booklore - Tumblr blog

booklore · 3 years ago

Note

what would prosecco!h's birthday look like? how old is he turning?

—————

"I don't think I'll be able to make it to dinner tomorrow, H, I'm sorry. I completely forgot I made plans to go out with my friends from Calc."

Tomorrow was Harry's birthday. And, (Y/N) didn't remember.

It was his fault really, he'd only told her once maybe in passing and it was too late now to remind her without feeling guilty, especially since he knew she would want to plan something special. Instead, he glossed over the date, pretending it was nothing more than another Saturday night they made dinner plans on. While he knew it was partly his fault, he still couldn't help but feel a bit let down that now, he wasn't even going to be able to do that.

"That's alright, I understand. We'll jus' do something next week, instead, right?" Harry plastered a smile on his face as he pressed a kiss to her temple before restoring his attention to the thickening cheese sauce simmering on his stovetop.

"Are you sure? I feel bad," (Y/N) pouted, kicking her legs from where she sat perched on the counter beside him.

"I promise," he smiled, "I'll miss you, but I understand."

(Y/N)'s eyes softened at his words. "I'll miss you, too," she vowed, reaching to grab his free hand to hold in her lap, "But we can still have our sleepover tonight, right?"

Harry couldn't help the crooked curl his lips took at the fact she called it their sleepovers. She was too cute for her own good. "Of course we can, pretty girl. Would never miss out on an opportunity to wake up next to you."

Her gaze dropped to their joined hands in her lap, her fingertips gently tracing over the planes of his palm. "And you promise it's okay that we don't have dinner tomorrow?"

While he was more than understanding of why they weren't going to be able to meet up the following day, Harry almost wanted to stake his claim on the night by revealing it was his birthday. He knew that if she was aware, there would be no question where she would spend her evening. But, he couldn't do that. She didn't spend time with girls from school too often, having become a bit shy after everything that happened with Iris. But, she had finally found a trio of friends who were kind and encouraging—people who actually deserved her friendship. He couldn't take that from her.

"'S perfectly fine, darling—promise. I still get you to myself tonight, so I've got nothing to complain about." Turning the temperature dial down on the stove, Harry abandoned his station and worked his way to stand between (Y/N)'s legs. If he wouldn't have her 'til late tomorrow, he was going to take full advantage of his time with her now.

Slipping his hand out from the clasp of her two, he brought his own pair up to cradle her cheeks in his palms. A contented smile took home on her lips; she was well aware of the affection he was going to smother her with. That look breathed a puff of pride into Harry's chest. She was well taken care of, all to his credit.

Harry dipped his head and planted a tender kiss to her lips. (Y/N) was just barely able to pucker her lips through the smile on her face, allowing him to taste her happiness. The kiss was innocent and short, Harry pulling away only to brush his nose against hers in a gentle puppy's kiss.

He should have known better than to cut it short, seeing as soon as (Y/N) got a good grip on the broad stretch of his shoulders, she used the leverage to surge forward for a deep kiss. Harry didn't have to think before he gave into her silent request, dropping his hands to land on the flare of her hips and tugged her to the edge of the counter. Her thighs pillowed his own as he sunk into the kiss, indulging in the teenage-style fever he felt for her. This would never get old, Harry decided. No matter how many birthdays he spent getting older, the gluttonous want he had for her and the juvenile make-out sessions they spent quenching that need, would never get old.

Short breaths were shared in-between the slick pressing of their swollen lips, (Y/N)'s inhales quickly swallowed by Harry before he took her again. Her hands were in tight fists on his shoulders with an ankle hooked around the back of his leg and her knee hitched over his hip. Harry felt a heat radiating from between her thighs, going through the thin fabric of her leggings and the folds of his sweats. If they kept this up, dinner was going to be delayed with a different kind of mess to clean up on the counter. (It wouldn't be the first time either).

This would be the perfect birthday present, even if she didn't know that.

It was Harry again that drew away first, leaving her kiss with a slick noise following after as he drew a trail with his lips down to the curve of her neck. He focused his attention on the thrumming of her pulse along the sloping contour of her throat, his hands on her hips moving to slide under the hem of her top. (Y/N)'s chest heaved in weighted intakes, her skin growing warm under his ministrations.

Just as he was to pull her shirt over her head, leaving her in only the scraps of white lace that made up her favorite bralette, a sharp gasp left her lips. The intake was different than the languid draws she made when Harry's teeth scraped against her skin or his fingers skimmed in teasing runs over her sides. This one held a hue of panic.

"Wh—"

"Harry, the food!"

In a split second, Harry remembered what he had been doing before falling into (Y/N)'s enchanting trap. Looking to his left, he found the pot he thought he had removed from the heat smoking in the beginning billows of a real problem.

Harry breathed a curse under his breath before reluctantly abandoning (Y/N), his expression morphing into one of rushed panic. The cheese sauce he was planning on using for their dinner now had black bits floating to the top, the entire bottom of the pan burnt into a crisp that left no hope of saving either the food or the utensil holding it. He made quick work of splashing it under the running faucet, a hiss sounding through the kitchen with each droplet that tore through the too thick sauce and to the bottom layer of crust.

In the quiet that followed Harry's clumsy reaction, a muffled giggle sounded from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he found (Y/N) sitting with her hand covering her mouth and her eyes lit with amusement as she watched him.

A smile cracked at his features. "What are y'laughing at, hm?"

(Y/N) was quick to shake her head, the hairs that had fallen from her bun swaying around the contours of her face. "Nothing."

"Then, what's so funny, love?"

"Nothing, you just—Your face when you—" She didn't get much out before her voice was consumed by the rolling laughter building in her chest.

"Well, it wasn't my fault, now, was it?" Harry teased, adjusting the faucet to run in a gentle stream to continue to cool the burnt mess that was their dinner, "If I recall correctly, I was distracted by someone."

Feigning offense with a drop to her mouth and brows raised high above her eyes, "As if you didn't know I was going to do that! You should be used to me acting like that when you kiss me."

Harry only playfully rolled his eyes, ensuring she saw his mocking display. "I suppose so," he hummed, returning to his spot between her legs. He placed his hands gently on the thick of her thighs, palms warming her, "What are we supposed to have for dinner now?"

(Y/N)'s eyes melted as she gazed up at him, lips swollen and well-kissed with a glow to her cheeks. "Can we decide later?" she murmured, scooting to the edge of the counter in an effort to be close to him, "I don't think I'm very hungry right now."

"No? You're not? But I remember y'pestering me to get something cooking as soon as y'got here. What happened to that?" he teased, dropping his head to be level with her when he saw that glaze go over her eyes as she floundered at his words.

That, especially, never got old.

"W-Well, yeah," (Y/N) stumbled, her hands becoming a bundled mess on her lap, clearly trying to keep herself from grabbing for him and losing every train of thought messily chugging through her head, "But, I don't want that anymore."

"What do you want?"

That was it. Harry watched with a crooked smile taking his features, a smug air haloing him as her eyes went soft and her breath came in awed puffs.

"Can I—I want... I want you now."

"Then, have me, pretty girl."

(Y/N) didn't need much coaxing past that, readily taking his offered hand and following up to his bedroom. If he couldn't have her tomorrow, at least he could celebrate his birthday tonight.

—————

"Harry."

The psychedelic flowers raining over Harry's head had a familiar voice, one that wrapped around his name and called out to him with affection. He settled further into the periwinkle colored grass under his body, the blades wrapping around him like loving arms.

"Harry."

They called again out to him, as if to beckon him to the sky with their petals. But, whenever he tried to join them, float up on the clouds just out of reach, he couldn't do it.

"Harry, wake up. Your mom's calling you."

In a blink, Harry realized that the flowers weren't the ones calling out to him. Its was (Y/N), who existed outside of his dreams in his bedroom. As he came to, the sound of his phone vibrating against his side table poked at his ears, confirming what (Y/N) had told him.

"Hm?" he hummed, blindly reaching for his phone as he struggled to creep his eyes open.

"I need to go get ready, but I didn't want you to miss her call," (Y/N) explained, voice soft as she grabbed his phone for him, placing the device in his palm. Just before Harry answered the call, (Y/N) uttered a be right back!, then disappearing into his bathroom.

He watched after her with fatigued eyes, answering the call just before it would cut out. "Hello?" he mumbled, knuckling at his eyes.

"Good morning, birthday baby!" his mom shouted through the receiver, her smile audible.

"Morning, mum," he smiled, his voice a grumble, "I don't think 'm much of a baby anymore, but thank you."

"You'll always be my baby, I don't care if you're thirty," she argued, though he knew she meant every word she said. It tradition rung true, she was thumbing through baby books as they spoke. "Are you doing anything special tonight?

"Not sure, honestly," he sighed, sinking into his bedding as he tugged the fluff of his comforter over his bare chest.

"You didn't plan anything with (Y/N)?"

Though they hadn't met yet, his mom spoke about his girlfriend with an air of familiarity. The thought made a tired smile creep over his lips.

"She-uh-she's got some school function she has to go to tonight, so I don't think we'll have time to see each other," Harry lied, not wanting to sully (Y/ N)'s name to his mom over the fact she didn't remember the significance of the date. His mom was protective, so he knew that wasn't something she would easily forgive.

"Oh, 'm sorry, hun," Anne murmured, "Are you seeing any other of your friends?"

"I think so, probably dinner," he said, another lie, but he wasn't about to tell his mom that he was spending his birthday alone. That would only break her heart.

"Send me pictures, please! I need to see what thirty looks like on you," she bubbled through the phone, the undeniable sight of photo paper shuffling in the background, "You're still coming to visit next month, right?"

"Of course, I am. Still got m'plane ticket."

"Perfect!" she beamed, "We'll celebrate your birthday then—just me, you, and Gem."

Just then, (Y/N) crept back into his room, now fully dressed in a pair of high-waisted jeans and a frayed sweater. She shot him a soft smile as she picked around for her belongings littered across Harry's bedroom floor.

"That sounds good, mum. 'M excited," he mumbled, his eyes following after (Y/N).

"Well, I'll let you get back to sleep then, birthday boy," his mom sighed. He knew this was more of her sake, something she did every year when she started getting teary thinking about how much her baby had grown. "I'll be expecting pictures tonight, do you hear me?"

"I hear you, mum," he smiled, sitting up against his headboard as (Y/N) climbed on the mattress beside him, "I love you."

"I love you, too, hun. Happy birthday."

After hanging up, Harry was left with the full of his attention to be placed on his girl.

"Morning," she chirped, voice soft in the quiet of his room, "How's your mom?"

"She's good," he nodded, readying another small lie to share, "She wanted to make sure I still planned on visiting her soon."

"That's sweet," she smiled, scooting closer to him over the barrier of his blanket. Harry didn't hesitate before wrapping his arm around her waist, tucking his nose into the hair on the top of her head.

"Are y'already leaving?" he mumbled into her hair, lips brushing her crown.

"Yeah," she sighed with a nod of her head, "But I'll text you, okay?"

Harry's eyes fell closed as he realized this would be all he saw of her on his birthday. His arm tightened around her as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Okay," he said, drawing away just far enough to dot a kiss to the apple of her cheek, "Let me know y'get home safe."

"I will," she promised, her smile, soft on her lips. She turned her head just enough to catch him in a real kiss, the contact soft and tender in the early morning. "Love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you more, honey."

With that, (Y/N) slipped on her shoes and grabbed for her duffle bag the end of Harry's bed. She gave him one more wave over her shoulder, promising to talk soon before he was left in the warmth of his room with a cold bed.

Happy birthday to him.

—————

Have fun with your friends tonight and text me if you need me to pick you up xxxx

Love you and miss you so much xxxxxx

Harry locked his phone away after pressing send. According to the time, (Y/N) would just be pulling up to the restaurant she was set to meet the girls at for the night before they went bar hopping. (That is if she was on time anyway, which he knew she didn't have the reputation of doing). When he didn't receive an immediate response, he swiped out of their thread to continue a slew of thank you messages being sent to all of his friends and co-workers that had reached out and wished him a happy birthday.

Looking at the list of names that remembered the significance of the day made Harry a little too aware of the one person that hadn't uttered the same sentiment, even when they woke up together that morning. He still didn't blame (Y/N)—she couldn't celebrate something she knew nothing about—, but he had hoped this was all some concocted plan that she had brewing to make him think she wasn't aware before she splashed out and spent the whole day with him.

They'd been texting off and on since she'd left, (Y/N) having told him she was going to be busy running errands all day before she went to dinner. Harry focused on the texts he had coming in with wishes for him to have a happy birthday, some asking him what his plans were for the day. Mitch had been Harry's saving grace for the day when he had found out (Y/N) was "busy", inviting Harry to a birthday dinner just the two of them. Apparently, the others in their group hadn't thought to make plans with him the day of, as they thought he would be busy with (Y/N).

Nonetheless, Harry looked forward to the distraction as he got ready. Mitch would be over in another twenty minutes to pick him up and take them to Harry's favorite restaurant across town, and he was taking his time to keep himself from checking his phone again. By the time he was dressed in a pair of wide legged tan trousers with a top printed with palm fronds left unbuttoned over a plain white tank top, Mitch had texted that he was waiting outside for him whenever he was ready. Harry made the last touch of linking a string of pearls around his neck before grabbing for his text-free phone and making his exit.

"Hey, H. Happy birthday," Mitch smiled when Harry took his spot in the passenger seat.

"Thank you," Harry responded, feeling grateful to not be spending his night alone like he had feared. Now that he was getting so used to seeing his friends again, his work-life balance slowly shifting into equilibrium, he didn't enjoy wasting his time alone like he had been.

Pulling away from the curb, Mitch launched into a bit of pleasantries, asking Harry how work was, how his day had gone, and any other information he may have forgotten to mention since the last time they were together. Harry laid out all the details for him, a noticeable shift in his demeanor when (Y/N) was brought up.

"You said she was busy today? (Y/N), I mean," Mitch prodded, disregarding Harry's attempts at quashing the topic.

"Yeah," Harry nodded his head, casting his gaze far ahead of them out the windscreen, "She had some school thing she wasn't able to get out of—an event she had to attend for a grade."

Harry's lie was one he rehearsed when he was getting ready. It was hard to admit that his girlfriend didn't know it was his birthday, and he didn't want Mitch or any of their friends to think she was a bad person for not being there for him today. Instead, he gave her an excuse that he wished reigned true.

"Oh," Mitch hummed, the nod of his head causing the waves of his hair to brush his shoulders, "I wish you had told me sooner. I would have had Tawny plan something for you, but we all figured you'd be busy with (Y/N)."

"'S okay, don't worry," Harry assured with a shrug to his shoulders, "We haven't done this in a while, so 's nice to have jus' the two of us." Mitch really was Harry best friend (second only to (Y/N), but that was different of course), and he missed spending time with just him where he could tell him anything without the others around.

A half smile found its home on Mitch's lips as he pulled into a parking spot behind the restaurant. "Well, even if you are officially old now, I'll make sure you have a birthday like you're twenty-five again."

Harry only shook his head with a smile on his lips. The most that would happen, he knew, was going to be a bit of giggly oversharing that always happened when Harry got a few margaritas in him. If they were lucky, he would even try to convince Mitch to dance outside with him before eventually heading home where he would chug a bottle of water and hope the fact he was now thirty wouldn't catch up with him.

Noise bubbled out onto the street as Mitch opened the door to the restaurant, the Saturday night crowd living up to its reputation. Harry's smile only deepened as they were shuffled through the group that formed around the entrance to the bar, the entire atmosphere starting a song in his veins to the tune of the Latin music playing over the loud speakers. He loved this place.

Watching at Mitch approached the terracotta colored hostess stand, Harry wasn't able to make out any of their words, only a few nods of heads and a quick glance at him from the hostess. A bright smile plucked at her red painted lips as she listened to something Mitch said before she skipped grabbing menus from the cubby under her station. Nonetheless, she motioned for the pair of them to follow her, Mitch waving to Harry to ensure he was coming with. The dining room was packed as she led them through. No wonder people were fighting to get into the bar, there was no where else to be served if they planned on eating anything for the night.

Their guide showed escorted them to the back of the restaurant, Harry assuming they were to be seated through the sliding glass doors that acted as the partition to the patio area. Instead, she stopped short, showing them to a small enclave in the stucco wall where a yellow painted door waited with a small sign detailing the space as Reserved. A pinch tugged at Harry's brow as the hostess nodded to the door, eyes fixed on Mitch as she spoke quietly before she left with a smile and a small wave to him.

Harry shuffled between tables to catch up, keeping his voice low while hoping to be heard over the clatter of the other patrons, "Are we supposed to go in there?"

Something of a knowing smile took his friend's features, curling his lips as he gave him a halfshrug. Before Harry could question him any further, Mitch, with full confidence, reached for the handle on the door and ushered Harry forwards.

"Surprise! Happy birthday, Harry!"

Harry could have stumbled back as as he passed the threshold, the smiling faces of his friends greeting him on the other side as they giddily yelled to him. The group of them were huddled in the center of the smattering of tables set up in the space, acting as the centerpiece to the birthday party he didn't know he was attending.

The private room was much quieter than the main dining room as the door shut behind he and Mitch, his friend letting out a breathy laugh as Harry lagged, taking in the sight around him. Extra patio space could be seen through the ceiling to floor windows that lined the back wall, allowing the space to feel even bigger while maintaining the alluring closeness that was granted with the warm lighting all throughout. Decorations were plastered through the room, most notably metallic balloon letters decreeing Happy Birthday H! with smaller, numerical thirties pinned around the decor.

In the middle of it all, tucked just behind Tawny and Sarah, was (Y/N).

His heart squeezed when he saw her face. She was here. She remembered.

"Go," Mitch laughed from behind him, placing his hand between his shoulderblades before pushing him towards their friends, "Don't just stand here."

Harry stumbled forward on legs that might as well have been brand new. The grouping of his friends disassembled then, navigating through the tables to meet him halfway. Tom and Jenny were the first to meet him, the pair taking turns to pull him in for hugs with personal wishes of a happy birthday and questions of if he was surprised. Harry felt speechless as he thanked them, making it very clear he had no idea about this surprise party.

The interactions went much the same with the rest of the group, Mitch and Sarah being particularly proud about how surprised Harry was. Mitch whispered his apology of keeping the secret as he hugged him, though Harry knew he wasn't sorry at all. The last of the group to properly greet him was Tawny, a smug smile on her lips as she held her arms open.

"Happy Birthday, H," she smiled, arms looping around Harry's middle as he squeezed her around her shoulders, "Did we get you?

"Thank you, Tawny," he laughed, pulling back just far enough to see her face, "Yeah, I had no idea."

"Good, this was a lot of work. I would have been pissed if you knew the whole time." Tawny's beaming smile never faltered as she stepped out of his hold, her own arms falling to her side.

"You planned all this, then?"

"God, no," she shook her head with an exaggeratedly sour look on her face, "(Y/N) did everything, our job was just to not tell you."

(Y/N).

Of course, it was (Y/N).

"You really didn't know, did you?" Tawny pressed, her voice going soft as she caught the expression on Harry's face.

"I—uh—No," he sighed, shaking his head as he searched for his girl over Tawny's head, "I didn't think she remembered."

"She's been planning this since New Year's."

Harry felt his eyes round out at the knowledge. Just the picture of her putting this all together was enough to make his lungs squeeze and his heart bloat. No one's ever loved him like she did.

"(Y/N), I think he's broken!" Tawny's called over him, pulling Harry from his thoughts as he followed her line of sight.

Behind him, (Y/N) had mingled within the group, still awaiting her turn with the birthday boy. At the sound of her name she had whipped her head to face them, her eyes bright as they met Harry's.

"Oh?" she sounded as she made her way to them, drink in hand though it didn't seem that she had drank very much at all, "What's wrong?"

"I-I didn't—How... You knew?" Harry stuttered through his words, only halfaware of Tawny making her exit with a shrewd smile on her face.

"Of course I knew it was your birthday, H," she smiled, her drink being abandoned on the table beside them, "I was just pretending so you didn't know about the party. I almost told you so many times—especially last night. You looked so sad when I said was going to see my friends, I almost told you everything."

Harry floundered under the new information. He didn't know how to react knowing that she had gone through all this trouble to ensure he was surprised. "I don't even know what to say, (Y/N). Thank you, love."

(Y/N) only shook her head before rising to her tip-toes. She looped her arms around his neck while Harry found his own hold around her waist. "Happy birthday, Harry," she whispered, her words fanning across his neck with a warmth in his skin following after.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, so much." (Y/N) arms around his neck squeezed as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now, go enjoy your present. I have this space reserved until they close at eleven, so take your time and have fun. I already ordered a bunch of margaritas so those should be coming soon, just let me know if you need anything and I'll take care of it."

Harry didn't even think about letting her out of his arms as he listened to her. Knowing (Y/N), he was sure there was a level of anxiety that came along with setting all of this up and ordering food and drinks for everyone, and the fact that she did it all for him was not lost on him.

(Y/N) only let out a laugh and held him back just as tight.

—————

Harry couldn't keep his eyes off her.

He'd been trying his best to keep from following (Y/N) around like a puppy, but it was hard to do anything but, since all he could think about was all the work she'd put into the party. He was two margaritas in and there was a fizz working through his veins that threatened to lift him right off the ground and take him in her direction wherever she moved. But, there was something special about watching her play hostess.

(Y/N) fluttered around the venue with her glass of non-alcoholic sparkling wine in her hand (and occasionally his phone in th other, taking the pictures he promised to his mom), her eyes dutifully scanning for any empty margarita glasses or guests pitching for more appetizers around the last bowl of chips and salsa. Even with the level of anxiety he was sure was following her through the room, he couldn't be more proud of everything she'd pulled off.

This wasn't like the raging parties that dominated his early twenties, or even the elaborate (and expensive) shindig Tawny had somehow put together for his twenty-seventh birthday, but it was his favorite one to date—he was sure of it. Nothing was going to top the feeling in his chest knowing that (Y/N) had done everything in her power to make this night enjoyable for him, especially with her college student budget. (And, he knew she was terrible with surprises. She tended to bubble them out without thinking because it was just too hard to keep something so exciting all to herself).

So, even with the attention of all of his friends bringing a contented warmth to his skin and fulfilling the lingering bit of narcissism in him that sought out praise, he had nothing on his mind but his girl.

"I'm gonna get another drink, do you want one?" Mitch asked, speaking over the music that had risen in volume to appease the dance floor forming in the center of the tables.

"'M okay, thank you," Harry waved him off, giving him a polite smile before fixing his eyes back to the sight of (Y/N) working through the party with wide eyes scanning for problems that didn't exist.

Once she caught sight of him, after flittering past Tawny's invitation to dance with her and Charlotte, the stressed set in (Y/N)'s shoulders visible relaxed. The white slip dress that was draped over her form shone in the light, emanating a platinum aura around her that gave Harry just another thing to keep his eye stitched to. Her hair was twisted back in a moonstone colored clip, leaving the remaining strands that framed her face to flutter around her features in celebration. Her eyes were impossibly soft, the melting of her irises so clear that Harry could catch it even from where he sat.

With her free hand, (Y/N) sent a wave in his direction.

A budding smile took home on his lips, the very corners of his mouth twitching upwards at how cute she was. He narrowed his eyes just a bit at her, a teasing set in his features as he beckoned her to him with a curl of his finger.

The glow in her cheeks only flared brighter as she followed his direction, her gaze falling to the strappy pair of heels on her feet (he was definitely going to hear about how painful they were tomorrow when her feet were sore and she refused to leave the bed). (Y/N) stopped on the other side of the circular table, much too far for Harry's liking.

He patted his hand on the chair Mitch left behind, the cushion giving way under his palm. "Sit with me."

"Isn't that Mitch's spot, though?"

"'M sure he'll understand. 'S m'birthday, pretty girl, supposed to do what I want, right?"

He knew good and well what he was doing as those words slipped out, and was rewarded in the way (Y/N) flustered herself to keep up. She gave a short nod of her head, though she had to fight hard to bite back the smile that itched to curl her lips.

Once she was settled beside him, Harry didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around her shoulders and dip his head to be level with her ear. "You're doing amazing, you know that? Now, you've got to stop looking for problems that aren't there."

"I'm not looking for problems!" she argued, her voice hushed between them, "I just want everyone to have a good time—especially you."

"I'm having a wonderful time, love, don't have to worry about me," he crooned, dropping a kiss to the space before her ear, "But I want y'to be having a good time, too. 'M always at m'happiest when I know you're happy."

She couldn't hold back her smile any longer, her soft-lipped grin breaking through at his words. "Whenever I'm with you, I'm happy. So you don't have to worry about that either."

With his own grin erupting on his face, Harry nosed at (Y/N)'s hair, blissfully enveloped in the scent and feel of her so close to him. When he finally managed to crack his eyes open, the growing dance floor that consisted of their friends had grown. Laughter could be heard over the music with less than serious dance moves being shared within the group. He remembered the way (Y/N) had brushed off the invitation from Tawny, though her eyes lingered over the fun that everyone was sharing while she was so worried about playing hostess.

"Why don't y'dance with me, love?" Harry murmured into her hair before pulling back just far enough to see her face.

Worry returned to her gaze. She was already taking responsibility of everyone's good time, again. "Oh, I don't know, H, I need t—"

"Remember what I said? 'S my birthday." A wicked grin poked at the corner of his lips. She wasn't going to say no to that, was she?

After a beat, a slow nod came from her. "Okay, but I might have to—"

"Don't have to do anything, pretty girl. Only have to dance and have a good time with me."

Harry gently took her glass from her hand, her fingers slipping away as he settled it on the table before them. His fingers skimmed over the back of her hand, her skin impossibly soft under his fingertips. If he looked closely enough, Harry swore there was even a shimmer that was glazed over her form, giving her the sparkling skin of an angel he'd only ever seen before in his dreams.

It took little more encouragement on his part as he pulled (Y/N) to the makeshift dance floor that all of their friends were bubbling about in. Tawny and the girls were making their own interpretive dance to the Shakira song shimmying through the speakers while Tom and Mitch were laughing away at the TikTok-esque (a term he'd learned from (Y/N)) performance Adam was putting on. They slipped right into the chaos, finding their own niche among their friends that barely paid them any mind beside a few hollers that the birthday boy had joined. Making a show of tugging her to his chest, Harry was rewarded with peals of (Y/N)'s laughter. He slung an arm around her waist before folding his other hand in hers as if he was going to dance the waltz with her. And, he did.

Their movements were entirely uncoordinated with (Y/N) stepping on his feet more often than not and Harry setting them completely off rhythm (though there isn't much rhythm to catch when waltzing to a song made for ass-shaking). Nonetheless, (Y/N)'s smile never wavered as Harry played the character of the snooty aristocrat, chin high as he danced with her like it were the 1800's and they were at a suitor's ball instead of his thirtieth birthday. Warning her with a squeeze to her hand, he dipped her low, tendrils of hair brushing the rust colored tiles beneath their feet. (Y/N) wobbled on her feet, struggling to keep her balance though Harry steeled his arm around her to keep her safe. Low whistles were heard from the boys when Harry tugged her up, while Tawny and Sarah made a point to tease him for the grandeur he was displaying for no other reason than to impress (Y/N) and be the reason for her smile.

She was uneven on her feet when Harry pulled her upright, skin glowing with hair fluffed and wispy. "I thought you were going to drop me!" she laughed, clinging tightly to him as she shifted her hand on his shoulder to hook her elbow around his neck.

"Wasn't going to drop you," he crooned with amusement edging his tone, dropping his head low to whisper in her ear, "Would have been a little funny though, if I did."

Harry earned himself another bubble of laughter to fall from her lips, faux-offense taking home on her face as she pushed him away. "And to think I did all of this, just for you to laugh about possibly cracking my head open."

With a shake of his head, Harry wrapped her again in his arms. He looped his arms around her back, fingers a knot at the small of her back, as he dipped his head to touch his forehead to hers. Despite her feigned anger, she still accepted him readily in her hold, hooking her arms around his neck. A petulant pout was on her face, the corners of her mouth falling victim to the poking and prodding of a smile fighting to make its appearance.

"Stop pouting, pretty girl," Harry mumbled, a stern tone carrying his words as he matched her eye contact, "Have fun with me now, then y'can act like a brat later." He dropped his eyelid in a wink, watching as a heat worked its way over (Y/N)'s skin.

"But—," she started, swallowing around the flustered bubble that filled her throat, "But, what if I have a present for later? I don't want to act like a brat for that."

Harry drew back, using his hold on her to twirl her a few paces from the rest of them. He didn't think they really needed to hear about this particular present. With his brow raised over the green of his tequila sparkled eyes, he spoke through a crooked smile. "What kind of present is that?"

"Just something for you at home," she coyly responded.

"You've to tell me now, love," Harry pressed, dropping a kiss to her cheek before whispering against her skin, "Can't play with me like that in front of all of our friends. Be good and tell me, yeah?"

Though he could tell she wavered, (Y/N) shook her head with a soft-lipped smile on her face. "We're supposed to be having fun right now, remember? I'll tell you later."

She slinked out of his hold before making her way to where their friends were waiting, having granted them a moment of privacy though Tawny was sure to extract any information she could. (Y/N) tossed him a sly smile, beckoning him to fallow with a wave of her hand before she melted into the group of them.

Harry watched after her for a moment, his hands still buzzing from the feel of her body under his palms (and probably some of the remaining margarita mixture flittering through his system). He couldn't wait to get home.

—————

"Harry! Be careful!"

His grin only widened at (Y/N)'s words, his grip loosening only a fraction as he pressed his lips against hers. Her back was pressed flat against his front door with her overnight bag falling to their feet, having wasted no time once crossing the threshold in finding out what his remaining present was. Though she complained with him to slow down and be careful as he handled her, she melted in his hold and kissed him back with matching fervor.

Harry hooked his hand under the thick of her thigh, hitching her leg over his hip. Her dress didn't stand a chance as it slipped over her skin, piling at the crease of her thigh, allowing Harry to move her whatever which way without the fabric restricting his wants. Until (Y/N) settled her hand on his, anyway.

"I still need to get your things from the car," she explained, referring to the stack of gifts from their friends in the boot, "And there's f—"

"Get them in the morning," Harry grumbled, ghosting his lips over her skin to find the soft curve of her neck, "I want you now, pretty girl."

He was sure she knew he wasn't lying, especially with the evidence of his hardened length pressing into her panties. A shuddering sigh wracked through her body at the feel, his teeth nipping her neck in a pinch of clarity.

"O-Okay," she breathed. Her hands on his shoulders grew solid as she bunched the fabric of his top in her fists. "We need to go to your room, first, though. I-I have stuff in my bag I got for you."

Pressing a final kiss to the tender curve of her neck, Harry hummed against her skin. He squeezed the thick of her thigh one more time before releasing her, muscles feeling tense as he stood to the full of his height. Stuffing his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep from grabbing at her, Harry nodded his head towards the stairs that led to the upper level of his home.

"After you," he spoke through a crooked grin, his eyes dragging heavily over her body.

A flustered glow settled over her skin, her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird's in her throat. Harry watched as she bent over for her bag, incredibly thankful for the silk of her dress that clung to her body and made it very clear she didn't have much on underneath. He stuck to his word and followed after her as she scaled the stairs, his hand clutching tightly to the banister to keep his itchy palm from trailing up her thigh and hooking into the slit of her dress.

Once making it to the bedroom, (Y/N) made quick work of bypassing the switch to the overhead light, instead opting for the lamps he had posted on either side of his bed. The glow that filled the space reminded him of the first night he took her back to his room and they kissed until she fell asleep in his arms, the light warm like a candle's.

She stopped at the foot of his bed, the straps of her duffle bag twisted into a knot in her hands. He arched a brow as he looked at her, eyes flicking to her bag before returning to her face. "Thought y'had something for me."

(Y/N) practically jumped at the reminder, her own gaze falling to her bag as if remembering she brought it with her. "Right," she breathed, "But, you have to lay down first. On your tummy with your shirt off."

"Yeah?" Harry teased, looking at her with a suspicious gaze though he was already working on untucking the white tank top that stretched over his torso, "Why do I need to do that, pretty girl?"

It would never get old ruffling her feathers like this, settling her just slightly off balance when he prodded her like that with eyes holding unwavering contact with hers. She floundered for her words, the straps of her bag falling victim to her flustered hands.

"It's a part of the surprise," she whispered, voice fluttering between them.

A grin broke out on Harry's features as he shrugged off the overcoat of his palm leaf patterned shirt, the fabric falling into a pool at his feet. He left behind the article as he moved towards (Y/N), gently cupping the back of her neck in the warmth of his palm. His fingers curled around the curve of her throat, thumb tickling her hairline.

"Relax, love," he crooned to her, dropping a steady kiss to her forehead from where she gazed up at him like he were the moon, "'M only teasing you."

"I know," she peeped, though her eyes remained wide and searching.

Harry only shook his head, a minute motion that caused the curls that were pushed away from his face to flop over his forehead and tickle his brow. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips with a squeeze to the nape of her neck before backing off. Turning his back to her, he left her with whatever secrets she was withholding from him as he finished undressing. When he was left in only his trousers, Harry followed her instruction of laying on the bed with his stomach flat to the mattress.

He barely had a second to settle before he felt the soft of (Y/N)'s hands brushing over the expanse of his bare back. Harry jumped in surprise, a laugh rattling through his ribs as he tensed under the temperature of her fingers.

"What's this about?" he questioned, just about to turn and catch of glimpse of his girl before he felt a dip in the mattress as she climbed up beside him.

"Well," she started, voice soft to match the lighting in the room, "I figured since you're an old man now, that I could help out and give you a massage."

"'M an old man now? Since when?" Harry's smile was beginning to feel permanent as he listened to her, the curl only growing wider when he felt her shift to straddle him with her thighs bracketing his hips.

"Did you already forget today's your birthday?" she teased, her hands disappearing from his skin for only a second before returning with a thick smear of what he figured to be lotion she had been hiding in her bag.

"No, jus' didn't think there was such a difference between last week and today that makes me an 'old man'," he volleyed, contentedly sinking into the sheets as she warmed the bergamot and vetiver mixture into his skin.

"Last week, you were twenty-nine, and today you're thirty. That's all the excuse I need," she countered, voice lowering in concentration as she started the real massage she had planned.

Harry didn't bother with any response, willingly losing himself in the wash of her hands over the planes of his back. The heels of her palms dug into the knots around his neck, tracing over the expanse in pleasing runs. Her attentive fingers ran like rivers along the curves of his shoulder blades, and the knobs of his spine. She warmed each of his muscles, relieving the tension from his bones and loosening the ligaments. The blunt of her nails acted in fleeting swipes against his skin, a point of pain that grounded Harry to the moment as he was sure he would have floated away with her if not for the added clarity. She stretched and kneaded the planes of his back, hands gliding over his skin in musky, citrus scented pulls that pushed him further and further into the nest of his bedding.

This was heaven, he was sure of it; if he dared to open his eyes, Harry wouldn't be surprised to find platinum colored clouds instead of his bedroom, an angel atop his back in the form of his lover.

He didn't bother to shelve the sighs and contented hums that worked their way out of his throat, spilling over the cushion of his bedding below him. He knew (Y/N) would appreciate the delicate praise he was offering in the form of his noises.

A particularly rumbling groan bubbled out of his chest when she kneaded her hands along the length of his back in one long pull, causing a quiet laugh to spill into his skin from behind.

"Am I doing alright?" (Y/N) murmured, the quiet of the room influencing her to nurture the silence and keep it still.

"Better than alright," he moaned, throaty voice vibrating against the mattress underneath him, "Would've turned thirty months ago if I knew this was what was waiting for me."

He could only imagine the way she rolled her eyes behind his back, lips in a gentle curve that only showed off the affection she held for him. Harry's breathing came in soft levels as she worked on him, his muscles liquefying at her will whenever she spread her touch across a knot or a bunched nerve he hadn't even known was bothering him. If he hadn't been hyperaware of the feel of her over his body, he would have missed the subtle shift in her seat on his bottom. It was then that he realized there was something missing.

The silky feeling of her dress was no where to be found. The fabric didn't brush against his skin for even a second, a fleeting moment of satin grazing over him like her soft hands on his back. Before he could get too far ahead of himself, picturing her in the very little he figured she had hiding under her delicate dress, he forced himself to focus on the massage of her fingers into the knots circling his shoulders.

Though Harry's body was contentedly relaxed in the down of his bedding, he catalogued each shift of (Y/N) atop him; from her hands to the thighs that bracketed his hips, he made note in wonder of whether or not there was a second part to this present that he hadn't been gifted yet. Tentatively, he reached one of his hands back, searching for the full of her thigh.

When his fingertips grazed the ball of her knee, he felt the resulting shiver wrack through her body from where she sat astride him. Her hands stuttered in their bergamot scented path before resuming at a cautious pace. She was watching him.

Harry drew his fingers further up the length of her leg, finding the full, unobstructed roundedness of her thigh before wrapping his fingers around. A single stitch of fabric wasn't registered in his hold, not even a stray silky thread tickling his palm.

"Pretty girl?"

"Hm?" Her hum was pitched, inching Harry closer to the answer he was sure was waiting for him.

"Where'd your dress go?"

A beat passed. Harry's fingers flexed around her leg.

(Y/N)'s hands on his back slowed until they stilled. The warmth of her palms lingered at the small of his back for a moment before the heels of her palms rolled upwards in gentle kneads. She didn't stop when she met his shoulders, instead sprawling herself across his lotion-softened back. The bare of her stomach was pressed against his spine, body following the length of his own in naked runs before he was denied the pleasure of the soft of her breasts pressed into his back. There, he felt a fabric similar to her dress encasing her breasts and allowing only the ghost of her warmth to reach him.

Her mouth now by his ear, Harry felt a breath of goosebumps rise over his skin as she spoke. "That was the other part of your present. It was supposed to be a surprise after I was done."

A lazy smile stretched slowly over his lips, his cheek smushed into the thick of his comforter. "You're part of m'present? And, to think, I wasn't sure it could to get better than this."

Her breathy laugh fanned over his skin, her smile felt against his neck as she kept herself comfortably laid atop the strong of Harry's back. "I can finish this"—she gave a squeeze of her hands on his shoulders—"if you want. You can save the other part of your present for later."

While Harry adored the feeling of her hands working his muscles and drawing out the stress he hadn't been aware he'd been harboring, he hadn't forgotten what it felt like to have her pressed against his front door with his own body anchoring her. He flexed his hand around her thigh, fingers denting the bare flesh.

"Budge up, pretty girl, I wanna see y'now," he murmured in answer, twisting in his spot underneath her until he felt her weight lift from the backs of his thighs. He didn't let her go far before he was flat on his back under her, grabbing at her hips to bring her back to his lap.

Her legs cushioned his hips as she sat a top him, what she had been hiding under her dress the whole night now visible. (Y/N) had let her hair down, freeing it from the clip that had kept the strands twisted back during the party. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, obscuring the spaghetti-thin straps that tied around her neck, attached to the cream colored triangles of silken fabric that covered her breasts. Her peaked nipples were obvious through the sheen, leaving little for Harry to imagine as he gazed up at her. It was a matching set, he found, as he dropped his eyes to the panties that were hooked around her waist. Nothing more than a tiny triangle held together with the same strings that constructed her bralette.

Harry's hands were steady on her hips, grip causing a few dents to catch in the curves of her form. He never tired of seeing her like this: a glow to her skin that let him know that he was still able to fluster her like it was the first time they tumbled in her sheets, chest heaving in breaths that were fragranced in her want for him, with eyes soft and yearning for things she only wanted from him.

A lazy smile stretched over his lips as one of his hands abandoned it's hold on her hip, reaching for the ends of her hair. He tugged on the strands, the blunt of his teeth peeking out before sinking into the flesh. "What a pretty present y'are, darling," he drawled, fingertips sifting through the wisps of her hair to brush the silk of her bralette.

A bashful smile tugged at her lips, her hands coming to lay flat against the base of Harry's stomach, just above where he had his tan trousers belted to his waist. Her nails grazed the taut skin, catching on the thin dusting of hair that disappeared under the band of his pants, leading further to where he was tenting the loose garment. She was restless, he could tell from the way she struggled to keep her eyes on his face before they fell to the broad of his chest and mapped over the muscles that lined his torso. He'd even bet that if he dared to tuck his fingers in her underwear, they would come back wet.

"I know it's only going to come off," (Y/N) started, voice a quiet murmur, "But, I hope you like it. It's kind of a part of your present, even though its mostly for me, I guess." Her softened irises matched the tender curve of her lips as she spoke, gaze fighting to steer away from the butterfly etched into his abs.

"Oh no, this is definitely for me, too, darling. Don't worry." Brushing her hair over her shoulder, Harry traced a single fingertip along the round of her breast. He caught the fine string that tied it all together, skirting under the silken rope until he was fitting his entire hand under the fabric.

The hand that remained on her hip turned into a steely, steadying grip. Harry used the leverage to pull her tightly against him, the warmth of her core emanating through the few layers that separated him. With his hand large enough to cover her breast, his fingers edging out from under the triangle of her bralette, her nipple puckered into his palm as a shudder slinked down her spine at the rudimentary roll of his hips he offered against her core. He gently squeezed her breast, fingers creating dents in the lush flesh as he felt his cock twitch in his pants.

"Harry," she breathed, the call of his name floating through the room like a sunset-tinted cloud.

"Yeah? 'M right here, love," he teased, allowing her to grind her hips into his as he snuck his free hand around her other breast.

(Y/N) stiffened at the contact, bouncing in his lap as her lungs filled under his hands. Harry bucked his hips into her soft core in response, carefully kneading her breast in hopes of getting her to hop in his lap again. He'd never had her like this before, he realized.

More often than not, by now, with (Y/N) taking in shuddering breaths and Harry straining against his pants, he would have had her flipped on her back with her panties hanging in a loop on her ankle as she moaned into his neck. He'd never had the privilege of taking her like this: breasts bouncing in his hands with her hair falling in tickling tendrils against his chest, thighs wrapped around his hips while he gazed up at her like the sun.

But, tonight was his birthday, he remembered, he got to have anything he wanted.

And he wanted her bouncing in his lap like a good girl while he brought tears to her eyes that would glitter like stars.

Harry slipped his hands out from under her bralette, fingertips grazing her sensitive peaks before curling around her back in search of the tie that held the garment together. (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered open at the loss of contact, her hips stuttering during the slow grinds she was dragging over his pelvis.

With her attention focussed solely on him, Harry untethered the strings of fabric tied behind her back, "Lovie, would y'do something for me?" He earned a breathless nod in response. A crooked grin developed on his face as her eagerness, his fingers now working on the tie that was knotted at the back of her neck. The silk fell through his fingers once the laces were untied only to be brushed aside on the bed beside them while (Y/N) looked to him with wide eyes awaiting his next words.

"Get me out, yeah? Want y'to ride me tonight."

(Y/N) lagged for only a second, breath shuddering in her lungs under her now bare breasts. Harry raised a brow at her as he waited, feeling a little too smug as he traced his hands down her front. Just as quick as she glitched, she recovered with a fervor. She delivered another jerky nod, hair fluttering around her, the ends grazing her skin. Harry reluctantly peeled his hands from her body as he watched her work on his belt, a breathy laugh fell from his lips at the frantic movements she made.

"Relax, darling," he crooned, running his hand through her hair, "We've got all night. No need to rush."

She all but melted at his words, Harry heavily aware of the way her tummy jumped and her eyes fluttered as he carded his fingers through the strands. He kept his hand as a reassuring weight on the back of her neck, fingers twisting through the tendrils in a firm knot while her fumbling fingers slowed. She shone like gold in the amber light of his lamps, the shimmer on her skin he had glimpsed at the party becoming prominent with each twist and curl of her form under the faux-candlelight. She was made of soft curving lines that made Harry's heart beat faster when he remembered she allowed only him to see her like this.

His belt was thrown into a heap on the floor, joining the dress she had discarded at the foot of his bed. Flicking her gaze up to his, she unfastened his pants and worked on splaying the fly open as Harry watched with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and curls flopped lazily over his forehead.

"Keep going darling. Told y'to get me out, right?" he encouraged when her fingers hesitated in the waist of his boxers. His voice came out in a rumble, having come from deep in his chest. He stroked the slope of her neck with the pad of his thumb, aware of the heat that bubbled under her skin.

Pulling his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, Harry was granted with a shivering breath that frosted his lungs. A shock followed after when the ruddy, leaking head slapped against he firm muscles of his stomach. With his free hand, Harry warmed her thigh with his palm, fingers squeezed around the thick of her form as he fought to keep himself was bucking into the air.

"Good girl, love," he told her, voice strained.

Harry watched with attentive eyes as she melted at his words. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, her hands on his hips being the only thing that kept her stilted upright. Her mouth fell into a small gape, softening her yearning features. He thought back to the party, remembering the way she refused to even teasingly act like a brat for him tonight.

After a moment, it seemed (Y/N) caught herself, eyes widening as if to reorient herself. She appeared to become aware of the fact she was stripped bare atop him, her subconscious reaction eliciting vulnerability to creep onto her features.

Ignoring his weeping prick for a moment, Harry used the leverage he had on the back of her neck to tip her face towards him. He abandoned her thigh as he pinched her chin between his fingers, keeping her attention solely on him.

"Y'like when I call y'my good girl?" he prodded, stomach tightening at the thought of finding another special fantasy that inhabited her brain, "That why y'don't like acting like a brat?"

If she could, he knew she would have buried her face in his chest, to hide the shy twist that fell over her features. She heated under his hold, blood rushing under her skin. But, with his thumb and forefinger keeping her steady, she was forced to allow him a complete view to gauge her reactions and trace over her features.

"I-I mean—" she floundered, unable to find the right words under his cloying gaze.

A single dimple dented his cheek as he watched her. "No need to be embarrassed, pretty girl. We're still learning what y'like, remember? That's all 'm trying to do."

She dazedly nodded at him, melted irises trained on him. "I do," she breathed, the words fanning over his chest, "I do like it."

His smile stretched further, allowing both of his dimples to peek through at the sound of her breathless admission. That's his girl. His good girl.

"I know," he said, a self-satisfied undertone to his words, "C'mere."

Dropping his hand from her chin, he used his grip in her hair to guide her lower. She folded over his chest, Harry's cock sandwiched between their stomachs. His now free hand landed on the soft of her waist, fingertips brushing the dainty string holding her panties together. He tugged her close, just close enough to feel the tip of his nose brush hers before tipping her head and sealing his lips over her mouth.

(Y/N) softened in his hold, falling contentedly into the contact as she sighed into his kiss. The peaks of her breasts brushed against his chest as she breathed, her fingers curling against the rigidity of his muscles when the tip of his tongue traced the plush of her bottom lip. She parted her mouth for him, eager for his tongue to sweep over hers and share the taste of the citrus margaritas that lingered on her tatebuds.

He kissed with lust dripping from his lips, like he was ten years younger and just fallen in love with another's body for the first time. Sucking her tongue into his mouth, he felt the blunt of (Y/N)'s nails scrape against his skin. His cock jumped when he felt the scratch against his abdomen, the pain being a stark opposite to the pleasure beading in his stomach. His hand on her waist drifted from where he plucked at the band of her underwear, finding one of her curled hands.

Looping his fingers around her wrist, Harry guided her to his prick that laid heavy between their stomachs, precum pearling from the slit. He trailed his lips from her mouth, slick and kiss-swollen against her cheek before stopping at her ear.

"You know what to do, right, pretty girl?" he murmured, his voice humid and clinging against her skin, "Gotta get me ready before y'sit your pretty pussy down and take it."

At the first touch of her fingers around his cock, Harry all but curled himself into her. Dropping his forehead to rest against her temple, he let out a breathless moan that stuck to her skin like honey. He mumbled a curse into her cheek, the syllables getting lost as he couldn't find the voice to let them out.

(Y/N) pumped her fist in drawing strokes, long and tight. He was already leaking precum before she even got her hands on him, making it more of a teasing game for Harry than anything else, but he reveled in her touch. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, allowing her own sticky breaths to fan over his skin with the brush of her lashes and tip of her nose to linger on the slope of his throat. The heat from their bodies surrounding his prick teased him, giving him only a taste of what it would be like when she sunk her pussy over him, her grip pulsing and tight like the snug fit between her legs. Harry allowed his own eyes to fall closed as he was enveloped in the feel of her all around him, his hand settling on the small of her back.

She didn't slow her hand even as Harry slipped his own lower on her body, slinking under the string of her panties and curving his palm around the full of her ass. He cupped her bottom in his hand, giving a harsh squeeze to the flesh in mimic of the grip he held on her hair. When (Y/N) swiped her thumb over the crown of his cock, spreading his precum around the sensitive head, he reflexively tensed his grip, harshly holding her against him. He bucked into her hand at the same moment, thrusting upwards just as her clit made contact with the underside of his base.

A choked moan fell from her lips, muffled by his neck. He felt the vibrations of her voice echo through his veins, rattling his bones and sticking to every tendon and muscle as she burrowed against his throat. For a moment she stuttered in her movements, hand slowing and losing the rhythm she had curated before she renewed herself with wanton strokes over his shaft. She took it upon herself to continue the sloppy grind of her hips against him, short and jerky brushes that only urged her for more since the contact was so minimal. Nonetheless, she gave breathless pants in his ear with every touch of her covered clit to his skin, too sensitive to fend off the noises. He felt his cock jump in her grip, further slicking her strokes as precum blurted through the slit. Harry didn't lessen his grip on her ass, keeping her tucked to his chest; he wanted to feel every breath, every tensing of her muscles, every stutter of her heart that matched his own.

"(Y/N), darling," he moaned, his breath sweeping across the curve of her bare shoulder, glistening from the humidity and the shimmer she had dusted over her skin, "Ready for me?"

He was afraid he was going to burst in her hand if they waited too long, and then he'd miss out of the view of her bouncing in his lap with her face aglow in pleasure. Harry was rewarded with a breathless nod into his neck, giving him all the answer he needed. After giving her a tap on her ass, a stinging slap that made (Y/N) jump in his hold and her cheeks heat, he released his hold on her. She unfurled her now slick hand from around his cock, Harry immediately missing the contact as soon as it was gone, before sitting up in his lap.

Above him, (Y/N) sat with glowing skin and a mess of hair on her head, the strands mussed and wild from his hand he had wrapped in the strands. Her thighs were tight on either side of his own, the sensitive skin on the insides brushing against the thick fabric of his trousers and grounding her to the moment. She no longer tried to keep her eyes from wandering the expanse of his body, allowing her adoring gaze to drape itself all over his chest and stomach before landing on the soft handles of his hips and the thick cock that stood at attention in his lap. Nothing was more praising than the way she looked at him.

Reaching to his bedside table, Harry grabbed a condom from his nightstand. He was hyperaware of (Y/N)'s eyes following his every move as he ripped open the foil, pinching the rubber to be rolled over his shaft. He made quick work of the application, knowing that if he played for too long, he was going to end their night much earlier than he had planned. Peeking through his lashes, he found (Y/N) watching as he fisted his length, proud of the attention he could draw from her for something as simple as putting a condom on.

Once he finished, Harry bent his knees behind her, creating a cradle around her form that offered support that he was sure she would need. "Ever done this before, pretty girl?" he drawled, tongue lazy in his mouth.

She shook her head, the wild strands of her hair brushing her collarbones, "No, only seen it in movies and stuff."

A tempting smile made its way on Harry's face when he heard about what kind of experience she had with this position. Maybe, he'd have to see what kind of "movies and stuff" she was watching.

"That's alright, darling," he reassured, settling his hands heavily on the soft of her waist, "I'll help you." He gauged her reaction as he reached for his cock, his hand still on her waist beckoning her to kneel over him and come forward. "Hold your panties to the side for me, love," he instructed, watching closely as she plucked the gusset of her underwear away from her core to leave her slick folds and glistening clit on display. The hand he held on her waist pulled her closer until she was hovering just above the head of his prick. It took more effort than he thought he could manage to rip his eyes from where she was just inches away from swallowing his cock whole between her legs to look her in the eyes. "Now, all you've gotta do is let me in."

(Y/N) was breathless as she nodded her head, mouth parted in an absent gape. She didn't bother trying like Harry had to keep her eyes from where they were about to join. Following Harry's instructions, she brushed her slit against the weeping crown of his prick, (Y/N)'s eyes fluttering at the feel. She lowered herself with her fingers just barely holding the triangle of her underwear back, the smooth of her thighs visibly tensing.

When the tip slipped inside, Harry worried he was going to draw blood with how tightly he gripped his bottom lip between his teeth. His abdomen was wound tight, muscles clenched and heavy as he grew used to the sucking of her walls and warmth that surrounded him. While his head grew foggy, a red tinted lust rolling in, he fought to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head as he wanted to catch (Y/N)'s reaction. He watched as her tummy jumped and mouth fell into a slight gape with her breath stuttering in her lungs. Her gaze was hooded with brows in a slight furrow as she tried to get used to him in the new position.

"Take your time, pretty girl, get used to me," he rumbled, voice graveled and rough. His fingers around her waist made dents in the lush curve.

"Harry," she sighed, the call of his name floating through the bedroom, "Please."

"'M right here, I've got you," he reassured her, easing her lower with the help of his hold on her middle.

By the time he bottomed out, (Y/N) having taken him fully inside her, Harry was grateful for the cradle of his limbs he made around her. If not for his help, he swore she would have fallen flat on him with the way her thighs were wound tight like a strained rubber band itching to break. He let her take her time, soft pets of his fingers to her skin with crooned reassurances of how well she was taking him, how lovely she looked, and how he had her and wasn't planning on letting go.

Skimming his fingertips over her skin, Harry shooed away her hand that was pulling her panties to the side. He replaced her hold with his own, her free hand now coming to rest on the middle of his stomach for leverage. Plucking his fingers over the silken fabric, majority of the triangle now wet and slick with (Y/N)'s arousal, he grazed the bud of her clit with his finger.

Just that small touch caused (Y/N) to tense in his lap, her walls tightening before she recovered with a slow breath. "Wa-Wait," she breathed, "I'm almost—h-hold on."

A sly smile tugged at Harry's lips. He liked that reaction he got from her, he decided. He'd give her time—really—but he was still going to have his fun.

With his fingertip extended to brush the apex of her pussy, he teasingly touched at her clit with gentle strums. A choked call of his name died on her lips with her eyes blown wide.

"I'm gonna cum, H—"

That was just what he wanted to hear. Part of his present to himself was going to be the opportunity to see her fall apart as many times as she could handle.

Harry only continued his prodding, heavily aware of the way her walls tightened in the way they only did when she was a moment from cumming, her legs seizing and tummy tensed. He didn't stop when she let out a choked breath of his name, her fingers and toes curling as she threw her head back.

(Y/N) came around him, his cock still fully sheathed inside her. He never stopped stroking her clit, his fingers soaked in her slick now as she fell into the pleasure he sent through her system. He steeled himself to the feeling, trying his best to focus only on what he was doing instead of allowing the feel over her to overwhelm his senses and take him down with her.

By the time she floated back to earth, Harry's eyes were hooded and his lip was sure to be swollen with how hard he was biting down. (Y/N)'s breath came in rough pants, chest swelling with air with her nipples peaking before caving in at the long exhale.

"Harry, I...," she breathed, her sentence trailing off as she rolled her neck to face him, eyes lazily scanning him, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cum yet, you just—it felt so good, I couldn't hold it."

He shook his head at her words, moving his hand from her pussy to match the other on her waist. "Don't be sorry, darling, 's what I wanted. I wanted to see y'cum; gonna make y'cum again and again tonight," he drawled, almost delirious as the words slipped out.

(Y/N)'s mouth dropped open in a gape, lips swollen and glossy. Her pupils blew wide at the sound of his plans, fingers curling against he sensitive skin of his stomach. He'd bet she liked this idea as much as him.

"Ready to give me more, lovie?" he prompted, a crooked smile on his lips.

"Mhm," she hummed, the noise pitched from lack of focus, "Still help me, please, H."

"I will, darling, I will."

He prompted her with his grip on her waist, tugging her upwards in a slow stroke. (Y/N) followed his prodding with the help of her shaking thighs, using her hands on his stomach as leverage. Once just the tip of his cock was enveloped in her heat, he pulled her harshly down in a quick thrust. She took in a sharp breath as her clit made contact with the base of his cock, the thatch of hair surrounding the base growing sticky with her slick. Looking at her through hooded eyes, Harry started up a rhythm with her help. She bounced on his lap, wet noises sounding from where they were joined to compliment the breathy sighs of his name that left her lungs.

"There y'go, pretty girl," he moaned, his fingers denting her waist though she didn't need much help from him the faster she went, "Taking me so well."

"You're so-so deep," she breathed, eyes falling closed with her head falling back as she rode him.

"I know, darling," he mumbled, "Y'like that, yeah? Like feeling me right here?"

Harry shifted his hand to sit under her belly button, just where he knew he would be felt in her pretty body. He pressed gently against her tummy, all but melting into the mattress with a keening moan when he heard (Y/N) gasp his name at the feel of the extra pressure, her pussy tightening and sucking at his cock.

She nodded her head with keening whines that he thinks was supposed to be hums of confirmation from her. With his hand heavy on her stomach, every time she dropped down on him, she ground her core against his base, her sensitive clit smeared against his hips. "I-I do, I do," she squeaked.

"Y'gonna cum again for me, already?" he groaned, pressing just a bit harder against her stomach, swearing he could feel the bulge of his prick under his palm. (Y/N) floundered for her words, barely getting out a few syllables before they were broken with a panting breath or a noise it seemed she didn't mean to let out. "I know, pretty girl, I know," he crooned, his hand remaining on her waist helping her to grind her clit against him, "Y'can't help it, can you? That's alright, cum for me again. Wanna feel it, darling, give it to me."

All it took was a slight thrust of his hips upwards, just to meet her halfway and press her clit to his base with his fingers massaging her tummy, for her to cum again. (Y/N) keened into him, her back arching as she lent over him, breasts heavy in front of his face. Her mouth dropped open in incoherent moans, some sounding as if they were meant to be Harry's name before she forgot how to finish it. It took everything in him to keep himself from coming undone with her, teeth gritted and muscles tight. He worked her through it, grinding his hips against her own while shifting his hold on her to wrap his arms around her back. He pulled her against his chest, (Y/N) burying her face in his neck where she moaned into the skin. Her heartbeat swelled against his own.

"Good girl," he whispered into her hair, hands running along the bare of her back, "Doing so good. Think y'can give me one more?"

She'd barely recovered for longer than a handful of seconds before she nodded her head again. The butterfly kiss of her lashes tickled his skin, enough to bring a soft smile to his face amid the temperature of the room.

"Gonna do all the work this time, 'kay? Jus' need y'lay here and take it; jus' need y'to be good for me," Harry mumbled, lips pressed to the slope of her shoulder.

Humming into his neck, she nodded. "Gonna be good for you."

He smiled against her skin, "I know y'will, pretty girl. Ready for me?"

When he got the go ahead in the form of a lazy hum and a slight kiss to his throat, Harry thrusted his hips upwards. (Y/N), sensitive from two orgasms already, jumped at the feel of her clit brushing the taut muscles of his pelvis. Harry shushed her with his hands on her back, grazing the ends of her hair in comforting passes.

"Wanna cum with y'this time, so I need y'to tell me when you're close, love," he crooned, voice soft between only them.

"It's not gonna take long," she murmured in response, words muffled.

A lopsided grin took Harry's features. She was a cutie, even like this with sweat glistening over her skin and lust clouding her judgement. Cutie.

He worked her as she laid snugly against his chest, using his bent knees as leverage to thrust upwards into her. He couldn't lie and say he wasn't moments away from falling apart already, this game of his having turned into a lesson of edging he hadn't thought out when he started. All he wanted was to cum—the warm rhythm of her walls tempting him more than he could handle at this point. (Y/N) looped her arms around his neck, her hips working to grind against his with her breasts pressed against his chest.

Harry upped his pattern, knocking the breath out of his girl with every harsh stroke. Puffs of air fanned over his neck, blowing the sweat slicked strands of hair at the back of his neck.

"Harry, I—," she whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm already—"

"Shh, shh," he hummed, one of his hands that spanned her back moved upwards, "Don't be sorry, jus' be good for me and take it."

He was breathless as he slipped his fingers through the strands of her hair. Never slowing his thrusts, he tightened his grip in her hair behind her neck. Harry grew rough and indulgent with his strokes knowing he would finally get to feel release this time. (Y/N) kept to her word, being his best girl and taking everything he gave her, but he needed more.

With his hand in her hair, Harry gave a slight tug at the roots. Her breath hitched as her head was pulled back just enough to get her attention. "You're my good girl, right, lovie?"

"Uh-huh," she keened into his neck.

"Say it, then."

He wanted to hear her tell him that she was his good girl, that would be enough to finish him off. Just though of her breathless voice wrapping around the words made his stomach jump.

(Y/N) hesitated at his request, drawing a harsh thrust of Harry's hips with another tug at her roots.

"Tell me you're my good girl, (Y/N). Do it for me."

"Harry," she breathed, voice strained with the tell-tale signs of her pending orgasm, "I-I'm your good girl—o-only for you."

The sound of her voice wrapping around those words, her commitment to being only his, stirred Harry's insides. His muscles were tensed to the point of stiffness, a soreness following that he was going to take in stride, especially with the pleasure flushed through his system. That, with the warmth of velvet walls, was just enough tip him over.

"Oh, fuck."

Harry came as he spat out the curse. He used his arm around her waist to pull (Y/N) flush to his chest, her pussy enveloping his cock and sucking every bit of cum from his body. She came with him, her noises quiet and muffled by his neck and her own exhaustion. He couldn't think of anything coherent as he finished, his cum filling his condom with added heat while (Y/N)'s squeezing pussy only served to warm the rest of his body and steal his breath. Every nerve ending in his body felt overwhelmed, even the fabric of his trousers felt like added pounds as he swam under the surface of his orgasm.

By the time he swam to the surface, every aftershock (Y/N) experienced, her walls shuddering, served him with over-sensitivity. Even though it brought stings of pain to set through his body, he couldn't find it in himself to pull out quite yet, especially not with the lax body in his arms.

"Harry?"

At the sound of her voice, Harry realized he had closed his eyes in the middle of the whirlwind. His joints felt stiff as he unfurled his fingers in (Y/N)'s hair, the corded muscles in his arms and strapped around his thighs creaking as he moved.

"'M here, sweetheart; right here," he breathed, chest heaving under hers, "You alright?"

"Mhm." Her hum was felt against his shoulder, their skin sticky with the sweat of one another glistening over the bare of their bodies. "Happy birthday."

Harry let out a laugh at her well wish, his achy body sinking into the mattress under him. "Thank you, pretty girl. Such a sweetheart." Planting his lips against her shoulder, Harry doled out his affection for her in gentle touches.

In another small gift to himself, he allowed himself to revel in her body and touch for as long as he wanted without moving from the nest of his bed. He dotted his lips across her skin in lingering kisses, nose skimming along as he took in he fragrance of his lover. His hands on her back started a rounding rhythm over the length of her frame, nails brushing behind in a tickling caress. All the while, Harry swore he could feel her heart beating against his, the excitable tempo they had achieved during sex now slowing to a lulled pace of comfort.

If he hadn't felt the short shiver she tried to hide from him wrack through her body, Harry would have stayed there all night. But, he figured being topless with the weight of three orgasms sapping all of her energy, she might feel more comfortable all cleaned up, in actual clothing and bundled under the sheets with him.

"Hang onto me," Harry instructed, his voice a grumble against her skin. He wrapped his own arms around (Y/N)'s body, a palm cushioning the back of her head and a forearm barricaded at the small of her back, before flipping them over to lay with her body underneath.

Harry hovered above her, slipping his cock out from between her sore legs. (Y/N)'s chest stuttered at the oversensitivity that layered over her nerve-endings, even the feel of him slipping out while soft stinging at her entrance. When he got a chance to look at her face for the first time since he smushed her into his chest, he saw her looking up at him with wide, glazed eyes, her exhaustion a fog over her irises. A tender smile took his lips as he slipped his hand out from under the back of her head, crawling to cup her cheek in his palm.

Just as he intended to brush his thumb across her cheekbone and smooth over her shimmered skin, he caught sight of the faintest of tear tracks having made way towards her temple. The river shone in the low light.

"(Y/N)," he sighed, something like devastation working in the back of his mind as he looked at her. He only wanted to make her feel good, not whatever spurred those tears to her eyes.

"What?" she croaked, bringing her hand to cup his while the other stayed twirled in the curls at the back of his neck.

"Y'said y'were alright, but you cried, darling?" He tentatively stroked his thumb over the sticky track.

Her brows came to furrow above her lacquered eyes, her head canting to the side at the slightest of angles. "I did?"

"I can see it right here, lovie. I didn't mean to push y'so hard; I wish y'had told me, I would've slowed down."

Her cheek heated under his palm at his words, a sheepish set pulling her lips into a small smile. "I didn't want you to stop, though. I-I think they were good tears, H. I don't even remember crying but I know there wasn't a second where I wanted you to stop or that it was too much in a bad way." She wrapped her fingers around his hand, peeling his palm from her face before lacing their fingers together. "I think you just did me so good I cried."

Call him a narcissist, but Harry's chest expanded with pride and his ego did as well at her explanation. That was a birthday present in its own right, he decided.

"Yeah?" he prodded, a sly smile on his lips with only a single dimple denting his cheek, "Fucked y'so good, you couldn't help but cry?"

He knew she was starting to gain traction again when she gave a slight roll of her eyes at him. "Don't get any ideas. I know it's your birthday and all, but I won't be able to go again tonight—not after all that."

Dipping his head down, Harry brushed the tip of his nose against hers and spoke with the full of his lips grazing her own, "I guess we'll save that for the morning, then."

"I guess so, old man."

Now it was Harry's turn to shake his head with a petulant roll of his eyes, despite the dimple in his cheek and curl of his lips. "And to think y'talked a big game about being my good girl."

He got his desired reaction when (Y/N)'s eyes widened and she floundered for something to say in response. While her cheeks heated, he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, promising to be right back to clean her up.

Harry slipped off the bed, heading towards the bathroom with the heat of her eyes following after him. Not once did he turn around, but his grin widened with each step he felt her watching him.

Stopping at the bathroom first, he cleaned himself up, discarding of the condom and slipping out of the trousers that were too much trouble to be comfortable anymore. In only his boxers, he collected a damp flannel to clean his girl off before taking off back to his bedroom.

(Y/N) was laid where he left her, eyes shuttered and breathing a moment away from leveling out to sleep. He really did do a number on her, it seemed. That made him a little too satisfied with himself.

"Gotta stay awake for a second with me, sweetheart," he prompted, crawling on the bed beside her before settling on his knees between her sore legs. The soaked material of her underwear came off with the help of (Y/N) lifting her hips, the panties joining the pile on the floor. "Need to clean y'up then we can sleep."

"Okay, okay," (Y/N) sighed through her eyes never opened more than a crack.

With the damp washcloth, Harry wiped over her soaked mound, cleaning up from where he took all her energy. At first touch, she jumped, as expected, but he only saw her tense further the longer he traced the cloth between her folds.

"Y'alright, lovie?"

"Yeah, just sore, I think. My legs hurt, too, from being on top."

Harry trailed his free hand to inside of her right thigh, massaging the muscles with the pad of his thumb. "We'll take care of that, too, yeah? Let me get some clothes for you, and we'll cuddle a little."

He received a dazed nod in response, her eyes only opening enough to follow him on his trip to the walk-in closet. Tossing the cloth in the dirty clothes hamper, Harry then rifled through the duffle (Y/N) brought for the pair of silky sleep shorts that were her favorite to sleep in. Plucking a pair of sweats for himself and a loose top for his girl, he made a point to get changed quickly with his boxers joining the hamper before shucking the sweats up his legs. (Y/N) was moments from falling asleep and he knew she'd hate it if she fell asleep without a fresh pair of pajamas on.

Leaving the closet, he stashed her clothes under his arm before approaching the bed. "Still awake, lovie?" he crooned to her, gently touching at her arm from where he stood at the edge of the bed.

"Barely," she breathed, opening her eyes enough to find Harry with clothes tucked under his arm before beckoning to her with a quiet c'mere under the quiet of the room.

Once she was close enough, (Y/N) sat with her legs over the edge of the mattress, Harry dropped to his knees with her shorts in hand. "Got this for you, too," he mumbled, passing along the plain white top he grabbed for her. While she tugged the shirt over her head, aware of the hole in the neckline and loose stitching from the years of wear, Harry unfolded the pewter colored shorts he took from her bag. He didn't bother with another pair of underwear for her for the night, especially with the soreness she was feeling. The satin material slipped up her legs, Harry helping work it up until the frilled waistband settled over her hips.

Harry ran his hands over the full of her thighs, thumbs massaging against the inner skin, before standing to the full of his height. (Y/N) barely gave him a second before catching his hands in hers and tugging him onto the bed with her, eager to follow through on his promise of sleep once she was all clean and changed. He only laughed, allowing his sweetheart to pull him wherever she wanted.

Settling on the middle of the bed, (Y/N) tucked herself against he curve of Harry's chest, her back to his front. He wasn't surprised she was in the mood to be the little spoon for the night, her exhaustion prompting her to want nothing more than his love wrapped all around her as well as his arms. Harry happily allowed her to use his bicep as a pillow, a move he knew he was going to regret in the morning when he felt stiff and sore and needed an hour to get the muscle back in working order before he could do anything more than lift his phone, but he didn't care. He especially couldn't find it in himself to complain when she sighed, grabbing for his other hand to be thrown over her middle.

"Comfortable?" Harry asked, his words muffled against her hair.

"Mhm. Thank you for letting me be little spoon," she whispered, voice taking on a sleepy slur he knew she had been fighting off.

"I really put y'through it tonight, of course y'get to be my little spoon," Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.

"Love you, H," she peeped after a moment, "Happy birthday, honey."

His grin widened in her hair, eyes falling shut in contentment as he touched his forehead to the crown of her head.

"I love you more, sweetheart."

She fell silent afterwards, allowing Harry's hand on her middle to rove to her folded thighs. He remembered the stiffness she felt though her muscles as he tucked his hand between her legs, running slow stripes back and forth. He hoped to massage out the stiffness, as he fell asleep with her.

He was sure she had fallen asleep, breathing even and warm as it puffed against his arm, so he was surprised to feel the touch of her delicate hand on the back of his own between her legs. She gently guided him to move to the apex of her thighs, right over the satin cloth of her shorts covering her modesty.

Brows raised, Harry let out an airy laugh behind her, "I though y'were tired, pretty girl."

"I am, I am," she assured, shifting to sandwich his hand against her core, "I'm just—I don't know. I'm sore, and I think it might help if you held me there, too."

Harry hummed at her words, heart beat pattering at the sleepy, shy tone wrapped around her words. A sweetheart she was, not just in name.

He knew what she was going for, asking him to cradle her center in his palm, the pressure of his hand being something that might alleviate the soreness he'd put her through. Even though he could feel the heat of her core and the clear outline of her folds, he focused on holding her instead of covering up the pain with another round of overwhelming pleasure. He kept a gentle pressure on her while (Y/N) made sleepy work of hugging his arm to her chest, fingertips brushing a series of affectionate shapes before exhaustion came for her again.

"Goodnight, pretty girl."

Harry never thought thirty would feel so good.

—————

eep!!!! Prosecco's first blurb!! I really hope everyone enjoys it and thank you so much for reading!! sorry if theres any mistakes and if you have any requests or ideas of your own please send them in!!

#omg :") this is just #so so good #mwah mwah love it sooo much #!!

1K notes · View notes

booklore · 3 years ago

Text

poppy

aster part five: y/n’s in love and she just wants to show harry how in love she is

—————

Harry💛 I’ll be out in another half hour. Get dressed and be ready, and I’ll come get you. I want to do something special today with you. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. xx

Harry, her boyfriend, texted her. Somehow, since their somewhat emotional conversation, he had only gotten sweeter and softer on her. There wasn’t a day that went by without him being with her; wether it just be taking his lunch to campus and sitting with her in between classes, letting Liam lock up and Zayn take care of remaining appointments so he could leave earlier and be with her, or just inviting her over to spend the night with him again. She knows she doesn’t have much to compare it to, but Harry’s got to be the best boyfriend on the planet. There’s no way anyone could treat her better than he does; no one could be more understanding, affectionate, and fun to be around.

There’s no way she could be in love with anyone that wasn’t Harry.

She doesn’t really know if she’s moving too fast, or just mistaking her feelings for love, but at this point she thinks she can’t much deny how deeply she feels for him. There’s no way that what she feels for him—the constant reminder of him in regular things, the yearning to be with him almost constantly, the way he makes her feel vulnerable yet so secure at the same time—could be anything but love. She just wants to scream it from the rooftops, and tell the world, including Harry himself, that she’s in love with the kindest, smartest, most amazing man in the world. But, she knows that she could be moving a tiny bit fast, and she doesn’t want to be that “crazy” girl that drives boys away because she gets “obsessed” or confesses her love too quickly. She doesn’t know what she’d do if Harry just broke up with her if she took it too far.

So she’ll just keep it to herself.

Sarah was currently at her last class of the day, leaving (Y/N) home alone. When she had told Sarah that Harry was officially her boyfriend, it almost felt like a preteen movie the way she was so excited for her. She bubbled off questions for her, almost screaming and jumping at how (Y/N) “finally got her first boyfriend!” It was sweet how excited she was; it felt reminiscent of an older sister bonding with her sibling over boys. It felt nice getting her enthusiastic support, even if the teasing increased.

Okay, I’ll see you soon!! Drive safe💛

Keep reading

#mwah mwah mwah #i love them sosooo much :(#🌸

3K notes · View notes

booklore · 3 years ago

Text

aster

aster part one: harry is a tattoo artist and y/n just wants to know if he’s like this all the time or if he just doesn’t like her

______

(Y/N) doesn’t think she’s ever really been free.

Ever since she could remember she’s had to follow every word that left her parent’s mouths to a T. If they didn’t want her going to a friend’s house because they didn’t feel the family was right in their eyes (that could mean a multitude of things according to them, whether that be not religious enough, not educated enough, or even if they didn’t have enough money), (Y/N) wouldn’t go. They didn’t want her going to see a movie with the few friends she was allowed to have, even when she was in high school, they wouldn’t allow her to go citing the fear of her running into boys that could “take advantage” of her as the reason as to why she couldn’t go. She couldn’t even stay later at school to go to a sporting event or school production, or even to finish up some work, without them flipping out over the fact that other students could influence her to “question her morals” as they put it.

They monitored everything in her life; her friends had to be “approved” before she could hang out with them, her clothing had to be what they described as a “good representation of the family”. They even blocked certain shows and movies on her TV they didn’t want her watching (she didn’t even know MTV existed out of the 80’s), and, better yet, they wouldn’t allow her to take certain classes in school. Not only had they put her into an all girls private school, but they had deliberately chose her classes for her, and forbade ones they found unnecessary. She had to load up on math and English classes but she was definitely not allowed to even entertain the thought of taking a music or drama class and definitely not one of those fun Home Ec. classes all her friends got to take.

So (Y/N)’s pretty sure she’s never been free.

Keep reading

#never gets old💗💗

4K notes · View notes

booklore · 3 years ago

Text

The scowl on Edgar’s face lessens for a moment, the posture of his shoulders relaxes as he regards him, “Did she –” he paused, his eyes darting over Harry’s face like he was trying to find something before he opened his mouth to keep going, “Did she remember finally?”

Harry tilted his head slightly, “Did she remember what?”

Edgar gives an exasperated sigh, “So she doesn’t, and neither do you, I take it. I thought maybe your fixation on her was because you finally remembered.”

“Either stop being vague, or I start a fire in your room instead.” He threatened and Edgar rolled his eyes, shaking his head to himself.

Harry is much less of a prick and Y/N just needs to sleep

part 1

part 2

Keep reading

#i just #im in love w this 🥺#enjoyed every second #so so soooo good!!!

2K notes · View notes

booklore · 3 years ago

Text

“What is there to hear out, Sir?” She murmured, almost robotically as she began to re-dress the bed “I am a Chambermaid. What he did was not a crime.”

Harry watches her pensively, the heat of the cup against his knuckles while he holds it by the handle, “You’re an odd little duck,” he uttered, “You’re right, you are just a Chambermaid, and he’s the next King. You ought to let those damned feelings go, but look at you,” he motioned toward her, referencing the tension in her shoulders, the way her brows pinched deeper, the noticeable upset that warps through her face, so plainly easy to read, “Even me reminding you cuts you to pieces. It’s pathetic.”

Y/N is quiet for a while -- Harry thinks she may be attempting the silent treatment on him (he wondered if she’d also picked up that this was his least favorite tactic, and it drove him mad when people didn’t respond to him), but eventually speaks again. “You talk a lot, Your Highness.”

A chuckle leaves him, low and deep, “Do I talk too much, or do I just say things you don’t like?”

Harry's still kind of a prick and Y/N doesn't understand him at all

part 1

(21k+ words)

ii.

It was too hot.

Harry was too hot -- too warm; the world around him was foggy. . .or was it smoky? And Harry was drenched in beads of sweat, his body sucked dry of water. There was an elephant-like rain cloud weighing heavy in his chest, filling his lungs, drowning him -- where was he? Why was it so hot? Where was Edgar? Edgar had been there, hadn’t he? His brother was mean to him, but he’d rather have him than be alone here, with dancing flames of vibrant reds and oranges filling his vision nearly everywhere he looked. Harry hadn’t feared fire before, because fire was good and kept you warm in the cold months, but this was too much. He was too warm.

Was it going to be like this forever? Would he never get out?

Help me!

No sound came from his voice.

Nobody was around him.

He was alone.

Prince Harry!

Who was that?

Wait. . .who was that?

Harry wakes up with a gasp, filling his lungs with air like he was starving for it. His head swam as it tried desperately to reorient him to reality, away from the damned nightmare that tortures his subconscious most nights. He was sweating like a hog, his hair clung to the damp skin of his forehead and neck, but when he looked over toward the fireplace he saw that it was not burning very brightly. When he looks toward the window, he sees that the door is cracked open and letting in the chilled night air.

Both the fire and the window are telling signs that Y/N had been in his room at some point. Most nights he tasks her with the duty of his bath and bedding (he’s found that she does both best, so it wasn’t so much for tormenting her now as it was for Harry’s own enjoyment of her work), but not every night does he order her to cater to his fire. If she’s tending to it, then he usually requests her hour by hour, and she just stays at his side to avoid having to run back and forth from the servant’s quarters. He’s found, however, that even on nights he doesn’t request her, she still comes around to do it. It was like she had tailored it to the state he was in after his dreams.

For this he is thankful, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He presses a hand to his head, an ache thrums just beneath the surface of his temple as it usually does when the nightmares are more suffocating than usual. How pitiful to still have such dreams after so many years -- he’d been so young then. One would think he’d have gotten over it by now, at least a little bit. . .at least enough that it wasn’t still haunting him.

Harry finds himself leaving his bed before he even really thinks it through, and then there shortly after he leaves his room. In a sleep clouded daze, Harry is not entirely sure where he’s headed at first, until he found himself taking the familiar root to the servant’s quarters -- more specifically, what Harry had learned to be her bedroom. He’d never been in there before, he’s only ever caught her right outside of it, but when he’d teased and asked if it was her lover’s den she told him it was her room.

Would he just enter it? No -- Harry is a prick, but a person’s space is a person’s space, no matter how small and no matter the position Harry is in above her. So how would he get to her then? Whisper her name until she woke up? He wouldn’t want to wake the others if they were asleep. Servants didn’t have much time to rest and Harry did not want to be more of a cause for that than he already was.

Maybe he should just go back to his room. What was he doing here anyway? Standing outside the large 10-meter doors that separated their quarters from the rest of the castle, his hand gripping the brass handle. Would he tell her that he had a nightmare and came to seek her out like a child? No -- his ego wouldn’t allow that. So what was the point of --

“Prince Harry?” Her voice comes from behind him, startling him out of his bones, he jumps hard, “Are you okay? What is wrong?”

He turned to face her, trying to soothe the worry in his brow, “Just taking a stroll through the caste and thought I might come to annoy you.” The lie leaves him quickly, but the look in Y/N’s eyes says she believes him very little.

“At 4 AM?” She inquired, smoothing down the areas where her smock wrinkled, “I was just in your room tending to the fire and you were resting.”

“Why are you awake so early then?” He flipped it onto her, “Your duties do not start until six in the morning, Chambermaid. You aren’t doing anything naughty with your mouth tonight, are you?”

Y/N’s gaze darts away from him, as it always does when he alludes to what they had done together. It had only been a little over a week ago, so he presumes the act of it was still fresh in her mind. If he was honest, it was still certainly fresh in his own brain -- when his eyes fluttered closed, he found it infrequent that the image of her with her mouth on his cock didn’t overcome him. And Harry could be honest again in saying that he’d touched his cock and cum over and over to the thought of filling her mouth. He got particularly hard when he remembered how eager she was to do well -- how she sounded like all she wanted was to be good at this. Thriving off the praise that Harry very seldom gave her. . .the whole night had gone much better than he’d expected.

Sure, she may have a shite taste if she thinks his brother is all that, but at the very least she’s got a useful little mouth.

“I promised the seamstress I would spool her threads today, Sir, so that she could get some extra rest,” she answered him, patting absently at the wrinkles on her smock, “And I always come to check on your fire a few times as it is nearing sunrise, just to make sure it lasted through the night.”

Harry ignores the little twitch in his heart that makes him feel -- of all the servants Harry had met. . .of all the people that Harry had met. . .Y/N seems to like him least, but is still overly concerned with his comfort. There had always been little things that he had noticed, from how she conducted his baths, to how she tucked in his bedding (not too tightly toward the end of the bed, so his legs and feet wouldn’t feel suffocated), and of course his fires as well. But even after that night, when they were slightly more intimate together, he found that she was actively going out of her way to make his life easier. She kept his water and wine glasses full if she were tending to one of the meals, she shined his shoes one morning before he had even realized she had them, and she had somehow found a way to warm one of his blankets just before bringing it to his bed at night.

When he questioned her of this newfound interest in doing things for him, she shrugged her shoulders, “You did me a favor. Should I not return it?”

Y/N treated Harry this way without love in her heart; merely appreciative of him teaching her a proper blowie, like him getting an orgasm from it wasn’t already a treat. It would make sense why Edgar is so eager to keep her at his side. Why he would give her a false sense of hope -- who wouldn’t if they were being catered to like this?

“That makes very little sense, Chambermaid; the seamstress’s hours are nowhere near the length of yours, and just yesterday I witnessed her surfeited on wine in the tea room with a man of the court.” Her face skewers some like she had not known that is how she spent her night, and for some reason that sends a pit of irritation straight down to his belly -- a seed planted and growing rapidly. Her friend, that Edith girl, had not been lying about how the others used Y/N’s kindness against her. “You make poor decisions,” he tells her, brows knitted, “If something is not your work then do not do it. Are you dense? Or do you want to look like a fool?”

Whatever anger she may have felt toward the seamstress is quickly shifted back toward him, “I’m rather busy, Your Highness,” she steered the conversation, “So if there is nothing that you needed, I’ll be going.”

“Tea,” Harry began his order -- he would not let her make such an imbecilic move; she spends too much time around him now to still be acting so aggressively altruistic in such a horribly stupid way, and that would make him look bad. Who would allow their chambermaid to wear themselves to the bit? “Bring tea to my room and some medicinal herbs for my aching head. On your way there, wake that seamstress and tell her she’ll have to perform her own duties this morning.”

Y/N gives an exasperated sigh, “Do you want everyone to dislike me, Prince Harry? Because that is what will happen if I keep breaking my promises because you suddenly need me.”

“Then so be it.” He replied flippantly as he pivoted on his heel, back in the direction he’d come, “Don’t forget my honey and sugar, and keep that filthy mind out of the gutter while you make it.”

He heard her groan quietly, and even catches her murmur, “You’re the filthy one,” under her breath, but lets it slide. At the very least, he impeded whatever this seamstress was trying to pull, even if it really was just an effort to get a little more sleep. What did that do to Y/N’s ability and time to rest? He hardly thinks she sleeps as is, and if she’s not resting, she’s not at her best, and if she’s not at her best, her work suffers, and in turn, Harry suffers too. Not only Harry, but the others of the court as well, and they are nowhere near as forgiving as him when it came to the servants.

As Harry made his way back to his room, he wondered if Edgar was feeling Y/N’s absence yet. He had told her to hold out for two weeks at the very least, to make him squirm and question if she was upset with him. Harry really had not thought she would go for it, as love-struck as she was by the piece of shit, but she seemed all too willing and happy to oblige. It was then Harry had found that deep in her somewhere she could be legitimately spiteful without being directly antagonized. . .it was a good reminder that despite her resilience and sickeningly kind-hearted spirit, she was very human. Human enough to want to punish Edgar for sliding his tongue against Prince Dowdenl’s, even if he didn’t know she had feelings for him.

Harry believed that Edgar very well knew how much Y/N cared for him which he used to his advantage like the disingenuous prick he is. To be doted on by Y/N was unlike being doted on by any other servants, Harry had seen and felt firsthand how well she does. If Edgar wanted to keep her close, Harry wouldn’t put it past him to entertain her little crush, letting it swell and bloom until all she could think, and dream, and care about was him.

Thinking about it makes his head ache worse.

Harry stares out of his window, watching the chilled glass fog around his mouth from his breath. He was still quite tired, but he is unsure if sleep will find him easily tonight. Typically once he wakes from one of his nightmares then he is awake for the day no matter the hour his eyes open, even if it was 3 AM -- one time he’d woke at 1 AM and stayed up throughout the entire night. It had been so awful, and he fell asleep at the table during lunch, with his head down and his mum scolding him as she cradled his cheek and had a servant prepare his chambers for a nap (she babies him from time to time if he caught her in a good mood -- Harry knew he was not her favorite, but he was still her baby).

The early morning air looked as cold as it felt against his face. Harry is so distracted by the way the trees sway in the breeze, he doesn’t realize that the door has creaked open until Y/N clears her throat. He turned to face her, seeing that she not only had one hand on a cup of tea, the other on the medicine, and the laundry basket that she nudged into the room with her foot. “What are those for?” He questioned as Y/N closed the door with her heel, walking around the sheets.

“You had a bad dream,” she said knowingly, “You sweat with your nightmares. I thought new bedding would be more comfortable and help you sleep.”

Harry hummed low, “You’re quite perceptive, Chambermaid,” he isn’t sure if this is a compliment or not, “What makes you think that I need to sleep anymore?”

“Your cheeks are flushed and there are dark circles beneath your eyes,” she noted, “It is not perception, Sir, I am only paying attention.”

She may be the only one who does pay attention, Harry thinks to himself, but he wipes the thought away, “Very well, you may do up the bed.” Y/N tips her head in a nod though the look in her eyes suggests she already knew he would agree to it. She hands him the medicine first, which Harry takes back like a shot, face scrunching up at the pungent taste, but she switches out the small cup he took it from and hands him the warm tea. Frome one sip he knew that it would be one of the better brews he’s tasted -- she seems to be good at almost everything, from baths, to bed making, to gardening, to tea. He would not tell her this. . .he still liked to watch her huff and pout at him, “I see I’ll need to teach you the intricacies of how I like my tea.”

Her brows furrowed, “I did it just how you usually like it.”

“Hm, I’m not so sure,” he taunted, and Y/N stared at him for a moment, irritation glowering beneath the surface but she took a short breath and started on the bed, stripped the sheets off, “How is avoiding Edgar? Has he come to grovel at your feet yet?”

She shook her head, “He has tried a few times to catch me, but I have evaded each attempt. Though I am sure he’ll soon realize what I’m doing.”

“Your lover is an idiot, Sweetheart, so I don’t believe he’ll realize much of anything,” Harry takes another sip, appreciating the warmth that soothes down his throat. He crosses his arms and leans his hip against his dresser, the robe he wore was very loosely tied around the waist -- very similar to the night she’d had her mouth on him -- but neither brought it up. Harry barely realizes it himself, except he feels the draft from the window slither up his thighs, “I’d suggest ignoring him forever, but I know that is unlikely to happen. Will you hear him out?”

“What is there to hear out, Sir?” She murmured, almost robotically as she began to re-dress the bed “I am a Chambermaid. What he did was not a crime.”

A chuckle leaves him, low and deep, “Do I talk too much, or do I just say things you don’t like?”

“Both.” She stretches the corners, but he watches her mindfully keep them loose toward the bottom of the mattress.

Y/N finishes up the rest quite quickly, tugging the top of the blankets down so he could crawl easily beneath the sheets after he finished his tea. As he snuggles beneath them, she changes how much the window is open before going to shuffle the wood around with the fire iron, feeding the flames an extra log. Harry shivered as he warmed beneath the covers while he watched her. The smock she wore was worn to such tatters. . .he made a mental note to have another one made for her. Maybe by the same bloody seamstress who couldn’t be arsed to do her own work.

Harry knows that if he lets her leave the room, she'll spool the bloody thread no matter how he groused at her for it, so before she can leave, he clears his throat, “Stay by my side until your proper duties begin, Chambermaid.”

She looked at him, brows dipped, “Prince Harry --”

“What if I have another nightmare? Do you want me to be all by myself when it happens?” Harry can tell that it is taking everything in her not to huff and stomp toward the chair, but she does allow her face to twist up with vexation as it always does when he pushes her, “You think I am dense, do you not? You were going to run straight to that seamstress’s room and spool her threads, quiet as a mouse trying not to wake her up.” He flips around in bed so that he can face her, his cheek resting against his palm and the blankets up to his shoulders, “You do too much for too many, and you’ll wear yourself thin. Focus on impressing the people that matter, like me for example. My mother too, that’s a good start. . .my father if he isn’t being a self-righteous prick.”

Y/N pulled her legs up onto the chair, tucking them beneath her and resting her side against the back of the chair, sighing, “I am aware that I do too much,” she finally admitted to him -- but how she says the words, Harry can tell that this is the first time she has ever admitted it aloud, “I’m unsure why I do it, but I feel very guilty when I tell others no.”

Harry hums, “Was it how you were raised?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I’m unsure,” her head thunks against the back of the chair, but her body is still turned so she’s facing him, “Sometimes it feels as if it were embedded in me from birth.”

Harry watches her eyes flutter closed like she was being soothed by the comfort of the chair, the warmth of the fire, and the cool breeze that slithers through the sliver in the window. A smile curls at his mouth and he waits for a little while until he’s certain that she was moments from sleep -- he could tell by the way the muscles in her face relax. He supposes the only time he’ll ever get confirmation that she is sleeping is if she is doing so beside his bed.

“Rest for a little while, Chambermaid,” he murmured, “I will wake you when it is necessary.”

. . .

Harry knew Edgar would eventually catch up with her, no matter how long he tried to prolong it.

Thursday, after a particularly fulfilling lunch that made Harry feel quite heavy and tired, he saw Y/N disappear behind the swinging door from the dining hall that would eventually lead her to the library. It was just after noon, so if the schedule he had created for her daily duties is correct, instead of taking the break that she should once, she finished arranging her assigned rooms -- she would be taking on someone else’s work. Harry caught Edgar eying the door from the other end of the table, and it only took around three seconds for him to excuse himself from the table.

It took everything in Harry not to throw his plate at Edgar’s feet and watch him trip. He merely gritted his teeth, waited for the door to shut behind him, and then stood up shortly after, “I’m g’na go piss,” he muttered crudely, and listened to his father snort as he left the table, shouldering through the door. Harry kept his feet light as he followed suit down the hall, hearing hushed voices rushing through sentences like they knew someone might be coming soon. It grated his nerves more than he could really describe, and he knows it is simply for the fact he knew Edgar was about to win her back over; how easy it is, to turn a blind eye to red flags when you’re in love with someone. Even if that love is doomed to fail and lackluster on the other half’s part.

“--to apologize for what happened,” he catches the tail end, slowing to stop just around the corner where one hall meets the mouth of another, “That was. . .it was blatant uncouth behavior, that is not befitting of me at all, and it was not something for a lady to see.” Harry’s face twists in disgust -- what a phony prick.

Y/N cleared her throat -- he could imagine the face she was making; disgruntled and shy, tilting toward the ground, “Do not worry about such things, Your Highness,” she replied, “I am no lady. It was an accident is all.”

“I hardly think it was an accident,” he retorted, “It was Harry’s doing, was it not? He was the one who led you outside. He must have known that I had been out there,” Harry bites hard on his bottom lip to keep from snapping, breaking his cover by letting Edgar know that it had nothing to do with him; Edgar being a lecherous asshole was something Harry could have seen coming from a kilometer away, but he hadn’t been able to sense it -- he wasn’t a damn oracle, “You shouldn’t let him push you around Y/N, he’s a cruel man. He’s making you spend all this time with him to get to me.”

“Get to you how?” Y/N inquired, but when there was no response for more than ten seconds, she sighed heavily, “No matter -- Prince Harry was unaware that you and Princess Dowdenl were out there. I do not believe many things he says, but I do believe that he would have gloated if he walked me into it. But it doesn’t matter -- none of that matters.”

“It does matter if it upsets you,” Edgar presses, and Harry’s squints in disgust, pressing nearer to the wall, “It matters a great deal to me. You are one of my closest friends Y/N, I only wish for you to be safe and content. I worry about you.”

Damn him, Harry thinks to himself he’s a sweet talker for sure. It was clear what his intentions were saying that to her, and Harry would say that he had received his desired reaction when Y/N’s next response lacked the bite the ones previous to it did. “While I do appreciate it, please do not worry, Your Highness, you have much bigger things on your plate than the matters of a Chambermaid,” she tells him, her voice is soft though, not saddened, but fond of him and his concern for her, and he hates the disgust that dribbles in his belly because of it, “Prince Harry is. . .rougher with me verbally, but he has shown kindness in other ways.”

Harry is flooded with a feeling that he cannot quite make out, he just knows he had not felt it before. Even though it was slight, Harry could not think back to a time that someone exonerated him to his brother; whenever they bad-mouthed one another people would either give an ill at ease chuckle (when Harry was doing it) or would agree in a desperate attempt to gain favor (when Edgar was doing it). Nobody. . .not even his own family. . .had ever told Edgar his deduction regarding Harry was wrong.

He hates how absolutely chuffed he is by the fact. He knows that it was because the whole reason he’d started messing with her and implanting himself into her life was to get beneath Edgar’s skin, but part of him. . .part of him knows that there is something else just slightly different. Harry had grown to enjoy her company, even if just slightly -- he realizes in her absence that nobody truly spends as much time with him as she does. While it may not be her own doing, he was still pleased to hear that spending her hours with him was not something she detested. At least not enough to complain to his brother about it.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you? If he gets to be too much -- if he’s making you do things you don’t want to do.”

Y/N responded quickly, “I will tell you, yes, but he does not push me to do egregious things, Your Highness. I promise.”

“Good,” he does something -- Harry cannot hear or see what it is, but the prospects of what it could be sparks displeasure deep in his gut, “If you are able, I would love for you to join me for tea.”

“You are not taking it with Princess Dowendl, today?” She questions and Harry bit down on a grin -- the slight spite that filled the sentence did not go unnoticed by him, and unless Edgar is an idiot, Harry’s certain he must have heard it too.

Clearing his throat, Edgar denied it, “No, she -- she and her family left for home this morning.”

There is silence, so thick that Harry could slice through it with a sword and it would hold the consistency of butter, and then Y/N’s reply comes shortly after, “I am very busy, Prince Edgar, but I will try my best to make time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must hurry.”

Y/N flees in the direction that she had been going in the first place, but there is no time for Harry to make off before Edgar is walking around the corner. With his left shoulder to the wall, Harry is leaning with his arms crossed around his chest and his legs crossed around the ankle. He was not ashamed of being caught, considering it was more embarrassing for Edgar -- who had more or less gotten rejected by a chambermaid -- than it was for him.

“I sense she has a bit of a jealous streak in her,” Harry let the corner of his mouth quirk in a smile, “Reckon you didn’t think she’d be this upset, did you?”

“I don’t know what it is you’re planning,” Edgar began, storming off in the direction that they’d come back toward the dining hall -- Harry fell into step beside him, “But leave Y/N alone. I will not ask again.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t know if you heard, but I do not push her to do egregious things,” he retorted, “You’re cruel for what you do to her -- you should be the one to leave her alone, not me.”

Brows dipping, Edgar turned to face him, “For what I do to her? And what is it that I’m doing, Harry?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean, Your Majesty,” Harry stops just before they walk back through the doors of the dining hall, and he only keeps his voice even slightly quiet so that their parents will not hear what they’re bickering about -- though he would love to embarrass Edgar, this was a matter private between them. Y/N would not be discussed around the King and Queen, which was an unspoken agreement between the two that Harry planned to maintain, “If you use her loyalty to you at your advantage, then you’re an even bigger prick than I imagined. I don’t want you manipulating my friend.”

“Your friend?” He sneers, “She hasn’t mentioned anything to me about you two being friends. Last time she brought you up to me, you had just called her filthy in the garden and said you disliked her!”

Harry doesn’t bother hiding the grin that stretches his cheeks, “Feelings change, brother,” he stuck his finger out, poking Edgar in the chest and shoving him back just slightly, “Maybe you’d have heard it from her, but you’ve spent the last week stuffed in Princess Downdel’s bum.”

Edgar doesn’t reply -- his face curls into a deeper frown and he shoves his way through the door.

The whole interaction filled Harry with an unimaginable glee -- one he only remembers feeling as a child when he was flicking through the leather-bound journals describing flowers and plants all over the world. Why was it so fun to dig beneath his brother’s skin? To claw away at Edgar’s nerves until he ran out of things to grouse and gripe about; how funny it was to see the indignation simmer beneath his gaze at the mere idea of Y/N thinking of Harry as a friend. What would he do if he’d known she had his cock in her mouth?

Ah! This is much more fun than Harry had envisioned.

When Harry sees Y/N that night for his bath, he greets her at the door, a grin bright on his face, “Good evening, Chambermaid,” he practically throws the door open, ushering her inside, “Come in, come in!”

“You are particularly chipper tonight, Prince Harry,” she replied, a new jar of Lotus petals in her arms, along with his freshly washed-silk robe, “Are you about to do something cruel to me? The only time you’re this excited to see me is when you’ve come up with something mean to say.”

Harry juts his lip out in a deep pout, shaking his head, “You wound my spirit,” he swings the door closed behind her, “I get you a gift, and this is how you treat me? I should just call the seamstress in and have her unloop every thread.” Before Y/N could question what he was going on about, Harry strides across the room to the chair that sits close to his window -- the one Y/N often sat in when she spent her nights here. There he had laid a new smock, one he’d told the seamstress to make (the day after he had Y/N snooze in his room rather than spool her bloody threads for her) with Y/N’s measurements in mind. How she had gotten Y/N’s measurements, Harry didn’t question, he only told her that she better figure it out and have the clothing to him in a few days’ time lest she wants him angry.

The fabric he’d chosen was much softer than the fabric that she had been wearing before, but it still looked quite similar -- enough so that the others wouldn’t begin thinking she’d gained favor and was being treated better because of it. Harry was many things -- a bully, for starters -- but he did not like it when the person he was bullying got bullied by someone else. He was horribly possessive in all ways imaginable and he was finding that this extended to Y/N as well. This would explain how pissed off he got at the thought of someone fucking her, or why he was so irate when he found the seamstress was using Y/N’s kindness against her.

She was his to play around and mess with…nobody else’s.

He plucks it up from the chair, pivots on his heel, and finds that she is standing right behind him — she is so quiet on her feet it’s nearly unsettling, “Here you go, little mouse,” he presses it into her hands, “So you can stop embarrassing me in those tatters you call clothes. Wear this one when I am in your care -- if it suits you well, I will have the seamstress make more to replace your pitiful wardrobe.”

“Oh!” She took the clothing, carefully unfolding it, and her eyes go wide once she realizes what it is, “Prince Harry this — this is too much —“

He scoffs, “This is a singular smock. You thinking this is too much speaks to how depressing your life has been thus far.”

Y/N ignores him, pressing the fabric against her cheek and giving a breathless giggle, “It is so soft, Sir,” she murmured, and Harry feels an unfamiliar buzz fluttering through him — starting up near his heart, scooting through his shoulders, worming around his belly, down his thighs, tingling at his toes. It makes him feel light — like he’s floating, “Thank you very much! I am very grateful.”

Harry watches her closely, clearing his throat and sighing, “Yes, well, remember that I am the one who gifts things to you so lovingly and therefore am the better Prince. Did you have tea with him today?”

Her shoulders sank at the mention of him, her head nodding gently, “I did,” she scrunched her nose, “And it went well, but…well, Edith told me something afterward that sort of made me feel all weird about him again.” Y/N let her eyes trace over the new smock in her hands, comparing the look of it to the one she was wearing, “She overheard some women of the court speaking about how Princess Downdel does something in particular that he likes. I had never heard of it before.”

Harry, despite being irritated by the topic of his brother (though he was the one to bring him up in the first place), is intrigued by what the women of the court might have been saying. Harry hears whispers too about the depraved things Edgar has his bed-mates do, but everyone always shuts right up when Harry walks in like they would be scolded by him for their nattering. He has never understood why they think he cared what they spoke about -- whether it be about his brother, or himself -- they could be throwing their names through the dirt, and Harry would not think twice about it.

“What’s with this pause, is it for dramatic effect? Spit it out.”

Her brows furrow, “Not all of us are as crass as you Sir, a lady shouldn’t speak about such things so casually!”

“You’re hardly a lady, Chambermaid, not with what you can do with that little mouth there.”

With a huff, she looks off to the side, “She was the one on top,” she relents, clutching the smock to her chest, “Like she -- um. . .she did the work. I didn’t know you could do that?”

Harry stared at her blankly at first, letting the weight of her words fall into his lap before a small giggle tickled the back of his throat. A small giggle that mushrooms to a chuckle, and a chuckle that shifts to full-blown laughter. Y/N’s brows are furrowed as she’s staring at him, pouting her mouth with her arms crossing, “Why are you laughing at me?”

He places his hand to his chest, attempting to catch his breath, “You poor thing,” he taunted through breathless snickers, as he reaches out and strokes her cheek with his hand, thumbing over her bottom lip at first, then pinching it between his fingers and tugging it out, “You weren’t kidding when you said you had little experience. Would you like to try that?”

Harry releases her bottom lip so she can respond, “Is that -- you wouldn’t mind if we tried that?” She brushed stray pieces of hair away from the front of her face, “I thought -- I thought you might not want to touch me in that way.”

There is a small tug at Harry’s heart, another one that he is unfamiliar with and therefore chooses to ignore entirely, “I really can’t say that I care, Chambermaid,” he says instead, “A hole is a hole to me; this is for your own benefit.”

Her brows furrow slightly, but the gloom that had momentarily taken her face was replaced by a sudden determination. Y/N takes a slight step backward, “Okay, then I would like to try it tonight, please. I will go and --”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Harry stops her before she could continue, arms crossing over his chest, “And who says I want you on my cock tonight, hm? I am much too big for a virgin like you to take in one go -- think I would just split you right in half,” he tutted his tongue, watching as her shoulders slump down, “No, I think it is reasonable for me to first get an accurate feel of how tight you are and how well you could take my fingers before you get a treat like my cock, don’t you think?”

If he’s really honest, Harry doesn’t know exactly why he’s doing this. In any other situation, with anyone other person, he would be eager to get them undressed, get his cock out, and do as they (he) both pleased -- fuck them hard and deep to make their toes curl. It was not as if he wanted to get it over with, but he wanted to expedite the route to his pleasure.

But with Y/N, the desire to stretch out the process outweighed his desire to snuggle himself between her thighs; he thinks it would be far too easy on her if he fucked her right away. Harry wanted to prolong it -- excite her and humiliate her. . .make her beg him to fuck her silly. How delightful it would be to have her pleading for him to be inside of her without the driving force is what Edgar might like in the bedroom. He is well aware that he’d promised his help in guiding her through sexual matters as she’d asked of him, and time and time again he reiterates this is for her benefit -- but he certainly wasn’t just doing this out of the kindness of his heart either. He got something out of this as well.

Harry is pleased that he is the one who is the one to teach her. He knows Edgar would have taken much joy to be the one to do this if he desired her as she does him -- anyone would enjoy teaching someone just exactly how to satisfy them, nearly from scratch. Had she been open and honest with her feelings, and had Edgar taken advantage of that, he’d have a perfect, devoted little Chambermaid to use as a cock warmer on cold nights when his usual fucks are off doing god knows what. And maybe in the end he would still get that, but Harry would be contended by the knowledge that he was the one she asked to teach her. Not Edgar, but Harry -- and even if the situation was a little fucked, it was nice to be chosen over him for once in his damn life, even in such a task as this and even with the intended result in mind.

“Why would you need to stretch me with your fingers?” She inquired and the look she gives him suggests that she’s annoyed by this, which only makes Harry want to drag it out longer, “Don’t I just have to sit on top of you?”

Harry takes the smock from her hands, folding it back up loosely before setting it down where he’d had it previously, “I don’t know what fiendish brute took your virginity, but there should be some thought and consideration into how you get fucked. You need to learn that before you let anyone between your thighs, or you’ll get taken advantage of and screwed over.” He shook his head, “You have so much to learn. Pour me a glass of wine and get your shoes off.”

Y/N holds her tongue as she does what was instructed of her. There was a blueberry wine that he had brought in a few hours ago sitting on his dresser, so that is what she pours into his glass and brings over to him. She then toes her shoes off (flats, made of some material Harry could not pick out of a line-up, which is how he knows it is cheap), and watches him closely. . .expectantly, rather. Her eyes don’t leave him as he brings the glass of wine to his mouth, not as he tips it against his lips, and takes the sweet liquid against his tongue. Harry locks his eyes with hers and swallows before asking, “What is it? You want to ask something then ask it, I cannot read your mind.”

“Well, I just wondered. . .I wondered if you might let me try some? It helped soothe my nerves last time. I thought it could be beneficial to help soothe me this time, Sir.”

Harry pretends to think about it, humming lowly, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing on it, bobbing his head from side-to-side, “I s’ppose you can try some,” he replied, “But you remember how you’re meant to take wine, don’t you?”

“From your mouth?”

A small grin pulls at his cheeks, “Mhm,” he felt proud in her response, and her compliance after he murmurs, “Open up a little for me.” She does so without hesitation as he tips more back into his mouth, holding in the well beneath his tongue before he fixes their lips together. Harry uses one hand to take her chin, guiding her to tip her head up just slightly before he fixes their mouths together. A little noise leaves her mouth when he pushes the liquid in, and it makes his cock twitch slightly -- he strokes his tongue against hers for a second before parting. She swallows the wine, face puckering slightly at the sweet taste, “Good?”

“I like this one a little better than the one from before,” she answered, “That one had been bitter.”

Harry hums lowly, taking another swig and swallowing it down, “Of course you would enjoy the sweeter one,” he tutted his tongue, “I expect no less from someone who has horrible taste in all things other than your little crush on me.”

“I do not have a crush on you,” she protests but Harry ignores her, setting the wine glass down on the table at his bedside.

“Get on the bed and pull the skirt of that smock up.”

Y/N is only slightly hesitant in doing so; she crawls into his bed so cautiously -- as if it were made of glass. She doesn’t go up to his pillows as he expected her to -- instead, she goes closer toward the middle, and tries to shuffle the skirt up and over her knees to rest high up on her thighs. Harry gave an exasperated groan, “Are you being dense on purpose?” He accused, “Obviously I meant to hike it up all the way, Chambermaid.”

“I don’t know about you, Your Highness, but I don’t just go around showing my bits to everyone, so this is very embarrassing!” She snapped back, and his heartbeat quick at the bite in her tone. He followed her into the bed, sitting on his knees before her, then resting his palms flat against her inner thighs.

“If you don’t want this, then you have to tell me,” he reminded her, “Otherwise I’m splitting open these legs and taking a look at this little cunt between them.”

Y/N’s face is still pulled into a deep pout but she’s resolute in her decisions; she pulls the fabric up higher on her thighs, and Harry’s brows rise considerably before he presses them open further, which shoves the dress up even more. He’s met with her bare cunt almost immediately, and he looks back up to her, finding that she’s looking to the side out of pure, unadulterated embarrassment, “What is this then? Did you know you were going to come in here begging for my cock?”

“I did not beg,” she objects, body jumping when his hands fell lower, “I just thought -- I hoped that you would help me like before, and I thought that this would be easier than taking the time to strip them off.”

“It takes all of three seconds to strip those off,” he murmured, tutting his tongue, “Filthy.”

Y/N opens her mouth to grumble something at him, but he flips the skirt the rest of the way up, leans forward, and spits onto her pussy, so whatever retort she had begun to create is replaced by a gasp. Harry finds that she’s got quite the pretty gash between her thighs; the sight of it makes his mouth water, truly, and Harry had not had this response to someone’s bits in a very long time. Of course, he couldn’t let her know that, so he swallows and sighs, “Well, look at this,” he murmured, sliding his hands closer to her, running the pad of his thumb over her clit and the mess of his saliva, watching as she twitches beneath his touch, “You’re so sensitive here.”

“Why —“ she began, her thighs trying to close around him as he rolled the little button, feeling it swell beneath his thumb, “What exactly is it that you’re doing? I thought -- I thought you would just be going inside of me, why are you messing around with the outside?”

Harry doesn’t bother to stop rubbing her as he rolls his eyes, “For fuck sake, what did the prick do just thrust in and out of you?”

She’s having trouble forming coherent thoughts, especially as he shoved her thighs back open, “He — he just, um. . .well, yes, basically that is what he did. He used some lubricant he had, kissed me, and slid inside of me. Was that not what he was meant to do?”

“You’re hopeless,” he uttered, “Of course that’s not what he was meant to do! He should have you so wet from excitement and desire that there is little need for lubricant. This bud here is meant for pleasure and only that -- it serves no other purpose than to make you feel good,” he explained, using his thumb to continue running tight circles over her clit while the rest of his hand rested on her mound, watching as her breathing picked up and her hips absentmindedly twitch toward the feeling, “You can rub it, press it against something, have someone lick it -- truly, the options are endless. Don’t you feel yourself getting wet? I can see it.”

He could; it was happening so quickly, Harry wondered how stupid of a bloke the guy to take her virginity was. With how sensitive she is, it would have taken no time to work her up enough to at least make her cum once before sliding inside of her. Taking the cheap way out -- the selfish way out -- slathering lubricant over his cock just so he could slip in without having to try or work for it. The thought of it pissed Harry off, even more so when he realized how easy it was to make her wet. The fucker couldn’t have even tried to get her ready? He didn’t deserve to bed her at all! Harry had half the mind to ask her who it was so he could track him down and punish him for the blatant inconsiderate, ego-centric behavior.

The first finger slides in easily, and Y/N’s response to the entry is a tiny, startled noise. Her body is bent at the waist as she tries to see over the fabric bunched up around her hips, and Harry kisses his teeth at her, “If you had laid upon the pillows, you wouldn’t have to strain your back to see,” he chastised her, using his free hand to gently press against her chest, guiding her down to flatten out against the mattress, “I know what I’m doing down here, so you focus on telling me if it feels nice or not.”

It sounds foreign coming from Harry’s mouth; almost sickeningly sweet and gentle, but then again, Harry was no monster. Her first time had been shit, this was a very vulnerable position for her, and he’s almost certain that she has never had an orgasm before -- he would be tender. He would make this experience good for her. . .she may be a brat, but she deserved as much. Plus, he’s certain that if she says this time is comparable to her first, his ego would take a hit, because he knew he could do much better. He could make her feel much better.

Her fingers curl in the blankets as she weathers her bottom lip between her teeth, and Harry curls his fingers upward to pet at the spongy spot inside of her. Harry smiles to himself when her walls spasm around his index finger, squeezing him, pulling him deeper, and when he connects his thumb to her clit once again so he is tending to the organ at both ends -- he feels her get even wetter. It slides around his knuckles, and stiffens his prick even further -- Harry absently presses the bulge through his trousers to relieve even a tiny bit of the pressure building there, “Tell me, Chambermaid,” he began, only to confirm his prior beliefs, “Have you ever had an orgasm?”

“I’m unsure,” she replied, swallowing thickly, and it’s then Harry can tell that her lips are slightly stained from the wine, along with a little trickle he must have missed dripping down the corner of her mouth -- from the looks of it she hastily wiped it away but it did little good, “I think so?”

“That’s a no then,” Harry reaches over and holds his thumb in front of her mouth, and it takes her a few seconds before she drops her tongue out for him -- he wets the pad of it before stroking the stain from her chin, “You would know if you have had one before. You’re about to cum right now even -- I can feel from the way you’re squeezing me.”

Harry slid a second finger inside of her, the fit was tight but how wet she was has eased the motion of it. Another sound gets caught in her throat, and Harry tears his eyes away from where she swallows his fingers back up to her face. She’s got her knuckle wedged between her teeth, biting down like she was trying desperately to hold in the moans threatening to leave her. With furrowed brows, Harry grabs at her wrists and tugs firmly, wrenching her hand from her mouth, “Who are you to keep these moans from me?” He sped his fingers, feeling as she squeezed tighter around him accompanied with a mewl, “I’m earning them, am I not? You are not to keep a single sound from me.”

“They are embarrassing!” She complains, but the whine is tailed off in another moan when he takes his hand back, using those fingers to spread her lips open while he swipes the swollen nub with his thumb back and forth. How delicious this looked -- he really could not have expected this from her. No matter how demure she was -- how modest and self-denying -- she was succumbing to the pleasure he brought to her with his fingers. The noises were embarrassing, but with each shaky breath, she whimpered for him. Her cunt was soaked; she looked like she felt so good, and it was because of him. . .not Edgar -- not the greedy fuck who stuffed his cock in her and didn’t care to make sure she was having a good time -- but Harry was. The very man she couldn’t stand.

Harry could cum untouched at the thought.

“I feel --” one hand grips his wrist, “--Sir, I feel something -- I -- this is --”

“Submit to that feeling,” Harry cooed to her, his heart thudding in his chest as he watched her whole body begin to react — to shake, to tremble, her thighs want to squeeze shut around his body but he doesn’t allow it, her heels dig into the mattress, her fingers twist into the fabric of her clothing, the hand around his wrist squeezes tighter, “Embrace it and let it wash over you. And remember that the first person to bring you to such a wonderful, glorious feeling was me and nobody else, Chambermaid.”

Y/N cries out, she soaks his fingers and her knees knock together as she pulls her legs up and toward each other -- shaky gasps and pants leave her mouth as it darts through her body, invigorating each and every cell. A chuckle overcomes him as he watches her, and he rubs and fucks her through it with his fingers until she’s pushing his hands away, “No more!” She tries to wriggle away, “No more, no more, too much.”

Harry withdrew his fingers and pulled them into his mouth -- the display he had witnessed before him and the taste of her on the bed of his tongue, was enough to have him leaking into the satin cream fabric of the trousers he wore. He was pleasantly surprised by how much he was enjoying this, even more so by how taken he was when he looks at her now: breathless, her hair mussed, eyes a little glossy, and lips bitten and slick. Harry is almost certain that if she had been riding him, he would have cum almost instantaneously with her.

“You’ve got such a lewd body,” Harry teased, drying his fingers off on her thigh, “How did that feel?”

“It was very -- it was very new,” she said at first, “Good. It felt very good -- I’ve never felt something like that before.”

Harry smiles, mostly to himself, “Remember to tell Edgar this next time you speak.”

Y/N’s still so taken by what she had just felt, she doesn’t even bother furrowing her brows and grumbling at him how she might have otherwise. He had completely tuckered her out; it was almost adorable. Harry tries to remember his first orgasm and how exhausted it must have left him, but he struggles to come up with the time.

“So will I try that on top of you now?” Y/N inquired as Harry pulled the skirt of her smock down to cover up her thighs once more. He takes her by the wrists and drags her up so she’s sitting, “Do you think you’ll fit inside of me?”

“I believe I’ll fit snugly inside of you,” he answered truthfully, “But not tonight.”

Y/N’s face turned downward, but she did not seem cross with him, only confused, “You do not wish to anymore?”

Harry wishes to. Actually, Harry thinks that there is nothing more that he wants right now than to pull his cock out and slide right inside of her -- but he doesn’t. No, he would cum far too quickly if she got anywhere near his prick with her cunt, and he wants to savor this. This feeling that floods him is unlike anything else he has ever experienced, and he would like to cling to it for a while longer. To build up to it -- he’s fucked her with his fingers, they could only progress from that to more, and more and more. Something better, something hotter. . .something that would have her so wet she was dripping down her thighs, leaving the skin slick and sticky.

“You must rest,” he says instead, and finds himself petting the hair away from her face -- the last time he’d done something this tender with her had been after she’d shouted at him -- he had not realized how much he kind of liked this. How she leaned into his touch instead of recoiling from him. The way her muscles go lax like all she needed was him to touch her and all the stress of the day just eased out of her body. He wonders if he had ever done this with someone before, and he really doesn’t think so, “I will teach you how to ride my cock soon, how about that?”

Though she nods in agreement, she motions toward his crotch and starts shifting toward the edge of the bed while Harry leaves the mattress to stand beside it, “May I put you in my mouth then? I would like to thank you for making me feel that way.”

“Ahh,” Harry reached for the waistband of his trousers, already slipping them off his thighs as he murmurs, “You’re more of a cock whore than I suspected, Chambermaid. Do you like my cum that much?”

That does finally make her glare at him, but Harry only laughs in response as his cock slaps out against his abdomen, and he sheds the blouse top he’d had fixed over his torso. He drops the fabric off to the side, letting it puddle at their feet, “I can be hard to please, but I can be a simple man as well Y/N, and your brazenly wanton behavior has made my cock very hard,” he slides his fingers at the back of her head, down toward the nape, caressing the skin sensitive skin there as he looked down to her -- she seems unfazed by his words now that his prick is out, her gaze trained on it, “So I may not last very long.”

“That’s okay,” she replied, “My jaw began to ache last time, so I don’t mind if you do not last long. And this is not for me, this is for you.”

He huffed a laugh and took a step closer, using the edge of his thumb to press his cock down by the base and biting back a groan when the head skated across her lips, “This is for me? After you begged me to put me in your mouth?”

“I did not beg!” She objects, “You make up stories, Your Highness.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he uttered, though a smile stains his face, “C’mon then, open your mouth and show me how thankful you are.”

Y/N’s mouth falls open easily for him, and as she works him over with her mouth, Harry can tell that despite her not needing the honey when it came to actually licking him last time, she was pretending that it was on him like a guide. From the way she strokes her tongue along the shaft, to how she stops to suckle at the spot just beneath his head -- the movements of her mouth are similar to how they had been on his body -- his hips, his belly, his thighs -- it makes him smile. How cute, he thinks.

As she is with all things in her life, Y/N is meticulous in how she tongues at him, and even more so in how she takes him into her mouth. Harry can tell she’s being mindful of his size and not taking him too far, and he can feel her pant breaths through her nose like he’d instructed in the past. He wonders absently if this was why Edgar was able to teach her to read -- she’s a very teachable person, skilled in her ability to retain what is told to her. Which would make sense as to why everyone was so eager to drop their duties into her lap. Who wouldn’t if they could show her how to do it once, and she’d have it nearly perfect by the second try?

Though she is doing well, it was not to say that her technique was without any mistake, but it paled in comparison to what she was doing. Harry really could not give a fuck less that she got a little sloppy toward the end, spit dribbling down her chin and the subtle graze of her teeth did little to stop his release. If anything they propelled him further toward it as he watched her, swallowing as much as she could of him and taking the rest with her hand, her eyes closed, her brow relaxed. She looked so at ease like this -- he wonders how much of it is her post-orgasmic haze.

The heat in his belly sizzles and boils rapidly, and the fingers he’d just kept as a gentle presence on the back of her head, curl into the hair at the scalp, “I’m going to fill this filthy mouth,” he purred, and Y/N’s tongue flickers and massages over the tip, already swallowing the precum leaking from him, “Swallow it all.”

Harry thinks the last bit may have been pointless because as he begins to cum in her mouth, shot after shot that makes his hips twitch (though he tries his best to keep from thrusting into her mouth), he realizes she never planned not to swallow. If anything, she took down what he gave her greedily.

“Was that good?” She inquires after slipping his softening prick from her mouth, drying her lips with the back of his hand, “Was it better than last time?”

It was wonderful. . .you learn very quickly, and the fact that you’re doing this with the pleasure of my brother in mind is pissing me off unlike anything else -- he thinks it to himself, but he shoves the blatant praise and irritation down, and instead, reaches up to cradle her cheek, striping his thumb along the soft skin, feeling the heat from the blood rushing beneath the surface.

“You did well,” once again, he notes how she leans into his touch, “You must have had an amazing teacher.”

Her face falls flat at him, while she averts her gaze to something else in the room.

“You’re annoying, Sir,” she utters, “And you still can’t punish me, ‘cos I just let you cum in my mouth again.”

. . .

“I’m going with you.”

With each passing day, Harry recognized the smoky tendrils of his breath circling around his mouth more often in the cold air. Every morning brought a recognizable chill that only autumn could bring, the afternoons were filled with a sun that’s rays of warmth never quite make it to your skin, and the nights are best spent cozy beside a fire

(Harry is often thankful that Y/N had quit her gardening before it became so frigid out; seeking her out to feed her belly slices of breads and pastries would have been more of a chore if he had to put on a coat to do so).

And with each day, Harry witnessed the smolder beneath Edgar’s gaze every time he caught Y/N and Harry together. Watched it spark to a burning flame when Y/N was not immediately disgusted by Harry’s presence and held back giggles when it blazed brightly if the two of them acted more familiar with one another than she and Edgar did. At the root of it all, she and Harry were objectively closer; Edgar may have years of friendship and one-sided adoration on him, but he and Y/N share secrets and underlying chemistry that cannot be denied. Even if said chemistry is driven by bickering and goading with slivers of common ground found in the middle, it was still better than whatever the hell was going on between those two. Harry wondered if it was as clear to Y/N as it was to him, that Edgar pretends to see her as his equal but really views her as a loyal pup; one who comes when called sits beside him when he’s lonely, and can be ignored for weeks at a time but still comes with a wagging tail to take tea with him.

Harry knows he’s an arse, but at the very least he sees her as a human. One with thoughts and feelings that surpass childlike devotion.

Today, Harry had been seeking Y/N out with a lemon tart dusted in powdered sugar, and that was when he found her near the main entry point of the castle. She was adorned in her new smock per his request (after Harry confronted her about not wearing it the first few days after she received it, she’d admitted to him she was worried she would ruin it, to which he told her he’d simply have the seamstress make her another), but this time she had a forest green cloak slung around her shoulders, the hood flipped up, and gloves covering her fingers which she had wrapped tightly around the handle of a basket. The fabric of this cloak did not seem very thick, but it would do well with this weather at least. Any colder and she would be frostbitten in seconds.

Of course, Harry’s interest was immediately piqued. Sure, she could be going out to tend to something outside within the perimeter of the outer guard towers, but he highly doubted that she’d be carrying the basket for that. As far as he’d been concerned Y/N had never left the castle walls, but she didn’t seem very nervous. If anything, she seemed like she was in a bit of a hurry to get it over with as she was taking off toward the door, “Oi,” Harry calls from across the corridor, and apparently startling her since her response was to nearly jumping from her skin, “Where are you going, Chambermaid?”

She turned to face him, raising the basket up a little higher and revealing there was a book inside of it -- a book very familiar to Harry, “The doctor asked me if I could go pick up some medicinal herbs from a shop down there. He would have gone himself but he had other matters to tend to.”

“And you’re comfortable going down to the village alone?” Harry pressed, carefully unwrapping the lemon tart from the handkerchief he’d hid it in, and then reaching down to pull the glove off her left hand, replacing it with the pastry.

Y/N nodded, “Yes, Your Highness. My parents enjoy the sticky toffee pudding from a bakery down there, so I trade some of my embroideries for it and bring it back often.”

“Ahh,” Harry hummed, watching as she pulled the lemon tart to her mouth and took a small bite, “So that is where you inherited such a sweet tooth, hm?” She smiled gently as her response, and Harry shrugged his shoulders, “Alright then, I’m going.”

Y/N swallowed what was in her mouth, “What?”

“I’m going with you,” he repeated as if it were obvious, and really, at this point, it should be -- if Y/N was involved, Harry was undoubtedly going to involve himself in some way -- especially if she were planning to walk all the way to village by herself in this cold. . .really, Edgar must never keep an eye on her if she’s used to doing something so dangerous (or Edgar knows, and doesn’t care, which pisses Harry off a fair amount), “Give me one moment to get something thicker over my shoulders, and then we should be on our way.”

Harry begins to pivot so he can take off toward his room, but Y/N stops him, “Wait!” She takes a step in front of his path, making him pause, “Sir, it would be dangerous for just you and I to go alone! I am unable to guard you properly, I’m much too weak for it.”

With a snort, he rolled his eyes, “Well, obviously I wasn’t expecting you to guard me. You’re about as threatening as a baby bunny,” he stepped around her, “I’ll have Adam come along, and he’ll get the carriage ready as well. A day in the village would do us both some good, it gets too stuffy in these walls.”

It is relatively easy to find Adam, always at his post looking bored out of his mind. His eyes light up when Harry suggests that he come with him and Y/N to town and he seemed more than elated, saying he would be quick about preparing a carriage, and even quicker about getting another guard for additional safety. Harry did not see the need for a second guard, but when Adam told him he’d be bringing Mitch, Harry didn’t mind -- Mitch was quiet and kept to himself, but funny when he did choose to speak. However, he was typically stationed near Edgar’s chambers, so it was rare that Harry saw him.

In just ten minutes, Harry and Y/N meet Adam and Mitch at the outer gate. Y/N seems slightly overwhelmed by the additional company but she still greets them with a warm, friendly smile to which Adam promptly rumples his lips and regards her familiarly, “How’ve you been, Y/N? Still doing everyone’s work for them?”

“You know that she is.” Mitch spoke unprompted while holding out his hand for her to take, helping her step up into the carriage, “She is horrible at saying no, which is why she entertains your Chess games.”

Adam huffs, “She loves playing chess, tell him!”

“I did not know you three were so close,” Harry mentions as he climbs into the carriage after her. Mitch is the one who will sit out with the man guiding the horses while Adam climbs in to sit across from them on the velvet seats, plopping down with the noisy clink and clank of his armor.

Y/N wiggles, trying to comfortably hold the basket on her lap until Adam grabs it and sets it down beside him on the seat, “We have known each other for quite some time, Your Highness. I don’t tell on Adam when he falls asleep on watch duty and in turn, he will go with me when I must clean the guard’s towers at night, so nobody will be rude to me.”

“And Y/N is the only one who can make Mitch chuckle, though she won’t tell me what she’s whispering in his ear. I reckon they’re making fun of me.” Adam adds.

Harry is unsure how to feel; on one hand, he is pleased that she has people like this, who look out for and trust her, similar to how her friend Edith does. On the other hand, Harry feels an ugly little pit of possessiveness drop down in the depth of his gut. Does Adam act as her guard? Does Mitch laugh at her jokes? Were these simply signs of friendship or did they have feelings for her? Did they know of her feelings for Edgar? Did they care that he spent an ample amount of time with her? Harry thinks he would. . .if he liked her in such a way but a Prince was taking all of her time, he thinks that would grate his nerves deeply.

But neither seemed to care much. Either Harry was creating stories again (just as Y/N accused him of) or their poker faces were magnificent.

“I see you two have gotten close in the last month,” Adam mentions as the carriage starts to move, and they all jostle a little as the wheels crunch over gravel, “The guards have a saying now, that if you’re looking for Y/N, then look for Prince Harry and vice versa.”

A small grin took Harry’s mouth, “Yes, the two of us are thick as thieves,” he replied, “We share a love for breakfast sweets, have common fears, and enjoy trying things out together, so of course, we would be incredibly close. Oh! And Y/N just loves honey, almost as much as she loves cu--”

“You like plants, don’t you, Your Highness?” Suddenly the book Y/N had been carrying in the basket is stuffed right below his nose, cracked open to what appeared to be a random page, “The calendula flower is said to heal burns from the sun, along with aid in the care of scratches and scrapes.”

Harry bit down hard on his lip to keep from cackling at her clear diversion, instead taking the book from her hands and setting it lower in his lap, “Yes, I’m familiar with this one,” his gaze flickered up to Adam, who appeared clueless to what just happened before him, mouth stretching wide around a rather loud yawn that he just barely covers with his hand, “What is it that this physician is having you go out in the cold to get, instead of taking his-bloody-self?”

She’s tentative in how she flips the pages to the back cover of the book, where there was a list scrawled in the doctor’s handwriting. Harry pretends he has any interest in the slip of paper as to ease the transition of her deflection -- through, and through, despite how he teases and taunts her, Harry is a kinder Prince to Y/N than he is to anyone else. Even if she did not see that. Who else would he have created a fire for, or forced to have even a few moments of rest after being used by the other workers of the castle? And who else would he have left the warmth of the castle to venture out in the cold autumn morning for, just so she had a carriage and at least some form of protection with her, instead of wandering about a village by her lonesome -- no matter how familiar she is with the area?

The ride to the village isn’t tumultuous or long. Once they pass the gravel paths of the castle, there are paths of worn dirt that make for a much smoother ride through the coloring trees of the forest (Harry believes come spring, they will have started to place stone through this area since it is so often traveled), and Harry would say it was just around a 20-minute ride. Though there were several stops that added an additional ten minutes -- checkmarks in place to make sure those traveling through the forest were meant to be doing such a thing. Harry and Adam had both successfully chatted the entirety of the ride, while Y/N quietly flipped through the pages of the plant book. Harry wonders if she is actually interested in them or if she’s using this as a way to pass the time.

There is always hustle and bustle within the village; each visit Harry makes, he doesn’t think there’s even a moment of lull or quiet as horses’ hooves clap against the ground, the chatter of voices from peddlers, old women reminiscing about their trips down south, so on and so forth. From what Harry could tell and had witnessed, the people in the towns nearest to them always had much more wealth, but Harry had made trips to the sectors further away from them. And while there may not be as many glittery jewels and intricately designed clothing, they were certainly not starving -- his mother made certain that a kingdom under his father and her rule would not be a hungry one.

Harry stepped from the carriage first, and this time instead of allowing Adam the chance to, he held his gloved hand out for Y/N to take as she hopped out. Mitch, the coachman, and the horses would stay in place while they went to get what they needed, and at first, Y/N promises that they would be quick, but Harry shushes her, “There are a few places I wish to visit as well, Chambermaid, don’t be selfish.”

They go to the medicinal plant shop first, Y/N shows the shopkeep her list and says who they are there for despite it being somewhat obvious with Harry standing at her side. Harry wonders if the man would have been as kind as he was to her if not for the prince being there, but Y/N seemed to be familiar with him to some extent. He’s quick in his gathering, filling half of her basket with different packets of herbs, and even a few things that the physician didn’t request that the man promises are on the house. Y/N pays him, thanks him kindly, and the man stops Harry to tell him how much he admires the royal family.

“You’re kind, old man,” Harry let him hold his hand, “But the only one worth your praise is my mother. Stay well.”

As they walked out of the store, Y/N began to speak, “Prince Harry,” she inquired, “If you do not mind me asking — do you not care for the king?”

“My father?” Harry repeats, and she nods, “Well, he’s an arsehole who spends his time drinking wine and pitting his son’s against one another. When I was little he used to strike me with his hand when I could not understand arithmetic, and he’s always made me feel worthless. So no, I can’t say I care much for him at all. But never mind that,” he slides his arm over her shoulder, “We’re visiting the jewelers, I want more rings.”

It was a half-truth: Harry wanted rings, sure, but his main objective of going to the jeweler was to look at the hairpins. He had not been to this particular store since he was a child, but he recalls that he used to marvel at all the things inside. Hell, the face he had made when he was little was probably similar to the face Y/N was making as they stepped inside. Her mouth had fallen open, she fixed the basket closer to her body, seeming almost uncomfortable walking in.

“Sir,” she cleared her throat, “Should I not wait outside with Adam while you shop?”

“Now why would you do a silly thing like that?” Harry let his fingertips dance along the hanging necklaces, feeling the crystals shift beneath his touch, feeling the eyes of the shopkeep bore into him as she realized who he was, “I’ll need a woman’s opinion after all.”

“Your Highness!” A shrill voice called, “Oh, how thankful I am that you came into our store! Is there anything in particular that you’re searching for?”

Harry turned toward the woman, who was a head or so shorter than Y/N and pushed past the poor chambermaid without even so much as a glance in her direction. A ballsy move by the woman indeed, because despite her clothes that say she’s a servant, she did enter with royalty. Servants in the castle were typically treated quite well by the people of the village -- Harry’s never really understood why, but it was an unspoken rule amongst many, and apparently, it had not come to this shopkeeper’s ears. Had Y/N not been planted any firmer on her feet, she would have certainly been knocked into the displays surrounding them, basket and all.

“Yes, you can help me,” Harry replied, before pointing at Y/N, who had stepped further away, staring at a different display in what she deemed was out of the way, “Find me a few hairpins that match her skin tone and complexion then bring them to me to choose from. If you half-ass it, I’ll have the shop shut down,” he smiled, tipping his head toward her, “I’ll be looking at the rings.”

He doesn’t wait to see the woman’s face, instead, he ambles over to the rings as he had said. Harry does not care for those who feel they’re better than servitude — truly, they are all one bad day away from being homeless, broken, and in need of shelter. Some people are just born into being servants (as Y/N was), some have no other choice for shelter than that. Nobody is better than anyone. . .Harry doesn’t believe he was better than anyone; it was sheer, pure luck that he was born to the right people.

Harry looks back to check at Y/N often though he doesn’t make it clear that he was. Fleeting glances to see she has stayed planted near the door, holding the basket close to her body, and smiling politely every time the shopkeep comes near her. Her discomfort is obvious -- for a moment Harry is considering how he could ease this discomfort without her having to leave his line of sight, but before he can make a move, the woman who he’d sent to collect hairpins is at his side.

“These are our finest jeweled hairpins, Your Highness. I hope you find them to your taste.”

Four of these hairpins are held between her fingers, all of them incredibly charming: one using garnet, another amethyst, the third green kunzite, and the last a very bright amber. The design of them was similar, with the actual pin a color that would disappear in the strands of her hair before the end piece fanned out in white petals, the jewel sat in the center. From the flower, a chain dangled and a smaller, identical flower swung back and forth. They were unlike something he had seen before, and certainly better than whatever Edgar had passed onto her as his cheap attempt at making her feel special. Harry would show her what it was like to be special -- he would buy her the one that would suit her beautifully.

“I choose the amethyst, along with these rings,” he flattened out his hand, showing the four rings he held in his palm, “What is your price?”

“Please, take them for free, Sir! It is simply an honor to have you in my store. I share the same courtesy with Prince Edgar.”

Harry shook his head, “I’m paying you,” he said sternly, “My brother is a cheap prick and I will not be of the same level as him; I have the money to give you, so I will now name your price.”

She eventually relents, Harry gives her the money and she packages the hairpin in a delicate velvet box. His rings she packages in sets of two, smaller velvet boxes, and Harry calls Y/N over with her basket. He places all of them inside, “What did you get, Sir?” Y/N inquired but he hushed her as he guided them from the store.

Harry ignores her for now.

“Where is the sticky toffee pudding? I trust your family has good taste, I would like to try it.”

. . .

Harry does not give Y/N the hairpin until later that night, after his bath, once she had fixed his fire and was asking him if there was anything else he would like before she went to perform the rest of her duties. “Ah, yes, of course,” he replied, walking toward his dresser where he had laid it open, “I have something that I purchased with you in mind,” he grabbed it, walking the short distance back toward the door where she stood, “Remember Y/N, that I am a man of my word: I told you I would do this and so I did.”

Y/N seemed confused, “Prince Harry? What do you mean? And what did you give me your word for?” He passes it to her and watches contently as her eyes almost instantaneously go wide, “Wait --”

“Now you can trash that ugly thing Edgar bought. It feels much better to wear finery that was meant for you from the start.”

There are no words that describe how pleased Harry is as he watched her marvel at the delicate jewel, the way her fingers trembled from how gentle she was trying to be as she touched it, “I cannot,” she began, shaking her head, gaze soft and wide when it settles on him, “I cannot accept this, Sir, this — this is too much for me to accept.”

His brows furrowed, “You can and you will,” he said sternly, “You accepted Edgar’s. Why is mine any different?”

“Because I knew Prince Edgar hadn’t bought it for me, I — it is too beautiful for me to wear.” Y/N tried to hand it back to him, but Harry refused to accept it, sliding his arms around his body, looking as if he were about to scold her and honestly, he was moments away from it.

“You say such stupid things,” he chides, “If it was bought with you in mind, then don’t you think you’d be suited to wear it? I swear, for such a smart girl, you love to play dense don’t you?”

It was her turn to frown at him, face pinching up in a scowl, “I do not play dense! I just don’t understand why you have been doing such nice things for me lately -- it’s making me nervous! I thought you hated me.”

“Who said I hated you?”

“You did!” She cries out, “You said it, the very first time we met!”

“I never said I hated you, I said I didn’t like you -- those are two different things. I hate my brother, do you see me doing any nice things for him?” She shook her head, “Well, then there’s your answer. Besides, it’s not even like I don’t like you anymore. You get beneath my skin on most days, but you’re not as horrible as I had imagined when we first spoke to one another.” He reaches out for the hairpin, plucking it from the cushion that it rested atop of, “Having my cock in your mouth or my fingers stuffed inside of you aren’t too much, but a hairpin is? Would you truly refuse a gift from me?”

Y/N appears to be marginally distressed as she quietly picks it up from his palm, “Thank you. . .thank you so much. You. . .you are too kind to me sometimes, Prince Harry, and other times you make me so angry I could scream. I do not understand you at all, but I. . .I will work hard to be someone worthy of such a gift.”

Harry chuckles warmly, trying (and failing) to ignore how his belly sparkles from her words, taking the hand that had been holding the pin and letting it cradle her face instead, “Would you like to learn how to ride a cock tonight?” My cock -- he would like to add, but he bites his tongue -- he has been horribly possessive as of late, and it seems to be getting worse and worse with each passing day.

“Oh, yes!” She nodded quickly, “Yes! I would like to learn tonight.”

“Eager,” Harry replied, “Who would have known you would be so cock hungry, Chambermaid?”

She scowls at him once more, “I am not cock hungry! I just -- I thought maybe you had forgotten, or that you did not want to touch me in such a way. I thought that was the reason you did not teach me the other night.”

No, that was because I was so hard I would have cum far too soon and the experience would have been lackluster for you, and despite appearances, I am not a selfish lover, “You think too hard,” Harry retorted, “Strip down -- I want everything off.”

“Oh,” she replaced the hairpin inside of the box, closing it before clutching it tightly in her hands, “But is that -- is that truly necessary? You have never seen my upper half, Sir, that’s embarrassing.”

“I had my fingers in your cunt, Chambermaid, but your breasts are what you decide to be shy about? And you say I’m the one who is hard to understand,” he takes the jewelry box, walks to his nightstand, and sets it there, “Get undressed.”

Y/N took the tie of her bodice between her thumb and forefinger, pulling it undone from behind her back, “You are crass and distasteful,” she uttered, “Everyone of the court always speaks so highly of you in bed, yet nobody has ever spoken of your foul mouth.”

“Eavesdropping is unbecoming,” Y/N is dragging the skirt of the smock up and over her head, revealing the undergarments she had below. Where women of the court usually have intricate layers of corsets and hoop skirts, Y/N wears nothing but a thin piece of cloth covering her bits that she pulls down and kicks off. Her breasts were bare to him, nipples hardened by the cool air slithering through the window, and goosebumps pimple her skin. Harry’s cock had already begun to stir, fattening in his trousers just from the sight of her alone.

“You’re cruel,” Y/N huffs as Harry steps forward, an impish grin on his face as his hands meet her sides, stroking up toward her breasts.

“Am I?” Harry murmured, taking another step forward, which forces her to take a step back, and he keeps doing so until the backs of her knees meet the mattress and she drops down on top of it -- she bounces with the springs, and her tits do as well. Harry remembers that he’s about to see a very similar version of this but with her tight around his prick and he stiffens even more, “I don’t think so,” he crawls over the top of her as she scoots back further into the bed, “If I were so cruel, then I wouldn’t consider putting my tongue on your pussy. Now open your mouth and pretend I have wine in mine.”

He lowers down to meet her lips, sliding his tongue against hers. She tastes sweet, like the peach juice she had told him she was going to drink before preparing his bath, and her mouth was warm and soft. Y/N was surprisingly enthusiastic in kissing him back, rolling their tongues together, murmuring these little whimpers when his fingers slid down the front of her tummy and stroked her thighs. He avoided where he knew she wanted it most, even when she gave a demanding rock of her hips. Harry bit her bottom lip, it made her squeak as he tugged it away from her mouth before releasing it, “Don’t be greedy,” he licks where he nipped like an apology, soothing it over.

“That hurt,” she pouted, and it only made him want to bite her again but he refrains.

No, instead he uses his free hand to thumb over her mouth, cooing, “Did it?” He mocks her, but she still nods her head despite him, “Oh, I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” he coos, “I’ll make it better, hm?” Harry leans in, pulls her bottom lip into his mouth, and gently suckles at it. While he does this, he skates his fingers against her mound, then down her lower lips, carefully moving past her clit, down to her hole. He doesn’t sink in, but dances his fingers around it -- she gets wet like she’s never been touched before. Every little touch, whether it be with his mouth, his tongue, or his hands.

Harry wonders if she is thinking of him while this is happening, or if fleeting thoughts of his brother still needle into her mind. He hates the thought of it -- he understands that he told her he’d help for the benefit of her knowing what to do with Edgar, but every time they do this that feels more and more like a lie. He decides that he wants to be the only person she’s thinking about, when she’s like this -- with her legs spread, wet between her thighs, needy and wanting. Maybe that’s why he speaks so much throughout it. . .he wouldn’t give her the chance to think of anyone but him.

“You get so wet, so quickly,” he told her, “I’ve barely touched you, and you’ve already collected this hm?” He withdraws his fingers, holding them between his and her face before stretching the two apart. A thin string of her juices stretches to a snap before he slips them into his mouth, humming around them, “Have you ever tasted yourself?” She shook her head, “You taste very sweet,” he murmured, “It must be what I’m feeding you. Here --” he reaches back down, swirls his fingers inside of her again, strips it down against his tongue, and then slips back into her mouth again. When he parts this time, he catches her as she flutters her eyes back open, “Did you taste?”

“I think so,” she replied, “You really enjoy how I taste?”

Harry nods, pressing himself up from the mattress so he was sitting on his knees, “You taste delightful,” he murmured, digging his fingers into the tender flesh of her thighs, “If you’re good for me, next time I’ll lick into you until you spasm around my tongue. Unbutton my top.”

Y/N moves to sit as well, but not without a small grumble; when Harry asks for her to repeat herself, she does, “I said you have too many buttons. I hate how many there are.”

“Ah, I see, because you want me naked quickly, is that it?”

She huffs but says nothing as she begins to unbutton them, slipping each button from the slit of the silk blouse. There are an absurd amount of buttons on this top, it was true, but he liked watching her as she did it. The way she chewed on her bottom lip, delicate fingers popping them out, and when her eyes flicker up to meet him, she realizes he’s staring at her, and gets all shy again, darting them back to his chest. It makes Harry laugh as she finishes them off, doing the last few buttons and sliding the fabric from his shoulders.

“You have very --” she began, but then shook her head, “Your chest is very nice.” She corrected herself, lifting her hands hesitantly and letting her fingertips graze his skin carefully. The tips of her fingers are cold and similar to her own, his chest pebbles from the cool air and her cool touch. Harry would love to have her exploring and touching his body but he gets swept up in the icy feel of them, as he gathers her by the wrists and brings both hands to his mouth. He cups them in his own and breathes on them, before nuzzling his face against them.

“Why’re your fingers so cold?” He murmured, “Is it my room? Must I shut the window so you don’t freeze?”

Y/N shook her head, “I’m sorry, Sir,” she replied, “I am a bit chilly. The physician told me once this is a sign of my body trying to maintain its natural temperature; it is important to keep the core of your body warm though, so that’s where the focus is.”

“Listen to you,” he squeezed her hands once more, before letting them go, lowering his own fingers to slip into the waistband of his trousers -- his bulge was clear, shaped along his left thigh where he’d tucked it previously, “You’ve got quite the brain, Chambermaid, remembering everything you’re taught. I’ll teach you something else related to the sciences -- additional, bare body heat is the best way to conserve warmth,” he pushed them down, “You’ll heat right up for me.”

He removes the pants, his cock bobbing out. Harry cannot recall a time he had been this hard, except for maybe when he was fingering her the other night. He had a much better grasp on himself tonight, where he believed he could last much longer than a few seconds as was threatened the last time he had her like this. Harry crawls up to the head of his bed, lying among the pillows and spreading his legs out, “Come here,” he told her, waving her over, “I want you to sit in front of me and fuck yourself open with your fingers, yeah? Until you think you can handle my cock.”

Her shoulders sank as she crawled over to him, “I don’t think it would be best with me using my own fingers,” she told him, “I fear they aren’t big enough to do as well.” Despite her saying it wouldn’t work, she still scooted so her legs were spread out, tucked beneath his, such a filthy display, like something found in paintings in the back of naughty shops that he and his brother were told to never go into when they ventured out to the village (Harry then, went out of his way to get inside of one).

“I reckon you just want me doing all the work,” he teased, “What if your flower is aching and I’m not there to stuff you full of my fingers, hm? If you can’t learn to do it then you’ll be a mess.”

Still, she seemed nervous, but Harry was firm in wanting to see her try at the very least. He watched as her hand sank down but he stopped her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her hand to his fingers before he slipped them into his mouth. Harry sucked on two of them until they were slick from his spit, before popping off of them and letting her continue. First, her fingers come into contact with her clit, and she jumps slightly from the contact, looking up to him like she was checking to see if she was doing it right. Harry smiled and nodded, encouraging her to continue, and watched as she experimentally lulled the button beneath her fingers. He can tell she likes it -- the way her hips rock into her fingers, how her toes curl, the way her lips trembled, and how her chest heaved.

No matter how adorable the display was, Harry touched the inside of her thighs, “I know you feel good,” he crooned, “But practice stretching yourself open.”

She nods, sliding her fingers down, and dipping inside of herself immediately. Harry’s brows raised as her own furrowed slightly, as she slipped them in deep, down to her knuckle, and then she slipped them out and did it again, but she’s disgruntled. An annoyed sigh leaves her, “It isn’t the same,” she whined, looking up to him, “It doesn’t feel as good as when you do it!"

Harry bit back on another laugh, both of his hands stroking up and down the inside of her thighs, “Try again,” he murmured, “This time when you sink them in, curl your fingers up. You’ll hit that spot inside of you.”

And she did try again -- sank them in and curled them up, but she still shook her head, “Can’t you just do it?”

Harry fixes his hands around her thighs with a sigh, tugging her closer to him so he could touch her more comfortably, “You’re absolutely hopeless,” Harry sighed, replacing her fingers with his -- he would admit, they probably reached in deeper, and he had heard from women before that stimulating their own spongy spot does not feel the same as someone else. Still, he enjoys provoking her, “Can’t do a thing without me, huh? Need me to do everything for you? Make you feel good?”

The usual huff and grumble that he would have expected is replaced by a complacent nod, a whimper of, “Yes, please,” that makes his cock twitch, and beads of precum slide down from the tip. Oh. . .oh, Harry liked this. How could he like when she is irritated with him and when she’s begging? Why did both elicit such a response from him?

He curls them up, rolling the swollen button beneath his thumb in fast circles, and watching as she gets all worked up all over again, especially when she starts scissoring her open. Her chest rising and following quickly, gentle little sounds escaping her throat, her thighs shaking, the hand she isn’t using to hold herself up has a tight grip around his ankle, like she just needed to hold onto something. Her walls milk his fingers, pulsing around them, squeezing him tight and taking him in -- the thought of his cock inside of her is enough to make him leak more, and his heart is racing -- he wonders if it’s as quick as hers. If they are beating in tandem. . .could hearts link in moments like these?

Harry withdrew his fingers when it seemed like she was about to cum much to her displeasure, but she had no chance to protest or fuss at him, “Okay,” he began, “What you’re going to do is crawl on top of me. Some people do this squatting, but I think it will be easier for you to stay on your knees. You’ll straddle me -- there you go, just like that,” he nodded, then praised, “Good girl. I’ll help you guide it inside, but you control how you sink down on it -- how slow or fast, and how much you take. If at any point you want to stop, tell me, and we will stop immediately. Okay?”

“Okay,” she murmured, swallowing thickly, the nerves reintroduced into her system as Harry took ahold of his prick and painted it up and down her slit a few times before budding it at her hole. Harry is true to his word -- his free hand he uses to rest on her hip and aids her in getting just the very tip in, holding it upright for her before he instructs her to go ahead and try.

Like always, Y/N is incredibly careful as she slowly begins to lower. Harry digs his front teeth into his bottom lip, eyes fluttering slightly as he feels her walls take the head of him inside of her. She was so hot inside he felt like he could melt, and wet enough that her juices slid around him. Y/N’s hands were flattened, resting on his stomach as she worked herself down, rocking and rolling her lips, getting him in even lower. She was moving off instinct, driven by her desire and pleasure. Harry felt so excited -- so enraptured at the moment, in her, in being her first -- in her asking him to do this. Fuck sake, this was amazing, wasn’t it? This was so fucking good, and amazing, and so was she. How cute was she like this? All overwhelmed, feeling full, sinking down slowly with her fingertips dipping into the skin of his belly. And when her bum had met the tops of his thighs -- when she had taken him all the way in, and he was struggling not to take her hips and fuck into her -- she looked at him with the softest, sweetest smile that made his heart feel entirely too big.

“I did it,” she gleamed at him, giggling, and when she giggled she squeezed around him, “You’re all the way in. I feel so full.”

“Fuck,” he breathed out, digging his fingers into her hips to ground himself, “You did so well. I really didn’t expect you to take it all so quickly.” She smiled at him, slowly and experimentally rolling her hips, gasping, holding onto him tighter, “That’s it, baby,” he stretched his legs out wider for her, “Just like that -- you’re doing so well.”

Y/N thrives off the praise, like an eager puppy -- he would have flattered her much more throughout their time together if he had known that this was something that she got off on. She lifts herself a little, then lowers back down, then lifts herself up more -- slowly working herself up until she is pulling halfway off his cock and dropping back down. Her breasts are bouncing, Harry watches closely as his cock disappears inside of her. It’s so gorgeous -- something so delightful to watch.

“Does it feel good?” She asks between moans, becoming less rhythmic in her bouncing, more sloppy the better she feels, “Do you feel good?”

“I feel so good,” he told her truthfully -- how could he not when she was so wet, warm, and soft on the inside -- ridges sliding against his shaft, the head of his cock pumping into her g-spot, “Do you. . .hm --” he took a deep breath, “Do you think I could do a little bit for you? Think I could fuck up into you?”

Harry had, had every intention of letting her take control the entire time, but he was nearing the end of his thread. He needed to see it -- needed to feel and hear how she would sound and look, and how her body would respond to him thrusting inside of her. If she said no -- if she said she didn’t want that, then he wouldn’t push her, but christ, if she did want it --

“You can do that,” she agreed, “I wouldn’t mind if you did -- my thighs -- the muscles in my thighs are burning.”

That was all Harry needed -- he fixed his hands on her hips, scooted a little lower on the bed, and fucked his hips up into her. Y/N cries out, her hands falling to his chest this time as he snapped his hips up, and he thinks the head of his cock is nestled against her spot even better this way. Each movement punched out a sweet, desperate sound from her throat. “You’re just sucking me right in,” he mewled, grabbing her hand again, directing it toward her clit, “Go on and play with this little button how you were -- remember how good it felt?”

Her eyes had fluttered closed but she found her clit, rubbing in circles, moaning even louder, “Prince Harry,” she whimpered, “I feel like I’m going to cum soon.”

“Good,” he murmured, “It’s okay to cum -- soak my cock.”

It only took a few seconds more, of her rubbing her clit and Harry pounding into her, she began to throb around him in squeezes, milking him, wetting his cock with her juices as her thighs shook and she stilled. When the first wave of it passes through her, her body quivers and Harry pulls her down by the shoulders to smear their lips together once more. It was useless trying to kiss her right now -- she held her mouth open for him but she was only moaning against his tongue. God, how absolutely fucking precious was she?

Harry slips out of her, pumps his cock in between them four good times before he’s cumming in between them, his toes curling as he paints both of their stomachs with his cum. It was intense -- the hardest he thinks he’s ever came as he empties between them. It had been his turn to moan into her mouth, breathless, panting, trying to make sense of the dizziness that swims through him as the remnants of his orgasm sparkle through his body. Why had all of that been so breathtaking? Harry cannot recall a time he had been this satisfied, and ready to indulge all over again.

He would indulge, if not for the exhausted chambermaid flopped down on top of him. It makes him giggle, and he begins to stroke her back, “Have you tired yourself out?”

“Yes,” she replied, a lot quicker than he would have expected -- he had thought she was falling asleep, “Doing the work is exhausting.”

“Doing the work? You put in about eight minutes of effort, I did the rest.” he absently swatted at her bum, watching over her shoulder as the skin jiggled, and biting back the urge to do it again when she jumps and makes a startled noise.

She pushes her face up from where she’d buried it into his neck, face in another frown and hair mussed, “It was a hard eight minutes! I have never done that before, not all of us can be so. . .well versed, in things like this, Your Highness. Some of us have to work throughout the day -- which I need to be doing right now.”

“You wound me,” he placed his palm on her upper back, flat between her shoulder blades before pushing down, “Rest for now. The most important tasks you have, have already been completed for the night, so there is no need to worry.”

Y/N allows him to ease her back down into his body, not bothering to question his suddenly cuddly nature. Though Harry wouldn’t really regard it as sudden -- Harry had always been quite into a cuddle, but there were very few people Harry could stomach the thought of cuddling with, even out of those who he bedded. Y/N was different though. . .Y/N had made him cum like that, and still smelled light, like lemon and fresh linen as she always does. Harry could tuck his face into her throat and sleep better than he’s had in years, he’s sure of that -- or maybe that’s just the post-orgasmic haze that he’s fallen into, swimming through fluffy clouds of warmth and contentment. He didn’t even mind the stickiness of his cum in between them, nor their sweat.

“By having completed my most important tasks, you mean your bath and your fire, don’t you, Your Highness?” She inquired, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Harry hums, “And I’ve grown bored of hearing you call me that. All the titles you have for me, actually. ”

He can picture the scowl on her face as she questions, “What am I meant to call you then?”

Harry lets his eyes flutter closed.

“Call me Harry. And maybe I’ll consider calling you something other than Chambermaid.”

. . .

Exhaustion weighed heavily on Y/N’s bones.

She was overworked, overtired, and overstressed from an awful week; it felt as if the day she returned to the servant’s quarters with the hairpin Harry had gifted her (still in the box) things had become hectic. It was not as if she had goaded about what she was given -- really, she had only mentioned it to Edith, but Edith knew how and when to keep her mouth closed about certain things. Y/N never wanted any of the other servants to believe that there was any favor given to her by either of the princes because she felt that there was nothing more than slight partialities. It had always been clear with Prince Edgar, that she had only been their servant since they were little and he’d grown used to her being around, that he treated her kindly. Prince Harry, however -- his goals and intentions were very confusing to her, and if they were confusing to her, then she could see where the view of their relationship could be skewed. Hell, she’s almost eighty percent certain that the only reason Harry does things is to spite Edgar. . .she doesn’t think it has much to do with him liking her more than a potential friend.

But the others did not see things this way, and for that, she could not blame them. Edgar was quiet in their friendship -- they took tea together, he would gift her things sometimes (not often, and sure, they may have been meant for someone else but she was still receiving them so she had been delighted), and they would talk about things that Y/N probably shouldn’t know about, but he made her feel as if she were his confidant. From a different perspective, it matched that of a loyal, longstanding servant and royalty. Nothing unheard of and nothing unseen -- people could be a little peeved, but they could not cry favoritism.

Harry was loud -- he always came with sweets, breads, and fruits she otherwise would not have gotten to eat had he not brought them to her. If he couldn’t find her, he would come lurking through the servant’s quarters until he did, or he’d ask around for her until he was directed to where she might be. He orders him to his room every night to prepare his bath and his fire and sometimes keeps her in there longer -- like when she was meant to be helping with the party and he had her sitting in his room to embroider. How he demanded she stay in his room after she’d promised the seamstress she would help spool her thread, then turned around and made that same seamstress make her a new smock. Would loudly state when there were others around that everyone should be doing their own work and not passing it off to burden someone else.

This upset people greatly, but Y/N felt it wasn’t because of the gifts, or the sweets, or even his passive-aggressive statements. She fears that the reason they are so angry is that when Prince Harry is taking up her time with his antics, she is unable to perform the duties that she had been doing for them. For the first time in a very long time, they were being forced to do all of their work, not just bits and pieces while Y/N picked up on anything they faltered on.

And she doesn’t know why she does it -- she knows it’s silly, and that they are using her, but it is so hard for her to deny them. It was hard for her to deny anyone, really, and she thinks Harry had always known this. She believes that in the beginning, he utilized this to his advantage, but the longer they spent time with one another, he had grown irate with this trait of hers. There was always a sense of glee she noticed oozing from his every pore when she snapped at him, or was short, or said something that would have had her struck had she said it to anyone else.

Harry was just so. . .odd. At first, he often made her so upset that she wanted to yell at him -- to slap him across his face and tell him he was the rudest person she’d ever met. To say she understood why everyone spoke so highly of Edgar but said nothing but disappointed remarks when it came to him. But now. . .now those feelings come few and far in between, apart from feeding into his teasing and taunting her, she really could not think of the last time she was genuinely angry with him.

There were things he did, that on the outside seemed like he was a bossy prick, but beneath the surface, he was doing something for her. At least this is what Edith helped her discover when Y/N said she was confused by his bullying because it was typically accompanied by something that a bully would not do -- like caress her in some way, or have her sit and rest for a little while, or bring her two of her favorite type of cake. To agree to teach her how she could bring pleasure to someone that he loathed -- of course, she figured there was some reason unidentified to her as to why he would agree for his own enjoyment, but he was still helping. Still went out of his way to tell her she was doing well, to make her feel good, to teach her not to allow men to take advantage of her. And was kind to her during, even if he teased her, he called her sweet names and made sure that she felt good.

Lately, Harry was more kind than he was rude, and even in his rudeness, there was an underlying affection to his words. And it was beginning to make her feel things. . .things that she had not felt for anyone, not even Edgar. These emotions that swell in her felt more raw, like fresh skin beneath a peeling scab. They made her feel warm, and held, and cared for, even if it was confusing. . .even if it didn’t make sense to her. She didn’t understand it, but she liked how it felt, and she liked how she felt when she was with him, even when he has that waggish smile on his mouth that usually meant he was about to say something crass, or do something that might embarrass her.

But how could Y/N even begin to unpack all of that when she was so fucking tired. In the last week, it felt like everyone needed her to do everything -- three days in, they stopped even bothering with excuses as to why they could not finish the work themselves. From the moment she opened her eyes at 5AM, to the moment she finally got to close them the following night at 3AM, she was on her feet and working. Even with Harry as an addition to her nights, she prepped his bath, washed his hair, changed his linens, and was as brisk as she could to leave the room so she could start on her other duties. Or, well, not her duties, but the other’s duties. From laundry to meal prep, dusting to sweeping, cleaning the cracks between the stone flooring, helping the chimney sweeps, and even those who took care of the rooms in the west wing of the castle -- everyone needed her for something (plus another ball that was just a week or so away for Edgar's birthday, and once again she is meant to be embroidering another variation of the castle’s emblem on the corner of about 300 hundred handkerchiefs). And she did it because she always does it, but usually, there were little breaks in between. Usually, they weren’t so unrelenting. In the past five days, Y/N had maybe slept a total of 4-6 hours.

She was tired. . .so tired, in fact, that she hadn’t even realized Harry was yelling at her at first. Not when he stepped up to her in the servant’s quarters, with his hand clutching the hairpin he’d bought for her. But she had left that hidden beneath her pillow, hadn’t she? Y/N slept with it every night to keep it safe, and in the mornings where she thought someone might be in her room to clean she hid it beneath the mattress. How had he gotten that? The only other person who knew where she kept things special to her was Prince Edgar, and that was only because he’d asked where she kept an expensive handkerchief he’d given her once.

“--for you to try and fucking sell it? And avoiding me after the fact? Do you think I’m stupid, Chambermaid? That I don’t have a fucking brain?”

Y/N blinked at him, trying to wipe away the haziness around her vision, “Wait, what?” She shook her head, “What do you -- what do you mean?”

“What do I mean? You’re unbelievable,” he held the pin up in front of her face, “Why did a member of the court come to me saying a chambermaid by the name Y/N sold this to them so you could buy the next king a bloody gift?”

She held her hand to her forehead -- it throbbed just beneath her temple, “That -- I never did that!” She protested, shaking her head again, “Why would I do that? Who told you that?”

“Does it matter who fucking told me? How did they have it then?”

This was too much -- too much! Someone stole it from her, and she hadn’t even realized that it had been stolen until right now. And for that, maybe she deserved to be scolded -- for not keeping track of such an expensive, pricey gift -- but not for selling it. Not for whatever this false story was that someone had fed him.

But her brain was too fuzzy to get it out properly, and he was so angry with her. Y/N had never seen him this seething mad, and it’s overwhelming. His upset is overwhelming, the fatigue is overwhelming, the other servants staring with wide eyes are overwhelming, and she just couldn’t handle it. It felt as if everything caught up with her once -- years of doing triple the work of one person, day-in-and-day-out, no matter the task, no matter who was asking her.

All of it rushed in, swung its fist, and knocked her out cold.

. . .

Harry should have known.

It should have been obvious what was happening, yet for someone who claims to be incredibly perceptive, Harry hadn’t even realized. He’d simply credited how infrequently he was seeing Y/N in the past week to increased duties now that another ball had been planned for the upcoming week, to celebrate Edgar’s birthday. It would make sense that Y/N would have to be active in taking care of the duties that come with the event tacked onto what she already had to accomplish in a day. It would also make sense that she would want to be active in the planning because it was Edgar’s birthday after all, and she had feelings for him. . .no matter how much Harry hated that.

But in comparison to the last ball, it seemed she was doing much, much more. Then, on top of that, she looked tired -- she always seemed sleepy, but she looked tired when he stormed up to her. Like she was teetering on the edge of falling asleep as she was standing.

And he should have known that Y/N wouldn’t do something like that -- wouldn’t sell something that he gave to her as a gift. This was the same person who held the new smock to her cheek going on about how grateful she was to him for something as simple as a grey piece of clothing. Despite her reluctance to accept the hairpin, she had still marveled at it, still thanked him and smiled so brightly, and promised to become worthy enough to be deserving of a gift like it. That certainly doesn’t sound like someone who would have gone out of their way to sell that very same gift.

All of this makes sense now, when he thinks about it constructively and slowly, and not in a flurry of emotion after a woman of the court made her way up to him with the hairpin between her fingers, “Prince Harry,” she had said, her face sullen, like she was about to share something with him that she felt bad for, “A chambermaid by the name Y/N -- she was going around trying to sell this to get Prince Edgar a gift for his birthday. I had bought it because I felt bad for the poor girl, but I soon found out that you were the one who purchased this. I fear she may have stolen it from you.”

Now, when he thinks about that in even more critical detail, how would that woman have known Harry was the one to have purchased it if Y/N had not been advertising the fact? And she was not one to flaunt her things or make a spectacle of herself, nor was she one to really speak to members of the court (“They all treat me worse than the actual royalty do,” she’d told him one day).

At the time, however, it had seemed perfectly reasonable, and above all else, Harry had been hurt. It was stupid -- he knew it was stupid, and he knew he probably couldn’t blame any sort of possessive nature on him for feeling as hurt by this as he did. He understood their relationship was nothing more than what it was, but Harry had started to consider Y/N something of a friend to him, and friends don’t do that. Friends don’t sell gifts given to them to random people to buy a gift for the person the gift giver hated. But she loved Edgar -- she wanted to be with him more than anything didn’t she? Every moment spent with Harry she probably wished she’d been spending with him.

So he went, and he snapped, and he yelled, and she looked so confused. . .god, thinking about how her face had seemed so alarmed, and exhausted, and upset as she denied it. He should have listened right away -- he should have taken her back to his chambers, laid her on the bed, and let her sleep, only waking her to eat and wee, then asked her about what happened after she was well-rested. He could have pet her hair from her face, apologized for thinking that she’d done something like that, and let her sleep a little more. Then punish the bastards who had lied to his face.

But he didn’t do that. No, he yelled at her instead, and she fell into him, heavy and limp, scaring the hell out of him. He’d called for help, told one of the servants to go fetch the physician immediately, “Run!” He’d shouted when he decided the man was not going fast enough. Harry lowered her to the ground, laid her head on his thighs, and checked her pulse and breathing. Relief rushed him when he realized her pulse still thudded against his fingers, and the warmth of her breath hit his fingers, but still, he was inconceivably worried. He hadn’t even let the physician or the guards be the one to move her somewhere more comfortable, away from the hustle and bustle of the hall. Harry carried her to her room, laid her atop of her bed, and stood at her side as the physician did his work-up. It was in the middle of it all that one of the servants -- Edith, Harry recalls -- pops into the room, looking just as upset, flustered, and worried as Harry feels.

“I knew this would happen!” She exclaimed, shaking her head, “They were working her too hard and they were doing it on purpose! I told them to fuck off, but they wouldn’t listen, and now she’s -- she’s done this before, y’know? It was a few years ago, and ever since she’s been better at pacing herself, but they were all being so rotten for some reason.”

When they got her to slow down, and calmly tell them what had led up to this point, Harry had felt even worse. Of course, they had her doing their work for them. Everyone used her so often and without care, it did not matter to them if she slept as long as they did. It disgusted Harry to no end, how they could take someone’s kindness and willingness to help and throw it back in their face. It was pathetic, through and through.

Once Harry knew Y/N was okay, that she only needed to rest, and the physician would do frequent rounds on her (not only at Harry’s request, but because he liked Y/N -- apparently she is usually the one to clean his study, and he’s in there often, so they speak a lot), he decided he would find the truth before coming back to stay at her side.

He found the woman who had told him the false story, lounging in a boudoir with several other women surrounding her. They all seemed startled by his arrival, sitting up straighter in their seats, eyes darting to the one who had lied to him. There was tension lying thick in the room, so he knew that they knew, and Harry was in no mood for petty games or stupid stories.

“You,” he pointed out the one with ginger hair, dressed in a pink gown, now sitting upright in the velvet tufted armchair, “Who told you to lie to me?”

She furrowed her brows, “Pardon me? What lie are you speaking of?”

“The chambermaid called Y/N and the hairpin,” he watched as she shifted uncomfortably on the seat, “Who gave you the hairpin and told you to lie to me?”

“Sir, truly, nobody gave me the hairpin, she sold it to me!” The woman had denied it, shaking her head so quickly that the jewels in her own hair clicked together soundly with the movement, “I would not tell a lie to you, Your Highness.”

Harry glared at her, his face set like stone, “Do not play me for a fool. Either you tell me who gave you that hairpin, or I banish you from the castle and exile you from the village. Would you like that instead?”

At the threat, her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head again, opening and closing her mouth multiple times similar to a fish, until she rushes with reddened cheeks to say, “You can’t -- you can’t do that.”

“Do you want to bet your life on it?”

She spits it out almost instantly, rushing, looking wildly between him and the others in the room as she tried to justify herself -- like Harry might still banish her just for the hell of it. “He told me -- he gave it to me and told me what to say! It was him, please don’t -- I wouldn’t have lied to you or done such a thing had it not been the next king telling me to do it.” A grimace takes her face, as she goes on to say, “It was. . .Prince Edgar -- he was the one who told me to do it.”

Edgar?

That fucking piece of shit.

#RUN EDGAR RUN

2K notes · View notes

booklore · 3 years ago

Text

“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?”

Harry is an asshole and Y/N didn't know a prince could be so mean

(21k+ words)

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.

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.”

Harry laughs as he plucks her bottom lip.

“Sure, Chambermaid. I’ll let it slide this once.”

#love this love thislove this #this is amazing

2K notes · View notes