist. Hips. The tip of his cock leaked and, as you stared down at it helplessly, it twitched. To not drop to your knees and put it in your mouth was a miracle. You had to outright avoid it in order to keep sane. Although, kneeling just behind him wasn't proving to help much. The muscles in his thighs flexed as you wrapped the measuring tape around them, trying to avoid contact with anything that wasn't an appropriate section.
Pausing to write down each measurement was dragging the torture on longer and horrifically longer. Nobody behind the glass said anything, but you could imagine what they were thinking. They were probably replaying the security video or thinking one of the cruel thoughts they'd whispered when they thought you were out of earshot. Because what human would crave such an alien like him? What person would let him do what he did to you and like it?
The judgment they were passing, the thoughts they surely wouldn’t admit to themselves, all probably wondering if you enjoyed being so close to him, helping him all the time. You’d caught a few of the others watching the security footage frame by frame, notes taken, pens pointed at the screen with questions written down regarding which tentacles did what, what exactly the purpose was of different actions, how strong the tentacles were, were all capable of expanding like one inserted anally had. Endless questions.
Your mouth was dry as you slowly rose to your feet. Your hands were shaking as you flicked your eyes over every tentacle protruding from him. From his back and down to his legs, they seemed to hover in the air idly, yet out of your way. The ones with ridges made your cheeks burn, and the ones with slits were dripping that sample that’d yet to be analyzed. They wanted you to do it, and you’d been struggling to find the time.
They refused the risk.
“If I asked you to extend the…appendages…as far as they’re capable, would you do so?” you asked, voice hoarse. It caught far too easily in your throat. You tapped one with the end of your pen. “Please.”
“For you?” Eddie said, peering over his shoulder. “Of course.”
Your cheeks burned. It was already hard trying to get the circumference. Touching them while they kept only just still enough–writhing and wiggling under your grasp–was a cruelty you were struggling to continue with. It just made you remember how they’d done that inside of you. How one had fucked your fist and showed you exactly what they’d been doing inside of you. Fuck. One wrapped around your arm like it was doing it on its own as you tried to measure another, and it was a miracle it was one of the few without a slit.
As you sucked in a sharp breath, a screech came through the speaker on the wall, and your heart almost stopped.
“Do you restrain all of those you have intercourse with for any specific purpose?” A pause. Your pulse skyrocketed. “Or is it merely a personal preference?”
Eddie cocked a brow as he tore his dark eyes from you.
“Both.”
You felt yourself start to burn with humiliation as you walked around Eddie, following one tendril that started to extend itself to its full length, taking you across the room. Opposite of the tinted window.
“You ever have a person so overwhelmed with pleasure they can’t keep still?” You caught Eddie turning his head back to look at you again. The room rose ten degrees in temperature. “Typically, to make sure it takes, we drain ourselves. Stamina and seed. Little easier to do that when those picked for breeding are kept nice and still for us. And open.”
You let out a shuddering breath as the next tentacle came over to you, ending where the other had. Then the next. And the one after that. So far, all seemed to be the same length. A nice distraction from how you currently wanted to bury your head in some sand.
“You talk about using humans for breeding,” one started. There was the sound of paper rustling and a small pause. “Yet there was anal and oral insertion.”
You dropped your pen and actively scrambled to pick it up. Eddie didn’t bother to hide his laughter. His gaze burned into you as you fell to your knees, avoiding the tentacles as you did so. Although one–without a slit, graciously–tipped your chin up just as you grabbed the pen. You swallowed hard as another seemed poised right in front of your lips.
What you wouldn’t give to have that sugary sweet taste on your tongue again.
"Do humans not also enjoy fucking other holes?" Eddie tilted his head. "Besides, oral ingestion works wonders for a human's stamina. It…rejuvenates them."
All of you burned as you slowly rose. You were trembling, unfortunately, as it felt like every single eye was on you. Hidden or not.
“So you do it for the act of pleasure?” came a stilted voice. It was hard to tell the emotion behind it.
“Everything we do naked is for pleasure.” Eddie’s gaze seared itself into you as you tried to fix the measuring tape to measure the length of the tentacles. “And we’ll breed with a human of our choice for as long as it takes to become successful.”
You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t even breathe.
“When they’ve become pregnant, what then?”
Eddie cocked a brow.
“Depends. Some continue to breed other humans. Some find themselves attached to the one they chose. Oftentimes claiming them as their own, untouched by any others. And they will mate with them until no more children can be produced.”
Another pause. You noted down the length of the tentacles, all reaching a span of fifteen feet, give or take a few inches. The numbers were scraggly and rough with each attempt.
“And what have you chosen for (Y/N)?” someone asked, their voice hesitant.
“Has my seed taken?” Eddie asked over his shoulder, and it took you a second to realize he was talking to you. The thought of the reality of his question should’ve terrified you more than it did. But when your eyes locked, all you thought about was him repeating the reason he’d asked that.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Then we’ll continue until we do.”
A spark caught in your gazes, and you felt yourself clench. Holy fuck. You shuddered out a breath just as one of the tentacles brushed against your cheek. Close to something tender if you were naive enough to think that. But it was merely an excuse to touch. To remind the ones behind the glass that you were already hooked on him. Addicted.
“Unfortunately, despite the amount of seed we can deposit into any human capable of pregnancy, our fertility is weak.” Another tentacle slid up over your ankles, sneaking beneath your jeans. “It can take years of trying with just one human before there is any success.”
Years. Your breath hitched. Eddie watched you with glee. Cruel glee. How many humans had he bred with sent mixed emotions crawling through you. The betrayal at your own body for taking involuntary steps toward him just at the thought of having that done to you for years. Always filled. Always pushed to the brink with climax after climax. Fucked raw and stuffed, tasting that sweet sugary secretion until you were dripping without anything even touching your cunt.
“(Y/N),” Eddie whispered, and something warm brushed your hand.
His hand.
You jerked your gaze up from his chest, and you were right there. He was right there.
You’d…. Your breath hitched audibly while you blinked up at his overwhelming, unabashedly amused gaze. When had you walked over to him? When had you gotten that close to him? Fuck. His fingers curled around your wrist, pushing the sleeve of your coat up higher and higher, until it was over your elbow. Goosebumps were left on your skin in the wake of his touch, and when he bowed his head, you swore you could feel his breath on your forehead.
“So needy,” he whispered.
His thumb swiped over you in such an agonizingly slow drag, your knees buckled. You actually fell against him, the clipboard falling and clattering loudly on the tile floor. Your hands splayed on his chest, feeling every ridge and dip; his heartbeat was humanistic, and his chest moved and expanded just as yours did to breathe. And his cock…beyond the size of any human, thick, long, and still leaking at the tip–your eyes fluttered shut as it pressed against you. It merely hit your stomach, and still. That was enough.
Both of his hands held your arms, keeping you on your feet. And you could only imagine what the fuck they were saying behind the glass.
“Do you want me to–”
“Not here,” someone immediately cut in.
It wasn’t the bucket of ice water you needed dumped on you. It only made the fact that your thighs were pressing together as you leaned your weight against him worse. Your breath was shallow. You needed him. You needed him inside you. You needed him to fuck you. You needed to taste him. You fucking needed it or you’d find a new level of insanity.
The pure annoyance in Eddie’s face brought silence. You glanced up and actually felt a bit of fear yourself. His eyes were sharp, dark brows furrowed, and his jaw set hard.
“Are you to tell me when I can and cannot breed? Because I fucking doubt you’d even enter the room were I to do otherwise.” Eddie leaned forward, drawing you up with immense strength that made your cunt clench. And suddenly, there was the press of his mouth against your jaw. A warm, searing, tantalizing kiss that traveled down over your burning skin. With a snarl, he added, “If my human aches to fuck, you better fucking believe I will fuck her.”
There was a screech through the speaker, then some clamoring. Then, multiple people talking. And you couldn't even find words as Eddie's teeth nipped at your neck. Your knees buckled again.
“Wait. We simply wish to take vitals beforehand and provide a better…more suitable environment. To….” There was a horrendously awkward pause. “Capture the encounter.”
You knew it was coming. You knew they’d watch. They’d record. Hell, they’d probably sit back with notebooks and microphones, speaking over and asking questions the entire time. Mortifying. It was fucking mortifying. To not simply want Eddie. To not simply ache for him to…god, to breed you. But to be okay with your coworkers doing that for the sake of the research. You burned so awfully for Eddie already that you hardly cared what the circumstances were. You just needed him again.
Eddie’s eyes lingered on you for a brief second, and there must’ve been some kind of expression on your face that actually got through to him. Granted, you would’ve been fine if he fucked you right then and there. But something happened when your gazes locked that made him frown before he turned an annoyed and sharp look at the window.
“Fine. Where the fuck is the room?”
It was the only time people entered the room with Eddie. You were in a haze of complete and mortifying desire as you hooked Eddie up to have his vitals taken. Then two others came in to take yours. Nobody said a single word to each other except what the vitals were, and you just kept your eyes up on the ceiling instead. Not on the room they'd rolled a bed into. Not on the three cameras on the walls and ceiling or the two personal ones set up near the bed. Nor…not the window, tinted with a mirror effect, showing you your lustful expression as you squirmed in your spot.
You were really going to let an alien fuck you in front of everyone, weren’t you?
As the door shut behind the people as they left, yup. Eddie was eyeing you like you were food; you were melting in your chair. Yeah. You were going to let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to you.
"If you speak, if you try to fucking command what I do," Eddie said as he started to walk toward you. But he threw a look at the mirror. At least he wasn't naive enough to think it was merely just that. The room was typically an interrogation cell, but they'd swapped the table for that twin-sized bed. Eddie wouldn't even hope to fit in it. "There will be a problem."
One tentacle. It took one tentacle to shove that tiny bed aside. It cracked the cinder block wall upon impact and broke the baseboard off from the rest. The mattress went lopsided with the rest of the welded frame, and your heart raced as Eddie got closer. Your chair was the only piece of furniture left in the room, and as you started to stand, it was made into pieces as it slammed into the wall behind you.
The silence on the other end of the overhead speaker meant they took Eddie’s threat seriously.
Subconsciously, you stepped back from him as he stalked toward you, still utterly naked. But before your back could hit the wall, you were moved.
“Oh, god–”
His hands were warm against your cheeks. It was the only tender moment that lay briefly in the space between you and where you met. You melted into his touch, breathing in that sweet, sweet pheromone that made your head spin. And when his lips pressed to yours? It was pure hunger. A need so aching, you started to push yourself against him. Walking back with him as he moved you toward the center of the room where the bed once sat.
He tasted so fucking sweet, and his tongue dove into your mouth as you were guided down. Down, down, down–the mattress was beneath you hardly caught the blur of two tentacles moving it in before more were on you. There was no gradual work up to whatever Eddie had planned, and you were grateful. Not even silently. You pressed your head back as his mouth nipped and kissed at your neck like he was a vampire feeding from every little squirm, every gasping breath, every thundering beat of your heart. You clawed at the fitted sheet covering the bed as his hands and tentacles worked in tandem.
Your coat was slipped off. The button of your jeans was undone, then the zipper. Two tentacles pulled your shirt over your head as two more tugged your jeans down. And when there went the warm press of Eddie’s body to the cold AC pumping through the overhead vent, you were staring wide-eyed and nervous not just at him, but the brief reflection you could make out of him in the mirror. The one-way window.
“Oh.” Eddie almost looked at you pitifully. Your heart and stomach lurched until you felt the tentacles coming up your legs, parting them in the process, and Eddie’s eyes were glued where you were wet enough to get your thighs sticky. In a lower voice, as he sank to his knees, he added, “Eddie will take care of you.”
You clutched the mattress harder as you couldn’t figure out where to look. At him was the obvious and right option. There was no fucking doubt about that. But the mirror. The cameras. You couldn’t even look at the ceiling without seeing one staring down at you. Fuck. You clamped your eyes shut as your underwear was peeled away by two tentacles. Then your bra came next.
Fuck.
You felt Eddie’s breath on your thighs before two slimy tentacles were there. They curled around the meat of your upper thighs, and with ease, they were tugged back and open. Oh, god. Fuck. You clawed at the mattress again, trying to steady your breathing, trying to compose yourself because a dozen people were watching. And your breath came stuttering and awkward.
Your teeth were dragging over your bottom lip when a tentacle lifted and curled around your head. You couldn’t open your eyes, stuck blindfolded under the tightening coil. And you sputtered out Eddie’s name in a sudden burst of nervousness, but just as anxiety flickered in your stomach, Eddie’s breath fanned against your cunt.
Oh. Fuck.
It happened all at once. Or in such quick succession that you couldn't exactly follow the order. Eddie's fingers ran over your sopping cunt and spread it; his tongue so wet, warm, and far from delicate came next. Lapping at your clit, his lips curling around it, his fingers keeping the hood pulled back as he gave it quick, torturous licks. And the tentacles moved again. Those cruel appendages brought your arms up over your head, pinning them in place. They snaked down, past your elbows, over your shoulders, and there was no pause before they flicked at your nipples.
Hard and aching, you were gifted tweaks and tugs that went in tandem with Eddie’s tongue plunging into your cunt. The second his tongue–longer than any humans–plunged inside you much like the tentacles had, those appendages moved again. Your gasp was loud and raspy when the slits on the ends opened on three of them. Eddie was wasting no time, apparently. The two on your tits secreted that wonderful, wonderful aphrodisiac over your nipples until you thought you were going to climax from that alone. And as his tongue plunged deeper, a tentacle did the same on your clit. Secreting and sucking hard, sending pulse-like vibrations to the sensitive, swollen bundle until you screamed.
Eddie's grin was cruel and beyond wicked against your cunt, and your hips bucked under the pulsing. Faster. It seemed to come faster. You couldn't breathe. As the liquid dripped from the end of the tentacle, Eddie…he didn't lick it up; he plunged it into your cunt with every drive of his tongue. That stinging, aching, burning sensation that made you feel like you were going to burst into a thousand pieces of never-ending, never-satisfied ecstasy–it was already spreading inside you.
“Eddie.”
Another tentacle slipped into your mouth. One little taste of that liquid on your tongue, and you were fluttering over Eddie's tongue without stopping. There was no gradual ease into your first climax. There was no begging or whining for him to give it to you. You weren't even thinking about anything else in the room except him. Nobody else. Nothing else. Just him.
You gushed around his tongue, tugging on the hold he had on the rest of your body. Your back was able to arch, and a soft ache started to form in it, but you couldn't do anything else as you came. He held your hips down, kept your legs pinned back and open, and your arms were stuck above your head. The tentacle in your mouth started to thrust, going to where you gagged before pulling just a smidge back, then starting to find a steady rhythm that matched how his tongue fucked you through your climax.
“Fuck,” you said behind the tentacle, but nothing moved from where they were. Your nipples were tugged and sucked, your clit was sucked, covered in what left the end of the tentacle, and ached on the verge between pleasure and pain as that pulsing made it vibrate.
Eddie slurped as his tongue dove into you, coming out only when you whined. Too much. And as your cunt convulsed around nothing, the suction stopped, but the tentacle didn’t move. They tweaked and circled, applying light little sensations against where you were the most sensitive, and even without being able to see, you could feel Eddie’s smirk.
It pressed into your thigh, actually.
Just as a tentacle with ridges already found itself at your cunt.
Two more came and kept you spread as it gradually pushed in. More liquid doused your tongue, and you started to moan before the tentacle pushed even its tip into you. Each ridge made you jolt, each stimulated different parts of you as it pushed in deeper, deeper–you whined as it dragged against your sweet spot.
“Don’t worry,” Eddie mused against your thigh. A sudden burst of pain came in the region beneath it as his teeth sank into the tender flesh. “You’ll be full in no time.”
They took turns.
They didn’t cum inside you like last time. The tentacles on your nipples and clit alternated between just tweaking, tugging, and rubbing and when to add suction. When to pulse. When to secrete so much of that damn liquid that it dripped down over you until you were covered. Between your legs, though, three tentacles took turns plunging into you. All different sizes. All different shapes. One felt close to the size of Eddie’s cock, fucking you so slowly, you sobbed as you came over it gently, gingerly, and so fucking agonizingly and torturously stroking your g-spot inside you. Little thrusts had it basically rubbed directly against it while the rest of your cunt struggled to adjust to its size.
Then came the next, leaving you feeling gaping before the one with ridges came back with a speed that had you sobbing beneath the one keeping you blindfolded. You came twice on that one before it left you.
The third…was different. When it plunged inside you, it felt like numerous little small tentacles burst from the end. They writhed around inside you, going for your g-spot and squirming against it in a burst of syncopated touches. You swallowed a second burst inside your mouth, drooling around it and feeling some that had spilled dribble down onto your jaw.
Why hadn’t they released inside of you?
You writhed as you felt a fourth one press against you–no. There was Eddie’s body weight. And it was harder. Thicker. Fuck. Eddie planted his hands on you–one where the tentacles held one of your legs and the other pressing down on top of your cunt. The tentacle still wrapped around your clit started to pulse again as he gradually gave you the head of his cock.
Tears seeped out as he stretched you. More. More. Please, more. You squirmed as he pressed deeper. Your cunt was already fluttering under the overstimulation on your clit, but as the tentacle in your mouth started to leave, it gave you another burst of that seed, and you were rejuvenated once more. Your clit throbbed, your cunt ached, and you clenched around his cock as he pressed all the way into you.
His hand slid up your stomach, and…and as he rocked his hips….
You couldn’t see it, but as you felt it, a curse fell from your lips in a whine.
Fucking hell. Eddie sighed as your cunt fluttered and squeezed, and he gave his hips gentle rocks, making you sputter around nothing. Having your mouth empty was a mistake. It lent yourself to speaking incoherently, but still speaking.
“Fuck, fuck.” You writhed once more. His cock fit in you so well. Filled you so well. Dragged against your g-spot fucking torturously. “Eddie.”
“Hm?” He kept the same rhythm and speed, but he did hit deeper. “What is it?”
“Please.”
Why hadn’t he cum in you? Why hadn’t the tentacles spilled inside you? They leaked and gave small tastes of that damn seed, but they hadn’t filled you. You were overstimulated over his cock, shaking as he fucked you harder with each thrust. And his name sputtered from you again on a sob. It felt so good. So fucking good. You couldn’t breathe. But what hadn’t he cum in you yet?
“Please what?” Eddie rutted into your harder. It jerked the mattress along the floor.
Fuck. You licked at the dribble of seed on your lips, whining at the burst of adrenaline the taste gave you. Sweat coated your skin, your own slick dripped down past your asshole and down onto the bed. Another tentacle seemed interested, coming up to curl against the sensitive skin, using your own slick to gentle press into where you were clenched hard.
“Eddie.”
You sobbed again. Fuck. You took his thrusts with increasing moans, your climax building harder and unforgivingly. Your tits and clit burned as the tentacles leaked onto them again, and your nipples peaked so hard that one little tug had your cunt clamping and your chest moving with them. And the little dribble over your clit didn’t stop. There was no extra stimulation there, only the dribble down, down, down and you felt it press into you as Eddie plunged his cock deep inside you.
“Please." You…you couldn't form words. All of you tensed and moved with every rough thrust. You were there. Your orgasm started to coil, but you wanted to feel him. Wanted to be stuffed. He'd made you cum so many times already, and all without being filled. Not how your body betrayingly ached to be filled. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
The weight of his body came down over you suddenly, shoving the breath from your lungs as he pressed his mouth to your cheek. Small grazes of his mouth were cruel under the short, deep thrusts he gave your cunt.
“Tell me how you want it,” he whispered against your cheek. “Tell them how you want it.” His teeth nibbled at the skin. “Tell me you want me to fucking breed you, (Y/N).”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation. No pause. Fucking hell. You needed it, and you needed it then and there as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm. You felt his tongue drag over where your tears slipped out, and you just nodded your head frantically.
“Yes. Fuck. Breed me.” Your voice was hoarse and dripping with lust. “Eddie, please. Use me. Fill me. Cum in me. Fuck. I need it. Please. Please.”
His laugh was a cruel breath against your cheek. Then one hand came to grip them, holding you still as he rutted deep enough to make you jolt and gasp. His hips stilled as your climax remained just out of reach. The brush of his lips against yours as your back arched, chest pressing to his, had you shivering and whimpering.
“That’s my girl.” He tilted his chin up, ghosting his lips over yours while he flicked them with his tongue. “I’ll make sure every hole of yours is stuffed.”
The tentacle pushing deeper into your ass started to thrust slowly. Eddie began to rock his hips at a gradually increasing pace, holding you just like that as he fucked you right back to the pace that had your mouth hanging open. His fingertips dug cruelly into your cheeks, but the mixture of overwhelming pleasure and the dash of pain felt intoxicating.
His lips swiped over yours with the briefest kiss just as your cunt fluttered.
“I’ll start with your cunt.”
Your scream echoed off the wall as your climax slammed into you. It was abrupt; not a second of warning beside the dam breaking and it threw itself over you. You broke around him, gushing hard. Enough that you felt it spray and drip, the pressure overwhelming. You squirmed beneath him, taking every thrust that only elongated that pleasure with needy moans. They tore at your throat as you sobbed between them. And Eddie fucking beamed–a searing kiss pressed to your mouth for not nearly long enough before it was on your jaw and then your neck.
You felt everything go white hot with pleasure just before Eddie’s hips snapped forward.
His groan was loud and so obviously uncaring about how guttural and sinful it was. He held you still as you fluttered around his cock, and as he licked up your neck, you felt him spill inside you. Hard. Filling you with that warm, tingling, adrenaline-boosting, pleasure-raising ache. And that white-hot feeling tripled.
His teeth nipped at your ear lobe as he stayed lodged inside you. Still hard. He shook with a growl, flicking at your ear with his tongue again and again, all as the tentacle inside your ass started to pump faster. Harder. The one on your clit pulsed so hard and fast, you were given no break in between your last climax and that one. Your back arched hard–pushing yourself into Eddie–and as you gushed around his cock again, the tentacle inside your ass spilled.
There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head as Eddie whispered in your ear.
“Is that enough for you?” he asked, his tone so mocking that it brought a whimper from your lips. “I came in you. That’s all you wanted, right?”
Was he proving a point? To whom? Himself? You? Those watching and recording? Or was this purely for his own gain? His cock twitched as the words left his lips, so he already knew the answer. He already knew what you wanted.
Had you still had your wits about you, you would’ve pretended that it was. That you weren’t drunk on his cock and still aching for more. How your body still had more climaxes left in it had to have been because of the aphrodisiac in his seed. But still. You were hardly exhausted.
You shook your head.
“More,” you croaked out, humiliation dripping down through the words. You pressed your head back. “I…need more.”
You felt his smirk against the shell of your ear. His sigh was wicked and devious.
“I know,” he murmured so softly, there was no chance the cameras had picked it up. “I just needed to hear you say it.”
Even blindfolded, the world went topsy-turvy as you were flipped. Where Eddie was atop you one second, the next, his warmth was gone, his cock was out of your aching, dripping cunt, and the tentacles were rearranging you on Eddie's will. Your chest was pressed into the bed–the tentacles on your tits remaining–as your arms were brought together behind your back. His hands pulled your ass into the air before tentacles pulled your legs apart, then Eddie's hand pressed you lower. Until your cunt nearly touched the bed, but a tentacle came in to slither in between instead. It latched itself to your clit as two more pressed into your ass and your cunt.
No warning.
You were moved, positioned, rebound, and then you were wantonly moaning into the mattress as the tentacles plunged into you at alternating times. Thick and bumpy with rhythmic ridges, your eyes clamped shut harder as your next orgasm already teetered closer.
Rather quickly, though, as they squirmed and wiggled inside you, stroking every sensitive inch of you, they began to pulse. There were footsteps around you, then a new sound you couldn't make out. Not until you felt Eddie's fingers graze the bottom of your chin. Gradually, you were lifted. Tentacles held you where your arms couldn't. And just as you felt the tip of Eddie's cock press against your lips, the tentacles released inside you, coating you with that sweet, sweet, addictive seed that had you struggling to get your mouth open enough to take Eddie's cock.
You sobbed around it as cum spilled from inside you as the tentacles pulled free.
Your cunt fluttered and your ass clenched, yet just as Eddie started to gently rock his hips, giving you a taste of the both of you on your tongue, two more were at you. You were pushed forward onto his cock with the fervor in which they fucked you. You could hear Eddie's breathing getting faster; deeper. His cock twitched and leaked on your tongue as you choked on it, and you could feel it pulsing just like the tentacles.
It pulsed harder as they came inside you in unison, pushing deeper and squirming against you. Your cunt clamped down as your clit experienced a sudden burst of harsh pulsing, and as the tentacle pulled free, another was in its place. Just as you came. There. It plunged into you as you gushed, squirting around the thick appendage. Stretching you as his cock stretched your mouth, you began to shake.
You couldn’t take much more.
You didn’t want to stop.
You sobbed as Eddie cupped your cheek. His thumb swiped away at your tears as they fell, and his hips started to move faster. The tentacles spilled inside you again, not seeming to care how fast they coated you again and again. And you weren’t able to keep count when they swapped out again.
You merely felt your leaking, stuffed with too much, sweaty, messy, and already on the verge of climaxing again when another thick one pressed not just into your cunt, but your ass, too.
Eddie’s thumb wiped over your cheek again, and you heard him hum in satisfaction. It made his cock twitch and pulse. And his thrusts…. He wiped at the corner of your mouth with a touch that almost felt tender before he cupped the back of your head. At least practice–or some kind of restraint–kept his thrusts even despite how rough they got. You might’ve choked around the size, but he didn’t press against your gag reflex.
“(Y/N),” he grunted, the sound echoing in the room with the rest of the other squelching, vulgar, mortifying sounds.
And that was the warning you got before he came again. You didn’t notice it, though. Not when another rough, blinding climax of your own rocketed through you. It rippled pleasure down to your toes, and you felt yourself gush too hard around the tentacles inside you. But it was hard to tell whether it was yours or his that was dripping out of you.
You heard his guttural, animalistic growl of a moan that shot from him. Then came a taste of that sweet, sugary seed on your tongue. You instinctively swallowed as best as you could, but it was hard to not choke on it when you were sobbing out your own climax. All with the two tentacles plunging inside you spilled, too.
And you were stuck there, panting around his cock, as the tentacles slowly released you. You were sticky, sweaty, fucked out of any coherent thought, left tasting him on your tongue with an ache in your jaw. You felt far too full and already too sore to even think about moving as the warmth of the tentacles left you alone on the bed.
They pulled away from your eyes, and a few more tears spilled when you refused to open them. You still wanted more. What kind of bullshit was that? He was pulling away, and you already missed it. Missed him. His touch, his taste, his smell.
Your arms caught you when they were freed, and you dropped your head, pressing it into the mattress to hide your face as you huffed.
You racked out one sob when you felt warm fingers curl against your jaw. There was no second thought; you merely moved with the drag until your chin was up and your eyes fluttered open. Eddie knelt down in front of you, eyes glinting and an amused smile both brightening and darkening his expression. His other hand wiped at the extra tears that fell, and a second later, as your arms started to shake from holding yourself up, something cold and rough was draped over your back.
You caught a glimpse of white fabric on your shoulders. Your coat?
It was getting damp as it fell lower, down where you felt your cunt leaking rather steadily. And, unavoidably, as your eyes locked, you found yourself relaxing. His thumb swiped over your mouth before he leaned in. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he pulled you into a kiss. Just long enough to make your head spin and slow enough to make you moan into it like it was the first time you’d ever been kissed.
His breath tickled your cheek when he moved, and his mouth grazed the shell of your ear.
“What purpose would you serve us,” he whispered, his voice as taunting as it was soft and genuine, “if we did not take care of you?”
His fingers curled against your chin in a tender, feather-light line.
Your heart betrayed you as it stuttered. All of you betrayed yourself when he pulled back, and those dark eyes glinted. You were captivated in a horrible manner when you locked onto them, and they locked onto you.
“I’ll take care of you.”
His thumb brushed against your bottom lip.
And you knew that was it. Even as you heard movement behind the mirror. Even as you registered the cameras and the rest of the room. Even when you knew it was absurd. There was such an unexpected and tender truth in his gaze, such an ache in your body as you stayed filled, stayed burning, stayed craving him again already….
You were gone.
You licked where his thumb had dragged and watched Eddie's grin grow massive.
chiaroscuro part three: mr. styles’ facade is starting to crack and y/n’s not sure if she’s ready to know what’s underneath.
wordcount: 10.5k+
—————
Mr. Styles had been right when he said the monsters wouldn’t return with him around. Now, a full week later, not once has she seen the fog roll in, even on rainy days. It was a relief to not be looking over her shoulder all the time, or be afraid to linger around the windows; it was a relief to feel normal again. She had made peace with the fact that he wasn’t going to tell her what they were and why they wanted her; it was much easier to not dwell on why someone (something) wanted you dead.
She had gone back to her chores, mostly cleaning up after her own messes as Mr. Styles seemed to ghost around the house, never disrupting a thing. Once or twice he’d even stayed in the same area as her for longer than thirty seconds; asking her opinion on certain artworks he painted (mostly just to see her trip up on her interpretation), or he’ll just take up his own space without acknowledging her before abruptly leaving. It wasn’t much, but definitely an improvement of his behavior.
Mr. Styles was currently in his study, doing whatever it is that he does when he disappeared for hours. (Y/N) took the time to clean up his wing, usually avoiding it in favor of staying out of his way and on his good side. She passed over his room, instead cleaning up the decor littered in the corridor. She had loud music playing through her headphones, taking away some of her attention as she wiped a long table holding various flower arrangements. The table was flanked by two pedestals holding small, Renaissance style half body sculptures of women. Unlike the style they seemed to take after, both women were clothed and depicted in serene scenes; one held a bouquet of flowers as if walking down the aisle on her wedding day, and the other showed an older woman picking flowers from a garden. (Y/N) made a point to gently dust over them both before moving to the table between them.
chiaroscuro part two: y/n doesn’t know what to do but mr. styles seems to be the only one that’s able to protect her from whatever it is that lurks outside
wordcount: 9k+
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(Y/N) awoke in a daze. Looking around, she found herself settled in her room under the white duvet. Memories from last night surfaced slowly.
Dropping the glass. Her cut finger. The blonde man, Magnus. His predatory eyes. A deep feeling of fear. Mr. Styles coming to her aid. Then it’s all dark.
She looked to her hands, expecting to see dried blood all over. Instead they were clean, gauze wrapped around the finger she had sliced open. She shakily picked up her phone, checking the time. 12:30 displayed across the top of the screen, showing she had to have been asleep for longer than twelve hours. She sat up, running a hand through her hair.
She tried to process what had happened the night before, but every time she tried to focus on certain details and smooth out blurry scenes, her head hurt too much. She decided maybe a shower would help clear her mind (and she’s fairly certain that there’s dried blood in her hair), swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She swept the canopy out of the way, finding another card stock note sitting on her side table with her name on it.
summary: “So you’re not a boring old man after all,” you squeak, your voice full of surprise. He feigns shock in your response.
“That what you think of me, kid? Boring?” (...)you look up at him, with expectancy in your eyes.
The same eyes you gave him the first night, with the cigarettes. You know from his gravelly tone of voice where this is going, and you’re not sure if you can refuse it, despite how sensitive the anticipation has made you.
cw: no y/n, afab reader, eddie calls reader a bunch of nicknames (kid, honey, angel etc...), age gap (26 & 46), swearing, smut (thigh humping, dirty talk, unprotected piv, allusion to male oral but fade to black), reader has a bush but is not insecure about it, queer eddie queer eddie queer eddie, eddie has a panic attack, emotional unavailability (reader receiving), insane angst towards the end, texting (sometimes it's cringe)
a/n: sorry for the delay ! i was writing this while going though a pregnancy scare and a friendship breakup lol but he's here !!
word count: 6.2k
series masterlist | chef! eddie moodboard | pt. 1 | pt. 2| pt. 3| pt. 5 coming soon!
song inspo(s)- hunger by ross copperman, need you now by lady a, after all by sarah kinsley & paris paloma
all my works are 18+ pls minors dni | divider by saradika-graphics
He’s slathered in daylight and smoke when he turns to you from your bedroom window.
Had it been up to you, you would’ve had him three times by now. Yet, rightfully so, he insisted on taking a long shower to cleanse himself of last night’s sin.
And boy are you grateful for it.
His hair is still wet from the shower, casting droplets down his chest and soft tummy like falling stars, covered only by a delicate lilac towel loosely wrapped around his waist. He truly is a sight to behold. You insisted on putting his sweats and boxers in the washing machine to deplete last night’s accident, and you’re trying so hard to make him find some way to pass the time.
Preferably naked. Preferably on top of you. Preferably inside you.
You’re hiding your nose away from the cold that invades your room through the open window Eddie’s smoking out of.
You’re staring at him like it’s a secret. Like your skin doesn't want to be licked and rubbed raw for the better part of the day. Like you’re itching for his head to slot himself in between your thighs, and let you stain your sheets with release after release.
Even the thought of just lazily playing with each other without ever getting to the real thing makes you abuzz with need. Perfect for Eddie’s whole ‘self-torture’ shtick.
The city buzzes alive in the midday rush, the open window letting in smudges of voices, bells, and cars. Eddie finds bliss in how alive he feels in that moment, ashing his cigarette on a pretty ceramic ashtray.
“So, chef–” you begin, but a loud hum interrupts you.
“Nuh-uh. No chef here,” he exhales the smoke of the remaining embers out of the window. “Chef is reserved for the four walls of the restaurant. At my place, here, anywhere else, it’s Eddie,” he intimates.
It makes him uncomfortable, not separating himself from the steely-resolved chef that mans the kitchen.
He’s just a man. A very weak-willed man, when you’re around. He hears a distant chuckle.
“Oookay,” you drag, smile pulling at your cheeks. “So what if, say, I was overcome by a throe of unending lust for you right after service,” you trail off, and Eddie knows exactly what you mean by that. He snickers.
“‘Ovecome by a throe of unending lust’? Jee-sus, Jane Austen” he mocks. It births a cough from the depths of his throat, and he decides he’s done smoking for now. You laugh in turn, throwing a pillow at him, which he catches with no effort, and it shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
“Well,” he begins, his tone of voice dropping from his previous amusement as he throws the pillow back onto your bed. “If you were overcome by lust at the thought of me tweezering sprigs of chives, and blotting plates for hours on end, I guess my office can be off limits to chef,” his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he stalks towards the bed, and he’s a marvel.
Soft, relaxed stomach, with a smatter of black, brown, and grey hair painting both his chest and the trail down to his pelvic bone. The tattoos move around and flex with every stalking movement of his arms and shoulders, as he walks to your bed, on the opposite side of where you’re laying.
The towel is quickly forgotten on the soft carpet of your floor with a light thud, crawling over to sit next to you, covering himself up with your blanket. Now he’s naked and half-hard, pressing against the side of your thigh.
“What about the fridge, chef?” Now you’re teasing. He shakes his head, noticing the way your eyes cannot stop themselves from wandering to whatever might be underneath the blanket.
“That’s kinda hot,” you exhale, half-delighted, and the other half stirring in the better part of you.
“No fridge, you pervert,” he counters, accompanied by a soft laugh.
“Would we be compromising the integrity of the lettuce, chef?” You bat your eyes up at him, mouth curled in a mocking pout. “Oh, maybe the parsley will start wilting from the trauma,” you laugh, beating your hand on the mattress.
“‘M serious, kid. No fridge,” but there’s a smile creeping through his lips at the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation.
His hand creeps to the side of your neck– upwards, to crook under your chin to make you look at him– you tremble at the seemingly innocent gesture. “And it’s Eddie. Y’can follow simple rules, yes?”
His remark is pointed, intimidating.
It adds straight to the syrupy mess between your thighs.
You simply nod, then change the subject to the million dollar question that’s been floating in your head since he’s agreed to this ridiculous deal.
“So, how are we gonna do this?” You quip as you lay your head down on his shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes. “Are we doing some sort of hand signal, maybe a travel pigeon? OH– what about wax-sealed letters?”
The more you talk and open up to him (in more ways than one), the more he realizes how funny and witty you are. The crystalline sound of your unabashed laugh, the way that your body jolts with each all-consuming cackle.
The way your mouth curls when you have a joke or a witty remark ready to shoot, like a trigger-happy cowboy.
The more he notices stuff about you– the involuntary twitch in your pinky, and the curl of your nose, the more he realizes he’s leading towards an impossibly tall ledge he won’t be able to go back from unless he sets some serious boundaries with himself.
“Very funny. Gimme your phone,” he offers his hand, opening and closing it like toddlers do when they want something. You find it endearing, in a way that warms you like a blanket on a biting snow day.
You oblige, peeking over his shoulder as he types. Ten simple numbers, but it might as well feel like a marriage proposal with how nervous holding your phone is making him.
He writes himself down as ‘Edith Murray’, at which you curl your nose.
“Edith Murray? Are you in the witness protection program, or something?” You giggle. He sends himself a plain ‘chef’ text to his phone, which dings in response.
“It’s better for both of us if nobody ends up knowing about this,” he reaches for your bedside table, where his phone has been charging.
The admission, as true as it is, can’t help but make something painful and acidic bubble in your chest. A bitterness that crawls up in the back of your throat that makes you need steadying, as you loosely hold on to his shoulder.
“I can keep a secret, don’t worry,” you exhale, watching him grab his phone and write your number down as ‘Mark (Produce)’.
“Oh yeah, because finding out that you’ve been fucking the produce guy and asking him to come over is totally acceptable,” you snort.
“Every chef has had at least one mutually beneficial fling with their produce guy,” he grunts when he stands up, a shadow of his age. You watch him wrap his still-damp towel around his hips, venturing to the dryer, where his clothes have been sitting limp for an hour.
He’s covered by a now clean pair of boxers when he plops back down next to you.
“Have you?” you ask, nudging an inked shoulder.
“Have I what?”
“Had a fling with your produce guy?”
You see him debate with himself– kind of like teetering on the edge of a confession, except he seems to be… amused about it?
“At the Mairmont in Bushwick. I was maybe… dunno, twenty-five? His name was Garrett something,” he sucks his teeth “I’d give him weed in exchange for first pick on the produce,” he snickers, while you absentmindedly trace figure eights on his shoulder blades. It tickles him, but he doesn’t say anything. He likes it when you touch him so casually, just to keep your hands busy.
“... Among other things,” it comes out as a mumble, but you hear it loud and clear. “I was tryin’ to get on the head chef’s good side, that guy was an asshole,” he shrugs.
“So you’re not a boring old man after all,” you squeak, your voice full of surprise.
He feigns shock in your response.
“‘That what you think of me, kid? Boring?” He cages you in between his arms, while you look up at him, with expectancy in your eyes.
The same eyes you gave him the first night, with the cigarettes. You know from his gravelly tone of voice where this is going, and you’re not sure if you can refuse it, despite how sensitive the anticipation has made you.
You feel him lazily press himself against the soft skin of your thigh.
“Need something, chef?” you slur against his lips, which have lowered down to your face. It makes him uncomfortable, how sure of yourself you are.
The swagger in which each word is weighted in, planned to get a reaction out of him.
“You never learn, do you?”
“Teach me, then,” you breathe, and he feigns a dramatic exhale before lunging into another kiss.
He’s vocal, groaning and exhaling into your mouth, like he’s been stopping himself from doing this for the past two hours through sheer force of will alone.
His hands wander at your waist, where his grip becomes firm, yet soft. He feels the cotton of your shirt and the outline of your body underneath, and there’s nothing he wants more than to see you fully naked, for the first time.
Revel in each bump, hair, and mole. He wants to smell what makes you so quintessentially intoxicating to his brain. He moans against your teeth at the thought.
The comfortable shirt that’s covering you bunches at your waist with the help of his scarred hands. Up, up, up.
“Hands up, baby,” he purrs against your lips.
Following his commands comes so easy to you, like blissfully floating down a river. The offending shirt comes off your chest, while his hands knead and explore the skin like he’s trying to memorize it a second time.
You keen under his touch, with fingers tightening against his wet scalp, where you can still feel the talcy smell of your shampoo and body wash on him.
His eyes are dark, hidden by the expanse of his brooding brow bone that casts a shadow over them.
You play with the hoop earring on his right lobe, and to your surprise, that elicits a guttural sound from him. It makes you smile against his lips, as he slots his leg in between your thighs.
He feels it. The warmth, the humidity. The heady smell of you that reaches his nostrils, unable to hold himself back from inhaling it as it cowers in between your bodies.
He revels in the wetness that meets the hairy skin of his inked thigh– a shirtless siren holding a cake, a souvenir of his pre-frontal lobe development days– and the airy sigh that escapes your lips.
Eddie’s lips move from the sore plumpness of your lips to the soft skin of your jaw, in a half-kiss, half-bite frenzy, while he holds your hips down on his leg.
It doesn’t take him much else for you to start grinding on it, as his lips finally reach your ear.
“I’ve kept you high and dry for too long, huh?” He gruffs in a breathless whisper, watching you mindlessly nod against his chest, scratching at the skin of his biceps.
He enjoys the fact that you made it hurt a bit. That the scratches are redder, and might leave a mark for a day or two. It makes his cock jump against the lilac linens of your bed.
“I know, angel, I know what you want,” he comforts while you grind down against his leg, letting whiny little noises escape against his skin.
Not enough. Too much.
“‘M just not very convinced you’re ready for me just yet,” he teases, jerking his thigh upwards a little more, and a squeaky Eddie crawls out of your parted lips.
“That’s right, ‘s not chef, now, is it? Eddie’s here, not chef,” his tone is making your head spin.
“No– no, no, not chef,” you parrot back at him with delirious feverish intent, while he cradles your face in between his rough hands.
Eddie just can’t quite believe he’s got you like this. After months of torture, of fantasizing about what you’d sound like, what you’d feel like against his body, there you are.
Moaning into his hands, gasps getting airier and airier as he preps himself to finally reward this waiting game he’s tortured himself with. Half-lidded eyes, glossy and dazed, your mouth open in a devastating half-circle, as his hand nears your lips.
“You close, honey?” He whispers sweetly, tracing the perimeter of your lips with his thumb.
“Mmmfuck, getting clo -oh- se,” you whine, speeding up the pace of your hips against him, chasing the thundering high blooming in your belly.
“Don’t be shy, sweets,” he hums, pleased, as strings of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie fill out the dead air of your room. “You can let go,” he hums.
And there you have it.
It rips through you like an arrow to the back, arching into his body like he’s your only source of salvation.
He whispers inaudible sweet nothings in your ear while you ride it out against his leg until it hurts, and you regain your hearing and sight back.
When you open your eyes, his scruffy face is smiling.
“Good?”
“Mhm,” a sweet hum, a moment of reprieve.
“Can I have you now?”
“You made me wait long enough,” you chuckle, still a bit spaced out. “Hurry up.”
“You’re a little too articulate,” he points out, shuffling his leg from between yours. A short gasp rumbles out of you at how sensitive you already feel.
“What’s that mean?”
“Means I didn’t do my job well enough,” he chuckles, moving to slot himself on top of you with a kiss to your forehead.
“You call that not doing your job well?” You laugh, still breathless from your thunderous orgasm.
He shrugs in fake humility as he taps the top of your mound, still covered in worn cotton. You catch the hint, and shimmy your panties off.
“Sorry it’s a bit of a uh…” you trail off. Not sad, not apologetic, just pointing out the obvious. The dimness of the lights and the effect of the wine the night before made you forget about the hair crawling their way out of the hems of your panties. “Didn’t really expect to fuck my chef anytime soon,” a short, breathy chuckle that makes your body jolt ever so slightly, jiggling in the process.
Eddie bites his lip. He wants you to do that while he’s inside.
“‘M not your chef,” he grabs the back of your thigh to make your knee meet your shoulder. “And I could give two shits about the hair you got down there,” he looks down, biting his lip.
There’s a heat that crawls up your chest and the tips of your ears at the way he’s staring at the mess you’ve made of yourself between your legs. It’s delighting him, how you won’t look at him for more than a second, always through your lashes, as if you were suddenly feeling put off by his looming presence slotted between your legs.
You’re finally there, opened up for him, just like last night. Except this time he’s the one who’s shaking. “This okay?”
“If you don’t fuck me right now I might kick you out without giving you your clothes back.”
He knows you don’t mean it– the tough girl act. He knows because you’re looking at his hands instead.
At the way they grip behind your knee, firm and calloused. How the other strokes the divot in your hip with such gentleness it makes you shiver. He doesn’t say anything, though. He lets you have it, just for this time– lets you believe that you’re running the show.
“Yes ma’am,” he drawls, low and amused, as he pushes the head of his cock into you with a relieved groan. So warm.
Your eyebrows pinch. The stretch– while not in its fullness– provides a sting that needs a few minutes to get used to.
“You good?”
“Yeah, just–”
“That cheating hockey boyfriend of yours wasn’t as uh–”
“Well endowed? No, not at all,” you groan out the last few words.
“Again with those big words,” he chuckles, and the sensation makes you jump.
“You've never been with a verbose woman before?" There's the chuckle. The one that tightens around him. Fuck.
“Kid, I don’t even know what the fuck that word means,” he breathes, takes advantage of your lowered guard to stuff himself to the hilt.
There’s a gasp, and a brief ghost of a sting, before Eddie sees your eyes travel to the back of your head.
He presses his lips together in a sort of silent celebration before he starts slowly rocking himself back and forth.
“You’re really pretty,” he hums against your ankle, before pressing a kiss on the smooth skin there.
“And also not a virgin, you can go faster,” you pointedly comment, clenching around him as if you were trying to prove a point.
“You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?”
“Gonna do something about it?”
It’s like breaking a soft silken membrane. The polite little act he put on crumbles fast, as his hips pick up speed without much warning.
There you are.
“You like it like that, huh?” He teases, tightening his grip against the back of your knee. “When it hurts a little bit?” He emphasizes his comment with a particularly harsh thrust, letting the head of his cock kiss at the depths of you.
You tip your head backwards with a low groan.
“Uh-huh,” you affirm, slacking your jaw lower with every thrust. “It’s goo– so good.”
It makes him smile, how easy he was able to make you crumble under him. The confirmation that all this time of waiting, pining– for your body, obviously, for the way you’re twitching, writhing and gasping underneath him, nothing else– you wanted him just as much.
You’re pawing at him with desperate resolve. At his flexed arms that keep your head caged, mouthing at his right wrist for some sort of stimulation.
Ah. You’re like that, he deviously notices, licking at the milky skin full of pearly and pink scars, letting your brain finally turn off.
He grabs at the flesh of your other leg, hooking it on his shoulder, allowing him to kiss deeper within you.
You like it, he knows you do, because a shrill little sound you try to damper with the silk fabric of your pillows doesn’t escape him.
“Pretty, pretty girl,” he mumbles, stroking your cheek, taking advantage of your open mouth to slip two of his fingers in it. “Verbose my ass,” he smiles to himself.
The world around you is fuzzed out, blurred, your ears full of cotton. Each thrust– deeper and deeper within you– wrings out a new string of groans and gasps, a symphony to Eddie’s ears as he finally feels you tightening around him.
“That's all you needed?” He mocks with a lilted tone, taking his fingers out of your mouth. A string of saliva follows the path from your mouth to a pebbled nipple, as he circles his wet fingers around it.
He knows exactly which buttons to hit to make you sing. He’s sick in the head.
“Ed-Eddie I–” a quick string of pulses around him that make him emit a low groan right out of his throat.
Oh, you’re so soft he wants to keep you like this forever. No restaurant in the way, none of that extra shit that does him more harm than good.
This is what he needs.
“Yeah, yeah, baby, It’s okay,” he mumbles, feeling beads of sweat pearl at his forehead and back. “Whenever you feel it, ju– fuck, so tight– just do it, ‘kay?”
He doesn’t quite see you nod, but he likes to think you got the message, because not even fifteen seconds later you’re spasming and writhing around him as he talks you down from the ledge of your own release with his name tumbling out of your lips like an avalanche.
Violent and intense.
He ends up coming all over your stomach with an exhausted groan.
Shallow breaths fill in the room as Eddie tips off to the side and army-crawls his way next to where you’re laying. Limp, breathless— stunning.
You’re so beautiful like this– eyes closed, shiny from sweat, eyelashes fluttering, lips plump and bitten, as he grabs a tissue to wipe his spend from your skin.
You’re not speaking, which is starting to make him nervous. Did he take it too far? Did he hurt you in any way or make you feel unsafe to say no?
From the way you were writhing beneath him it couldn’t have seemed so, but the silence causes an anxious shiver to crawl up his spine nonetheless.
“You there, kid?”
You nod with a satisfied hum.
You weakly reach over him to grab your phone from the nightstand. His mouth curls in amusement when he sees you watching a video of a tiny little felt creature speaking in gibberish. He’s wearing a tiny toque and a rainbow apron, mixing pretend felt dough in a pretend plastic bowl with a whisk.
“Ever seen this guy?” You croak, turning your phone to him.
“Can’t say I have,” he shrugs.
“Aw c’mon chef! It’s you, but in tiny green form,” you laugh, pointing at the gibberish-speaking green creature.
Eddie’s brooding face curls in displeasure, which makes your smile widen even more.
“The only thing we got ‘n common is that dumb toque,” he huffs, in a fake offended tone. Then you finally turn off your phone.
“I think you were upset I was giving more attention to Tiny Chef than to you,” you muse. “Gimme a second and we can go another two rounds,” you exhale.
“Sounds a lot like a threat,” he chuckles, biting at your shoulder. You squeal in return.
This whole casual thing was going to be easy.
Eddie’s never been more relaxed in his life.
His hands are steady as he places spumous clouds of egg whites on top of a small, sweet lavender and lemon tarts, then a sprig of dill on the steamed hollandaise branzino with the crispy skin flakes, then crispy, toasted sourdough pan con tomate with yellow datterini tomatoes.
He makes more of ‘The Girl’ than he’s ever made in the past month.
He finds himself perking up at every notification on his phone.
Times where he would be bent over his leatherbound journal sketching and planning for the upcoming menu change, are replaced by staccatos of checking his phone in between the strokes of his pen against the yellow pages.
Hoping to see the small banner that conceals your true identity as you pass by the open office door and give him a barely-there glance.
From: Edith Murray
You look really pretty today
Two minutes go by after his phone dings again, and he whips his head up from the intricacies of menu planning.
From: Mark (Produce)
Why thank you, Edith.
Am I coming over later?
From: Edith Murray
If you don’t fuck up the tables like you did yesterday
From: Mark (Produce)
Mean :(
From: Edith Murray
I’ll show you how mean I am later.
Wait for me after clean-up.
And when he sees you stare at him, as he hauls huge crates of produce from the fridge, it doesn’t take him long to reach for his back pocket.
Stop droolin
Table 12 needs you
And he can imagine the wicked smirk that blooms on your lips while reading that.
Eddie finds that you love giving.
Giving him little desserts, as he finds breakfast cakes, loaves, store-bought donuts and cake pops appear on his already overcrowded desk. Often accompanied by little encouraging notes in his recipe journal.
Good luck with your menu meeting today ! xx
Stop by the bathroom for a kiss ?
That shirt you wore yesterday (the black one with the buttons) made you look really hot xx
He saves them all like little secrets in a recipe book in his office. As much as he grumbles about ‘No more sweets, kid. I mean it. Gotta watch my cholesterol,’ he enjoys being taken care of and fed every once in a while.
Especially when he’s having extra rough days. The ones decorated by intense screaming matches between him and the other chefs, broken plates and cups, and overcooked food.
You love giving him back massages after double lunch and dinner shifts, you love having him in your mouth in his office. His head tilted back as he pulls at the tie of your uniform to make you take him deeper. He’s groaning into his hand, leaving tooth-shaped marks against the marred skin.
He gets back to working on the new menu, thinking if he should make a summer edition of ‘The Girl’.
– grilled pineapple chicken
– cashews
– lemon burrata (maybe feta?)
– lemon balsamic glaze
He finds it ironic, how ‘the girl’ in question becomes a new nightly ritual for him, along with his post-service cigarettes.
He’s bullying himself into you hard and fast, with a large hand clasped around your mouth to contain the spillage of sin that pours out of you.
Whispered chains of Yes, good girl and Want me deeper? Yeah, you do deafen your ears, wetting the skin of your neck with his warm breath. Your leg is hooked around his hip, while one hand holds the rickety backdoor closed with steely resolve.
The other hand switches destinations, quite unsure of where to land itself comfortably, going from his hair, to the crook of his arm, his hand catching mewls and soft, exhausted tears, balancing a cigarette between his lips.
The smoke makes your eyes burn.
“Mmmfuck Eddie,” you squeak against the tight seal of his fingers.
He bends your leg as far as you can take it, hitting deeper within the spongy softness of your walls.
You hear him say you did really well, as you escalated a situation with a rude customer who didn’t get the wine they wanted, and catching him at expo before his dish went out without the crouton on the side. That you’re so good, doing what he asks you to do– whether it’s meeting him in his office thirty minutes before service to get you to ride him in the office chair, or grabbing him more prep from the fridge.
He still yells at literally everyone else. After all, his temper is part of what makes him so attractive.
“Am I fucking hallucinating or I don’t see that plate of cavatelli I asked for six minutes ago!?”
“Are you weak bitches making sandwiches in mommy’s kitchen?!” followed by a stately “No, chef!”
“Are you CHEFS?!”
“Yes, chef!”
“The fucking act like it, Christ,” he proceeds to mutter under his breath.
He’s never lenient about laziness, not when he’s the well-oiled machine he is, and expects everyone to trail behind him as he would.
“Is this the fucking time to be playing with fucking new recipes, Chef? Follow the menu!” He scolds the new pastry chef, Chef Buckley, who had joined the restaurant only a couple weeks before.
You can see it in the chef’s eyes, how her lower lip trembles once the man turns around to sulk in his office.
Yet you don’t reprimand him. You don’t counsel him. You know your place in his kitchen.
The only people he never yells at are chef Wheeler and chef Byers, only because he knows he will get yelled at back.
He found out the hard way, unfortunately.
During one of the first soft openings of the restaurant, when everyone was still getting used to the menu and the rhythms of service, Jonathan took too long with the pasta course. The added stress of the grand opening being only a week away cost him a scolding from none other than Nancy, who told him to dare raise his voice to either one of them once again and they would have walked out the door as quickly as they had accepted the offer to work with their longtime colleague.
After that day, Eddie never dared to lose his temper around them, as he couldn’t afford to lose two of his best and most efficient chefs.
“86 the wagyu and the pea puree. Substitute it with regular mashed potatoes,” he exhales, watching you pass behind him at expo.
He extends a hand behind him to expose a neatly folded post-it note for you, which you deftly grab, as he goes back to discussing tonight’s menu.
Once you’re in the locker room, you open up the note.
My office. 20 mins
P.S: I like that hair on you
It’s still pulled away from your face, so he can look at the way your eyes light up at the casual praise he throws your way when you’re able to balance four plates on the expanses of your arms and hands or identify the right wine at first taste.
However, it’s not in the usual ponytail or the braid, and Eddie likes that. He likes the way it frames your face, the way it invites him to stare at the glossy shine on your lips when you sneak into his office after he’s done with dinner prep.
His tongue is already parting at your glittery mouth. It’s not blackberry flavored, this time. He swipes his tongue to taste the brown hue on your lips. Caramel.
He burrows his nose in the space behind your earlobe, and inhales. Vanilla.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he moans against your skin.
“Ed-die, my makeup,” you protest at the way he rubs his cheek against yours, how he licks and kisses at your jaw.
“‘S okay, lemme muss you up just a bit,” he coos, pressing a hand on top of your head to lower you down to eye-level with his zipper.
“Okay, but quick,” you mutter, “thirty minutes ‘til service, and you can’t send me out looking like this.”
“Like what? Pretty and beautiful?” The compliments make your lower lip catch on your teeth, as you look up at him.
“You know what I mean, old man,” you roll your eyes and lower his zipper.
“Oh, so now I’m old,” he chuckles, placing his hand atop your head, gently patting at the hair there.
“Just a bit,” you scrunch your nose at him. He knows you’re joking.
“I think you’re talking a bit too much for someone who’s on her knees,” but he says it with an infectious smile. It comes so easy when he’s with you, as much as he tries to suppress it.
As much as he won’t admit to himself that he wants you even when you’re not there. That maybe things were better when he avoided you. When all his hurt was slotted inside himself, rather than on his sleeve, where if you looked hard enough, you’d be able to see it.
“Yes, chef!” A sharp tug at your hair at the name that makes you laugh, “Ow ow ow, sorry! Eddie!”
He’s not used to this anymore.
To the sex, the attention you’re dutifully providing him. The smile that haunts his sleeping and waking moments, and oh, your smell.
It truly is your smell that haunts him. Sweet, musky, clean– so quintessentially you.
He’s ashamed to admit he’s spent several minutes in front of your vanity staring at the various bottles of creams and perfumes to try and identify the culprit. What makes you smell so intoxicating he can smell it on his clothes when he’s doing his laundry.
The way that he presses a shirt you wore, drenched in your perfume against his nose, as his hand desperately wraps around his cock, and tugs, tugs, tugs with your name on his lips.
It sounds like he’s crying, sometimes.
As he wipes his stomach he rolls his eyes at himself. How pathetic he is for you.
He cringes at himself, sometimes, when you give one of the other waiters a flirty glance when you ask him to fold the napkins for you. He hates the way his stomach churns and turns, seeing you look at that scrawny waiter with the same eyes you look at him with.
Fuck– he can’t.
It’s Saturday night and he’s drunk with Steve as the latter blabbers on about a certain Julia, with whom things seem to be going in the right direction, then about his father– how he’s been more irritable about the restaurant’s revenues.
“Yeah– I’ve heard that he wants to close a few restaurants without Michelins,” the blonde man in front of him slurs, on his second old-fashioned of the evening. “You shouldn’t worry, though. The restaurant is fairly new, I doubt my old man would be evil enough to not put that into consideration,” he huffs.
Eddie’s not listening, though.
He’s on his fourth drink. A stupid blackberry cocktail, because the word ‘blackberry’ on the menu beckoned him like a siren to his death. Another cringe at himself.
But he’s unable to stop himself. He can’t stop himself from watching the entrance of the swanky bar Steve had brought him to with the promise of paying for drinks. Even though Eddie knows he would end up insisting on splitting the too-high bill regardless at the end of the night.
Same old song and dance.
He half-expects you to walk in. To turn into one of the lively girls at the bar, your arm linked up in Tina’s, like that first night.
His back hurts, and he regrets even having said yes to Steve. Even though time and their busy schedules won’t allow them to meet any more than twice a month outside of the occasional business-related check-in at the restaurant, he’d still rather be at home.
His phone dings as Steve’s ramble drones into the background, along with the early 2000s music they used to party to when he was in school.
From: Mark (Produce)
Doing anything rn?
I’m watching Jersey Shore
Tina’s pestering me to go out, but I’m beat
From: Edith Murray
Out with my buddy Steve.
Bit late to go out, isn’t it?
Mark (Produce):
Could tell you the same thing
Isn’t it past your bedtime old man?
Edith Murray:
Keep making these old man jokes, please.
They’re never gonna get old.
“Are you finally getting laid?” Steve’s voice cuts through the background noise enough for Eddie to drop his phone like it bit him. A gulp. “Who’s Mark?”
Steve’s got a smile on his face that appears to be proud. Eddie feels a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Oh– no he’s… he’s no one,” he scolds himself for his carelessness. Fucking stupid.
“Do I know a Mark? Did I introduce you to a Mark?” He rubs his chin in thought, while Eddie’s hands are trembling and he’s debating a very indignified exit.
Maybe the old bathroom trick? Fuck– he needs a drink.
He takes a fat swig of his blackberry cocktail, which makes him feel even worse, if possible.
“He’s, the–uh, produce guy. You know me, same old shtick to get first pick,” he confesses, embarrassment swelling his voice. He hates that he has to lie about it, about you. “Nothin’ serious, though.”
“If you’re ignoring me to text this Mark guy then it’s serious enough,” Steve’s hand lands on Eddie’s coat-clad forearm.
“‘S good you’re getting out there. At some point you’re gonna win a star and you’re not gonna want anyone to share it with?”
“What– you mean like… like… a partner?” Eddie’s breathing feels ragged. He can’t take a deep breath.
“Why not, Ed? We’re in our forties, and the random hookups aren’t cutting it anymore,” Steve’s words stab him like a lance.“I’ll probably be married by next year, I don’t want this life anymore,” the man protests. He’s right.
What the fuck was he thinking?
Steve’s words make him sick. He needs to go home before his heart explodes out of his chair. He hadn't had one of these panic attacks in years.
“Steve, I– I’m gonna… I feel…,” he scrambles out of his leather chair, knocking the blackberry drink in the process. Steve tries to steady him with an arm.
“You good, man? Want me to call an Uber?”
Eddie shakes his head, scrambling out of Steve’s hold. He doesn’t want anything from Steve. NO more handouts from him. He shoulder-checks him among heavy, panicked breaths.
The bubble is about to pop.
“So– sorry, man… I’ll pay you… back,” he hiccups out, running towards the train station.
Air. He needs clear air. It’s snowing outside.
Among the labored breaths and hiccups, he completely misses the text from you that dings in his pocket as he hops on the train.
Mark (Produce):
I miss you
I’m coming over
thanks so much for reading !! feedback is always appreciated <3
prompt: how long can she wait on harry to make a move? or are they always going to be stuck in this limbo.
warning: abo (if it’s not your thing don’t read; if you don’t know what it is - research before reading); possessive behavior, mention of blood, smut, minor dni
Authors note: for the finale of this week, a new trope officially. wolfrry! i worked extremely hard on this fic and while i was writing it -i hated it!!!! but after proofreading, it may be one of my favorite pieces i have ever written. thank you for the past year of support and how much we’ve grown together on this blog. all my love always. isla x
if you enjoyed - please reblog, share, like, recommend, comment, & come talk to me about it.
🌮 Happy Day 7 of One Year of Erodasfishtacos 🐠
catch up on the others:
day one 🐟
day two 🍹
day three 🏝
day four 🌺
day five ☀️
day six 🌊
Anne and Carla knew there was something unique about their children - instantly when they met.
It was like there was an invisible string that had been knitted around the toddler’s waists and tied to one another.
They gravitated towards each other since the first time they had crossed paths at the park when they were just around three years old.
They sought out each other to play with, sitting for hours in the sandbox together, searching for flowers in the little meadow, or chasing each other around.
Then it was guaranteed tears when it was time to go home, whereas YN would quietly whine, Harry would puff up and emit a squeaky growl to try to intimidate his mother.
YN wasn’t a weak omega, not even from the start, rarely did Harry’s baby alpha voice or threatening rumbles shake her up.
Harry was always temperamental. He had a close group of friends which later developed in his pack but he didn’t care much for random interaction.
He cared about YN. It was an innate need to protect her and make sure she was safe and happy. He didn’t listen to anyone on the matter.
Girls throughout their school careers crushed and lusted after the alpha. He was by far, the most wanted alpha on campus by betas and omegas a like.
Alpha’s hated Harry.
He never backed down to another alpha, he was a true leader - through and through - and everyone knew that he would replace his father one day.
The Styles protected a large expanse of the state, including all of the territories surrounding their homeland despite the wars that they have waged that included copious amounts of bloodshed and loss.
The Styles’ Pack has had dominance for hundreds and hundreds of years. Never once have they been able to be overthrown by another pack.
The Styles wolves were the strongest, biggest, and toughest purebreds - possibly in the world and rarely any group tried their luck.
It wasn’t a surprise that Harry was always looked at as the one omegas and betas should strive for.
Parents would ask their children over dinner, “Did you try to get to know that Styles’ boy? He’d be a wonderful alpha to bond with.”
All the answers were the same though, Harry would either blatantly ignore their existence or straight up turn them away with even looking at them.
It had all started back in the park one day.
-
YN was newly four and toddling around to look at everything at the playground - always inquisitive and curious, sometimes more than what was good for herself.
She didn’t gravitate towards the other children, quite frankly - there was a curly haired baby alpha that was bossing them all around anyways.
Her mother was deep in a romance novel on the park bench, knowing her daughter would keep out of trouble.
When YN spots a speckled, prickly caterpillar on a tree stump - her immediate reaction is to pick up the small creature, unaware of its venomous nature.
Out of nowhere, that same bossy alpha child with chocolate curls and intense green eyes smacks her hand away from the insect.
“That’s bad!” He scolds with a low, squeaky rumbling in his chest as he puffs it up as big as he can to show he means business, “Bad omega.”
YN turns back with a furrowed brow, teetering on tears as the boy attempts to grab her arm to pull her away from the caterpillar.
“C’mon,” He demands with as much firmness in his voice as he can muster at his age.
“No!” YN yells back, even at this young age, she wasn’t going to be controlled by some alpha that she doesn’t know.
Carla, YN’s mother, steps over to see what’s going on and sees her daughter’s wide, wet eyes .
She goes to pick YN up and is surprised when the boy growls at her before hissing, “Mine!”
Another dark haired woman is running up, scooping up the boy with embarrassed, pink-tinged cheeks as she apologizes profusely.
“I’m so sorry, he’s never done that before,” The woman tells Carla as she gives her son’s ear a pinch and he yelps like an injured pup.
YN tugs at her mother’s shirt until she’s hiked up onto her hip, glaring at the alpha with anger.
“Harry Edward Styles, apologize,” The woman chastises her son who’s still standing defensively and not breaking eye contact with YN.
Carla was going to give this woman an earful about teaching alpha’s to not be chaunventic pigs when she replays the name.
Harry Edward Styles.
The color drains from her face as she realizes that the boy is not just a normal child but the heir and next in line of the styles pack.
And that meant that woman with a firm grip on the boy was Anne Styles - The Anne Styles, the matriarch of the pack.
“I-it’s o-okay,” Carla stutters out, aware that she is conversing with near royalty right here at this little park a few streets down from her house, “H-have a g-good day.”
And that, she turns and quickly carries her daughter away from them, not wanting any trouble but Carla is nearly positive she heard Harry grumble after her daughter.
-
It’s mere days later when YN is dropped off in her first kindergarten class, sitting near other omegas that she got along with well.
That same alpha boy from the park is walked in by his mother. Unlike the other children who looked around with fright and had hesitation to step foot into the classroom - he didn’t have that.
Harry took confident strides instead, his shoulders as broad as he could make them appear and making sure his back was ramrod straight.
It was definitely a mixture of something that was innate to his gender but it was also obvious that arrogance and stance had most likely been instilled by his father.
He marches past the impatient beta boys waiting for his arrival, arriving right in front of YN, “You are the bad omega.”
And what ensues next has Anne and Carla called back to retrieve their children, YN lunges at the boy and tackles him to the ground.
And then their friendship developed from there.
-
Everyone knew they were destined to be bonded, there is a term called predetermined bond which is when an alpha and omega are solely meant for each other - it is physically impossible for them to try to soul bond with anyone else.
Predetermined soulmates were extremely rare but everyone in their packs and community had a hunch that they were.
Since kindergarten, the two had been attached at the hip - never went a day without talking or seeing each other.
People would have normally made fun of them but nobody dared to tease the Styles' Alpha and in turn, that protected YN from torment.
Anne and Carla knew earlier on, there had been a day where YN had shown up at school - ill with a stomach bug.
Harry had come home and demanded that his mother take him to YN’s house to see her.
Anne suggests just calling to check in but Harry had an absolute meltdown like he’d never had before - only calming once they were in the car on their way.
However, it was shocking to nearly everyone that high school had come and gone but they still weren’t dating yet.
By the time they were in their mid-twenties, they hadn’t dated, let along mated and soul bonded yet to everyone's surprise.
They were still absolutely fused at the hip, Harry acted as YN’s alpha and did everything for her a mate would do but they never had titles.
Harry had never allowed himself to kiss her even because he knew that once he tasted her, he would mate her - instinct and all.
The reason they had not made progress was fear, both were too afraid to make the further step - not wanting to risk their friendship.
Despite how obvious it was to literally everyone else on the earth how much they were meant to be - they were the two most oblivious people on the earth.
Harry knew that he wanted YN as his soulbond, he’d been in love with her for as long as he’s known but he couldn’t risk losing her if she didn’t feel the same way.
Instead, he pushed it down and dated other people, sometimes omegas but mostly betas - not one omega has he met that even came close in comparison to the gorgeous, honey-sweet omega he really wanted.
Relationships never worked out for either of them. It was toxic in a way, they didn’t want to admit they wanted each other but they didn’t want the other to have anyone else.
Neither of their partners ever appreciated how close they were, always breaking up with a suspicion that they had been cheated on.
YN had been dating Peter for a short while, she was feeling pressured into settling down, bonding, and began having children.
Peter was fine, he seemed to be loyal, a good provider, what omegas should look for in an alpha but YN didn’t feel that bond deep in her bones.
He didn’t hold the same power that Harry did and she hates to compare them but they’re just not the same in their secondary gender.
If an obnoxious alpha comes on YN in a bar with Peter, he nicely asks the man to back off or even leaves YN to deal with it.
If YN is with Harry and someone comes onto her, he’s off his stool, broadening his shoulders, and flashing his sharp canines while emitting a warning growl from the depth of his chest.
It’s over-the-top, makes the male run off with his tail between his legs, and then Harry will just turn around with a possessive grin on his face before he rubs his nose against her jaw to scent her.
“You’re ridiculous,” YN giggles, fingers weaving into his long locks and scratching at his scalp until he grumbles happily like a puppy.
Harry doesn’t think twice before protecting YN, he nearly unconsciously steps in front of her and does anything to make her life easier.
-
YN was dreading introducing Harry to Peter - it was never a good time when either of them tried to introduce a new significant other.
YN pushes the reason why to the back of her head but she knows in her heart - they are each other’s soulbond but they’re so protective of their friendship they’d never want to risk it.
YN refused to take the first step.
It was just a casual get together at a pub, with Harry’s pack but also YN’s friends as well, on a Friday night in the city.
As soon as Peter and YN arrive at the table, Harry’s eyes narrow in on where his arm is wrapped around her waist and he grits his teeth together to stop from making a remark.
“Harry, this is Peter,” YN clears her throat nervously as her boyfriend sticks out his bare hand to shake her best friend’s ringed, tattooed one.
“A pleasure,” The alpha responded curtly, he squeezed Peter’s hand so hard that the man pulled it back with a wince and a yelp, “Sorry mate, don’t know my own strength sometimes.”
The most obvious assertion of dominance, Harry need Peter to know that he’s in charge of this situation.
“Harry,” YN scolds sharply, getting even more frustrated when he just raised his eyebrow at her with a shit-eating grin like he’s all innocent.
“S’fine,” Peter mumbles embarrassed, having an alpha just claim dominance over him - one of the most humiliating public displays, Harry took pleasure in doing so.
It’s only been thirty minutes until YN can no longer take Harry’s backhanded remarks, blunt questions, and overall pompous demeanor towards the poor weaker alpha.
“Harry, now,” YN interrupts the conversation as he makes Peter uncomfortable for the upteenth time and leaves her barstool without another glance back at the men.
She manages to get to the fire escape entrance to the side alleyway of the brick building before Harry catches up with her.
It's a freezing, warm breath turning into a visible smog as YN wraps her bare arms around herself to keep in some of the warmth.
“Here,” Harry rasps automatically, shimmying off his wool coat to let YN shimmy into but she instead glares at him and refuses to uncross her arms.
“No.”
Harry snarls at her, “It wasn’t a question, mutt.”
He physically unwraps her arms and roughly gets the coat on her body because he wasn’t going to let her go cold even if she wanted to prove a point.
Harry can’t help himself, rarely can, because she has her boyfriend inside the bar but Harry’s nuzzling at her jaw and laying his scent on her.
“I’m gonna smack you,” YN warns with a grunt as she pushes Harry back, she really wanted to keep him there, let him nuzzle and claim her but she knew she couldn’t - it felt painful to push him back.
Harry’s eyes are still narrowed as he watching YN, he’s not happy about being denied physical touch - was always unhappy about it.
“Why’d you call me out here, pup?” Harry drawls, he kicks at the gravel underneath his leather boots as the cold wind blows his hair.
He doesn’t get cold, it’s the wolf in him, that this intense biting weather doesn’t even make him shiver at all.
“You need to stop,” YN huffs out, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, trying not get overwhelmed by his scent - sandalwood and cinnamon, “Leave ‘em alone.”
Harry’s upper lip snarls again at the request, he hated being told what to do, especially when it came to his natural instinct.
“You’re not going to tell me how to protect you,” Harry growls defiantly, the timbre of his voice growing in volume as he gets upset.
“You’re going to ruin this for me,” YN points out, getting louder herself because he just doesn’t listen - so fucking stubborn.
“Good,” He hissed out, he was radiating power and confidence - it was pissing her off because he could act like this but never take the next step.
“You’re being an ass,” She seethes furiously, she pokes her finger at his hard chest, “Leave Peter alone. Do you hear me?”
“Mm, you look gorgeous tonight,” The alpha nearly purrs, a total distraction to try to get him out of trouble - she can tell he wants to reach out and tug her closer.
“I fucking can’t with you tonight,” YN groans in exasperation as she shrugs off his jacket and throws it back at him before storming back inside the bar.
When she arrives back at the table, everyone looks up at them, including Peter who has a confused smile on his face until YN states, “We’re leaving, let’s go.”
Peter complies without question, saying quiet farewells to the pack before hopping off his barstool and slipping on his jacket - handing YN hers.
Harry appears again, displeased with the sight in front of him as he watches Peter zip up YN’s jacket, when they’re about to leave the table - Harry grabs her wrist in a possessive squeeze and low growl only she could hear.
He can feel how quick her pulse is, how her body aches to nestle against his, and let herself be his but she only allows it for a moment before she’s pulling away.
Once they disappear from the busy bar, Harry slumps back down onto his stool, and swigs down the beer in front of him much too quickly.
“Alpha, you know what you need to do,” Niall speaks up, eyeing his leader warily, “She is waiting for you to take the next step. Why make this go on any longer?”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Harry demands, his voice loud and deep enough to quiet down the busy bar, “You’re my beta. Know your fucking place in this pack before I show you.”
Niall lowers his head submissively to show his apology, eyes glued to the wood table in front, and baring the back of his neck as a sign of vulnerability and trust to his leader.
It doesn’t ease the tension, Harry is storming out of the bar before Niall can even look up, just catching his back through the front door.
-
It’s been about three month of YN and Peter’s relationship and Harry is getting absolutely fed up with it.
Everyone notices he’s been more possessive than usual, wanting to be next to her at all times, scenting her when no one is looking, intimidating her boyfriend at every chance he gets.
It’s pack game night, where they all sit around, drink beer, and play games until they either pass out from the booze or exhaustion.
Harry’s been in a sour mood since they’ve started dating and everyone has felt it - he was uptight, angry like he gets anytime she’s in a relationship.
YN gets up after a round of Phase Ten to use the bathroom, Harry sits back in his chair at the head of the table - arms crossed, muscles flexed, and inked in dark tribal designs that run from his fingertips to his neck.
“How’s everything going with you two?” Chelsea asks Peter as she sips at alcoholic seltzer, just trying to make conversation.
“Excellent. I, well, I know it’s only been a few months but I’m really considering asking YN if she’ll bond with me,” He replies a bit sheepishly, eyes darting around the table to gauge reactions.
“Over my dead fucking body,” Harry roars, kicking back his chair, and slamming his fist on the table, “How fucking dare you even speak like that.”
Peter, who is normally quiet and non-confrontational, honestly tries to avoid Harry like the plague despite he’s everywhere YN is.
“I don’t need your permission. She doesn’t belong to your pack, you're not her alpha,” Peter responds tersely, pushing his chair back as well as he keeps direct eye contact with the leader - struggling not to submit to the leader.
That comment shot straight down onto Harry’s spine, sending fireworks of rage exploding behind his eyes at the audacity this guy had saying these things in his house.
Harry can feel his body starting to shift into wolf form, has to take multiple deep exhales through his nose to come back from the edge - knows he’ll kill him if he shifts.
He’s holding himself with his shoulders broad, chest puffing in and out, and his sharp canines flashing at his opponent.
“She is mine. You will not bond her. You will not ever let that thought cross through your thick fucking skull again,” Harry orders in his full blown alpha voice, it’s deep and loud enough to shake the glasses on the table.
All his packmates are on high alert now, standing as well, in case they need to protect Peter from Harry’s wrath - if he does something he’d regret later.
The pack didn’t need Peter’s blood on their hands.
Harry would gladly coat the walls in it.
Peter’s lips visibly quiver, hands shaking as he realizes he truly is not a match for the massive alpha in front of him - especially when it comes to a mate.
Peter realizes that it isn’t worth his life, YN was a nice girl but he couldn’t compete with the elite alpha who wouldn't back down - hasn’t in the past three months.
“You know, you win, Styles. It was never going to work anyways. I’m not an idiot, I can smell you on her constantly - you purposely make her reek before she sees me,” He accuses with his fist clenched at his sides.
“I don’t know why you haven’t mated her but you act as if she’s your mate without the mark, I can feel the bond. I see the lovebites you leave to claim her. You’ve ruined her for anyone other than yourself, you selfish prick.”
YN, who had witnessed the whole interaction from the doorframe, steps back into the room, her eyes filled with a mixture of disgust and anger as they flicker between both men.
“Get out, Peter,” YN breathes through the thickness in her throat, “If I’m too ruined for you than get the fuck out this house.”
Harry shamelessly preens with pride as his betas hussle the douchebag out of the dining room before he can say anything else to YN.
The alpha starts to stalk towards YN but she’s not done speaking, “As for you. Don’t you need to come near me right now, Styles.”
-
“You’re not a half-bad kisser, Styles,” YN giggles girlishly as they sit in the secluded forest behind Harry’s parents home and territory.
“You didn’t think I’d let anyone else be your first kiss, did you?” He replies with his own chuckle before brushing another soft kiss against her lips.
-
“Don’t you dare fucking growl at me either,” She scolds as Harry starts to let a low predatory vibration swirl through his chest, flashing his teeth at her in displeasure for her request but he respects it.
The rumbling gets lower but it doesn’t totally disappear.
“It’s really unfair, you know,” YN bites out but as she keeps speaking her voice begins to wobble and get shakier by the end, “It’s unfair that you’ve ruined me for anyone else but refuse to claim me as yours.”
Harry’s hackles go up defensively at this, his hand splintering the wood of the chair as he leans on it to prevent himself from moving, “Don’t act like I haven’t claimed you since we were babies. There’s a reason you’ve never had a boyfriend for more than a handful of months why alphas steer clear of you - because I’ve claimed you and I’m all over you.”
“If you claimed me, I would have had your knot and a scar on my neck to prove so!” YN shouts back, chest heaving with emotion as she tries to control the boiling over tears.
And Harry is finally silent, taken aback by her blunt words, and how livid she is with him in this moment - he wants to grab her, sink his teeth into the meat of her neck and bond them for life.
How could she not know?
“Mutt, c’mon,” Harry begins but is cut off by her waving her hand to dismiss his words and announcing, “Fuck this, I’m leaving. Don’t even think about following me.”
Harry resists the urge to break every single piece of furniture in his house because he can’t lose her, his mate, twin flame, soul bond because he’s scared of rejection.
-
He ends up at his mum’s estate, sat in the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea that she’d forced upon his before sliding a tray of biscuits on the table.
“What’s the late visit for?” Anne questions curiously as she sits across from her son - the tension in the line of his jaw visible.
“YN is my soulmate,” Harry blurts out, eyes focused on where he’s swirling the spoon in his cup, “I don’t know why I haven’t acted on it sooner. I love her with all of my being.”
Anne chuckles with a secret humor in her tone, reaching over to squeeze his hand, “Darling, it’s been obvious since you were young. It’s been fate since the beginning. You’ve been obsessed with her since you were a babe.”
-
“Mumma,” Harry grunts ambivalently, “M’not going into the park until YN gets here.”
“Honey, Carla said they’re running a few minutes behind. I’m sure YN wouldn’t mind if you started playing without her,” Anne assured him with a pat to shoulder to encourage him.
“No,” He pouts with the finality of an adult as he patiently waits for his friend to arrive, a wide smile blossoming when she runs up and they can finally get into playing.
-
“Then why haven’t I done it, Mum?” Harry huffs out, burying his face in his hands as he groans with the amount of frustration he feels towards himself.
“Despite you being the new alpha of the pack. A big bad fearless alpha who has witnessed much bloodshed to protect your people, you are afraid,” Anne tells him seriously, “You bottle everything up. Your biggest fear in this life is getting rejected by YN - even though she has been waiting for you for years.”
Harry is trying to process everything his mum is saying as she continues, “If she didn’t know you were the one, she would never have allow led you to scent or mark her skin. She would have been bonded to a capable alpha right now - she’s a viable, beautiful omega who didn’t need to wait around but she has.”
“Mum-“ Harry starts but doesn’t know what to say as he starts to push back his chair, he just arrived but he has to go.
“Go dear, it’s about time,” Anne encourages softly as she watches with pride as her son leans over to kiss her cheek before disappearing through the front door.
-
YN was getting sleepy, the campfire was still blazing and the back had barely simmered down but she didn’t have the energy of a wolf.
Peter was having no problem chatting up everyone who came, playing nice guy, and sipping much too quickly on hard cider.
Harry notices right away when YN has hit her limit, eyelids get heavy and her blinks get slower, she places her water down.
She’s waiting for Harry.
The alpha separates from his friends, he knows he’s ‘technically’ overstepping from an outside perspective because she’s Peter’s girlfriend but when it comes to it - she belongs to him.
“Getting tired, mutt?” Harry draws as he stands in front of her, already knowing she’ll deny it like she’s always done.
“M’not,” She argues weakly, rubbing her eye and smearing a bit of her mascara.
“Mmm, sure look knackered to me. C’mon, puppy. Let me get you up to bed,” Harry nearly coos, it’s quite sickening how this big bad alpha bows to his omega - his pack knows better than to comment on it.
“Gotta say goodnight to Pet-“
“Nonsense, don’t need to do that. Let me get you to a nice warm bed, hm? S’getting cold out here. I’ll let him know later,” He lies, knowing damn well he wouldn’t do such a thing.
Harry was actually planning to go back to the party after she fell asleep for the night but once she dressed in one of his shirts and wriggled into the satin of his sheet - he was torn.
When YN mumbled, half-asleep, “H, need a cuddle to go to sleep.”
“Want me to go get Peter?” He quips with a harsh tone, it made him completely obvious and made YN frown at him.
“Want you, please?”
He can’t fucking say no to her is the thing.
He’s never been able to.
So he’s locking his door, shucking off his clothes, and slipping into the bed with her - chuffing and purring to get her to sleep.
-
He’s at the front door of her apartment, of course he has a key but it doesn’t feel right to barge in right now so he knocks.
He’s a wolf, supernatural if you will, he can hear that she’s moving about in her small home - her heartbeat upticking at the hard sound.
YN takes her good ole’ time getting to the door, to switch the lock, and open it a bit begrudgingly before moving aside to let him in.
After it’s closed, she turns to him with a pursed expression - her swollen eyes and damp cheeks giveaway her sorrow.
It’s fucking heartbreaking.
“I’ve failed you,” Harry whispers, shame lacing through his tone as he cups her jaw between his hands, she doesn’t pull away but leans in, “I’ve been a poor excuse of an alpha to you.”
YN’s eyes have a bit of a glimmer, a mischievous twinkle as she shakes her head with a giggle, “You’re absurd, you idiot. Been an amazing alpha, always have taken care of me. Never had eyes for another omega.”
It was true, he hadn’t.
“I was- I am scared,” Harry admits, not feeling very alpha-liked as his shoulders slump and he rubs his thumbs over her cheekbones.
“Of what?” YN presses, hands coming to cup his wrists - twisting her head so she can kiss his palm a few times.
“Rejection,” He grumbles quietly, still avoiding eye contact, “Of you rejecting me.”
YN let out a peel of laughter, “Oh H, I know you’re not that dense, pup. You’ve always known, deep down that we were meant for each other.”
“Don’t laugh at me,” He growls wolfishly to her teasing like she’d done since they were children and he was oblivious to something.
“Well now that it’s out in the open, what are you going to do about it?” YN questions, biting down a grin because there’s nothing more she loved to do than push the alpha’s buttons.
“M’gonna take you to your bed, give you my knot, and make you my pretty little mate,” Harry purrs, eyes darkening and canines shimmering, feral and hungry, “Right, mutt? Gonna let me mark you up? Finally let the world know who you belong to? My pups will be in your belly, you’ll be tied to me for eternity.”
“Stop fucking talking and just do it. It’s about time you do your alpha duties,” YN whines, the sound make Harry hiss and he’s not fully in his logical mind when he picks her up and puts her over his shoulder until he can deposit her on the bed which groans from rusty springs.
“No more of this,” Harry tells her, the alpha timbre threatening to come out but it wasn’t time just, “No more time apart. You’ll come and live where the head omega should, be in my bed and have me pleasing you every night.”
“You’re all talk as of right now,” YN goads, squirming and kicking at him until he grabs her ankles to stop the movement.
“You’re getting real brave, puppy,” Harry sing-songs but it’s dangerous and low, “For someone who’s about to be crying out my name and begging for my knot.”
This was new territory for them but it didn’t feel awkward or too forward, it feels like YN has been waiting a lifetime to hear how much he truly wants her.
“Then touch me,” YN mewls on frustration, still attempting to kick at him but his grasp was too tight until he suddenly lets her legs fall back to the mattress.
“Then touch me,” He parrots in a mocking tone before he’s ducking down to bite her jaw before murmuring, in a complete alpha tone, “Now hush up and be m’good little omega and let me do what I need to do. Yeah? You’re gonna get everything you want, mutt.”
YN’s heart is pounding clear out of her chest as he pulls the nightshirt over her head and her bare breasts jiggle out without a bra - nipples already tight and peaked in anticipation.
“Fuckin’ hell, you’re trying to kill me,” Harry gruffs before ducking down to wrap his lips around one of the peaks and suck while his opposite hand palms her other breast.
He waste no time in marking her chest over and over again with his mouth, showing the world who it belonged to.
Sure Harry had seen her tits on a few occasions but it was never for him to ogle and worship them, for him to clip with his front teeth until she squeals and tries to push her chest more into his mouth.
“Should have know how greedy you’d be,” Harry chastises, lapping at bud for a moment longer until switching to the other one.
“M’not,” She rebukes in a kittenish, noncommittal tone as her stomach twitches when his hand starts to move down south, across the expanse of her belly.
“Pup, I can smell you from here. Your slick’s getting on the sheets, you’re not subtle, darling,” Harry chuckles fondly before he’s nipping at her sensitive peaks once again.
When he gets to the hem of her underwear, he pauses to pull back from her chest, “Baby, I need you to tell me it’s oka-“
“S’okay, please, H. Please touch me, alpha,” YN moans, falling deeper into a comfortable, fuzzy headspace where she knows she’s safe.
The word alpha shots right down to his cock.
“Been waiting for so long,” Harry mumbles almost to himself as he shimmies the panties down her thick thighs and he fucking groans when she’s revealed, “Fucking hell, of course, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Look at her.”
YN spreads her thighs more, a blatant invitation that Harry can’t pass up - he can’t stop staring at how perfect and plump she is, absolutely glistening from her arousal.
“My queen,” Harry sighs in admiration, thumbs spreading her lips to get a look at her puffy clit, “Can’t believe you’re gonna give me this for the rest of our lives. Everything about you is gorgeous.”
Harry wants to dip down, bury his face between her thighs, and not come up for air but he knows that all needs to wait - he can’t wait any longer to bond them together and he’s shucking off his clothes, spending a moment kissing her before detaching.
He knows she’s never been knotted before and his is coming on fast - as he’s never done this with an omega either.
“Puppy, you gotta come for me. Give me one and then I’ll knot you, bond us, make you mine. Please darling, give it to me,” Harry babbles, barely audible with how low his tone has gotten, his scent is permeating the room - wrapping them in sandalwood and cinnamon.
It only takes a few directed thrusts for her to start quivering and squeezing her eyes shut, hands on his shoulders as she cries out his name.
“Such a good alpha,” YN moans as she rides out the final waves of her orgasm and that’s all it takes for Harry to push in and still, knot expanding and holding him in place.
It’s instinct, no doubt in his body as he noses her chin up until her neck is exposed, lips finding where her pulse is humming with her sweet honeyed blood and hormones.
He doesn’t even need to ask, YN’s hands move to his long locks, leading him closer to her skin, “Please, H. Never wanted anything more than being yours.”
His sharp canines puncture the skin, their dna combing and dancing, a physical pull in his heart and it feels like their world has completely shifted in that moment.
“You’re mine, pup. You have been since we were children and you’ll always be mine until the end of time,” Harry murmurs as he licks at the wound, tears in his eyes.
Until the end of time but that may not even be enough.
Y/N huffed, something close to a laugh, “I need to get ready for the day.”
“You need to rest,” he ordered instead, “There is nothing to do today. You aren’t required to do your duties until two days from tomorrow, correct?”
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to look at him, “How do you know that?”
“Humans do things in patterns that are easy to follow if you watch enough.”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“I have been watching you.” He finally peered one eye open, “How else was I supposed to discover your true intentions toward me? I thought you were a witch for a while.”
or
Dragons are vulnerable in their heat, and Y/N helps Harry through it
part 1
(16.4k+ words)
ii.
“Your heart races.”
Y/N believes her heart does more than just race; it thunders, tramples, and trips over itself. She can feel it thudding through her ribcage, rattling her bones, echoing up her throat, and sitting on her tongue. Had she felt like this when she lost her virginity? She doesn’t think so – actually, she remembers being mildly annoyed that it was taking Oliver so long to get his kit off. There’d been some nerves just before he slipped inside of her, but those dissipated into an achy sort of pain quickly after.
Still, she’d never felt nerves like this before. How could she not, with a dragon staring at her the way Harry is right now? His eyes glow in something very inhuman. The purple of his irises was brighter than she’d ever seen them. He still wore those pants, garish as they are; they don’t hide the large bulge throbbing and leaking through the fabric. Harry’s demeanor before had been something softer, more curious, even a little sweetened, like he was appeasing an animal he felt endeared by. But that was when she’d humped him like an unruly dog.
However, when she’d split her thighs for him as he’d asked, his manner changed.
It had been awkward, she could admit, as she climbed off his lap and plopped herself to his left, scooting herself up her mattress so she could at least lie against her pillows. She pulled the skirt of her dress up, then tucked her fingers into the waistband of her underclothing, wriggling them down her legs. She knew highborn women had very pretty bloomers, of all different colors and designs, but hers were quite boring in comparison. Before she could toss them to the side, Harry grabbed them from her hand, crumbled the fabric in his large palm, and brought it to his nose. He breathes in deeply, and the action is so naughty that Y/N audibly gasps, “Harry!” His eyes, that had closed as he breathed her in, flutter back open, “That’s – that’s filthy,” she tells him, “Improper, even! I’m a lady, you know?
“Your scent is as alluring as it is tormenting to me,” he replies, “I do not care for what is improper and filthy. I will take these for my nest.” He breathes them in once more before setting them down on the bed beside them, crawling on his knees closer to her. He settles between her legs, pressing his palm against the back of her thigh. Harry gently guides her bent leg up, her knee lateral to her chest, as he spreads her open. The heat from his hand radiates through her skin, melting down through the muscles to her bones, “Just as you are a lady, I am a dragon. Let me see more of your honey pot.”
Y/N feels embarrassed beneath his sharpened gaze, small under the unrelenting focus that he lays upon her. She doesn’t know if any man has stared so intensely between her legs, even as they were preparing to stuff inside of her. She’d just figured it was either not pretty enough to let their gazes linger, or that perhaps men didn’t care what it looked like at all. Yet, Harry will not remove his eyes from where they lie, with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. It looked hard and deep enough that it should draw blood, yet the skin only blanches where his sharpened canine threatens to pierce. His skin is flushed pink all over, and when he blows out a breath, a smoky plume distorts the air in front of his mouth.
She swallows deeply, lowering her hands between her legs again. Harry follows them down to where she lets the pad of her fingers stroke down her slit carefully, slowly, down to the mess that’s outside of her hole. Y/N feels like a virgin again, in this way – like she has no clue what to do with her body or how it works. Her fingers slip through her arousal, coating the tips when she dips them just barely inside before stroking back up her swollen clit and decorating it in the mess. From her angle, she couldn’t see much beyond her mound and her button from where she’s sitting. The high-born women, just as they have their fancy cloth bloomers, can also afford the special services to remove the hair here, but Y/N could not. She wondered if Harry cared – wondered if he even knew. What did dragon women’s hair look like? Did they have any? Did they have holes like hers? The way he is looking at her almost suggests that he’d never seen something close to this, so she can only imagine that they must be different.
Swirling her fingers makes her toes curl, and a soft sigh leaves her mouth. It feels nice, even when she sort of wants to cower beneath his intense stare, and part of that almost makes it even better. He’s staring so hard, so distracted by her that when she feels something wet drip against her thigh, she realizes he’s drooling and something hot coils around her belly, down her lower spine.
That’s when Y/N notices, there are little scales that have emerged from his skin. Not all over, by any stretch, just one here, another there – they’re the same color as his dark green scales she’d seen in his human form. Y/N wants to touch them, just as she wants to touch the horns that he’d had before. Would those come back? She has to see them again, she thinks, or she’ll go crazy.
Transfixed by them, Y/N’s hand leaves her pussy. Maybe it was crazy to reach toward him with the hand she’d been using to touch herself, but she isn’t really thinking. She only snaps out of it when Harry grabs her wrist, his grip tight around her wrist, and her eyes flutter wide, rushing to apologize, “I’m sorry, I should’ve – I should’ve wiped my hands off or asked, I just – your scales –”
Harry doesn’t respond at first. Instead, he splits his lips and shows his tongue. He drags it over his fingers, tasting her again, sucking them into his mouth with not just a moan. It starts like a moan, low and whiny, but it drops into a growl – something animalistic, it trembles through her as he lowers so his face is mere centimeters from her pussy. “I have – I have yet to run my bath, Harry,” she warned him, stopping him with her hand – a palm pressed to his forehead, “I’ve been sweating all day, I’m unsure if you would want –”
“It is not just about wants or desires. This runs far further than a mere craving,” he presses his other hand to her thigh, keeping her spread, “I must consume you. It’s a necessity – a need – to swallow you deep into my belly.” He leans closer, nuzzling his face against her slit and breathing in deeply, his nose pressed against the hairs that sit on her skin, “But you must tell me, if it isn’t to your liking. I’ve yet to do this.”
Y/N doesn’t have much time to wrap her head around what he meant, because his tongue, wet and full, slides a path from bottom to top. Her folds part around the muscle, wet enough that the glide is as easy as licking ice that had begun to melt; she’s sure of it. The groan he makes against her vibrates through her whole being. Her mouth falls open, her eyelids flutter, stuck between wanting to close and wanting to watch him. Y/N had never witnessed someone look so pleased to be between her legs, but his eyes closed, and he hummed, similar to how he did when he ate her pie – like it was just as good and just as sweet.
He’s sloppy and unfocused on only one part of her, instead swirling his tongue all over her. Y/N can’t tell what's wet from him and what’s wet from her, just that Harry doesn’t seem to care about the mess. When she feels more gush out of her, the delighted hum that leaves him would suggest he’d like it to be messier. The sharpened nails on his hands pierce into the flesh of her thighs as he deepens his licking, pressing so close that his nose is shoved against her, and she’s unsure of how he’s breathing.
Y/N had never felt like this before. Harry is a quick learner; from the moment he can tell that she twitches and whines something high-pitched and needy every time he strokes her swollen button, he takes it into his mouth. He flickers his tongue against it before fixing his lips around it, pulling with these long, hard sucks and reading her reaction to it. Harry must like it when she wriggles, if her hips move, when she scrambles to grab at the bare mattress beneath her, and even his head. When her fingers stroke where his horns had been prior, Harry moans into her and intensifies the movements of his mouth.
When she cums, it’s with a cry of warning. Y/N is sure she didn’t even need to warn him, though, from the way her sounds started getting even louder, clipping off as it built up, the pressure in her belly reaching heights she’d never gotten to with a human man. She’d been eaten before, like this, but never so animalistically. Never like they truly wanted to devour her whole, suck her essence from her cunt, embed the taste of her on each little groove and bud of their tongue. It’s too much in the best way, and when she looks down at him again, she sees how his purple eyes glow, and the scrape of these little patches of scales against her sensitive inner thighs shoves her right over the edge.
The orgasm is intense – it rattles through her like all of her bones are vibrating with it. It tingles and buzzes through her whole body, and makes her feel a little crazy, rutting her hips into his face. He doesn’t hold her down – instead, he takes what feels like a handful of her bum and presses her even closer to him, if that’s possible. Like he was trying to melt and merge into her body, he seems keen on staying there too, until Y/N is actively trying to buck away from him, her palm pressed against his forehead to shove.
Once he finally detaches from her, he does so with a gasp, and Y/N makes a similar sound. Only hers was due to the state of him – the strings of arousal and spit that cling between his lips and tongue to her folds, and what looks like steam leaves his mouth with every pant that leaves him. Y/N’s brain is still trying to catch up with the fact that he isn’t exactly human, as she slides her hand from his forehead to his hair, carding her fingers through the strands carefully. A purr rumbles through his body almost instantly when her nails graze his scalp, and the sound intensifies as she gets closer to the area where his horns once resided. She didn’t know he could do that.
Harry nuzzles against her palm, “You taste sweet,” he murmurs, “Why do you taste so sweet?”
She’s blinking at him, shaking her head, shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t know,” she replied, “Nobody has ever – has ever said that before.”
The purr shifts into something like a growl when he darts his tongue out to lick through her folds once more, leaving another sticky string of her cum and spit to bow and snap between them. “Nobody will touch you anymore,” he says, it like it’s a fact, “They will not get the chance to say it. I won’t allow it.”
The possessiveness should likely turn her off, but it only makes the heat coil further in her belly. She nods in agreement before using her foot to pet down his side. Her toes catch at the waistband of his trousers, but she makes no move to tug them down. “You,” she cleared her throat, tipping her head to the side, “Don’t you want – don’t you want to finish too? Aren’t you aching?”
He purrs again, pressing himself up from the mattress after giving her one last kiss to the inside of her thigh, “Yes,” he whines, and Y/N is greeted with the view of his bulge again, only this time he’s tucked a thumb into the elastic band around his hips. He pulls it down; Y/N watches as his prick lowers at first with the drag of the fabric, only the base of the shaft revealed as he unceremoniously tugs them off. His prick bounces out, but it’s so heavy that it doesn’t instantly snap against his stomach. He’s big – Y/N knew he would be, but there’s something about seeing it in the flesh that is 10x more intense than anything she’s experienced. “I ache, so deeply,” he twists his hand around the shaft, pulling up. He’s already leaking so much, dripping from the wet, messy tip. “The urge to breed is intense. It’s very strong.”
“To – to breed?” Y/N repeats, her thighs still fallen open, her eyes wide as saucers. She’d never seen someone so big before – not even in the smutty drawings that artists sell in the back of their stores. Y/N almost wants to measure it – wants to feel it in her hand, the weight of it. Wants to hold it to her forearm and see how similar it is. Did dragons really need pricks this big? What purpose did it serve? Or was it due to them being large in general? Could dragon women take them easily? Could dragon men? Could anyone at all? She simply couldn’t imagine it.
Harry lets his cock rest against her belly, his balls nestled close, on top of her swollen, sensitive button that he’d shown such attention with his tongue. The tip sits at her belly button, smearing precum against her skin, oozing it down into the little pocket. There’s a portion at the base that is more swollen than the rest, and Y/N has no clue what it is or its purpose. He’s so warm – the temperature is hot, sticky, and Y/N’s fingers twitch at her sides until she finally just listens to them. Carefully, cautiously, she extends her fingers out toward him and lets her fingers dance along the flesh. Harry sucks in a breath, and another purr rattles through him. His scales glint and glimmer in the light of her lamps, while the wet precum covering his tip glistens. Everything about him is so mythical, she thinks, even his arousal sort of sparkles.
He rocks his hips, fucking into the makeshift hole her hand makes while he’s still pressed against her belly, “Yes,” he says again, and it burns hot inside of her, “To breed. I want to fill you with my seed until it’s dripping from you. So much of it that your belly swells from me.” Despite how dominant his words are, there’s an underlying whine that laces through his tone, “Lock you in with my knot. Make sure it takes.” He moans again, his cock twitching like the thought alone could make him cum, “You’re too–you’re little cunt is too small to take me yet. I must stretch you.” He shakes his head, “It must not happen tonight.”
Despite his size, and despite Y/N knowing that it was for the best, she didn’t take him tonight, in this state, with little preparation (she would need plenty of lubricant that she does not have), she still pouts. Her hole clenched around nothing, like it only now realizes how empty she feels. It’s horrible, having it right in front of her and not getting it – he’s right there. Maybe it was pheromones he’s pushing out, or perhaps it was just Y/N’s intense desire and attraction to him, or even her in a post-orgasmic and still horny state – but she feels like she could cry, a little. Tears bead up her waterline.
Harry notices it – she doesn’t know if he can smell the salt of her tears or if he can just see how they water (maybe both), but he drags his hand across the mattress before cradling her cheek in his palm. Y/N is unsure why she feels this way, and she thinks it’s some carnal, innate reaction – something more animal than human. Still, Harry leans down, still purring, nudging his nose against hers, “Sweet little human,” he murmurs, almost like she’s speaking to himself, “Your body responds so well to mine, doesn’t it? It wants to be full.”
“Yes,” she frowns, and Harry laughs, warm, dragging his tongue across her jaw, letting his canine drag against the skin, “I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you could,” he shudders when she loops her legs around his hips, curling them tight around his body, and the pace he’d been fucking into her hand falters, “But not tonight. I must. . .I must be careful with you.”
Y/N huffs, a petulant sound, and Harry moves to hover over her face again. The gaze he gives her is unlike any he’d ever given her before; full of hunger and desire, his eyes lidded and his mouth just slightly agape. He would cum soon, she could feel him throbbing against her palm and belly. The closer he got, the more he’d fuck into the little pocket her hand created for him, the more she felt the swelling at his base. Curiosity finally sways her – she squirms her other hand in between their bodies and lets her fingers dance along the swollen bit. It’s unlike anything she’s ever witnessed before, so unlike anything that she’d ever felt. Something twists up inside of her when Harry’s moan gets more high-pitched, louder, and his hips twitch in an uneven rhythm against her.
He growls, his free hand finds her hip, and he digs his nails in deeper than she thinks he intended to. Y/N is too busy marveling over his reaction to really react to the pain, though she does flinch a little, “You are filthy. Such a lewd being in a sweet body – you’re a conniving creature.”
“What is this?” She finally inquires, squeezing it again, “Is it sensitive?”
“Very,” he breathes out, his head bowing between his shoulders, his hips even quicker, “S’my knot, little human, to keep me locked inside of this pretty body. Make sure none of my spend spills from you – keep it nice and safe inside.”
Y/N’s eyes must glitter when she looks into his. She’s overwhelmed, sure, but to see Harry in such a state is mesmerizing. The same man (dragon) who was throwing her out of the forest every time she entered it, now rutting over her, imagining being locked inside of her, thinking about breeding her. Right now, he wanted her so badly that it almost made him look silly. And she could admit that, right then, she wanted him so badly she surely looked silly.
But he seemed resolute in not fucking her tonight, so she made do with what she could. And, at the very least, she wanted to see him cum.
“I want to feel it,” she encourages him, keeping one hand on his ‘knot’ and massaging it gently, and listening to his mewling, “Inside of me, pressing against my – against my walls. I want to feel it tug against me every time you pull it out,” and yeah, sure, at first the words were meant only to rile him up, but Y/N was working herself up again, “Want to feel how it tugs when you can’t remove yourself from me. Want to feel it stretch me open, and –”
“Fuck,” he grumbles low, before his cock throbs, hot and heavy against her belly. The first spurt of cum shoots out high enough to hit her chin and tear a gasp from her mouth. It’s warm and sticky, dripping down her throat as more shoots out, some getting her chest, and a whole lot of it on her belly. At least a fountain of it, really, as it spills over her fingers, coating her knuckles, seeping between her fingers. There’s so much of it, she honestly has no idea how any of it would have fit inside of her. Just knows that there seems there’s no end to it, until a full 30 seconds go by and he’s finally just sputtering and spitting the rest from his slit.
Y/N is a mess, covered in sweat, and sort of horny again. She desperately needs a bath, and she’s kind of starving, but she’s so tired that the thought of getting up seems horrible. And Y/N doesn’t know if Harry would even let her get up, with how he moves over her, heavy stretched across her, but she undoubtedly feels safe. Men, at least in her experience, usually roll over and go take care of themselves afterward – they go have a wee, clean up, a little bit of this, and a little of that. Y/N is left to clean herself up, deal with the weird, sad welt that kind of sits in her chest, wondering how she’s going to get them out of her cottage without seeming rude.
With Harry, it is much different. There’s something very primal about how he stays on top of her, like he is protecting her vulnerable body from the outside world. He’s warm, but it isn’t suffocating. It’s comforting, like when she pulls her winter bedding from storage, the feathers dense inside to help her maintain heat. Especially since she doesn’t have someone to take turns stoking the fire with her at night, but Harry’s body is like a walking fire in itself. Warm either from his mating cycle, or just in general – he never really let her get close enough to see if he was this warm regularly.
He purrs too, still, like a pleased cat. And she feels the wet drag of his tongue against her neck, right over her thrumming pulse. Things that should probably put her off, because she isn’t an animal – not a cat, not a dog, not a dragon – but it doesn’t feel off-putting. She feels like she could fall asleep right now, actually, warm and content, safer than she thinks she’s ever felt.
Eventually, though, the sticky, cooling sensation of his cum starts to be a little much. Y/N wriggles beneath him, but his purrs grow a little louder as if he’s trying to settle her, “Harry,” she murmurs, pressing her hand against his lower belly, “I’m sticky.”
“You’re perfect.” He replied easily, his nose nuzzling into the junction of her neck and shoulder.
Y/N is startled to laugh, pressing into the soft of his belly with her index and middle fingers, even her thumbs, “Aish, that’s sweet, but –” she wiggles again, “It’s a bit uncomfortable, with – with all of that. You came a lot.”
Harry huffs, nestles one more time into her throat, and then presses himself up. He’s pouting – a real-life pout! From this previously grumpy, mean dragon. His cheeks are pink where they’re usually pale, his eyes are glowing less now than they had been, and even the few scattered scales have disappeared from his skin. Y/N squeezes his sides, “It is only partially my fault,” he tells her, “You smell too good and taste too delectable for me to have cum a normal amount. I could not help it.”
Still, he sat up – his cock had softened, for the most part, but was still a massive weight between his legs. And he doesn’t seem keen on covering back up, as he stands up on the side of her bed, shucking his bottoms the rest of the way off and stepping out of them. Y/N’s eyes widen as he disappears from her room, and she hears the front door open and then close. She scrambles up to sit, thinking that even though her neighbors aren’t very close, and winter has dyed the sky black at early hours, someone still may see a naked man walking out of her cottage. Several men have been arrested for public indecency at the tavern in town, so Y/N hardly thinks anyone would let this slide, no matter how big and imposing Harry seems.
Y/N is too messy to get up and follow him outside to call him in. But she thinks perhaps that would call too much attention to them as well. She just sits, waits, and Harry eventually returns with two buckets of water that steam as if he’d just boiled them. Her towels are slung around his neck, and when he gets closer, she can see washing cloths in the water. He drops them beside her fire, on the rug, then comes back to her and slips his arms beneath her body. Y/N squeals when he lifts her – nobody has lifted her in a very long time, apart from when he’s manipulating the air to do so.
But she hadn’t been picked up like this, held close to someone’s body, her cheek against his shoulder, and his arms around her body. Y/N kind of feels like a princess – saved by a knight, like in those novels her cousins would bring for her to read after they’d finished them. Only, instead of the knight, Y/N is being carted around by the very thing the knight was probably trying to save her from – a big, man-eating, fire-breathing dragon that had stolen her away and locked her in a tower. She thinks she feels much safer in his arms rather than some random knight, though.
Carefully, he sits her in front of the fire, on her rug. It was an older rug, but she kept up with it, so it still looked relatively new. The fibers were still soft and cushiony, so it wasn’t the worst place to be. Harry sits back down on his knees beside her, tugging at her dress – Y/N gasps when he eventually gets it above her head, tossing it off to the side, leaving Y/N stark naked. She goes to cover her breasts, even though he’d seen much more intimate parts of her; this was much different – now, not in her horny haze, to just be bare in front of him was sort of embarrassing. But Harry seemed quite unbothered by her sudden nudity. This is probably what he is used to, now that she thinks about it – she wonders if Christopher was the one to convince him to wear clothes.
He grabs the washcloth, dips it further in the water, and squeezes the excess out of the cloth before pressing it against her stomach. Y/N jumps from the sudden wetness, despite how warm it was, and how warm it was beside the fire. Harry pauses, his eyes flicker up to her like he’s searching for any signs of discomfort. Harry hums low, clicks his tongue, then continues to smooth the cloth over her carefully. It was different – odd – but not in a bad way, necessarily. Nobody had ever done this for her, at least apart from the physician in her old village, when Y/N had been struck with a fever, and she wanted to cool Y/N down with a bath.
This isn’t as clinical as that was, but it also wasn’t nearly as sexual as it might have been with someone else, either. Y/N had heard stories about couples bathing together, bathing each other, and that turning into something flirty and filthy. This was different, though – caring differently, intimate, in a way she’d never been with another person. How could she describe it? It was the likeness of a red fox, maybe – she’d read that the males dote on the females. Perhaps this was another version of that. But Y/N isn’t sure – she would be interested in learning the ratio of Harry’s animalistic to his human characteristics, and what determines that. If he had been domesticated as time went on, or if he’d been born into it.
Once Harry gets between her legs, he parts them carefully and runs the cloth back to front. Had he done this before? Y/N stares at him curiously as he works diligently, and he erupts into small cooing sounds when she flinches from the oversensitivity. She remembers, then, that Harry had told her now would be the time to ask her questions because his body seems intent on satisfying her through the courting process. He’d be more inclined to answer without giving her the run around. And instead of silently watching him, she thinks it might be a good idea to fill the air, especially the more her face feels hot at him cleaning her.
“Um, Harry?” He hums to let her know he was listening, “Are there others like you? Like, other dragons around here?”
Harry tosses the wet rag over to the floor before grabbing a new one, “Yes, but not very close,” he replies easily – like he wasn’t just confirming the existence of other real dragons, “Each of us chooses a forest to preside over, and boundaries are drawn on those that are shared. I am the only one this close to humans, though. Well. . .besides two more, but even then, I’m closer.”
Y/N tilts her head, “But you dislike humans so intensely,” she feels like she’s reminding him, because right now it doesn’t seem like he dislikes humans – right now, at least, it seems like he may be fond of one human, who he’s wiping clean, “Why would you choose to live so closely to them? Or, at least close enough that I was able to find you.” She shivers when he squeezes the cloth over her, water cascading down her knee, toward her ankles.
“Because I lost a bet,” he answered again, his eyes flickering up to her – their gazes lock for a second, and his eyes do a weird little glow, like a lightning bug in summer, “There is magic that keeps my boundary away from humans, so I do not have them stumbling upon me all of the time. That would get annoying,” he flicked her ankle playfully, “The forest reorganizes to keep humans away. Only I can let them in.”
Her brows dipped, “But that – when I found you in the trap? Shouldn’t the forest just have moved around then?”
He cleared his throat, “I thought that you may be like Christopher, that's all. I can sense the intentions of those who enter the forest; whether they are there to hunt, to gather – things like that. You didn’t smell of him, but you smelled. . .good. Calm and safe. Then you found me, and were still relatively calm – your intention did not change when you noticed me, or at least, it did not shift to ‘hunt’, so I did not kill you. Then you helped me out.”
“But all of the times after that? You always seemed like you hated me in there?”
Harry sighs, “This is something I, too, wish to know.” His confusion seems clear, like he’d spent days and nights trying to figure this out himself. It would explain why he seemed somewhere between irate and curious every time she showed up, especially if he was intent on throwing her out. “You would appear of your own merit – not even Christopher can do that. I cannot give you an answer. I apologize.”
“That’s okay,” her heart squeezes in her chest – he seems utterly distressed that he cannot answer this question for her, and she wonders if that is a part of his heat too. As if not being able to answer this question made him a less suitable mate. There arises another question, Y/N would like to know – does Harry intend to actually mate her? Right now, he pursues her, but Christopher had even said he could not attest to how Harry may act once the heat is over. When his body isn’t pressing for him to mate. Even Harry had mentioned that all that is left to do is wait for it to pass, but he must have said this outside of a haze in his heat.
Because right now, how delicately he treats her, it almost seems like he’s intent on keeping her. That makes her shiver for a different reason, and she jumps when a warm towel is thrown over her body. “You are cold,” he states, clicking his tongue, “Stay here while I gather your bedclothes.”
“Ah, wait!” She grabs his wrist before he can leave, “You should really put on bottoms again! Going in and out of my house like this is quite. . .um, obscene.”
Harry blinks at her for a while, silence stretching on long enough that it is almost uncomfortable, before he places his hand on top of hers and squeezes, “Do you worry that someone else will notice me? That they will think I’m courting them?” He smiles, like he likes that thought, and doesn’t wait for her to reply. Instead, he takes the other towel and loops it around his waist, covering his privates, “You will not have to worry. Apart from you and Christopher, all other humans I cannot stand. There is no need to get jealous.”
Y/N almost scoffs, wanting to tell him that it wasn’t necessarily jealousy; she just didn’t want anyone calling the sheriff on the man with the huge cock walking around her cottage! However, she doesn’t think that this would register with Harry at all. He’d probably just say he’d burn them alive if they tried to arrest her, and Y/N didn’t want to deal with that either. She lets him go, quietly and patiently waits for him to return with his arms full of her bundled sheets and blankets.
When Y/N begins to stand, he clicks his tongue, “Sit,” he orders, and Y/N drops back onto her bum. “I’m going to prepare the bed for you.”
“But, do you know how to –”
“Continue to ask me your questions.”
Y/N huffs, stretches her legs out in front of her, “Can I know why you dislike humans so much? Is it a sensitive topic?”
Harry shook his head, “Our sensitivities are different. I dislike humans because a group of them killed someone dear to me,” Y/N gasped, but Harry carefully pulls the sheets around the mattress, in a practiced way, where Y/N is quite shocked that he knows what to do. Did he have a bed? Wait, no, she can’t focus on that because – “I would’ve been betrothed to her had she made it past our 17th rotation, but they hunted her, shot her from the sky, and started a war. This preceded years of bloodshed and turmoil until the treaties were signed. Things became calmer.”
“I–I see,” she pulled the towel tighter around her body, “I’m sorry, Harry, that is horrible.”
He sighed, “There’s nothing to do about it now,” and he fanned the sheet out perfectly on the first try, “Don’t you learn about this in your teachings? Killing a princess typically does not go over well in history.”
“She was a princess?” Y/N repeated, “Wait, so are you a –”
“Prince? Yes.”
“Whoa,” she knuckles at her eyes, “I – I come from a small village a ways from here. I heard stories, but I thought they were lore and tales to scare me from the forest.” He fluffs her pillows and intricately places them along her headboard. “Is that why you are always dressed so lavishly with your jewels? I thought that might just be a dragon thing – hoarding riches and whatnot.”
He shrugs, “The others may also own jewels, but I have more.” Harry peels the corner of her bed down, “Have you eaten yet today?”
“Um, no, I was going to eat after my – my laundry, but then – well, you came.”
Harry disappears into her kitchen, and Y/N listens to him move around. She has plenty more questions to ask, but guilt sits heavily in her chest. All this time, Harry must not have wanted to see her because humans remind him of something so horrible, yet she pushed and pushed and pushed. It would be better if he were the one allowing her into the forest, but he couldn’t even stop her if he wanted to, since she somehow kept surpassing whatever boundary was set up to keep her out. And she knew she could not be blamed for the crimes of others, but she supposes if she’d known, she would have been more. . .tender, in her approach. Maybe less forward and pushy? She isn’t sure. There was a woman in her old village who was deathly afraid of wolves after one had killed one of her friends when she was younger, so much so that the howl of them on a full moon sent her into a fit. One riddled with shivers and shaking, tremendous pain, screaming in some cases – what if this is how Harry felt when he saw humans? Before his heat?
But wouldn’t it have been easier to spot? What about the time he fed her the apple? Or when he said he’d allow her one question? He didn’t seem afraid when she appeared, just mildly annoyed. Still, guilt tears through her intensely. What if –
“What plagues your mind?” Harry asks, holding a bowl and a spoon, filled with her roast. It bubbles and steams as if he’d just warmed it on the fire, “I could sense your turmoil in the other room.”
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, frowning, shoulders sagging, looking down at the lines in her palms, “I’m so sorry, when you asked me to leave you be, I should’ve listened, but I–I wasn’t, and that probably caused you great stress, no? Even if you’d entertain me once in a while, it was–it was probably hard for you? Considering everything. I wasn’t thinking and –”
Harry cuts her off, shoving a spoonful of her roast into her mouth. Her words are swallowed up by roasted carrots and potatoes in broth. “Enough,” Y/N finally drags her gaze from her hands up to his face, where he looks to her sternly, “How were you to know? It is in a human’s nature to be curious about what they do not know or understand.” He defends her from herself, and if you had told her but a month ago that she’d be in this situation with the dragon, she’d have laughed out loud. Harry feeds her again, another spoonful, “I won’t accept apologies on the matter. I cannot fault you for another’s sin, but it is something that I do most readily. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.” He sits down on his knees in front of her, resting the spoon in the bowl so that he can use his free hand to cradle her face, “I am untrusting, and surly. My attitude is poor, and it makes me lash out at others. If it is of any solace, I treat fellow dragons similarly. I am unkind.”
She frowns, “I don’t think you are unkind,” she disagrees, reaching for his hand and pressing it closer to her face, feeling the warmth of his palm seep into her skin, “You would not take care of me so sweetly if you were unkind. Even if this treatment is due to your heat, then part of you must be nice. I think you just are. . .cautious. And a bit grumpy.”
Harry’s smile is faint, soft, and there’s an unreadable expression in his gaze, but it makes her feel warm all over, in a different sense. He caresses her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“Humans are quite forgiving,” he murmurs, before withdrawing his hand, “Let’s finish eating.”
. . .
Y/N offered for Harry to spend the night with her.
She’s unsure of how long it will last, and when she inquires, the most Harry will explain is that it is “a few moons.” Still, when Harry had appeared like he might leave the first night he had come to her, there was a longing pull in her chest that begged for him not to. To go from being doted on so carefully and intensely to the silent crackling of her fire would have been sad, she thinks. So she offered him the night to stay with her, and Harry had agreed instantly, as if he’d only been waiting for her to.
“Your cave is quite small for two people, but it is cozy,” he told her, “It will make do for now. When I invite you to my cave, it will be very grand. It is apart of my courting.”
He had made her bed quite lovely, and somehow, with whatever dragon magic he was using to keep things warm, they were quite toasty when he held the sheet up for her to crawl beneath it. Harry was quick to follow and immediately pulled her against his body as he had in the wisteria flowers. From this position, Y/N could feel where he was about half-hard against her thigh, despite her back being to his chest, but when she gasped and tried to look down, he held her head, directing it back up. “Not now,” he told her, “Rest. I will wake you if it becomes too much to bear.”
Harry doesn’t wake her, but Y/N doesn’t even know if she would have if he’d tried. She slept hard that night, like a lump of rocks, gone from the world. When she woke, it was hours and hours later, the sun tickling past the tree line and her neighbor’s rooster crowing soundly. Harry was still tucked against her side, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and the sound of his heart warm against her ear. She would have thought he was asleep, but when she tried to move, his arm tightened around her.
“Do not move.”
Y/N huffed, something close to a laugh, “I need to get ready for the day.”
“You need to rest,” he ordered instead, “There is nothing to do today. You aren’t required to do your duties until two days from tomorrow, correct?”
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to look at him, “How do you know that?”
“Humans do things in patterns that are easy to follow if you watch enough.”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“I have been watching you.” He finally peered one eye open, “How else was I supposed to discover your true intentions toward me? I thought you a witch for a while.”
Harry does keep her in bed for longer than she usually would. Though he does quite a lot of convincing with his tongue and the thickness of his fingers between her thighs, he gives orgasms that make her all loose-limbed and sleepy, so staying in bed until the sun was high seemed like a fine idea. When she did finally rise, Harry was stoking a fire he already had burning, and eggs were already sizzling in a pan above it. Where had he learned to cook? Was it Christopher? Or was this something that all dragons knew of?
They do have a full day together. Harry helped her gather firewood, collect water from the well behind her cottage, tend to her winter garden, and her pickled vegetables. He follows directions well when she gives them to him, all while tending to the fire throughout the day. When Y/N settled around lunch time, they ate some more of her roast, and then she started working on a dress she promised to make for the little girl a few houses down from her. She did this often, especially when she was able to make dye from the pretty colors she could find in the forest. They weren’t a wealthy family, and most of their outfits were hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs, worn from time, color faded. And Y/N had found such pretty red flowers one of the times she had been searching for Harry. So she crushed them, made them into a dye, and had already gone about staining the wool for the winter dress.
While she carefully threaded her sewing machine, Harry busied himself with her books. Particularly, the ones about dragons, he cracked open and tore to shreds, telling her what was wrong and what they were stretching the truth about. He had asked her for a pen so he could fix it, but Y/N had to tell him they were rented books, and she’d get in trouble if there was any damage. Only twice does he stop her so that he can bury his face between her thighs through the waves of his heat, but he never requests her help him through it. He makes use of his hand, moans and purrs against her folds, then goes back to what he’d been doing before.
Every so often, he’d tell her how well she was doing with her creating of the garment, “I am impressed,” he told her, earnestly, “You possess many good skills and traits. It is confusing how you’ve yet been married off – isn’t that what you lot do?”
“My parents sent me here to marry into a wealthy family,” she told him, “But nobody has caught my eye.”
He hummed, low, close to a growl but not quite. When Y/N turned to look at him, stretching out her upper back that had been hunched forward, working diligently, “Well, that makes sense,” he stated when she looked at him, turning back toward the books, but his ears were even redder than the fabric she was working with, “How could any of these measly human men catch your eye?”
Y/N snorted, unsure of what he had to be embarrassed about, but he turned back to her work.
Again, that night, Harry seemed like he might leave, and that same, yearning pull tugged at Y/N’s chest. She offered again, “You can – it is quite late. You can stay the night if you’d like to.”
Harry grinned at her once more, “You love my company,” he doesn’t say it like a question, he says it like it’s fact, “Life is much easier with a dragon involved, isn't it?”
That night, Harry pulls Y/N on top of his body. His cock is heavy and hard in the shorts she’d convinced him to wear (they were a pair she’d made for Niall, intending to give him in the summer, but she never got around to it – Harry is bigger than Niall, and thicker, so they stretch tight around all of him – he looks quite lewd walking around in them). The fabric stretches around the bulge, and Y/N felt goosebumps pimple up her skin. Harry had fit her carefully on top of him, so that her folds rested right against his cock, before he squeezed her hips.
“Rut against me,” he ordered, “It will feel good for both of us.”
So Y/N does, slowly rolling her hips in a wave at first. This is the closest he’d let her get to feel him since last night, but she’d cum several times in that period. Which meant even this left her feeling twitchy and sensitive, enough that she couldn’t come up with any true rhythm, with her hips stuttering and her heart hammering. He squeezes her sides, slipping his hand to her bum and grabbing a fistful, urging her forward, trying to help guide her pace. Y/N bites through her bottom lip, trying to be quiet and to focus, but he huffs, plucking her lip from between her teeth, “I want to hear your noises,” he tells her, sliding his hand to her throat, and he squeezes the sides gently – Y/N doesn’t know why it makes her hips move faster, or why it jolts a broken moan from her mouth. Nobody had ever put their hand around her throat before – in those filthy drawings she’s seen, Y/N had never even understood why it was something that would feel good.
But it does, and she thinks she can feel her throat vibrating against his palm, and his cock twitches against her. Her knees tighten around his hips, and she moans again, even louder this time, slightly more debauced, “What a lewd little body,” he hums, grinning, his gaze lidded as he watches her. He sits up, so he’s closer to her, and Y/N is once again reminded that their lips had never pressed against each other. She wants it, though – more than she would care to admit. Her mouth hangs open, and she wants his tongue to slither between her lips and lick her insides. He’s good with it, she knows, and Y/N’s always been partial to kissing. It’d probably feel good, especially like this, with how she grinds against him, and how lightheaded she feels with his hand around her throat.
When he releases it, she gasps wetly, scrambling for something to grab onto. He wears nothing, so her fingers just dig into his chest. She leans forward, so she doesn’t do something stupid like kiss him unprovoked, and mouths at his shoulder. Then the head of his cock catches against the swell of her clit on a particular hard grind, and she digs her teeth into the muscle there when she cums. Harry groans that kind of sounds like a growl, and Y/N would have been worried that she pissed him off if not for the way he uses both hands to hold her against his cock, feeling it throb and jump, before the wet mess spreads between them.
Y/N detached from him after her orgasm, visualizing the dark red mark where her teeth had dug in. She regards it sheepishly, especially when he takes a look at it, but he only chuckles warmly, “Why look at that,” he teased, though where his thumbs lie at her sides, he strokes and caresses, “Is this your attempt to mark me?”
“Sorry,” she can’t look at it, “I – uh – got carried away, I think. We should probably disinfect that.”
Harry placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her into him again. Her head tucks into his throat, and he rubs up and down her back, once again, letting himself purr.
“You are quite silly,” he murmurs, “Rest. I will wake you for your baker's work.”
. . .
Going out into town proved to be a little easier than Y/N had imagined with Harry involved.
Y/N had thought that maybe Harry would stay at her cottage while she worked, or perhaps he might make the trek back to his cave finally, without having her sort of ask him to stay the night. They had spent a lot of time there together, day in and day out, the last couple of days. He must feel comfortable enough now to stay even a limited amount of time there by himself. Instead, Harry seems to be glowing, pulling on clothes that Y/N had initially made to send back to her cousin – Harry found them in his pursuit through her closet and drawers, and put them on that morning. When Y/N inquired why, he looked at her like she was silly.
“You whinge about me walking outside nude, so I imagine you want me in clothes at your place of work? Isn’t this important to you?”
That’s how she found out he was coming with her and. . .well, she was comforted by the thought. Knowing that she’d know where he was brought something warm to her chest, soothing, like knowing your room would be warm when you’re walking home in the cold, icy rain. She thinks if she were working all day, wondering where Harry was, what he was doing, or if he’d be there when she returned, she’d be stressed. If he’s just tailing along with her - well, she wouldn’t mind.
So he comes into the bakery with her, where Niall is already setting up the display case, and his head turns toward the jingling bells as she opens the door, “Oh, thank god you’re here. We need to start the bread pudding, but I always fuck it up like three steps in, so – oh? Who is this?”
Harry had stepped in behind her, seeming even bigger somehow, in the bakery. His eyes light up as he looks at the displays, purple as they could be, “This is the dragon,” she told him, “He is spending time with us today.”
Niall blinked at Y/N, then blinked at Harry, then at the muffin in his hand, then back at Y/N, “Excuse me?” He motioned toward him, “Did you convince this guy to play pretend to fuck with me or –”
“I do not play pretend, I’m no child,” Harry cuts in, then, as his proof – beyond the bright purple eyes – he purses his lips and a thin, slivered, flame emerges from his mouth. It’s something Y/N hasn’t even been able to see yet, so her eyes widen too, but Niall’s are comically wide. He stumbles back a little, dropping the muffin from his hand as he holds his chest, “Now, show me your pies.”
He points towards the pies, and Harry smiles, stepping around the tables and leaning toward the glass casing. Niall’s eyes dart from Harry to Y/N, who walks through the swinging half door so that she’s on the same side with him. His mouth is hung open, and she can practically hear his heart thudding against his sternum.
“What the fuck?” He asks, and Y/N shrugs.
“I told you,” she slid her coat off her shoulders, “I told you many times, you never listened.”
“Because I thought you’d truly lost it!”
“What is your name?” Harry inquired suddenly, standing in front of Niall across from the display stand.
Niall was startled at being spoken to again, “Um, I – it’s Niall, Sir.”
Sir – Y/N almost giggles. Niall has never referred to anyone as ‘sir’ before, so he must truly be scared.
“Watch your tongue when you speak to her.” He tells him, then points to the case, “Now what is a meat pie? Give me a slice.”
Harry stayed with them all day. Not many people mention him, but Y/N can tell that they are looking – he is quite the imposing presence, and he’d brought one of the dragon books with him, only he’d demanded that morning that she get him a notepad and pen. He makes note of every wrong thing and tells Y/N that she needs to take these revisions to the library so that they can fix them. So he doesn’t look up at them much, unless they are interacting with Y/N, though she is mostly in the back baking. However, when Niall has to take the garbage again, and a customer walks in, Harry is suddenly very focused on their interaction from where he sits. She can feel his glare cutting through the air, and she looks a couple of times, locks eyes, then goes back to helping the customer.
But as soon as the woman left the store, Harry settled back into his seat and looked back at his book.
Other than that, he is quite calm.
“Is it Bring Your Pet Dragon to work day?” Christopher enters a little past lunch, when Y/N had given Harry a slice of Shepherd’s pie and a strawberry cake slice. Harry spits another little curl of fire toward him that he narrowly avoids with a laugh, “I figured I’d find you here.” He has a bag in his hand, heading straight toward Y/N with it open, “And I thought maybe your life would be easier if you had more clothes to put him in. He prefers his loincloths, but those aren’t very. . public-friendly.”
Niall, who was rolling out the crust for another pie (because Harry had eaten through quite a few at this point), paused and stared, “Okay, what the hell was everyone in on this?”
Christopher stays for a little while and sits across from Harry, who is very animatedly going through all of the pitfalls in the human’s dragon research. They share bread pudding, though Harry growls a couple of times that they both reach for it at the same time, Christopher doesn’t seem perturbed at all. They seem like childhood friends, really. Y/N finds their dynamic quite cute.
While he believes Harry is distracted, Niall whispers the demand, “We are going out for drinks at the tavern soon, and you will explain all of this to me.”
“Niall,” Harry’s voice is commanding, and when they both look over, he isn’t even looking at them – though his tone is warning, “Remember yourself.”
He sighed, “Please?” He inquired, and Y/N giggled.
“Yeah, sure.”
The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. Afternoons are always quite busy for them, so they were cleaning and closing up before long. It was nice because Harry stayed to help, though they did have to explain to him a few times that burning the leftovers to ash wasn’t an option. Harry walks Y/N home, and while she isn’t very scared of her trek to her cottage, there’s still a blanket of safety that comes with him being with her. She feels secure, like nothing and nobody could harm her. She hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. Or maybe that’s a lie, because she’s been feeling this for the last couple of days, since he’s been with her. Harry is a steady, calming, reassuring presence that Y/N has gotten very used to. So used to it, in fact, she isn’t sure what she would do without it.
That night, Harry tucks her back into his chest for sleep, but Y/N’s mind is racing.
This is bad. Very bad. She can feel her heart grow more and more fond with every passing moment they spend together. Y/N could admit that she was always someone who – if in proximity with someone for long enough – would start to have a big, fat crush on them. She’d even liked Niall for a little while, when they first started working together, and Niall didn’t do even half of the things that Harry had done for her. Five days of bonding, five days of seeing him from sunrise to sundown, and five nights of her not wanting him to leave her cottage to go back to his home.
But there was a pulling that she had never felt with anyone before. A tugging at her heart, like he’d tied a string to it and pulled every so often. When he was out of her sight for even a moment, it felt quite painful, like he was unintentionally dragging and plucking at that string when he ambled further away. What would it be like when he had to go back to the forest? Would she be miserable? Would it get easier? She was starting to worry that she’d become too dependent on him in such a short amount of time. Was this some dragon magic? Should she ask Christopher about this?
Sadly, the only person who could probably give her an answer right away would be Harry, but she finds herself shy to ask him. What if this isn’t a normal response to spending a heat with someone? What if his brows curl inward and he puts distance between their snuggled bodies? That would probably feel like a punch to the gut, at this rate, and she really just doesn’t know why.
“This human brain,” his clawed fingers graze at her scalp, making motions like jellyfish tentacles, that send shivers up her spine, “Thinks entirely too much, and entirely too loudly. What troubles you?”
And how could he always tell? Was it something her scent was giving off? Or could he read her mind? Or, perhaps, maybe not her mind, but was he able to sense a turbulence there? Could he tell when she was unsettled?
Y/N knows now would have been the time to probe him, but she won’t – she can’t – it feels too embarrassing, So instead, she drags her finger over the mark she’d made on his shoulder, and her heart races when he hums a soft sound. “You did not need me intimately, today,” she noted, clearing her throat, “Is your heat nearly finished?”
Harry’s fingers pause, like he wasn’t expecting her to bring it up. It’s only for a second, but it was noticeable enough for Y/N to read too deeply into it, when he hums again, “Ah, yes, it should be finished by tomorrow,” he explains to her, “They go by far quicker when you spend it with someone. I’ve been able to satisfy my nesting urges as well, thanks to you.” Y/N doesn’t know what that means, but he seems pleased by it, so she feels happy. At least as happy as she can, though her insides feel sad and squidgy. This is horrible, and nowhere near like the high she’d felt the two days previous.
“I’m glad I could help.” She finally settles on saying, then snuggles closer into him, “Would you purr again for me?”
It rumbles through him in an instant, and Y/N melts.
. . .
Harry stays for two more nights before he finally leaves. And while Y/N had suspected him of leaving at some point soon, she had sort of expected him to at least bid her a farewell. Instead, one night she falls asleep nestled beneath his chin, with his arm around her waist, and his leg stretched over both of hers (this is how he prefers her, beside him, but simultaneously below him, like he could protect her from something if it were to catch them in their slumber), and the following morning, Y/N wakes up alone.
It’s a weird feeling. Y/N had woken up alone for many years – all her life, really, as far as sharing a bed with someone. But she’d grown used to Harry in the week that she’d spent with him. Was used to waking up warm and protected. Used to feeling like she’d slept hard and deep, like she’d danced in the world of dreams all night long and regained every bit of energy she lost throughout the day.
So to wake up alone was odd, and even sadder than she anticipated. To find the note written on the pad that Y/N had given Harry, in his scribbled scrawl, a Thank You – was even worse somehow. This sucked even more than when she’d told the neighbor boy she loved him, he’d slept with her, and then the next day she found out he was betrothed to his fourth cousin, a town over. Because at least Y/N had thought she had a chance with the neighbor boy, with this dragon, she knew she never stood a chance, yet she still let her stupid brain convince her that there was something magical stirring between them.
But whatever. It is fine. Y/N won’t cry about it because she doesn’t cry about silly things, and this is a silly thing. She goes about her day as she always would, and when Niall inquires where “the big meanie” is, Y/N musters up her most unbothered tone to say, “Oh, he went back to the forest today.”
“Oh?” Niall looks horrified, “It’s freezing out, though? Does he live outside?”
“He’s a dragon.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Y/N doesn’t hear from him that day, and she doesn’t seek him out either. Actually, she doesn’t hear from him or from Christopher for two weeks before she decides that instead of being sad, she’s kind of pissed off. Like, sure, she hasn’t gone to look for him, but he knew for sure where she lived! He could have come to check on her at least – it’s really cold, and the whole time he stayed with her, he questioned how she would survive without him there to warm her. He’d said it enough that she started wondering, too! Plus, he’d eaten her food, used her water, and slept in her nice bed, with her soft sheets that smelled so good. And she let him split her thighs whenever he wanted! However, he needed, for his stupid, dumb heat.
What a dick! All men of every species are the same, she guesses!
And that damn tugging on her heart isn’t even making her sad anymore, it’s just pissing her off. Especially when she wakes up in the middle of the night shivering, going to stoke her fire, thinking about how Harry had been the one doing it all night. Or when she sees the dragon books on her shelf, she yanks them out from where they’d been nestled between the others and finally returns them. Or when she sees Christopher out in the town, and he makes eye contact with her, smiling, she scowls and heads the other way, ignoring when he calls after her.
She feels stupid and a little crazy to have gotten so attached. So what, his body was receptive towards her? He’d said they’d just have to wait it out anyway. Y/N was the one who suggested she help him through it; it’s not like he’d made the first move anyway. He’d even told her that being with her helped his nesting or whatever. The only reason he’d even spent it with her is that he doesn’t trust other humans, and there were no other dragons nearby. So he needed someone – a warm human body that could get him through it, and let him fulfill all his possessive, caretaking desires, and Y/N was just the easiest to do it with. Because she’d always been easy, hasn’t she? That’s what everyone always whispers about her anyway.
A knock on her door tears her from her brooding. She’d been grouchy for about a week now, even Niall noticed, and the offer to get a drink was more about letting off steam and less about her explaining the dragon to him. At least that’s how he phrased it – that they’ve been slammed at work lately, and they need to take a break and relax. The few times she was able to muster a smile were when her neighbor came by and offered her more eggs and grain as a preemptive thank you for the socks she was meant to knit their children. Otherwise, she’d been staring at everyone quite irately.
She goes to answer the door, thinking that it’d be – well, she isn’t sure, at this hour. It could be Niall, coming to cash in on that drink, or it could be one of her neighbors – she had finished quite a few clothes for them lately, and one of the older women meant to come for her tea leaves Y/N had harvested.
But when she opens the door, she sees Christopher. Which, honestly, felt as bad as seeing Harry, so she went to slam the door shut on him.
“Wait!” He cries out, slamming his hand flat against the door before she could swing it shut the whole way, “C’mon, wait, Y/N, I know you’re upset with him, but I haven’t done anything.”
“You haven’t beaten him up yet, that’s more than enough reason to be upset.” She gripes, and Christopher laughs, disbelieving.
“Listen, if I could, I would, Honey, but I reckon my chances at winning against a dragon end with me being seared alive.” He presses a little, and Y/N lets him, revealing more of her face, “I have something for you. And I wanted to say something too, because despite being a dragon, his bravery right now is chicken shit.”
Y/N peers at him for a moment before huffing, turning on her heel, and stalking back into her cottage. She can hear Christopher coming in behind her, closing her door carefully. Y/N flops down onto her sofa with another huff, arms crossed over her chest, brows dipped as Christopher kicks off his shoes and rids himself of his coat. Typically, she is a much better host than this. She would offer him a drink, something warm to nurse between his cold fingers, and maybe one of the baked goods she took from her job as her form of daily payment. But since she’s mad, and she can’t take it out on Harry since he’s M.I.A., then she’ll just have to take it out on Christopher.
He doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of hospitality, though, as he produces the very familiar bag that Y/N had been keeping her jewels in that Harry had gifted her. She hadn’t checked on them in a while, which she guesses is a good thing, because they wouldn’t have been where she left them. Christopher takes a seat beside her, smiling softly, “Aish, come on, Y/N, can’t you save that glare for him?”
“Why are you here?” She asks, but she tries to soften her gaze a bit – he’s right, even though she doesn’t want to hear it. Harry’s the reason why she’s upset, so Harry is the person she should be taking it out on, not his friend, but. . .well, she’s still mad and wants someone to feel her wrath. “And where the hell is that dummy?”
Christopher laughs, “That ‘dummy’ is currently stressed in his cave right now because he thinks he’s fucked everything.” Y/N’s brows deepen even further, a frown pulling at her mouth, “Ugh, how do I say this? He always leaves me to explain shit, but then scolds me for doing it wrong, y’know? In this dynamic, I’m a victim consistently.” He grimaces, “Basically, um, while you and Harry were spending his heat together, he may have imprinted on you? Or you imprinted on him? Or, perhaps, the two of you were fated to begin with – he was speaking so fast last I saw him, he barely made any sense.”
“Imprinted?” Y/N repeated, confused, “Like a duck?”
“Ah, yes, I suppose – though I would say his likeness is more to a wolf than a sweet duckling,” he motions towards her, “I’m of the belief that this happened away before his heat, and that’s why you’ve been able to come and go through the forest and his boundaries as you please. Whether it be a red string of fate or something that was written into the stars, or the craters in the moon, there’s a reason that you crossed paths. A reason that you returned despite his turning you away again and again. And a reason that he was so receptive to you during heat,” he motioned outside, “Heats are – from what I understand of them – periods of time that they aren’t just sexually. . .robust, but emotionally very vulnerable. I once stumbled upon him during his heat, and he’d waxed poetic about how dear a friend I am to him, then avoided me for two months out of embarrassment. The words are his own, the actions are his own, but if not for this period of vulnerability, the likelihood of him saying or doing those things is. . .very low. He’s a dragon, but an emotionally repressed one.”
Y/N groaned, pulling her legs up onto the couch and tucking her knees under her chin, “So what? He got embarrassed for taking care of me? For cuddling at night? I’m confused – it’s not like he even confessed to me or something,” she exclaimed, “He just did stuff around the cottage and followed me around!”
“That’s as a profession as any,” Christopher told her, “I need you to stop thinking like a human and start thinking like an animal, yeah? He was taking care of you because he wanted to show you that he could be a good mate. Penguins present pebbles for building nests, and pufferfish create beautiful designs in the sea floor – they don’t vocalize their interest, they show it, yeah? Both his body and mind – and he hasn’t felt this way before, so he’s scared and embarrassed and unsure of himself.”
She groans again, rolling her eyes, “He could’ve just explained this to me himself,” she grumbled, “I never thought him a coward.”
“I know,” he reaches for the pouch, carefully pulling it open and reaching inside of it, “He dropped these off for me to make into jewelry for you, then flustered through his complicated feelings in the most complicated way. I’m not here to encourage you either way,” he pulls out a necklace, much less gaudy than what Harry’s look like, but still bright, pretty, a sapphire gemstone glittering in a pear-shaped cut. On either side of it, on the chain, are more, smaller sapphires cut in teardrops – she thinks the chain is fit in a way that would rest along her collarbones. Christopher holds it out until Y/N takes it from his hand, feeling the weight of it against her palm, “Honestly, I think it’s good on you to make him wait, or to give him hell. Believe it or not, a dragon prince gets what he wants most of the time, so it’s good to make him shake in his boots a bit. But I didn’t want you thinking that he’d just up and left you with no feelings in the matter.”
Y/N is annoyed and relieved. She’s annoyed at her relief. She’s irritated that he didn’t come to tell her himself, but thankful that at least Christopher came to explain it to her.
“What took you so long to come tell me?” Y/N asks, finally, “I’ve been in such a rotten mood.”
“Don’t I know it? You keep staring at me as if I stole from you,” he takes out more jewelry, laying them out on the table in front of them, “I sadly had more faith in Harry than he probably deserves. After I realized you weren’t going to him, I thought maybe he would come to you out of desperation. Instead, every time I visit him, he just sadly asks if you’re okay. It’s getting to be depressing.”
Y/N thuds her head against the back of her sofa, “He’s annoying,” she grumbles, and Christopher laughs.
“That he is,” he answered, “Come, won’t you let me take you for something good to eat?”
. . .
Going out in the middle of the night, in the snow, probably isn’t the best idea.
Y/N isn’t known for her best ideas, though, now that she thinks about it. The issue is, is that after her dinner with Christopher, her belly is full and her mind is a little more at ease than it has been. But she’s also slightly drunk off two glasses of high-dollar wine (because Christopher makes money where this is not putting him out), and Christopher drops her off at her door with a question, “Do you think you’ll go and see him?”
“Yes, probably,” she replied, “If the snow isn’t horrible in the morning.”
But even two glasses of wine in, sleep doesn’t find her. It never finds her easily anymore, now that she knows what it was like to sleep in the same bed as Harry. She tosses and turns for hours, upon hours, until she’s sitting up, looking out her window to see the moon high in the sky and a fresh sheet of snow blanketing the ground. The snow, like tiny mirrors, reflects the light of the moon and the stars, so the sky is much brighter on snowy nights like these. So, while it isn’t safe to travel at night, at least she’d be able to see, and she may be able to put this to rest, and settle this annoying ache in her chest.
She shoves on her thickest socks, puts on her new gloves, and layers her winter robes and dress with her thickest coat. This coat, in particular, she meant to line with fur, but she simply could not wear a poor animal around her neck, so she never got around to it. Still, it was her warmest layer and kept her almost overheated in the coldest of winter winds. She pulls a hat over her ears and – last minute – debates on whether or not she should remove the necklace with his jewels in it. Y/N had put it on before she went with Christopher for food, but she doesn’t want Harry thinking that she’d forgiven him so quickly. He needs to grovel a bit, she decides.
The wind is chilly when it brushes past her face. And even in her snowboots, she can feel the cold worm its way between her toes. This probably should have been her indication to turn around and go back inside, but she was stubborn and on a mission, so she pressed forth. She crunched through the snow, her familiar trek to the forest in the almost eerie quiet of the night. The only thing she can hear is her own breath and the sound of her footsteps, which – if she focused too closely on – would make her panic. But she decided there was no need to. When she got into the forest, maybe Harry would sense her, and out of irritation that she was being unsafe, he’d meet her quickly.
So long as he wasn’t asleep, she guessed. Or, so long that Christopher didn’t have this all wrong, and he actually didn’t want to see her at all. Either way, she was getting an answer tonight, and she didn’t care how she was getting it. Whether it be from his own mouth or from his actions.
Y/N didn’t think about the possibility of other animals being in the forest until she was already a few meters beyond the trees. The wind whistled through the branches, blowing the flakes from on top of the trees down in little dusty plumes around her. It was still snowing, but it wasn’t very heavy, and she could tell beneath the layer of snow it was slick, like ice. That would be annoying, trying to shovel through in the morning, when she made it home safe, back in her bed. Hopefully, with a stupid, annoying, embarrassed dragon at her side, keeping her warm. She’d need this after this bone-deep chill. He’d probably need to thaw her at this rate.
It’s hard to tell where she’s going at night, if she’s honest, especially now that everything looks so similar in the snow. The tree roots and boulders she used as landmarks to make it to and from were covered, so she was moving based off feel alone. But she wonders if the wine has her feeling skewed, because she’s been out for what feels like way longer than it’s ever taken her to find her way before. If she were warmer, then frustrated tears might burn up her cheeks, but she thinks any form of water inside of her must be frozen. She stumbles a few times and just barely catches herself, digging her numb fingers through bark – her gloves are thick, but not thick enough to, it seems, as she can still feel every jagged edge. Now that she thinks about it. Christopher designs things for style, not for usage, so it would make sense.
The further she walks through the forest, the slipperier it feels like the ground is. So slippery that Y/N accidentally steps onto a rock with a thin sheet of ice over the top, and not enough packed snow to give her any form of traction. She saw a fall coming in her near future, but she hadn’t seen the twist of her ankle, or that she would tumble quite as hard as she did. Because with Y/N, things are never halfhearted. If she were to fall, then she would roll down a small hill, her body crashing into the iced-over creek. Her weight makes it crack, of course, and water seeps up into the fabric of her clothes.
Great. This is great. Now her ankle throbs and her clothes are wet, and it’s cold enough that she’s sure to become hypothermic. She’d freeze over at this rate! All for a stupid dragon!
“Stupid, horrible, no good, dragon,” she grumbles to herself, trying to ignore the fear that drips as a solid weight in her chest as she pushes herself up, grabbing hold of a root that thankfully still jutted out from the snow. She drags herself as best she can up on the other side of the creek, where it’s less steep, so she wouldn’t have to lug the weight of her clothes up what looked like a mountain from this angle. This is the worst. She should have just stayed home and let him think she hated him or something; that would’ve been ten times better than whatever this is.
Just as she has yanked herself up onto the other side, she’s about to try and figure out what to do. She’s exhausted, her ankle surely wouldn’t be suitable to walk on without some sort of cane for the time being, and unless she can find a large stick, she’s not imagining she’d be so lucky. Which means if Harry, or someone, didn’t find her, she probably would freeze out here – there’s no way, with how long she’d been out here already, that she would make it until morning. Maybe she could drag herself back home? But that would mean having to get across this creek again, or finding a way across the creek, and from the looks of how long it is from either side – well, her luck doesn’t seem to be there either.
Actually, maybe, her luck has completely run out, because she hears a growl come from her right. When her head whips over, she halfway expects to see a wolf – something that was snapping and gnawing, drool dripping, teeth prepared to eat her. Instead, she sees a dragon – a dragon who has eyes that are not purple. A dragon who doesn’t look like what she remembers of Harry at all. Her insides twist uncomfortably, fear really dripping through her now.
“Oh god,” she lets out a frustrated sound, “Please, I’m no good as dragon food.” It stops growling, at least, and regards her carefully when she holds up her hands, “I was just out here trying to find a different dragon, and then I fell because I’m stupid. I know you can hear me because you’re a human in there, and I know all about the great war and the – the other stuff. I’m not here to be a nuisance or anything. Honestly, if you just like pick me up and drop me off outside of the forest, I’ll figure it out from there. Do you know Harry?” The dragon blinks at her, its huge body blocking most of her vision – how the hell had she missed it before? “He’s who – I’m looking for, because he’s – he’s a jerk.”
The dragon huffs steam through its nose, and Y/N closes her eyes. If they’re going to burn her alive, she truly doesn’t want to see it coming.
But with her eyes closed, the weight of her exhaustion drags her under. Or maybe she was just passing out? She isn’t sure. The still, quiet of the night becomes even quieter, though, and Y/N drifts into a dreamless place.
. . .
“Prince Harry, there is a human in my cave looking for you.”
No words had pulled Harry to his feet quicker. Which should have been a heavy feat, given he’d all but melted into the floor of his cave, cemented in his despondence and general annoyance with himself for being such a coward. He’d spent weeks wallowing in his own misery, feeling an undeniable and insistent tugging at his heart, every time he moved, and every time he stayed still, and every time he breathed. It was horrible – had he just stuck around and explained himself to her, then there’d be no need for such misery.
But how could he? He’d done all of that through sheer instinct and the haze of his heat. It isn’t like they were things he didn’t want to do, but they were definitely things that he would not have had the gall to do without some sort of influence. Especially without speaking to her about it beforehand. To just suddenly impose himself on her after she’d stumbled upon him resting in the forest, after she’d touched his horns, after she had made him something – there were discussions to be had! Boundaries and foundations to be made. Things to do that weren’t just tasting her greedily and grinding against her filthily.
There had been something off about her the moment he’d met her. When she’d found him in the wisteria meadow, trapped, in pain, vulnerable beyond measure – and all she simply did was get him out of it, despite the fear he could smell in her sweet scent. She’d helped him, then went on her way, trying not to show how her whole body trembled from the experience. Harry had been sure he’d scared her off, yet he’d sensed her in his forest again. And again. And again. She had no intention of being scared off, he found quickly, and had no intention of listening to him either when he told her to leave and not return.
He should have known then that there was something deeper that pulled them together. Why could she amble through his boundaries, no problem, stepping passed the invisible divide of his world and theirs. Where he exists, the wisteria flowers are always in bloom, and the trees maintain their leaves year-round. There is plenty of food, foliage, hot springs, and clean water to drink. It is enhanced by magic passed on from generation to generation in the royal family to bring ease in life. While she’d only experienced part of it, he knew she wasn’t returning merely for what felt like a different realm. Honestly, he isn’t even sure if she knew that it was.
No, she kept returning for him. To see him, to be near him, to ask him questions – she wanted to be close, even if she did not understand it. Her body and soul yearned for him before her mind could have ever, and he was in the same boat. It wasn’t just a stubborn attitude, and Harry only found this out for certain when he had stayed for her the week of his heat. While she could be stubborn for a brief moment, if something did not reveal itself ot her, then she gave up rather quickly. So what she felt toward him wasn’t just a normal obstinate character. Something else drove her.
And even after Harry had answered question after question, seemingly satiating her curiosity, she did not seem to bore or tire of him. No matter how pushy he was, how needy he seemed – she appeared pleased to be under his care, happy to wake up at his side, absolutely taken when he brought her release with his mouth and fingers. Had even asked multiple times if he would fill her up, pierce her with his cock, and while he refused for her comfort, he throbbed and leaked at the mention each time.
His mind had felt at complete ease with her, something Harry had not felt in many years. Or perhaps, maybe he had never felt it. He isn’t sure. He just knows that when he was with her, his mind was quiet, his heart felt soft, and the weight of past worries seemed to have lifted. There’s a marrow-deep contentment that came from feeding her by hand, waking in the night to continue the fire, warming her through his natural heat as they cuddled close beneath the covers. To gather wood, to help tend her garden, to fantasize, even, about bringing her food and helpful tools that would bring ease to her life – ran the fulfillment even deeper. When he was with her, he’d only ever been distressed by the fact that he had not been with her sooner.
Harry had never felt this way before, and in all things that are unknown to him, there is fear that manifests its obnoxious head. He woke up the morning he left, feeling clear-headed, and embarrassed for pressing her into this play dragon couple without talking it through with her first. Y/N had gone along with it because she’s kind, and she wanted her questions answered, so why wouldn’t she entertain his dragon musings? And in the haze of his heat, he was just pleased to have this reciprocated. That she was allowing him to care for her like a lover.
But to be completely sobered from the hormones inducing his heat, Harry feels quite silly. Like he’d forced her into it, unintentionally, or made her feel like she had to, to get answers that she wanted. Even though the logical part of his brain tells him that there is much more to it than this, the irrational part says that he should be humiliated by his display. Hell, he’d even growled at someone for ordering food from her! Growled! How outrageously possessive could he get?
Some of him believes she is his; his to claim, to take care of, to love. And some of him believes she might hate someone – dragon or otherwise – who would impose her with all of this.
So he runs, and he hides, and he whines to Christopher about how hard his life is lately. Christopher encourages him to speak to her, but Harry just can’t convince himself that it is a good idea. He’d mess it up somehow, he’s certain of it. He’s never been good with words, least of all communication with humans.
And as far as he’s concerned, she hadn’t tried to see him. The constant nagging and tugging in his heart is as it always is, even tonight. Even when he heard Mitch’s wings, sensed him turning bipedal, and entering the mouth of Harry’s cave, where he’d been sitting close. He was watching the snow from far away, wondering if it was like this at Y/N’s tiny cave. How would she make it outside when it was this cold? He hoped she had proper human winter clothes for it.
But then Mitch says it, so simply, that a human is looking for him in Mitch’s cave, and he’d moved faster than he had in days.
“What?” Harry rushed, “Explain.”
Mitch brushed his long hair off his shoulder (it’s due time he cuts it, but he’d been growing it for a while now, because the dragon he’d courted liked it this way – it was nearly the length of Harry’s but nowhere near as full, curled, and voluminous), then pointed a thumb back toward his boundary. If you could call it that. Mitch stays near Harry’s boundary as something like a confidant – he is the one who transmits messages from the royal court to Harry, and from Harry to the royal court, without him having to do so himself. Truly, Harry likes to be unbothered by all of it, so he does most of his work through Mitch, and Mitch does not mind, so long as he can reap the benefits of royal wealth.
“I was hunting east when I’d heard a commotion, Sir, and a human woman was dragging herself from a creak. She was grumbling about stupid dragon this and stupid dragon that. She inquired if I knew you and said she was looking for you because. . .well, I do not wish to say.”
Harry’s eyes are wild, he knows, he can feel them as heat flourishes through his body, “Is she hurt? Why bring her to your cave and not to me?”
“Because I was unsure of the validity of her statements, Sir. She passed out soon after she spoke to me.” He replied carefully, “My mate tends to her wounded leg now, and dries her wet clothes by fire. Do you wish for me to bring her here?”
He shook his head, “No, no,” he denied him, “I’ll bring her myself.”
. . .
Y/N eases into consciousness slowly.
She feels warm, which is nice. When she had passed out, she recalls the cold chilling her down to the bone, but this warmth is close to something she’d been craving. She thinks that dragon fire is different than regular fires. Dragon fires are hotter, and burn brighter, and the warmth melts into your muscles and loosens every fiber. That’s how she knows that’s what she’s feeling. She’d just hope she wasn’t tied to a skewer and rotating slowly above it like a roast of some kind.
The second thing that comes to her is scent. Y/N is in now cottage right now, she knew that much. There is the damp smell of earth that tickles her nose; of rock covered in moss and fresh water. Y/N doesn’t know what to compare it to – a mountain, maybe? And the echoed crackles of the fire might suggest that she’s enclosed somewhere, along with the way the wind doesn’t seem to be hitting her.
So when she finally opens her eyes, and his greeted with the inside of a cave, the full picture comes together. She lay near a fire, away from the mouth of it but close enough that if she felt the need to escape, she could. Y/N doesn’t think she’d need to, though – her clothes had been stripped from her, down to just her lowest layer, and they were all spread out close to the fire. Waiting for the heat to dry them. Even her socks and shoes were intricately placed. She, herself, is resting on a platform of what seems to be a bed of velvet grass and large leaves, but is nowhere near as rough as it should be. It’s actually quite soft, bracketed by sticks and rocks woven in the plumes of a gossamer plant she didn’t recognize.
To her right sits a woman, naked as Harry was the first time she saw him, only with a cloth covering her bits. Y/N almost screams when she sees her, but manages to hold her tongue, especially when she looks down to see that her ankle is wrapped. Was this the one who found her?
“Um, excuse me?” Y/N began gently, nervously, and the woman turned and blinked at her, a soft smile on her mouth, “Are you – are you the one who saved me?”
She shook her head, “No, not me,” then she pointed out toward the mouth of the cave, “Mitch is, but he left to speak to Prince Harry. They will arrive soon. I smell them.”
Y/N swallows thickly, “Oh,” she pushes herself to sit up, “I see. Thank you for watching over me.”
A couple of things were swirling through her mind. The first being that Y/N has just met two more dragons in the span of. . .well, she isn’t sure how long, but it was still night, so she would guess a couple of hours at most. They seemed nice enough – despite the one who growled at her, he’d probably just been scared. If Harry was wary of humans and he knew Christopher, she could only imagine what it must feel like to not know even a single human and to stumble upon one in the middle of the night. In their territory, no less, that they probably assumed nobody had access to.
The second thing that swirls through her head is that she was about to see Harry for the first time in a while. All the gusto she had fueled by wine and anger had pittered out, left in creak with the slippery ice and snow. Now she was embarrassed, tired, feeling stupid, and sad. The sadness that probably should have lingered for longer before she was just angry. The probably healthier process of feelings that she should have gone through before reducing it all into something grumpy and volatile.
This all got so messed up for no good reason. All he needed to do was talk to her; she would have heard him out, she would have welcomed how he was feeling.
Y/N hears them before she sees them, and the dragon woman she’s with also straightens up and turns her head toward the entrance. The sound of wings flapping is loud, the deep rumbles of something larger than life, and then the subtle but sudden shift of four paws landing, to two feet clicking against stone. Harry whips around the mouth of the cave with a frantic gaze, darting around until it settles on her, where she lies by the fire. Something in said frantic gaze softens considerably as he rushes over to her.
He drops to his knees beside her, his fingers hesitant, hovering over her injured ankle with a pouted frown and a low, pained whine. His eyes look all over her, pressing the fabric of her dress around like he’s making sure there are no other bumps or bruises that he could visualize on her. All until he makes it to her face, grabbing her by either side and moving her head around, “Harry,” she whines, as he moves her about, “C’mon, stop it! I’m okay.”
Harry huffs a sharp breath through his nose before pulling her back to look at him, still holding her. His eyes are soft for her, worried, and fond.
“Come with me,” he tells her, “To my cave. Come with me.”
Harry hummed, low in his throat, and if he’d just changed the register of it slightly, it would’ve sounded like a growl, she’s sure. Still, he must be in a good mood again today, because he hasn’t thrown her out of the forest yet. He’s even entertaining their conversation despite only allowing her one question to start. Y/N wouldn’t mind if they exchanged information about the outside world, for whatever world he lived here within the trees. It’d be fun, actually! If only she could make him see that.
“You must be part goat,” he replied, “Because you’re by far the rudest human I’ve ever met.”
or
Y/N helps a dragon in the forest, and Harry is an absolute jerk
(18.3k+ words)
i.
Y/N had never seen a dragon before.
To be fair, she’d never known one to truly exist until she moved to this village. There’s always been tales and lore of great, scaled beasts; lizards large enough to crater mountains, with large wings, formed like bats, and gaping maws, dripping with blood, sizzling from steam, that breathe fire and terrorize farms. Then there was something about humans, sacrificial lambs, keeping the dragons at bay after a great war, a treaty signed, something, something, something, something – Y/N always thought they were stupid stories, even when she was little and impressionable. She was hard-pressed to find any huge beasts that fly around and put holes in mountains. Wouldn’t they be flying all over the place if they existed? Why stick to farms and not torment the entire world? Couldn’t they lord over humans like gods and ignore trivial things like pacts and treaties? Why would a dragon even look at a human as more than an ant to step on? Hell, how did it even talk?
There were too many unanswered questions, and Y/N didn’t like that. Not because she was ever searching for a higher, philosophical meaning in life. Not even because she was tenacious, firm in her beliefs, to leave no problem unsolved, no thought not understood – she’d be remarkable, if that was her path. Y/N just thought that things that didn’t make sense were boring, and boring things didn’t deserve her time.
(What had deserved her time? Well, back then, it’d been dolls and worms. She liked both plenty – she played house with the worms often.)
So when she moved here, just a little over a month ago, and was introduced to the town’s greatest treasure – a dragon’s massive claw, and severed scale – well, she’d always been a bit easy to sway. Her mouth fell open, while she poked and prodded one of the town’s magisters for every bit of information he had about them. Enough that he went from excited, overwhelmed by the joy of teaching her, to exhausted by her questions, and urged her to learn more in the library rather than keep him from his studies for too long. Y/N took no offense to that. She was more than used to people growing annoyed by her endless chatter and mindless whims – if one would ask her, she’s pretty sure that’s the main reason her family shipped her off here, but they’d deny it.
She went to the library, checked out three books, all leatherbound with every intimate detail regarding dragons – read 10 pages before the author’s handwriting gave her a headache, and then she abandoned it. She learned a good amount in those 10 pages, but nowhere near enough, just that dragons tend to go where wisteria flowers bloom and the make of their sacred nests. The rest she figured she could leave up to interpretation, since she didn’t plan on coming close enough to a dragon to know much else.
Because Y/N lived a simple life. She wasn’t a hunter, nor an explorer, and she didn’t wish to be. There were no nights spent dreaming of something greater than what she had; she was content to wake up, to work in the bakery, to meander about between her chores, to sleep plenty and often. She didn’t need a life of excess and adventure; she just wanted to exist peacefully as she always had, not needing to worry about much of anything.
Moving away from her home village was about as daring as she had ever been, and that hadn’t even been by choice – her parents were the ones to arrange it. Something about her marrying wealthy, to bring home money, a little bit of this, a little bit of that – Y/N had zoned out during their lecture on how her life should go, but she grabbed bits and pieces of it. Marry for the coin in a man’s pocket, not for the love in his heart, and live a life of comfort and ease. Y/N liked the second half of the sentiment, so she figured she might as well.
It proved to be difficult to find someone worthwhile in this town. Y/N knew she should marry for riches, but she’d like to be at least a little entertained by the man she was meant to spend her life with. And what if she wanted to marry a woman? There were many unspoken for, who wore pretty jewels around their throat, hair tied in intricate braids with pins decorated with glittery gemstones. Here, there were plenty of men and women for Y/N to feast her eyes upon, but the conversations were dull, and they could barely keep up with Y/N’s ability to have 10 conversations at once, so. . .she got bored quickly. At first, she was the fun, new thing in town to poke and prod information of, but she overwhelmed them much too fast with far more intense poking and prodding. It made finding friends hard. She had one, Niall, whose accent was thick and funny sounding, and she thinks he only put up with her because they work together (she thinks he’s pretty weird too – he talks to plants, like they’re listening, and animals, like they’re speaking back to him. . .that’s not too normal, if you ask her, and she would know because she does the same, and a boy in her home village said she was weird for it). But that was about it.
For this reason, she went on walks a lot. On the off days from the bakery, there was so much to do and nothing to do all at once. Y/N was quickly burdened by all the things she could be doing, so she, in turn, does none of them and lazes about instead. There’s a dress she could finish sewing, but the idea of pricking her finger with the needle made her frown. There are tea leaves that need to be harvested, but Y/N didn’t want to spend all day doing that. She could try and read some, but it was too nice outside to be inside reading, and reading outside meant Y/N couldn’t get distracted by the birds humming and the wind rustling leaves, so. . .that’s shot. Maybe she could bother Niall – he’s fun to bug every now and then, but she vaguely remembers him having a date of some kind, and she didn’t want to interrupt.
This day in particular, the sun was hot, but the breeze was nice, and clouds rolled over the rays enough that it didn’t feel unbearable. Y/N’s dress is made of linen, which is suited well for warm days, and she’d dyed it a light pink – color is something only wealthy people are able to afford in their garments, but Y/N knew how to make it herself. She read it in a book once, she thinks – or maybe her Nan taught her? She doesn’t remember, but she knows how, and she likes to. It makes her feel pretty to have her skin adorned by such pretty colors.
Her hair has been pulled up and off her neck, but sweat still builds up at the nape. Y/N had wandered a little further than she meant to originally, but she wasn’t too concerned about it yet. Typically, she just follows the perimeter of the forest on the opposite side of town, warned not to go in without having a proper guide with her. Y/N likes to weave between the trees along the lining, but nothing more, usually. Except she remembered this beautiful purple dress she saw a woman in town wearing, and when Y/N asked how she got it that color, she told her she bought it like this from a shop, but the label on the inside was a mark from a man named Christopher (detailing that it was his work). And when Y/N carefully weeded out all the Christophers in town until she found who made the dress, she found someone much younger than she suspected, who seemed amused by her intrigue.
“There are purple berries in the forest that grow year-round,” he told her, then smiled kindly, “I make the dye with them.”
“It’s beautiful,” Y/N replied, nodding her head, “I love this color.”
“Can I interest you in buying one of my garments made in this color?” He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then nodded, “I think I have something that would look lovely on you.”
“Oh, I don’t have money for that,” she declined, “I make my own. Where are those berries exactly? Or do you keep it a secret?”
Christopher didn’t seem offended and was kind enough to let her know exactly where the berries were. Though he did seem very serious when he noted, “I wouldn’t go looking for them by yourself,” he warned, “The forest is very dangerous without a proper guide.”
Y/N heard him, she really did – but when the guides asked for hefty prices, and Y/N was not about to spend that much for someone to walk her through a forest. Half her land dues are going to that is just unjustifiable, but Y/N wasn’t just going to forget about that beautiful color. It made sense that she just take a couple of steps in, survey the area, see if there were any purple berry bushes, and then, if there were none, turn around and go home. Maybe she could offer Christopher her mouth in exchange for some of the berries – that’s worked for her in the past.
The forest tricks you. Y/N has always heard that. The trees start to look similar, the dirt is too hard to leave footprints, the wind whistles tricks in your ears, and the animals tease you further in. Y/N could see why this happened so easily, in a forest this big, this wide – it would be easy to get lost. Which is precisely how she does, but she – once again, isn’t too worried yet. Something smells sweet, alluring, like the bakery that she works almost, or the flower shop beside it. So she figured she was closer to town than she’d originally thought, though she hadn’t known that she was only being drawn deeper and deeper, further from the village.
And her only indication of this was the dragon she stumbled upon.
There was a curtain of vines and leaves that she thought looked vaguely familiar, but when she peeled herself through the thick of it, muttering curses beneath her breath from the sharp branches poking and prodding her, she discovered the source of the sweet smell. Wisteria vines grew everywhere, hanging from all of the branches around her, the petals blanketed the ground, and the way the sun cuts through in slivers between the gaps in the trees is something magical. It looks like a painting; unreal and hypnotizing.
In the middle of all these beautiful flowers lay a big, hulking mass of dark green scales, wings, and the slivered eyes of a creature cornered and angry. Y/N’s eyes widened almost instantly as it registered to her what she was looking at, and what was returning her gaze. There’s nothing else but a dragon, that it could be – no other animal came close to looking like this. At least not one she’d ever seen. Her eyes tried to trace every single bit of the creature, wondering absently if this was a dream so realistic to her that she had no idea she was sleeping.
Her eyes move down – she notices the dragon’s hand (paw?) – ensnared in what looked like a bear trap, but bigger, more horrible daggers. With brows pinched inward, she took a step forward – who would lay such a cruel thing down? That’s what she wondered, until suddenly the trap was cut from her view by a wing, pulled over protectively. The wing looked similar to that of a bat; phalanges sprawl from the base – 4 of them, connected by membranes that are noticeably thickened, hardened by time. A growl rumbles the Earth, vibrates beneath her feet, and a puff of smoke like a threat is sent her way. The dragon’s face is big, and its head easily stands taller than Y/N’s body – it could fit her whole body in its mouth without trouble. The face looked mean, the brow bone structured in a way that appeared like a permanent furrow. The snout was long and broad – now that she got a better look, some horns and spikes were intricately placed along the snout, up to the brow, where larger horns rested close behind.
Y/N is entranced, to say the least. She takes another step forward without thinking, and the dragon growls deeper, thrusting its head out as another threat. Y/N squealed at this, startled enough to jump and nearly stumble back. With furrowed brows, she straightens herself out, “Hey!” She called out to it, not really knowing if it could understand her or not, but if there was some treaty written at some point, then she thought maybe it could understand even a little. Maybe enough for her to scold it, “Don’t do that! You scared me.”
The growls cut off, the dragon seemed to narrow its eyes at her more – did it understand her? Y/N doesn’t step forward again since that seems to be something it doesn’t like, but she doesn’t move backward either. She twists her fists in the skirt of her dress to give them something to do – this was scary, sure, and part of her knew that she should turn around and run while it was giving her the chance.
But it was hurt. . badly enough that it wanted to hide it from her. She hardly thinks it’d just be out in the open, vulnerable like this by choice – it must not be able to move. And with one look at his other hand, she could tell that the fingers were too big to work the intricate trap.
Y/N pointed at the trap, “You won’t be able to get out of that without help,” she called out to it, “Your hands–paws? They’re too big. I can help you.” It still eyes her, untrusting, and Y/N huffs, doing a full spin, then a jump, before lifting the skirt of her dress just below where it would be shameful to show a dragon, probably. “I don’t have anything with me – no tricks, or anything, I’m not clever enough for that. Plus, you can smell that there’s nobody else around, right? I mean, your nostrils are so big, they ought to be able to smell things like that.” She pointed to herself, “Plus, you could just whip around and chew on me if you wanted. I have more to lose than gain in this exchange, right? Doesn’t that mean you’re in the position of power, or whatever, despite obvious reasons?”
There’s quiet for a while, a staredown that makes Y/N’s nerves sizzle all over until the dragon moves. Surprisingly, it was not to suck in a breath and breathe fire all over her (however that works), but to slowly, carefully, move the wing out of the way. It reveals the injury once more, this time huffing a breath through its nose, which sounded more annoyed than it did threatened or angry. That was fine, Y/N could work with annoyed – she thinks that’s how most people respond when dealing with her.
“Okay, nice,” she took a tentative step forward, speaking again, “To leave you here would be mean. Even if you’re big and scary.”
It takes several more careful, tentative steps as she approaches it. The closer she gets, the more real this all seems. There’s no haze of a dream crowding her periphery, only the sweat that is now a single droplet dripping down her armpits – cold; the same kind she gets when she’s trying something new for the first time, and people are watching. Or when she’s anticipating something to hurt – like when she was younger and they had to debride a wound on her leg. It’s her body telling her she’s stressed, as if her mind isn’t well aware of it.
Still, scary or not, a creature is a creature. If it’s living and in pain, Y/N feels the urge to help. If needles and snot didn’t make her squeamish, perhaps she’d be a doctor of some kind, but she hates both of those things. (Maybe one day she’d obtain the gumption to study plants and medicines and become an apothecary – there’s good money in that. At least, the apothecaries she knows always come into the bakery and buy their most expensive breads and sweets.)
Y/N knows a few things about bear traps. Her grandfather lived on the side of a mountain, similar to the one this village is near, but much further south. Before winter, when they are getting ready for their long rest, they would disturb the fish in her grandfather’s streams and the vegetation that he planted for his own reserves before the cold killed everything off. He would set the traps strategically, along with bells tied to bells between the trees to scare them off. Y/N doesn’t think he ever caught one properly, but he did teach her how to disarm them, just in case she or anyone accidentally set it off.
This trap looked very similar to one of those. It was silver and shiny, something that sort of glistened in the sunlight when it caught rays slicing through the trees. On either side of the horrible, sharp teeth stuck into its leg, there are springs that Y/N knew she had to carefully compress to disengage it. One thing about her grandfather’s traps is that once they were disarmed, they couldn’t spring shut again – they were useless after one use. She isn’t sure if this was the same or not. Honestly, she’s trying really hard to focus on the trap and not the dragon burning holes into the side of her head.
She winces when she sees blood ooze from the wound, “This. . won’t feel good. You have to promise not to, like – lash out and bite me, okay?” The dragon stares (glares) at her, and then Y/N holds out her pinky, “Swear it, because that would be really mean.” It huffs a breath through its nose, then swings its head to look away, the left wing giving a small flap. Y/N thinks that’s as good an answer as she’s going to get, so with a hard swallow, she reaches out carefully and presses her thumbs on both of the springs. They’re horizontal, so she has to put a crazy amount of pressure on either side. A year ago, she might not have been able to, but thankfully, kneading the dough at the bakery has strengthened the muscles in her hands and fingers tenfold.
When the pressure starts to give, the sound of the spikes moving is horrible, the wounds weep with blood, and the dragon rumbles a low, displeased growl. “I’m sorry,” she replies gently, “Bear with me, please.”
Dragons are powerful, Y/N thinks, because it barely does more than huff and grumble, twitching its wing as she slowly opens it up. Once she’s pressed them all the way to the side, there’s a click that echoes through this wisteria alcove they’re in. The trap is disarmed and reopened, and the dragon lifts its foot up and away from it before Y/N lets go of the springs. It doesn’t snap closed again, but Y/N doesn’t entirely trust it either, so she grabs a nearby stick – thick as a piece from a branch – and shoves it in the middle. It engages again, snapping through the wood, snapping the branch, and making Y/N scream and jolt. She’s awfully jumpy; she could admit that, and her nerves were all frazzled because of the actual dragon behind her.
“Who would’ve set a horrible thing like this?” She says mostly to herself, but the dragon is still nearby. It hasn’t moved – Y/N wonders if it can’t or what, but then remembers that it is still wounded. What if it was in a lot of pain? What if it had pierced through and broken its bone? How strong were dragon bones? Was this trap set specifically for a dragon? Ugh, Y/N hated all these questions without answers.
When she spun to look at its head once more, it was already facing her. Y/N pointed to the injured leg, “This – can I bandage it for you? Or will that make you mad?” Again, it stares, but does nothing besides another huff. She already knows it can growl or set her on fire if it really didn’t want her to do anything, so she takes it as a good sign, “I have nothing to treat the wound, sadly, and I – I’m unsure if human remedies would even work on you. Still, if you leave it out in the open, it could get infected, so I’ll, well, wait –” Y/N had brought a satchel with her – a small one, because that’s where she was going to shove those pretty purple flowers. Along with it, she brought scissors so she wouldn’t have to rip the flower up from the root, so she could at least make a pretty clean cut around the bottom of her dress – she’d try to hem it later, if she decided it was even worth saving later on. If this dragon didn’t end up making her a snack after fixing it up, that is.
It huffs again, loud and grumbly as she cuts the fabric, “S’fine,” she murmured, “If you’re mad about the quality – I don’t have medical grade bandages on me. This will have to do for now, until you can. . .can get to a dragon doctor or something.”
She did have to cut off a good part of her dress, enough that when (if) she walks back into town, she’d definitely be getting stared at by everyone. Y/N takes the cloth and stretches it over the wounds, still weepy with blood, “I could clean up your scales, but – I mean, I don’t know where any streams are. Or if you’ll stay and wait, though you’ve been pretty obedient so far.”
Another huff, it sounds kind of annoyed, but Y/N just goes ahead and ties it tight around the leg, as tightly as she could. The width of the leg, if she had to guess, looks about the width of her thighs pressed together. Y/N stretches the fabric out to make sure it covers most of the wounds before she plops back on her bum, falling into the wisteria flowers below them, “There you go.” Y/N looks at her hands, slightly covered in their blood – this is probably used in witches’ spells. Burying her hands in the flowers, she tries to rub away as much as she can – she really will need to find a stream to wash off the stains of it on her palms. Already, she’ll appear with her dress ripped. If she can’t get to her home before someone sees her, it’ll look like she got attacked by a bear. And who would believe that she took down a bear with her own, bloodied hands? They’d definitely accuse her of being a witch then.
The dragon stands tall and mighty before it lumbers off across the field. It twists, gives her one solid, firm nod (at least that’s what it looks like), and blinks at her. Y/N feels a little better that it stands further away from her – she can see its eyes much clearer now, even though before she was right on top of it. They’re a deep purple, glittering in the sunlight, pupils dark slits that peer straight through her soul. As if it’s getting one last good look at her, it stares for quite some time before twisting around again and leaving Y/N where she sat.
While she is pleased that it didn’t kill her, she would have liked it to change back into a human or something and talk to her, but maybe that was too dangerous. Or maybe it feared the pain of the wound on the left leg. Y/N isn’t sure how this works, but she could only imagine a similar wound would appear on the human form, right? If there was a human form at all, that is. . .Y/N still isn’t even sure if these things could talk!
With her own huff, sounding suspiciously similar to the dragon, Y/N shoves herself up from the ground, mindful not to touch her hands on her dress. She yanks her bag over her shoulder and decides that these flowers she came originally for would have to wait for a different day.
Y/N starts back off the way she came.
. . .
It’d been two whole months since Y/N had met the dragon in the forest. The last of summer hangs on by its toes, but the days grow shorter, the leaves change color and fall, crinkling beneath Y/N’s feet on her walk home, and the bakery goods are all very heavy with apples and cinnamon. Even the air smells different, with each brush of wind that twinkles the chimes on her porch. The style of dress, too, as people start to steer toward warmer fabrics in darker colors, and Y/N is incredibly envious of the garnet color that the more wealthy people are wearing.
Christopher, of course, is the one who makes them. He is also the one to tell Y/N that he gets the plant from the forest, deep among the trees, and that it’d be too dangerous for her to make the trek alone. For once, Y/N heeds the warning given to her. How could she not? Last time she thought she’d almost become food – or worse, it may have burnt her to a crisp!
She still hasn’t made sense of it at all. Every time she would try to sort through her thoughts, she’d just come up with more questions, get confused, then annoyed, and she’d change to thinking about something different. Y/N had decided at first she’d keep all of this to herself, but a week after it had happened, she’d blurted out to Niall while they used the last of the blueberries to dye the icing, “I saw a dragon the other day.”
Of course, Niall didn’t believe her at all.
“Stop messing around and focus.” That's what he’d replied, which is both nice and awful. She’d love it if Niall would believe her, so they could collaborate in figuring out. . .something about the situation (Y/N doesn’t know what she wants to figure out exactly). But it was nice to know she could speak on it, and he wouldn’t think she was crazy – he just thinks she’s messing around. So every once in a while, she’d bring it up, he’d tell her to shush, and Y/N wouldn’t feel like there was this huge secret welling up inside of her.
There had been no word from the dragon, obviously, and she thinks that’s a little rude. They couldn’t have left flowers on her doorstep or something? Maybe food? Actually. . .scratch that, she doesn’t know what dragons eat, but she’s sure she didn’t want an animal seared on her front porch. A jewel could have been pretty, though. Don’t they hoard those? It says they do in all the books she sifts through now, no longer getting bored a couple of pages in. She reads and re-reads, but she doesn’t really know what she’s reading for. Nothing speaks about finding a dragon in a trap and letting them go, at least not in the books she’s read.
Whatever, she’d eventually thought, what could she do about it? Not a thing. When she feels brave enough, maybe she’ll go back into the forest and scout it out again, but she felt the first time was just dumb luck. There was no way she could run into a dragon twice.
Or so she thought.
The thing is, Y/N didn’t avoid the forest altogether – she still needed to collect things, berries, plants, twigs, and wood – especially now that it’s getting cooler out. There was plenty to prepare for so that come winter, she wasn’t starving and cold, and only so much of that she could buy at stores with how high they charge. It was typically quite dangerous to be at even the mouth of the forest at this time of day, as night oozes into the orangey-pink sky, but she’d just gotten off work, so there was nothing to be done about that. Collecting firewood was a necessity, as the temperature dropped at night, she didn’t want to be the first one in town to catch a cold because of it – that’d be so embarrassing.
Y/N would admit she did feel eyes on her, but she always kind of felt like someone (or something) was watching her lately. She’d decided that she was probably being paranoid, unless the dragon somehow had eyes on her while she was inside the bakery, in town, surrounded by buildings and people. She never notices anyone out of the ordinary with purple eyes, either, or someone staring at her. The only person she regularly talks to apart from Niall is Christopher, so not many people even greet her in the streets – she’s used to moving about relatively invisibly.
But lately, there always feels like there’s a gaze burning through her skin. It’s worse when she’s near the trees, but nothing has ever come of it.
Until she’s bending down to pick up a log, placing it in her basket, then raising up to see a man stopped in front of her.
Y/N screams, short and loud, her heart nearly jumping from her chest and her bones right out of her body. She doesn’t think anyone likes to be snuck up on, but she really doesn’t, especially by a stranger, especially in the woods. Y/N swings her basket at him before she can get a good look. The logs make it heavy, but she gets him in the waist. When he doesn’t budge, Y/N tries to swing again, but this time he catches the basket.
“Enough.” His voice is deep, gravelly, like he hadn’t used it in a long while. Y/N’s gaze darts around him, searching to see if he looks familiar to her at all. He’s pretty tall, with pale, smooth skin, and what seemed like a thousand jewels adorning the necklace around his throat. His hair is long, curly, and wavy, and it falls just below his shoulders. He was built, seeming stronger than any man she’d ever seen in the village before. His biceps were huge, and similarly, his forearms were quite muscular as well. Around his wrists, more jewelry fit for a king clinked. He’s naked save for a cloth wrapped low around his hips, just barely covering his bits, and Y/N yanks her gaze up before she could stare too hard at that. She’s no virgin, but that thing was massive! Even soft, she’s presuming, which. . .wow.
With a tug, she tries to pull her basket back, but his grip is sturdy and much too strong for her to fight against.
It is only when she looks into his eyes that she can tell, despite them being human-like in appearance, that the purple she’d seen two months ago flashed across them. Y/N blinked at him, mouth agape, “You’re –” she stopped the struggle altogether, straightening out and pointing at him, “Hey, you’re that dragon. So you can turn into a human?” Y/N’s fingers itch out to reach and touch him – to see if his skin feels as rough as his scales, or if it really is as smooth as it looks – but she keeps her hands to herself. Her eyes move to his left ankle, peering in the low light, “Is your – your leg okay?”
The man (. . .the dragon? What is she supposed to refer to him as?) reveals in his other hand, the piece of cloth she’d used to wrap around his ankle. The fabric is cleaned of any stains, and it is tied neatly around something, acting as a sack. Y/N prays to whoever is listening that it isn’t a dead squirrel or something, though he seems much more civilized than that. Still, she’s unsure of dragon customs – what if squirrel gifting is common practice?
“Hold out your hand.” He ordered, and there’s an air about him that makes her want to listen. So Y/N holds it out, palm up, and he drops the pink fabric sack into her hand. It twinkles and jingles when he does so, and when Y/N lets go of her basket, he holds it in place. The sack is much too heavy for her to carry with just one hand – she thinks there must be jewels inside for sure, or at least coins. “It took two months to get the stains out of the cloth. If you are in dangerous areas, you must bring the proper equipment - ripping that much of your dress and walking around was unsafe and uncouth,” he stuffs the basket against her body, jolting her back a bit, but she scrambles to grab it, “And I hate getting stains out of cloth. But now my debt is repaid. If you utter a word of this to your king, I’ll burn this village to the ground.”
Y/N blinks at him, mouth falling agape, “I – um – well, we don’t have a king so –” she swallows hard, “So I won’t, I’ll – I’ll keep this a secret, but hey. Can I ask you a question –”
“No.”
Brows dipping, Y/N huffs, “That isn’t fair,” she grumbles, “Hey, and it wasn’t uncouth at all, mind you, the wealthy women wear their dresses far shorter than that.” Y/N stands up straighter, trying to appear like the sack isn’t so heavy that it’s hurting her wrist. God, what did he put in here? Solid gold?
“Your whole species is uncouth.” The dragon tells her, finally releasing the basket.
Y/N pointed at his bottom half, “You’re in a loincloth! Is that not uncouth?”
He ignores her, “Your debt is repaid. Do not return to this forest.”
With a twist of his ankle, he stalks off. Y/N isn’t one to cause much trouble, honestly, and if someone doesn’t want to speak with her, then she lets it go. Why spend time worrying about that?
But this – well, she didn’t think this was very fair at all. Y/N isn’t someone who lords what she does for others over their heads, with being repaid in mind. However, she did help his foot and tore one of her best pink dresses to do it! And she didn’t ask for him to pay her in. . .well, whatever was in this sack – she didn’t want anything in return, really, but some answers would’ve been nice at least.
She takes a step forward, the leaves crunch beneath her feet, “But –” and with another step forward, her foot doesn’t meet the forest floor. Actually, neither of her feet is on the ground; she notices perhaps a second too late that she is somehow floating just above the twig she would have snapped under the ball of her foot. Her eyes blink wide, and her heart starts to race even faster than it was – when she looks ahead at the man walking away from her, she knows he has something to do with it, especially when she sees his fingers waving behind his back in her direction, “Hey!”
Whatever magic he’s using only raises her a meter or so above the ground before dropping her unceremoniously, into a crumpled heap. “I’ll allow you this once to see yourself out. Next time, I’ll remove you.”
Y/N scoffs, indignant, shoving herself up from the ground, her palms face down in the dirt, “You are such a –” but by the time she looks up from the soil, her words falter. The dragon. . .the man. . .the dickhead, was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t believe dragons were this rude! Was that in the writings? Did the books outline how boorish they act to people who did them a good deed? And since when can they make people float and fly? This is outrageous!
She’s so put off by the whole interaction that she passes Niall without even realizing it. Y/N is grumbling and muttering to herself about dragons and their heinous people, nonexistent people skills. And for as much as Niall likes to pretend Y/N is a thorn in his side and so annoying, he reaches out and grabs her wrist before she can pass him by. “Oi,” he sounded offended, at first, but when she turned to face him, he saw her covered in dirt and looking generally ruffled, “What happened to you?”
“Dragons are dicks,” she replies, and Niall’s mouth falls open, “Absolutely ridiculous.”
Niall stares at her for a moment, then looks into her basket, “Is that a piece of your dress?” He pointed, “That’s the one you tore, is it not? You finally found it.”
“Well, he gave it to me,” Y/N answered again, moving the basket from one hand to the other – it was so heavy.
“Who gave it to you?”
“The dragon.”
Niall peered at her, then reached out with both hands, cupping her face, but it wasn't very sweet. He twisted her head back and forth, leaning over, “Did you hit your head?” He moved her hair around. “Should I take you to the doctor?”
She pouted, but doesn’t brush him off – Y/N craves physical touch more than anything, so even if he was kind of flipping her around like a rag doll, searching for a head wound is better than no touch at all, “No,” she grumbled, “Do you want to come over for dinner? I’m making a roast.”
“I suppose I can,” he removes his hands from her, “I have a few carrots we can add from my Nan’s garden, they’re huge.”
. . .
Despite the dragon’s warnings, Y/N returns several times.
She can’t help it – Y/N is annoyed beyond belief. If the dragon had just answered her questions and sent her on her way, Y/N would be far less compelled to seek him out. Curiosity quelled, she would spend her days maybe daydreaming about how pretty he was, but respecting his wishes to stay out of the forest all the same. She’d tell Niall that there was a dragon in the forest, he’d continue thinking she’d knocked a screw loose in her head, and she’d go about her business.
Instead, Y/N is reading through those books about dragons and wondering if she should pen in that, actually, dragons are rude, dismissive, they have huge cocks, and are great at getting stains out of clothes. She tears through the books, searching for anything that might hint that their attitudes are foul, but she finds nothing. All Y/N sees is that she could compare with the dragon she met is that they are dignified; they hold themselves proud and tall, decorated in ornate, lavish jewels. Where they find such treasures isn’t specified, but Y/N knows that they for sure have them. There’s a ton of them in her possession.
When she’d gone to her room that night after Niall left for his own home, Y/N took the sack from her basket and brought it to her bed. Carefully, she untied the intricate bow he’d made and let it fall open, revealing what she suspected, but she was still shocked all the same. There were the most precious and beautiful jewels in there – she had to rent a book from the library the following day to see which jewel was which, as she had no prior knowledge of them before. All she’d known of jewels to this point was that they looked pretty lying between the collarbones of a noble woman. She’d never even dreamed of looking at more than one at a time, and now her fingers had caressed what she found were sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds.
She could do nothing with them, but they were quite pretty. If she had just shown up dripping in jewels, or if she had tried to sell them to someone who made all the lavish necklaces, bracelets, and rings the noble people wore – surely, they’d accuse her of stealing. So she just appreciates them at her bedside every so often, packs them up neatly, then tucks them away in the chest at the bottom of her bed, between her blankets. Which, in retrospect, makes it seem more like she had stolen them, but she tries not to think about that.
So, despite her irritation with him initially and the thinly veiled threat, Y/N returned to the forest. She would thank him for the gift but tell him she couldn’t accept it in good conscience. All she had done was aid what, at the time, she thought was a hurt animal. There was no need for jewels, especially ones she could not utilize.
Y/N got relatively deep that first time, and while she had no recollection of where she bumped into him last, the further she went in, the more sure she was bound to. And really, she wasn’t wrong, only this time, before she saw him, she felt him. His presence was all-consuming and uninviting; goosebumps pimpled along her skin as if a warning, her intuition flared open like a rabbit in the presence of a wolf. . .or should she say dragon? (Do dragons eat rabbits, by the way? She hadn’t read that in any books yet.)
“Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?” The voice doesn’t boom or echo through the forest like his presence does, but it did sound high up. Y/N whipped her head around a couple of times before it finally dawned on her to look up, and lo and behold, there he was – lounging on a thick branch a couple of meters above her head. He’s still decorated like a king, still with a loincloth barely covering his crotch – the fabric is different than the one from before, an ornate design stitched into it. It looked sort of familiar, actually, but she had no time to try and place it. Maybe she would if he hadn’t done his dumb dragon magic trick and lifted her from the ground again, “I know all humans aren’t so dense to ignore the word of a dragon, so it must just be you. Are you a fool in your daily life as well?”
Her organs felt like they were floating too; her viscera detached, so everything was just going everywhere. Y/N had never been higher than someone’s shoulders. Or that one time she had to crawl onto her roof back at home to see if the damage from the storm was worth alerting someone to repair it, and even then, she made someone stand at the bottom just in case she slipped and fell. She doesn’t like heights, nor does she like her feet not being firmly planted on the ground.
Still, despite her fear, with furrowed brows, Y/N grumbled at him, “You are the most atrocious man I’ve ever met.”
“I’m a dragon.”
“Dragon-man, then,” her arms flung out, desperately searching for something to grab ahold of, but he kept her just out of reach from the tree, her fingers just barely grazing the bark, “All of the books I’ve read don’t mention your horrible, terrible attitude, and I’m going to start writing it in!”
He puffed a breath through his nose – Y/N half expected smoke to plume from his nostrils, but nothing did. She does notice from this height that there were apples in his lap. They were pretty, glowing, beautiful, and looked mouthwateringly juicy. Her stomach growled – she had left early that morning without eating breakfast, and having built the courage to come back out, she needed to just go out and do it. Y/N didn’t know if dragons had good hearing or what, but his eyebrow quirked and his head tilted, “Hm,” he clicked his tongue, then one of the apples lifted from his lap, floated right in front of her face, “Go on,” he nodded his head, “Take a bite.”
She frowned, “No, I –”
“You’re hungry, are you not? Your stomach is speaking,” he turned onto his side, leaning into his hand – he looked so lazy, even half-way amused despite his tone, “Do you think I poisoned it?” He grabbed one of the apples from his lap, tore into it with a big bite, and chewed before he nodded his head toward her, “Go on.”
Y/N is confused. Why did he want to feed her? She hardly thinks he had a reason to poison her, and for some reason, despite how he acted toward her. . .she felt he had no reason to try. Dragons weren’t known to be deceitful (those are fairies, apparently – she’d heard about that from her Nan, but she doesn’t know if they were real or not), and the apple did look quite good, and she wasn’t one to be skeptical.
So she leaned in, and she took a bite. The juice drips down her chin, sticky and wet, transferring onto the side of her finger. He watched her closely, spun the apple slightly, “Another bite,” he demanded, and Y/N huffed, but still opened her mouth and took another bite. She isn’t sure why she listened to him – part of her thought was maybe she could get on his good side, and then he would answer some of her questions. Until he floated the apple into her hand, Y/N gripped it, and then felt herself being floated back, “Alright, leave now while I’m still feeling kind.”
Then she was, what she could only describe as thrown, out of the forest. Y/N was on her bum outside the edge of it with the apple in her hand, dirt on her dress. She’s so aghast that it took her a second to vocalize her anger, but she did eventually, huffing as she shoved herself up from the ground, “You are so infuriating!” She called out to him, swiping the soil from her dress, “You have no idea how to treat a lady. Prick!”
“Are you okay, Miss?” Christopher appeared suddenly, his arms filled with two baskets of beautiful red leaves that he would know doubt turn into something gorgeous, and that just pissed her off more, “Oh? Y/N? What are you doing out –”
“How do you go in and out as you please?” She demanded, and he seemed surprised; his eyes widened as he fixed his grip a little more surely around his basket.
“I have a guide,” he explained, “I told you this. Have you been going in and out as you – wait!”
But Y/N had set off. She had no time for wealthy people, with their wealthy guides. What she wanted to know was why the dragon had no issue with them going into the forest, but it was suddenly a problem when she did. And why had he fed her the stupid apple anyway? She dug her teeth into it for another bite before she set off back home.
The next time she went, she tried a different time of day. Maybe early in the morning, he’d be asleep – and if not, he’d have just woken or something, and he’d be much nicer. Y/N’s always ten times kinder when she’s barely awake, and she answers questions that she probably shouldn’t (like when someone asked for the recipe for the apple pie at her bakery, and she started rattling off ingredients, until Niall came around and knocked her on the head). Maybe the dragon was like that. She could only hope.
So she waltzed back into the forest, this time in one of her least-favored dresses because he keeps getting them dirty. It’s a brown color, which typically isn’t a popular dye, but it’s the cheapest (and the easiest to make). Y/N wasn’t looking to stand out; she was planning on assimilating with her surroundings like a lizard. Then maybe she’d have the upper hand in seeing him before he saw her, which she isn’t sure what that would change, but she’d like that better. Maybe she’d catch him so off guard that he would answer her questions without thinking. Sleepy and off guard – well, after the fact, it seemed quite dangerous to approach an animal when it was vulnerable. She thinks that’s when they gnash their teeth the hardest (i.e., how he threatened to bite her when she found him hurt), but at the time, that had not been her concern.
So she slithered through the trees, wondering how she even finds him when she does, or if he’s always been the one to find her. Stumbling upon him in dragon form was by sheer accident, but the other two times, he seemed to be expecting her. Would she be able to find him on her own?
Her question is answered as soon as she steps beyond a thicket of leaves and brush. He is as he was last time, only instead of in the tree, he’s lying against the thick trunk. His eyes are closed, breaths even and slow – Y/N could tell from where she stood that he was sleeping. He appeared just as relaxed as he had the last time they met, when he was lounging, and Y/N’s starting to suspect that that’s all he does all day. Lazy asshole, she frowned, and when the snap of a twig made her jump, she turned to see a squirrel that had paused and stared at her, like she was the one who stepped on the stick.
Well, if a squirrel is near him, then he must not give off an intense predatory energy. Then at least the –
“Oh my god!” When Y/N had twisted around to look back at the dragon, she was met with him standing right in front of her. She stumbled backward, dropping to her bum and landing on one of the tree roots sticking up from the ground. The dragon stands tall and proud above her, its head tilted.
“You do a poor job of listening to instructions.”
“Because I’m not a dog, I don’t follow orders from people I don’t know!” She pushed herself up from the floor, then pointed her finger, “Don’t send me flying out! Please, just let me ask a question – one question!”
The dragon stood before her still, his arms crossed over his chest, and he always appears so big when he’s in front of her. Her heart is thudding against her sternum, Y/N braced herself to be thrown out of the forest for the third time.
Instead, he replied, “Go ahead then,” his tone is even, measured, and his words carve their way through her ears and tickle around her brain – why was his voice so alluring all of the sudden? “Ask me your one question.”
This issue was, however, that Y/N. . .well, she didn’t know what her question was anymore. She’d tried and failed so many times that the answers she was striving for, she had completely forgotten. Plus, it’s hard to focus when he’s staring at her the way he is, and it’s difficult to keep her eyes above the belt when he’s wearing golden waist chains that glitter from the sunrays cutting through the trees. They led down, like his prick was a prize or something, and Y/N thought that was absurd. Maybe all dragons walked around like that? That was a bad question to ask, though – she’s not going to ask that as her question. Should she ask where the other dragons are? But what if he just answers with, “I’m not telling you that,” which is still technically an answer, but then she’s wasted her question.
So she thinks about what she usually asks people when she meets them. Whether it be the first question she asks, or it’s the last question after she finishes quizzing them on what piqued her interest about them – she does ask it eventually.
“What is your name?” Y/N has her hand bundled up in part of her skirt, rubbing the fabric of her dress to give herself something to do.
His lips twitch, a small smile at the corner of his mouth, but once again, it looks more taunting than anything else. He isn’t pleased by her, just amused, as he lulls his tongue over his mouth, “My name? That is what you wish to ask?”
Y/N furrowed her brows, “Well, that’s what I asked, isn’t it?” She frowned, “I’ve met you so many times and you haven’t introduced yourself at all. You just always throw me out, I hate that.”
He regards her quietly, like he’s thinking about it, his arms still crossed around his chest as he watches her closely. Another thing she’s learning about dragons is that sometimes they either need to take some time to register what was just said to them, or they spend a lot of time searching for the right words to say. He always speaks in such a leisurely, lazy way – like he has all of the time in the world. Maybe he does, since he doesn’t seem to work. She’s come at entirely different times of day, and he’s never doing anything important, rather than throwing her around in the air.
“Harry,” he finally answered, “My name is Harry.”
“That’s…I wasn’t expecting that,” Y/N replied truthfully, “I thought that maybe — that maybe your name would be something difficult, no? Something mythical and fancy.”
He huffed a breath through his nose, which mirrored a laugh, “What others call me, you would be unable to warble with your vocal cords and register,” he looked bored, leaning against the tree trunk with his arms crossed, “Humans are underdeveloped by centuries, so you may call me Harry.”
She tried to ignore the blatant disrespect in favor of finally getting something out of him, “Harry,” she repeated, then nodded her head slowly, “I’m Y/N. I only think it makes sense that we know each other's names.” Then, she continued, because if she was nothing else, then she was persistent, even under the intense purple gaze he was giving her, “Do you own this forest? Is this where you live?”
“You said only one question,” he reminded her, leaning lazily on the tree beside him, running his tongue over the corner of his mouth, “Why is it that you are so curious? Do they not speak of dragons in your teachings?”
Y/N shook her head, “At least not where I’m from,” she explained, then pointed back to the village, “The claw and scale they have were the only two pieces of proof that dragons weren’t more than an elaborate fairytale.” Harry scoffs, an indignant roll of his eyes followed, and Y/N ignored it, “You’re the first one that I’ve ever met. And when I saw you that day, I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it, even if you’re the rudest being I’ve ever met – and I used to help take care of goats, mind you.”
“Are goats rude?” He inquired.
“Very.”
“Ruder than humans?”
“Depends on the human.”
Harry hummed, low in his throat, and if he’d just changed the register of it slightly, it would’ve sounded like a growl, she’s sure. Still, he must be in a good mood again today, because he hasn’t thrown her out of the forest yet. He’s even entertaining their conversation despite only allowing her one question to start. Y/N wouldn’t mind if they exchanged information about the outside world, for whatever world he lived here within the trees. It’d be fun, actually! If only she could make him see that.
“You must be part goat,” he replied, “Because you’re by far the rudest human I’ve ever met.”
She had to grit her teeth to keep from snapping back at him. God, he’s annoying! “Well, you must not have met many humans then,” she answered, digging her nails into her palm. “Do you own this forest? Or – are there others like you?”
Her feet lifted from the ground before she could even blink, “I tire of your questioning –”
“Hey, I only asked two questions!” Y/N protested, and she has gotten more and more used to this floating thing the more he does it to her, “Why won’t you let me ask, huh? Don’t dragons like to brag about stuff?”
“Brag?” Harry narrowed his eyes, “If that’s what they’re teaching, then maybe I should come and burn down the whole village.”
“No –”
“You come to me empty-handed each visit. I repaid my debt to you for releasing that snare, so I do not owe you my time.”
A frustrated groan left Y/N, her arms crossed, “Why is everything based on debts and owing people with you? Sometimes it’s okay to just, y’know – to talk to each other! And – and exchange cultural information, and integrate in –”
“Why do you care?” Harry cut her off, “To exchange information or to know me? You are aware that I’m no 'fairytale', shouldn’t this be enough to satiate your curiosity?”
“Not at all! There is so much more than just knowing you exist. It is natural to be curious about things you’ve never known before, and that isn’t even just a human thing! All creatures on this earth, down to the tiniest of insects, are known to be curious.”
Harry huffed, a piece of his long hair floated with the puff of breath, “The first rabbit curious about a wolf was devoured,” he noted, “Leave.”
Y/N doesn’t even know why she’s so curious about him. With most things, her curiosity never lasts very long; had she herself not given up on reading about dragons when she first moved here because the texts were long and boring? She doesn’t care for prolonged discoveries, nor does she care for someone who wants nothing to do with her. Niall may act like she’s a bother, but he’s still the first to seek her out when he’s bored. If she were to go to him, then he’d whine a bit, but still accept her company – he just likes to play hard to get.
But this is more than hard to get. Harry wants nothing to do with her at all, really, and that is normally enough to put her off from ever wanting to see him again. She just can’t, though, for whatever reason. It is because he doesn’t want her to know anything about him that makes her so desperate to know everything. If he were smart, he’d just answer her questions; her curiosity would be satiated, and then she’d never bother him again. Wouldn’t even step foot past the tree line of whatever part of the forest he chose, if it came down to it!
Harry sends her flying again, right out of the forest, and Y/N found herself plopped down just outside the oak she came in by. She’s so annoyed she could scream, but she tries to pretend like she doesn’t care. She stood up, dusted off the dirt from her bum, then ambled in the way toward home.
So what if the first rabbit was devoured? If he were going to eat her, he would have by now.
. . .
Y/N treks back to the forest again.
It’s cold today. Colder than any other day that she’s hiked through the trees, now painted different shades of reds and oranges as the leaves changed. It was a frost that bit the tip of her nose early in the morning, enough that she needed to wear her wool coat and double her socks. Typically, on days like these, she avoids going outside before the sun has tickled out from behind the clouds. Instead, she woke up hours before the sun could even think to rise and started on a pie.
She really did try to ignore the niggling in the back of her head, urging her to find him again, to demand more answers, to quell this innate desire she has to know everything about him. She read through the books about dragons again (this time at the library, because they weren’t too pleased with how long she’d kept the books last time), scoured them for any text about dragon men with long, wavy hair, adorned in elaborate jewels from head to toe, named Harry. She looked for anything that might help explain their interactions with one another, but continues to come up short. Even though there are questions that she may have had answered in these leatherbound books, she found that her desire won’t be quelled until she hears from Harry himself.
Because, well, she guesses she doesn’t just want to know about dragons as a whole. She wanted to know about Harry.
And she thinks that’s fair! If she’d met a werewolf, or a vampire, or a monster made of tentacles, or a fairy small and cunning – she’d be intrigued to know about their world, sure, but of them, as her first introduction into their world. She deems it only natural to bond with the very first that you’ve met, right? Even if the first dragon she met in particular is anything but kind.
So why was she making him a pie? Well, he complained about how she always came to her empty-handed, and for that reason, he owes her none of his time. She thinks that maybe if she were to bewitch him with her baking skills, then he’d be willing to open up a bit more about himself. The way to Y/N’s heart has always been through her stomach – if any of the boys back at home wanted to sweeten her up, they knew not to pull her hair, but to share their snacks, and she would hold their hand. Perhaps Harry could be the same, not that they share many (if any) similarities. At the very least, it’s worth a shot.
She makes two pies, actually. One apple, because she knew that he liked them, and one raspberry, because they had just been harvested, and Y/N bought maybe too many from the farmer (she couldn’t help herself; the farmer’s wife let her try a couple of them before she made the purchase, and they were so juicy and delicious she needed to have more than 10 kilos worth). She’d made two raspberry pies, technically, but gave one of them to her neighbor, who always lets her pick off their vegetable garden, but then kept one for the grumpy dragon she was about to go find again.
Y/N was bundled in her coat and scarf, and booties, but she didn’t have any gloves yet for this year. She needed to stop by the seamstress to ask for some, but she just kept forgetting to make time to. Between work and trying to understand Harry, she had forgotten a lot of her winter duties this year, at least the ones that pertained to her. There were still a couple of things she needed to do to her cottage so it would withstand the harsh winds and weather, and some housekeeping inside, along with her garden that needed to be done. A lot of it was things that she wishes she had someone else to do for her, because she gets a bit lazy when it’s cold – but Niall is not as willing to do other people’s house chores when he barely wants to do his own. He’s the only other person she’d ask to do it, at least. But things like cleaning out the chimney and securing her roof were not worth just a blowie and a fuck – she’d really have to pay for that, and she doesn’t want to at all.
Anyway, her hands are frozen stiff. Every so often, she stops and puts her hands in the basket with the two pies. She’d covered them in foil, closed the lid, then placed one of her heavier pieces of cloth over the top. The basket itself was pretty well insulated, but she just wanted to make sure that they stayed nice and warm because he seemed like the type to complain about a cold pie. Which meant every time she stuffed her hands inside the basket, it was nice to revel in the warmth of it for a while, but as soon as she peeled her fingers from it, they would just refreeze. He'd better appreciate these damn pies, is all she’s thinking – and he better be a bit nicer to her.
The way Y/N takes is a bit different each time. She does a lot of walking and knows that she has to go deep in the forest to find him, but otherwise she chooses her path based on her gut. It hadn’t failed her up to this point, since she usually finds him; she just never knows when or where it will happen. She weaves through trees, hums to herself, and thinks about how she should have started knitting her hats a couple of months ago, but left it until the last minute (which isn’t unlike her).
Y/N had not seen the wisteria flowers since the very first time she met Harry. This time, however, she stumbled upon the very same large, thick trunk trees that had so many branches and leaves that there had been no hope to see passed them clearly, rows and rows of them stacked one after the other. Between two of the larger ones, there was a thick, overhanging curtain of leaves and vines that seemed to withstand the changing seasons. She remembers this from before, so she walks through it, and that same sweet smell of wisteria fills her nose. Y/N wondered if she would stumble upon him in his dragon form again, because it seemed to be the same setup. Would he eat a pie in dragon form?
But when Y/N walks through the curtain, sure that there were leaves and twigs stuck in her hair, she is not met with the large form of a dragon stuck in a trap. Instead, it’s Harry – as large and imposing as he is in his human form, he appeared significantly smaller when her only comparison is when she saw him here last. He appeared to be asleep, lying in the middle of the field, still in his normal attire, only fewer pieces of jewelry.
Y/N approaches him slowly, confused. Last time she had found him sleeping, he’d woken up soon after and scared the shit out of her, but he seemed unbothered by her presence this time around. Maybe things were different in his wisteria clearing – maybe he wasn’t as guarded in here as he was when he was out in the regular forest. Still, Y/N is surprised about how close she’s able to get without him stirring – she’s right on top of him now, just a couple of meters away, her eyes lingering along his body.
The wisteria is still beautiful, flourishing around them in vines and brushes, the whole ground covered in the flowers. It seemed untouched by the cold air as well – even more so than the area just outside of here. Inside this clearing is warmer too, somehow – at least Y/N’s nose isn’t as cold as she lowers down, so she isn’t looming over him. If he did wake up and she was standing above him, he’d probably accuse her of something stupid, so she thought it might be better if she was down at his level. She leaves the basket where she initially lowered it and carefully crawls her way over to him.
Y/N has never gotten to look this closely to inspect him before, so she feels a little giddy. Usually, she’s trying to think of every single thing she could say to keep him from sending her floating away, so she doesn’t have much time. His skin is flawless, it seemed – smooth and poreless, like he’d been constructed of fine porcelain. His eyes are closed, but she can make out long lashes, hiding the purple gaze that is typically scrutinizing her every movement. His jaw is as strong and structured as it always is; she thinks he could still snap her between his teeth, even in this form.
The chest she’s looking at is strong, with broad shoulders and big biceps that could probably crush her without much strain. His stomach is not all muscle – some of it is soft, and her fingers itch at her side to press into the skin near his belly button. She does refrain, however, letting her gaze drag down further. Y/N isn’t a pervert – she really does mean to skip over his crotch and move on to look at his thighs and legs (both very built and mouthwatering), but her eyes do lock right on the fabric stretching across his groin. Harry usually only has a strip of fabric that barely hides much of anything, but today, there’s much more coverage in a recognizable red fabric. Despite this, she is still seeing a lot more of his prick than she thinks she’s meant to. He’s at least half hard, she can tell, and she watches it twitch right in front of her.
Y/N swallows thickly, mouth falling open a bit. God, she knows he’s big, but seeing it like this is kind of. . .wow. She’s a little shocked by it – was he having a nice dream? Or maybe he’d just spent some time with someone else? Another dragon, perhaps? Y/N turned to look around and see if there was someone else hiding, but she saw nobody – he’s all alone.
She pulled her face back to Harry’s body. He’s breathing, slow and even, and there’s heat radiating from his body that Y/N wants to get closer to. Then Y/N looks at his face again, her eyes move up to his hair, as beautiful and flowing as it always looks. How does he wash it, she wonders? And why does it always look so beautiful and soft? It makes her grumpy about her own hair, but she can’t dwell on the thought for too long. Not when she notices that Harry has two, twin horns that she’d never witnessed before – at least not in this form. They’re black, protruding from either side of the crown of his head. She’d never seen something like this before – it makes her wonder how many other physicalities of his dragon form he could transfer into his human form.
And while Y/N could hold herself back from pressing on his tummy, she could not stop herself from reaching across him and stroking the horn tentatively. Harry sucks in a small breath, a pained sound, and her fingers flinch back just slightly from where she had touched – his brows are furrowed, his cheeks warm and pink. This close, she can see a sheen of sweat that beads along his skin.
Y/N’s fingers itch to do it again – so she does. Only this time, when she touches, the sound that leaves him sounds much more like a moan. She drags the pad of her finger along the base of his horn, feeling how smooth and cool they feel in comparison to the heat that waves off him. Her fingers are about to loop around the base when suddenly his hand moves, quick, before it wraps around her wrist, tight to immobilize her. Y/N gasped, her touch pulled from his horn.
When she looks, he’s got his eyes slitted open, purple irises burning into her, but he doesn’t make any harsh movements like she expected. She isn’t picked up and thrown out; he doesn’t even rip her hand from his body and throw it back to her. Instead, he peers at her for a second before closing his eyes again, taking a slow breath. “What are you doing here, little one?”
Little one? He’s never called her that before.
“I-uh. . .” his grip is still tight, despite the pet name, and her fingers are going a little tingly, “Brought you a pie.”
Harry peeks his eyes back open, “A pie?” He says, his tone is light – more feathery than he usually talks to her, and it even sounds a little amused. He opens his eyes a little more, and Y/N pulls at her hand a bit.
“Ah, well, actually two pies.” She corrects herself, “Do you think you could let go of my wrist?”
“Two pies?” He repeats again, then loosens his grip, before she feels herself being raised in the air, but before her heart could drop because he’d thrown her out again, she is moved right over his body, then placed delicately with her thighs astride him. She just narrowly avoids sitting on top of his prick, but he does have her pretty close, resting just above his hips. Y/N rests her hands on his chest, and from this position, she can really feel the heat that is radiating off of him. Was he always this warm? She doesn’t know – she hasn’t been close enough to him to really get a gauge on it. Was he ill? Did he have a fever? He is acting a bit odd.
The muscles beneath her hands are firm; she can’t help but dig her fingers into the meat of them, watching the skin dimple under them. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at her, humming low while his hands twist among the wisteria, near where her knees lie, “What is a pie?” He inquired, his thumb resting on her knee – the heat burning through the layers of her dress, “Is it food?”
Y/N is stunned, confused, and wants answers, but also doesn't want to break him out of whatever pleasant bubble he’s in. He’s never been this kind, has never been so touchy, has never seemed so pleased to see her. Something must be wrong, but she wouldn’t know what. Can dragons even get a cold? His hands creep up her thighs and squeeze; her eyes go wide, but he doesn’t seem to think anything is different.
“Um, they’re – well, they are a dessert. They’re sweet and – and I made sure they were warm, but –” she takes her hand from her chest, reaches over his face to press the back of her hand to his forehead, “Are you sick? You’re burning up.”
Harry’s eyes flutter closed, “Your hands,” he murmurs, “--are very cold. You did not dress for the weather well enough.”
Her brows furrow, “I don’t have gloves for the year,” she explains, “Do you need medicine?”
Harry chuckles, shaking his head, “Ahh, no, no,” he hums, then takes away one of his hands to press against the ground, shoving himself up to a sit, jostling her on his lap, and now she’s definitely sitting on his prick, “What I need you are unable to give to me. I smelled you coming.”
“You smelled me?” Y/N asks, and Harry nods, “Oh. Um – was it a good smell?”
“Very good.” He replied.
“It must have been the pies,” she motions behind her, but he shakes his head again, “They smell very good.”
“You have a particular scent,” he explains, and his face is much closer to hers than it's ever been, “It is very sweet, your scent – as sweet as these flowers. I almost cannot stand it.” Y/N tilts her head, “But here you are, all of the time.”
Y/N huffs, but jumps when he starts to rub his thumb in circles on her thigh, “Well, you complained that I didn’t ever bring anything for you, so I brought you the pies.”
He finally looks toward the basket, then lifts the basket and brings it closer to them, still keeping her in his lap, “Let’s see these pies,” he murmurs, then removes the blanket, raises the lid, and hums once again, low and soft as he takes the top one out of the basket and rests it on the other side, on top. He peels the foil off with his hand, carefully, revealing the pre-sliced pie, “Oh. These look very nice. Did you take a lot of time to make them?”
Y/N is so confused, still, but this is such a nice change to his usual antics, she can’t help but play along, “Not too long, but I did wake up quite early this morning,” she explains, grabbing the utensils she packed neatly rolled in one of her nicest napkins, “Um, you must eat it like this or you’ll get sticky –”
“Sticky,” he mimics, and Y/N isn’t sure why he is, but it sounds so dreamy and sweet coming from him, she doesn’t want to disturb it.
“Yeah, sticky,” she uses the side of the fork to wriggle away at a piece of it, just a small bite. Scooping it up on the fork is a little difficult, since it's still warm and syrupy, but she manages to get a pretty decent amount. Then it strikes her that he may have no idea how to use a fork. So she holds her hand under the fork just in case anything spills, and carries it to his mouth. Harry opens his lips, just as some of the apple filling spills on her fingers, but she doesn’t really care. His purple irises trained on her as he pulled the food into his mouth. He hums around the fork, chewing slowly, thoroughly, staring at her the whole time – long enough that her heart is racing. Well, it was already racing, but it was going even quicker now.
Then, once he swallows, he grabs her by the wrist again and guides her fingers into his mouth. He licks the filling off of her, pulling her fingers into his mouth, and she feels his cock kick under her, like he’d either gotten harder or he throbbed or something. Y/N isn’t sure, but there’s a curl of arousal deep in her belly that makes her shiver. His eyes roll closed as he licks between her fingers, in the divots, along the pads. Y/N watches with piqued interest, her mouth agape, the second throb of his prick beneath her makes her mind spin.
“This is delicious,” he compliments after he finally finishes cleaning her fingers, which were once feeling frostbitten down to the bone, now hot, and she isn’t sure if it’s magic or if she’s just warm all over right now. “So, there are things you do well? Listening to instructions is not one of them, but baking might just be.”
Y/N sticks her tongue out at him, and his eyes flick down to it longingly before she slips it right back into her mouth. What is going on with him? “You’re a jerk. And you’re – you’re poking me.”
He looked down between them, brows raised, almost like he’d forgotten she was sitting in his lap at all, “Ah, I see,” he moved quickly then – so fast that Y/N’s feeling a little disoriented, like her brain had rattled around against her skull. He pulls her forward until she’s chest to chest with him, and then twists them onto their side. Y/N squawks an unpleasant noise, but he doesn’t scold her for it; instead, he titters lightly and keeps his arm wrapped around her, “Is this better?”
It’s surprisingly comfortable, lying among these wisteria. She thought it would be much harder, but it feels like lying on something pillowed and soft. When she looks up to peek at him, his eyes are closed again, and he seems to be getting quite cozy, “Rest here, for a while,” he murmured, “I will warm you.”
“Oh?” She shuffles a little closer, “You don’t – you don’t mind?”
“No, I do not,” he reassures, “If I cared, then I wouldn’t have offered.”
Y/N’s face is pressed pretty close to his chest, the tip of her nose against his skin. He smells good – like the flowers. She rested her hands against his belly, poking a little, “You are being very kind to me right now,” she finally noted, because it’s much easier than when he’s staring so hard at her. “Is it because you’re ill right now? Are dragons nice when they don’t feel good?”
Harry makes a noise that sounds like a coo, his hand pressing to her back, caressing her beneath her coat, “I feel very good, right now,” he tells her, “Very, very good.”
“Oh, okay,” she answers lamely. This would be the time to ask him questions, she thinks, because he seems very willing to speak even if he doesn’t make much sense when he’s doing it. But Y/N is kind of fumbling right now; he smells nice, and his skin is soft, and she’s so warm after freezing her bits off the whole way here. She feels comforted by his presence instead of enraged for once.
Was this stupidly trusting? Probably. But so was him accepting a pie from her when he’d been nothing but gruff with her. So they’d both done things stupidly, trusting. . .and she is quite sleepy from waking up so early and cooking for so long. Plus, the trek always takes it out of her, so she lets her eyes flutter closed and melt into the area around them. Was this a dream? Y/N isn’t sure, but even if it is. . .this is nice. She doesn’t mind it too much.
She falls asleep easily, quickly.
. . .
“I know you know the dragon.”
Christopher is at the bakery, picking up bread and cinnamon rolls. Niall had stepped out of the store to take the trash out to the back, so it was just her and him in the store this early. The sun had just barely begun creeping above the clouds – he usually comes in at the beginning and at the end of the week before he heads into his shop. Today, he seemed to linger a little longer than normal, looking through the selections, until Niall left.
Y/N was ringing up his total when a pair of gloves was set on the counter. They are padded, thick, and fur-lined; the color is a beautiful purple, similar to the wisteria flowers that she’d fallen asleep with the day prior. She’d woken up in her bed, still in her winter clothes with wisteria petals stuck in her hair, some hidden in her jacket. Y/N had no idea how long she’d been there, or when or how she had gotten back, but she knew that it was dark by the time she’d stirred, her basket was missing, and she’d missed dinner. If not for her missing basket and the petals, Y/N would have thought she’d hallucinated the whole thing. Hell, part of her thought that maybe she’d been hallucinating Harry, in general.
But here Christopher is, validating that a dragon was living in the forest, that their conversation about not dressing for the weather happened. Y/N stares at him, then at the gloves, then back at him, head tilted, “Um, yes?” She continues to wrap his goods in the brightly colored paper, “I know him, yes. You do too?”
Christopher nods, “I do. He is the reason why I’m able to go through the forest.”
Y/N’s mouth fell open, “Ohhh, he is your guide you always speak of?” Christopher nods again, and Y/N huffs, “What the hell! Why is he so willing to trapeze you through the forest? Every time I go in, he throws me right out!”
A small smile pulls at Christopher’s lips, “He can be like that, yeah. I met him long ago, so our relationship has surpassed his surly phase.” He motions toward the gloves, “He showed up at my door yesterday, demanding that I make gloves for the 'persistent woman who makes the pies, ' and with how often you’re reading about dragons, and in and out of the forest – I figured it must be you.”
“He told you to make these for me?” Y/N slides the bread to the side, reaching for the gloves, “Really? He was quite nice to me last time. Did he seem sick to you?”
Christopher laughs a little, shaking his head, “Ah, no, he’s. . .technically, he’s in his mating cycle.” Y/N’s brows furrow, head tilting, “Like – uh. . .he’s in heat.”
“Like a cat?” Y/N asks.
“Yes, similar to a cat,” he agreed, “You must remember, he’s an animal too, isn't he? So the chances are that in his heat haze, he might have been attempting to court you. And you bringing him pie. . .well, it was as good as telling him you’d accept his advances.” He scratches behind his neck, “The haze heightens and wanes, it just depends on how he’s feeling. This is awkward to explain for him, but he will probably continue to be quite. . friendly toward you. I will tell him if you’re uninterested in his company, and he’ll listen. But he may be keen on pursuing you, at least right now. I can’t attest to how he’ll be when his heat is over.”
Y/N blinks at him for a second, her hands squeezing over the gloves again, “I mean, I don’t mind his company if he’s going to be kind,” she clarifies, “He’s always so rough with me usually, it’s a nice change of pace. I just want to like – know stuff about dragons and things, and he’s been so stingy with answers.”
Another knowing smile crosses Christopher’s mouth, “He has a complicated history with humans, so that isn’t the most shocking news. Listen, I just want you to understand that he’s going to be very. . .forward, if you continue to see him. But he also may – once the heat haze is gone, he may go back to his prickly self.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” she shrugs, “Maybe he’ll answer my questions if I give him a blowie or something.”
Christopher’s cheeks burn pink almost instantly, but before they could get any further into it, Niall returns. Y/N slides Christopher’s order into a bag and hands it over the counter, “S’fucking cold out there,” Niall whined, his nose bitten red as shivers wrack through his body, “Why do I always get stuck taking out the trash? You’re stronger than me!”
“I’ve got delicate muscles, Ni, no man would let me carry something so heavy and gross,” she slid the gloves off the counter, sliding them into her apron pocket, “Thank you, Christopher! Stop in and stop by any time.”
“Of course,” he tipped his head toward her, “I’ll be seeing you. And I’ll let him know you don’t mind.”
Y/N waves as he leaves, and Niall, as nosy as he always is, asks, “What were you two talking about?”
“The dragon,” Y/N pivots on her heel to check on the muffins baking, and Niall heaves a dramatic sigh.
“God, you’re so weird.”
. . .
Y/N has been doing laundry all day.
She has to – the days when the weather permits it, she must boil the water and scrub her clothes in a basin when snow or rain won’t ruin her hard work. Technically, she could dry them in her cottage, but it would take up too much space and take far too long, compared to how it dries when the wind whips through it all. Some of her more delicate and intricate items, her neighbors will wash for her (elderly women have a lifetime's worth of tips and tricks to handle fabric diligently, and Y/N brings her fresh loaves of bread for it, so she thinks it’s an even exchange).
She clips the last of her clothes to the lines hung outside on their posts, before squeezing her linens to see if they were done drying yet. Y/N wouldn’t be able to sleep until they were, so she was waiting them out. The best thing to keep her doing things around the house is to take away her ability to crawl into bed. So she’s swept and scrubbed her floors, cooked a roast, and made a loaf of bread to last her through the week.
Y/N had just decided she was going to candy some of her blueberries when she heard the door of her cottage open. Her brows dip, craning her neck to look out of the door from her kitchen. The only person who would feel comfortable enough to walk right in would be Niall, who had expressed his plans to take a bath tonight (preferably with a man of his choosing, but that may or may not work out for him). Otherwise, nobody else would – hell, she typically has the door locked, so she’s a little concerned, if she’s honest. Was she about to be robbed? At least she was in the kitchen so she could grab for a –
“Harry?” He comes into view before she can finish her thought, still scantily clad but surprisingly in more clothes than she has ever seen him. Instead of just his loincloth, he has bottoms on – they are not the same material as many of the men’s clothes she sees. The fabric is thinner, made of intricate designs, and golden embellishments of flowers in royal purple fabric. It is something opulent, like the loungewear of a king. His face is a little rosier than she’s ever seen it, his eyes gleaming and purple, and he looks around like it’s his first time in here, though she knew he must have been here at least once before. It would have had to have been him who took her home after she fell asleep with him in the wisteria meadow.
“Your cave is very small,” he told her, his hair flowing around his shoulder – it looks more beautiful than normal, and Y/N wondered if this was something that changed to attract a potential mate. If this was his heat, she could only presume as much. He looks healthy and strong, and even these bottoms do very little to hide how massive he is, even just half-mast. Like a bird that had preened its feathers just before a mating dance. Had he put these pants on for her, or to just barely blend into the crowd when he made his way here? Arguably, he sticks out more in these pants and roaming around shirtless than he would if he were in his typical loincloth and jewels. Some still adorn his throat – a chunky golden chain, with an emerald pendant, rests in the hollow of his collarbone, “And you live alone, without guarding your doors. This won’t do.”
“What?” Y/N’s brows furrowed, “Wait, why’re you here? I didn’t even know you were allowed to leave the forest, really, until the other night.”
Harry clicks his tongue, walking into her kitchen like he owned the place, “I can come and go anywhere as I please,” he says it like he’s reminding her, finding the container she had put her roast in and breathing in deeply, “You had not told me you knew how to cook before the pies. This is a very good skill.”
“Ah, well – it never came up before you kept throwing me out,” he pivots on his heel again, searching through her small cottage – he walks through her living area, feeling the seats, dragging his fingers along the throw blankets. He stops by the fire and squats to look at it, staring critically at the wood that crackles and burns beneath the flames. One short nod to himself, and he stands again, then finds her bedroom. Y/N follows him around helplessly as he goes from place to place, words lost to her because she really has no idea what he’s doing. It seems he doesn’t have much of a goal in mind either, as he touches her mattress, frowning, “You have no bedclothes? Isn’t this a human delicacy?”
“No, I do, but they’re drying right now, outside,” she motioned toward the door, “I washed them, that's all. Hey, what –”
“Christopher made you your gloves?” He cuts her off.
“Yes, he did,” she replies, “Thank you for asking him to.” Harry hums lowly, his gaze falling on her bedside table where she’d placed them earlier in the day. She liked to look at them, though she had little use for them, and she had been trying to come up with a way to incorporate them into her decor seamlessly. Not many people come by anyway, but with her luck, her boss would come to her home and want a walk-through or something, then be confused how she could afford such things on the pay he offers.
Harry reaches over and picks them up, far easier than she can with the heft and weight of them, “Why have you not turned these into adornments? They’re not to your liking?”
“That’s not it at all!” She rushes to say, “They are beautiful! I cannot afford to turn them into jewelry, that's all. I like to look at them every night, though, and I even rented a journal from the library to see which jewel is which.”
He still seems perturbed, sitting down on her bed with one foot pulled up, tucked beneath his thigh, “Christopher will see to it that they are.”
“How did you and Christopher meet?” Y/N pries, though she has little hope that he’ll answer. Honestly, what he typically does is barely answer in a roundabout way and then goes on to whatever else he wants to discuss.
Harry does answer, though, surprisingly enough, “When he was a child, he used to roam the forest and bother me. Then he grew older, and still roams the forest and bothers me.”
“Oh, so–so you were a child too?” Y/N tilted her head.
“I have not been a child for a very long time.” He answered, leaning back onto his elbows, getting comfortable despite the empty state of her bed. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, though – actually, he seems quite content. His eyes trace down her body in a way that makes her feel flayed open.
“How old are you?” Y/N pries further, while he’s willing, she thinks she might as well try. And she didn’t even have to give him a blowie to do it! She wouldn’t have minded if she had to have, if she’s honest.
“I’ve been around for 122 rotations of the sun.” When Y/N’s eyes widen, he continues, “We age differently than humans. Much slower.”
Y/N sputtered, “No kidding! You’re like. . .you’re old.” Harry chuckles, amused, warmly, and it reminds her of how he’d been acting the other day in the wisteria flowers. This heat haze version of Harry, she thinks, she likes much more than regular Harry. Even if he isn’t as overtly kind as he was the other day, he’s far more palatable than he had been prior. Maybe he’s just being extra respectful because he’s in her home, rather than the other way around. But speaking of heat haze, “Christopher says you’re in your heat? Your mating cycle?” Harry nodded, plucking at his bottom lip, seeming a bit bored, “Is that why you’re being so kind to me?”
Harry takes a moment before he responds this time, like he was chewing through the words in his head. He sits up a little bit when he responds to her, leaning now only on one arm. Y/N can’t help but stare at the planes of his body, every ridge and curve, where the muscle looks dense and where it looks more lean. She could still feel his belly give under her poking fingers and how his chest felt against the tip of her nose. How his arm rested stretched over her, and the warmth that he emanated was like he was a mobile fireplace. He really is quite gorgeous, when he isn’t being a prick (and even when he is, a bit). So that makes remembering his moans when she accidentally sat on his cock, twist low in her belly.
“My body is quite receptive to you,” he finally offered, after a minute of looking through his words, “More receptive than it has been to anyone when I’m in this state. Your body calls out to me.”
“Calls out to you?” Y/N repeats, “What do you mean?”
Harry shrugs, “As I said,” he sounds flippant, “There is nothing to do but wait for it to pass. Though, in kind, my body calls for you as well. The wish to be close is deeper than skin -- with you is quite intense. So if you wish to ask me all that plagues your silly human brain, then now would be the time to do it, while I’m still lucid and wanting to please you.”
Maybe it was against her better judgment to crawl into bed beside him, but she couldn’t help herself. She was curious about him, about everything, but all of the questions that she could have thought to ask – the ones that had been looping around her mind constantly – vanished. Now all she can think about is how her body is supposedly calling out to Harry’s, and his is returning the song. She thinks about the wisteria flowers, and how every touch and caress she gave him, he jumped, goosebumps pimpled along his skin. How close he wanted to be; the way he lifted her up and rested her on his lap, only to pull her closer when he sat up. Would he just go back to being mean to her after his heat passed? How many heats does a dragon have in a year? Would all of his heats have her body call out to his and vice versa? How do you usually get through your heats? Does someone help you? Is it another dragon? Are there other dragons?
All these questions she could ask, and yet –
“Do you need help?” She looks from him to where he’s hard, “I mean – I can help you a little, if you need. Christopher said you might want it.”
Y/N is stretching the truth a tiny bit, but she doesn’t think he’ll double back with Christopher to check. Especially not if it was something that he was actually interested in. Her offer did seem to intrigue him; his gaze now scraped down her much slower, for much longer. She felt extra flayed open like this — as if his stare could slice right through her, and he was slowly looking into her layer by layer.
“What does a little thing like you know about helping?” He inquired, and just as she had in the forest, Harry used his magic to raise her. He coaxes her over to him, lowering her astride his thighs, and with how he was sitting, she felt his cock immediately, hard and pressed up against her bum. Y/N gasped, her hands on his shoulder as his hands gripped her hips, and kept her still, “I’m certain no other dragons have touched you before. You walk into this willingly? So blindly?”
Why is she offering herself up like this? She guesses it isn’t unlike her to be attracted to someone for being kind to her, but she had thought it’d take more for her to accept Harry, with how hard he’s made her work thus far. Still, maybe there was something to it – her body calling out to him. She would claim that his called out to hers first, or whatever. Maybe she should have questioned Christopher while she had the chance to – or maybe she should have scheduled a lunch with him where she could poke and prod into his brain, to know all things dragon and the like.
But she wanted to learn it from Harry, wanted to ask him. . .wanted an excuse to keep trying to see him, she thinks. Because if not to learn about dragons, then why else would she continue to enter the forest in search of him? Perhaps her body has wanted him this entire time, beyond her knowing. She’d thought he was attractive from the jump, but it was just unlike her to long to see someone. It never felt like longing until right now, at least.
“I am useful,” she tells him, “I can at least help you cum. Is that not what you want? You’ve been touching me so sensually since I brought you the pie,” she lowers one hand to squeeze over his on her waist, “In return for you answering my questions, of course. And if you agree not to throw me from the forest anymore.”
He laughs, low and soft, but the sound melts into a moan when she subtly rocks her hips against him. The friction makes him throb, and he’s big enough, with fabric thin enough, that she can feel it. Maybe this is stupid to get into with him, but she can feel her arousal sticky and wet between her thighs. She doesn’t know if it's pheromones or what, but she feels a bit ravenous, especially with how he looks right now. How he sounds, and even how he smells, are things that are drawing her in. Her heart races – she wonders if he can hear it.
They are quite close to each other’s faces, and with her arms wrapped around his throat, it moves them even closer. Instead of a subtle rock, Y/N undulates her hips slowly, firm enough that it is intentional what she’s doing, and she can feel his prick being sandwiched between her lips through her underwear. Her clit presses against him, mushing along his shaft, and it’s enough to make her eyelids flutter. Harry sucks in a sharp breath, his nails dig deeper into her hips, biting into the skin – she thinks she’ll have marks there, even through her clothes.
Harry marvels at her like she’s something unseen. Had he never slept with a human before? “This warmth between your thighs,” he murmurs, looking down to where they connect, “Is unimaginable. I dreamt of it for the past two nights.” He pressed the skirt of her gown up, something perhaps too light to be wearing in this weather, but she was sweating while she worked around the cottage, so it didn't matter. Now she’s thankful there weren’t a thousand layers as he hiked it up her hips so that he could visualize her better.
He pulled her underwear back by the waistband, but Y/N continued to grind against him, even as he snuck two fingers between them. He grazes over her clit, and she twitches, whines, and grinds down a little harder. Harry seems amused, his eyes lighting up, “This little button here,” he hums, using the pad of his index finger to flick against it once, “It feels good when I press it?”
“Yes,” she mewls, squeezing around nothing. She had forgotten how nice it was to be touched by another person, even if that person was a dragon, technically. “It’s good, it’s very good.”
He flicks it beneath his finger a few times before rubbing it in a little circle. Y/N trembles on top of him; from the position she’s in, it's swollen and exposed, so every touch feels heightened about tenfold. Plus, the way his gaze burns into her, like he’s soaking up every minute detail, is doing weird things to her brain. Rewiring cells and connections that had been there long ago. Since when has it ever felt this good when a man’s touched her? It’s nice, sure, if they knew what they were doing, but they seldom did. Harry didn’t seem to know either, but he appears to be a quick learner. Then he slips his fingers further, into the mess of where she leaks, warm and sticky, wet that clings to his fingers as he feels around her hole.
“What a lewd body you have,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers from her underwear, but she continues to grind against him, holding his index and middle fingers between them. They glisten under her lights, dripping down his fingers, and he stretches them apart to watch her slick string between them. He flattens his tongue against his own skin and licks up her mess. Almost as soon as the taste hits his tongue, his eyes widen, “Oh,” he keens, reaching down to spread her thighs further, “That is what you leak? Like a honey pot?”
Y/N’s hips stutter as she rolls against him particularly hard, and he twitches against her again. His cock feels unlike anything she has ever felt before, at least through this fabric. The sheer size of it, of course, but the shaft is different – ribbed, almost. She’s sort of desperate to peel back his briefs and see, but she’s also too nervous to make a move like that without asking. Honestly, Y/N is shocked that he’s even allowing this – he still seems like he’s in his heat, but he’s with it enough to still tease and taunt her a bit. Surely she thought he’d scoff at her advances, tell her something about how puny human bodies would never live up to that of some dragon goddess he has waiting for him at home, then storm off.
Yet here he is, biting his bottom lip, a sharpened canine digging into the flesh and blanching it as he lets her continue. He dances his fingers along her lower belly, poking and prodding near her belly button, as she did to him in the forest. “Will you leak this endlessly?” He inquires, and Y/N finds her hips rolling a little faster.
“Ah – I – I don’t know?” Her brain is not working, definitely not up for explaining anything, “Just feels good, so I get wetter.”
“So you leak this because you feel good,” he sighs, then his cock twitches against her again, “I leak when I feel good as well. Perhaps our bodies are equally as lewd,” she can’t think of the last time she had dry humped someone this way – had she ever done it? Usually, there was some kissing involved, more heavy petting, and they were begging to get their cock inside of her about now. Instead, Harry just seems enamored by the way her body operates, how it moves, how it feels. Her thighs quiver – she’s close, “When I felt you, your hole is so small. I think I’d split you in two,” his hand grabs against her stomach, squeezing the flesh, “It would hurt, wouldn’t it? I’d hardly think you want that.”
Y/N feels a sudden, intense need, “No, I do,” she promises, “I do want that, I do, I want to feel you, I could take it – deep inside, I could.”
Harry moans, slipping his fingers between her and his cock again, so she’s rubbing up directly against his bare hand. “You’d feel me in your belly,” he promises, “I’d carve a spot out for myself to rest inside of you. No human male could ever compare to how full you’d feel with me.”
Her release splinters through her like a burst of molten lava, erupting from the sleepy shell of a volcano. It shocks a gasp out of her, hips stuttering, insides squeezing and clenching over nothing, she knows his fingers must be able to feel how her body reacts. He stares at her with an unmoving gaze that settles something deep inside of her. Then her orgasm melts through her, oozing and pouring over her, through her vessels, until the lava replaces her blood and makes her limbs feel heavy and unmoveable.
She leans against Harry, all of her weight pressed into his lap, and her face tucked away into his throat. He smells really good – really, really good, better than any man she’s ever sweated with. Y/N felt she probably stunk, but Harry didn’t seem to mind her not moving from his lap. If anything, had he really wanted her gone, then he could move her himself – it’s how he got her on here in the first place.
Instead, he tilts his nose against the side of her head, and she can feel him breathe in deep. It’s embarrassing, knowing that he’s sniffing her, but still, it makes her twitch all the same, leaking against his fingers. Something like another laugh rumbles through him quietly, as he wriggles his fingers, making her jump a little.
“Can your body do that again?” He finally asks, “I want to watch it happen this time.”
