Prince Harry 4 (Patreon)

I had to take a little break from the smut to bring you some very soft and fluffy prince harry (your regularly scheduled pegging will return in a day or two :D) 

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It is not very often that Harry may go down to visit the kingdom in which his father oversees, so when he does he likes to make great use of the time. He spends his day riding his horse along the cobblestoned streets, nodding and waving at especially gorgeous peasant girls who shy away from his gaze in fits of giggles, ponder about the local bakeries and shops only to enjoy how they thrust their things to him for free so readily. They often have parades that Harry enjoys watching from the peaked, slanted shingles of an old church building that the congregation had long since abandoned for a much more updated structure. There was something so enthralling about being immersed within such common people -- the way they looked at him like a God when he was everything but. How they carried themselves in such a relaxed manner compared to the prissy people who line the halls of the castle. The familiarity that they shared amongst one another even though it was quite clear that they had never met. 

Harry just enjoyed watching these people, he supposes, but he enjoys it even more with Y/N present. 

There were a few questioning glares when Harry requested that the chambermaid acquaint him on his spur of the moment trip to the town, but they soon got over it when they realized there was no budging him in his decision. Y/N had halfheartedly mentioned that she had never been privy to the small woodland area just east of the town in the winter. Harry wouldn’t much care for it if not for the beauty of the evergreens and their annual berries, covered in a fresh coat of snow, and he’s always believed that beautiful things should encounter beautiful things. 

This is why he takes her; dressing her in his nicest, thickest of furs to keep her warm. They took his carriage -- the one that’s insulated, with the steady yet quick horses so the ride is not as bumpy nor cold for her. The step into it was high and he used this an excuse to take her by the hand, aiding her inside, settling her down beside me, and despite the several guards that follow them close behind (and the one that sits on the post outside the carriage), he speaks to her freely. Questions her what she brought in her bag, to which she told him just about everything. 

“I brought a few snacks in case we got hungry, but I also brought a few coins in the chance we visit the bakery for their fresh loaves of bread -- I’ve heard word that they’re very good here. I carried your wool scarf for if your neck grew cold and your other pair of knitted gloves in the chance that yours got snowy and wet. Ooh, and I brought a few pairs of socks that I knitted for some of the lesser wealthy people. . .I thought I could give them to them for the cold, if that was okay with you my Lord.” 

“Of course it’s okay,” he told her, his heart warming fondly, “What is not okay is this continued use of a title other than my real name.” 

It was hard for her to get used to in public -- speaking to him so familiarly. She wouldn’t do it in front of the king or queen, nor their guest -- that was a given -- but around most anyone else Harry expected her to speak to him as he is without the title. She did flawlessly of it while they were alone, and even better when he was tucked inside her, the head of his prick nudging against the soft little bump that made her squeal. However, he understands why she has trouble remembering and a few of her reservations towards it, but he comforts her from them as much as he could. 

Y/N has come down with him to the town before but their relationship had been much different than what it is now. He could find humor in the contrasts from then to now; when she grew chilled before, she would merely shiver, teeth chattering and lying that she was just fine. Now, she shuffles closer to him in the carriage and murmurs an appreciative noise when he slides his arm around her, humming at the promises of visiting the hot springs when they return (and assurances that he would fuck her well afterward, which the more he thought about, the more he was excited to return home). She still avoids cursing around him but if a swear slips out she looks much less like he’s going to behead her, rather apologizing quietly no matter how many times Harry’s told her it was okay. And now, she comments on how cute she thinks his nose is, all tipped red from the biting air. 

Once they had parked outside the bakery, Harry went in with her beside him and ordered them both fresh loaves of bread, and plenty of desserts to be wrapped up for them to take home with them (he paid mind to how much she enjoyed sweets, and kept a mental note of all the things she favors, like chocolate cakes with whipped frosting, and pies filled with warm, gooey fruits). Two guards (the ones he has always been very close to) go back to watch over the baking and packaging and baking of the items while he and Y/N sat with a few others at a booth. The people who had once been in the diner had been ushered out at his arrival (to which he apologized. . .it was something he had never thought of much before, but when he does, and to know that if Y/N had lived down here she could be told to leave because his brother visited, the very thought pissed him off), but the workers remain. When there is a small lull in his and Y/N’s conversation, as she puts away the knitted socks she had brought, he could over hear them whispering. 

“What a gracious prince.” 

“To bring a servant with him? And to speak so amicably with her -- I’ve not seen anything like it.” 

“He’s much sweeter than people lead to believe.” 

“I wonder if she knows how lucky she is.” 

How lucky she is? Harry thinks to himself, and at the very moment that this enters his ears and registers in his brain, Y/N looks up to him and smiles softly. It’s the smile she gives him when they’re alone, that manages to bring him warmth from the inside out. Makes goosebumps threaten at the back of his neck because now all he wishes to do is take her to his chambers and cuddle her closely with the glowing red and yellow flames of a fire to keep them cozy. 

He is the lucky one, he had long since decided. 

Once all of the baked goods are wrapped and they’re sent off by the kind, older woman who runs the place (whom they had known for many years, considering this is where most of their sweets come from), hop into the carriage, and eat their fresh bread as Harry tells Y/N that they can go anywhere she wishes to. Any place they’d once passed and she quietly hoped to visit. Any boutique, or shop, filled with useless little things that she doesn’t need but wants anyway. In any way he could spoil her today, Harry made sure that he could. 

So they went to those shops and while Y/N picked up many, pretty little figurines, baskets, and yarns, she told him that most things she could not see any use in having even if she wanted them. The only thing that kept regaining her attention no matter how often she picked up and placed it back down, seemingly determined that she didn’t need it, was a very large, lightly colored quilted blanket. She had raved about how warm it was, and how soft the fabric felt against her skin. It was when she had noticed the price that her face had skewered and she shook her head, “For a blanket? I am able to sleep within the regular gray servant ones for free, why would I need this?” 

But he could feel how much she wanted it, by the way her gaze continued to trickle over towards it longingly. How she let herself look at it a few more times, promising him that she was just trying to figure out why it would cost so much -- what was so special about it. Harry wanted to tell her that the thing that was so special was how much she really liked it, even despite her trying to convince herself she didn’t, but he held his tongue. 

He also held the blanket, asking for her to hand it to him so he could see the embroidery, before passing it to his guard (who went by the name William) and telling him to pay for it at once, with the money that Harry brought. Her mouth fell open to protest, but he  shushed her almost instantly. 

“Let me do this for you,” he murmured quietly, “Please.” 

Then they go around the town, Y/N scouting for those who either have no shoes, or their shoes are beaten and worn enough that they are no longer shielding them from the cold. She gives them socks and booties that she had spent her time working on, and for each person who grins at her and grants a slew of thank you’s, Y/N’s smile and sense of accomplishment is something to see. Harry starts giving her coins as well that she can place in the booties as she hands them out, so not only could they have warm feet, but perhaps they could buy new shoes, or purchase a warm meal.  

It was after this, that they went to the forest with the evergreen trees smothered in their bright red berries. The night had only just barely threatened the sky with a hazy purple glow as he aided her out of the carriage, his hands to her hips as she jumped down. Their feet immediately crunched against the snow that had blanketed the pathway, and Harry grinned as she giggled, leaning down to scoop up some of the white fluff with her mittened hands. “It’s so pretty,” she remarked quietly, holding for him to see, “When the light hits it just right, it looks like crystals. Kind of like your eyes, my Lord.”

Harry has no time to scold her over the usage of his former title to her, because his heart swarms with an endearment he is unable to put into words. There was just something about her compliments and praises towards him that really did him in. They were always so gentle, and it really seemed like it took no effort for them to slide from her lips. Growing up as the second son had always shown its struggles, given that everyone was far more concerned with what was happening with his brother than what was happening with him. What his brother was excelling at, what he did right, what he did well. . .doused in approval from teachers, from their caretakers when they were young, and from their mother and father as they grew old. Harry had always acted out in response to his second child syndrome, but instead of anyone focusing on the fact that maybe he just need a little attention, they labeled him a troublemaker and that was that. 

Y/N was the first to every just speak so kindly of him and have it sound so genuine and honest. It was not as other servants were with their praise, rattling off things as to grow in his favor or in fear that he might go mad and kill them. The words that left her mouth had meaning and proved to be things she thought of often, and that just made him bristle. 

It took everything in him not to plant a kiss on her right there in front of all the guards, but he knew that she would not have liked that. Intead, he appeases himself with a gentle caress of her face by the pad of his gloved thumb. Y/N looks over to him, her eyes wide and soft, but he merely smiles and pats her cheek. He would proclaim how much she meant to him later, when they were alone and he could do it as he liked. 

As they walk through the forest, their boots sound over the ground as they stepped, they marvel at the way the snow glitters on the trees and berries. The chill bites the skin of their faces and cracks their lips dry but Harry still can’t stop thinking about kissing her, and when the cold slithers its icy tendrils around them even done up in the thickest and finest wool, they merely snuggle closer together as they walk. There are a few people among them walking as well, kept at a distance considered safe but still near enough Harry could make out their faces. Some in awe and shock, some unbothered, only one envious from a person what appeared to be sandals instead of closed toe boots. Y/N gives them the last pair of booties that she had and their face on skewers, replaced by a toothless smile and she wishes them all the best, while taking out her own coins from the bagging she’d brought and told him to get whatever he wants with it. 

She was just so good wasn’t she? Just so tender hearted and kind to those that deserve it, and Harry just often finds it so hard to think that he could deserve it. He doesn’t deserve her at all. 

When the cold got to be too much, they both reentered the carriage and they were headed back to the castle. Y/N was tired -- he could tell as much from the way she’d leaned against his shoulder and her breaths evened out to gentle coos -- so he figured they would do the hot springs tomorrow instead. For now he plans on getting her to his room, tucking her into his bed, setting a fire and snuggling up against her. 

This should feel odd to him, shouldn’t it? No thoughts of sex or filth of any kind even remotely threatening his brain. He only wishes to hold her close to him, and Harry has never. . .has never in his life, thought only of the comfort someone’s presence brings him in bed. For him to know that the only stiffy he would be getting was a love stiffy at best, both baffles and excites him. He’d always known that this was never just a sex thing with her -- he could bed anyone he desired, and yet he chose Y/N time and time again -- but now, it just solidfies it. For him to have been wanting to fuck her before but now being delighted with just the mere thought of a cuddle. . .he was whipped for her. Far more whipped than the frosting on their cakes even. 

They return late enough that everyone had long since went to their chambers, so there was no problem in him carrying her sleeping form up the many stairs and to his room, where he lay her among the wool of his blankets. She stirs as he begins to remove himself from her, eyes blinking open and brows furrowed, but Harry leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her mouth, “Continue resting,” he instructs her, “I’m only going to start a fire.” 

She smiles softly, leaning back and relaxing against the mattress as Harry fusses over the fire. Once he finally gets one going, he shimmies out of his clothes, and crawls into bed beside her. He stays on his knees, only helping to work her out of the clothes she’d been wearing, but instead of going further when he gets to the thin undergarment she wore, he pulls the sleepy girl close to him. Encourages her to rest her head on his chest and traces feather light designs with his fingertips into her skin, in circles and loops, until her shoulders sink closer to him and she’s fallen back to sleep. 

The feeling in his chest blossoms and blooms into an elaborate array of colors, that encompass the both of them wholly, and Harry knows one thing is for certain. 

He is in love with this girl.