Werewolf!Harry check in part 1 (Patreon)

Things are gettin' steamy! 

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Y/N’s flustered. 

She hadn’t started the day out flustered -- she had actually started it rather composed. After coming back from a small trip home, she had been more than ecstatic to see Harry, Niall, and the rest of the pack. To reorient herself with Maisie at the bakery and reunited Grandpa with the pups in their playroom (who, from several videos sent by Harry, were missing Gramps terribly and were rolling around in his bed and whining every time Harry brought it into them). To climb into Harry’s too large bed and only use a quarter of it because they’re snuggled so tightly together they account for merely one body. 

Being away from Harry for the first time since they’d bonded felt more or less like she was leaving a limb behind and promising to come back. Which was to be expected, or at least that is what Harry told her. They were bonded, linked in spirit, through the rush of blood through their veins. It was nowhere near in the theatrical high schooler way of panic when a couple spends the weekend without seeing one another -- it was a legitimate concern amongst their kind, when a mating pair had to separate large distances. 

The yearning was like an ache that consumed them both all over, like icy needles of want that pricked them. Sure, they could call, but it had almost made it worse -- she could see his face and hear his voice but she couldn’t reach out and fiddle with the hair at his nape, and he couldn’t worm his arm around her waist and draw her nearer to him in the middle of the night when he heard her shiver. Y/N couldn’t hide her face into the base of his throat and let her eyes flutter shut when they were cuddled on her couch, Grandpa warming their feet. Harry couldn’t hold her hand as they walked along the stream on the grounds, with the crystalline water that glittered in the beams of sunlight, and she couldn’t feel his laugh rumble through his chest when she says something that makes him pull her close and chuckle. 

In more direct terms, it fucking sucked. 

And maybe Y/N had forgotten how flirty guys and girls could be, but she was almost a hundred percent positive that she had never been the usual target of people’s conquering affections. If anything, she used to feel as if she practically repelled it, especially at home where she spent most nights alone and having her “dates” to dances be her friends. It was just something she was used to. . .the majority of the people she went to school with knew her from when she was deep in an attempt of a goth phase that never really stuck and saw her cry over Polar Express about thirty times, so she wouldn’t much want to fraternize with high school her either.

Yet, when she returns, it feels like the eyes on her are endless. Not in a confidence-boosting way at all -- it was a way that made her skin crawl, the way it appeared like they were drinking her in, their eyes rolling up and down her body. When she and her old high school buddies went to a club one night, there had been a group of people and 6 out of the 8 found an excuse to hug her at some point. Some of them she could hear breathe in deep and at first, she had attributed it to everyone really liking her perfume, but when the next question that followed was, “Do you have a boyfriend?” She began to become a bit suspicious. 

She brought up to Niall -- asked him if it were possible that there be other werewolves, who instead of staying sacred grounds, galavant through clubs and go around sniffing people. After a lengthy lecture about how she should have let him come with her as he asked, he kindly let her know that all packs were different, and while his and Harry’s had a pretty hefty mistrust for humans that were not her other packs may not care. May roam about and fuck around till their heart's content, some even change people for fun. He told her that most likely, the people spotting her extra attention that they otherwise wouldn’t give is because she’s coated not only in the scent of a wolf but the potent scent of an alpha. One so strong and inviting that they can’t not find their way to her, caught off guard by the human body carrying it along like she’d spritzed it over her pulse points and walked out of the house. 

So they were intrigued beyond belief, wanting to sniff and to understand, hoping to question her but she was always creeped out enough that she slipped away before they had the chance. She forgets how intimate the wolf community is, surpassing human limits of personal space the nth degree, especially when she hasn’t been around them for a second. At first, where there had been snide glances and uncomfortable shifts in her presence, she is now greeted with arms encompassing her tightly, deep breathing and warm laughter as they share stories with her. They enjoy how she squeaks when they squeeze too tightly and even more so how Harry grins, watching them. 

“You are family,” he once told her, “They love you as I love you -- though I do love you most.” 

And she was okay with that -- with them -- but strangers who like hugging tightly, whom she first mistakes for people her friends are introducing her to (or re-introducing her to), who just go in for a whiff? It’s unsettling, and she was far more cautious in the rest of the time she spent away. Along with far more yearning from the wolves she had become used to, this switch up left her rattled. 

So it’s safe to say, save for missing her friends and family back home, she was excited to go back. Ecstatic, even, and Harry was absolutely buzzing as well. 

“I will be there for you at the station!” He had exclaimed to her when she explained she was now boarding the train, “With a big ol’ sign, and flowers, like in them movies you showed me.” 

Low and behold, as promised, when she finally made it out of the terminal and into the main area of the station, Harry was with Niall, both holding up a large sign that had that read WE MISSED YOU  and the messy painted prints of the pups that had tracked all over the white paper. A bouquet of flowers the size of her head, ones freshly plucked from Miss. Tealy’s garden on the grounds (she let Y/N eat some of the berries she’d been growing once, and when Y/N had told her they were the best she’d ever tasted, Miss. Tealy frequently began requesting her if she and Harry weren’t caught up with something else), and a box of her favorite cookies from the bakery that she knew Maisie sent in her place (she was leaving for a week-trip to Germany that day, so she had to be at the airport). 

It was hard not to let her eyes well up, almost tripping over herself as she rushes over to them, walking briskly she had taken on the persona of someone in New York who has no time to get to the places they need to go. Her arms found Harry’s neck in seconds and he squeezed her so tightly that it was just about bone-crushing -- if she hadn’t known any better, she would think that this was his intention. 

Even if it were though, she couldn’t say that she minded it. Being in his arms again felt drinking a cold glass of water at noon, on a sweltering summer day. She was overcome with such immense love that it felt like it might burst from her orifices, ooze from her until she’s melted into a puddle on the train station floor. The only reason she pulls back is to smother his face in kisses, from his forehead to his chin, his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his mouth. And he giggled, trying to kiss her back but he barely could do to the onslaught of her own peckish kisses. 

“I missed you too,” she murmurs, nestling her nose in the bed of his throat and breathing in deep, though as she relaxes when Harry does the same he tenses up. Rigid as a board, and it’s so akin to how he was when they had met the very first time she recognizes it instantly. 

In her attempt to drawback and question him, his grip around her tightens, and she feels a low rumble of a growl threatening his chest, “You do not smell of me,” he notes -- not in accusation, but annoyance is clearly laced through his words as he holds onto her tighter, “Niall told me of the people troubling you with unwanted attention but I had not known they were so close. You reek of them.” 

Her face drops into a pout, wiggling out of his arms with her brows furrowed, “You know the last thing you want to hear from your boyfriend after being away for two weeks is that you reek,” she chides him, turning to grab her suitcase, but she notices then that Niall had already grabbed the handle, “I showered about ten dozen times, so I don’t know why I still smell like them. I’m sorry.” 

His features soften at her words, head shaking urgently, “Do not apologize,” he tells her seriously, “It is to no fault of your own -- you do not. . .reek in that sense of the word. I smell the others more than I can smell myself on you, so I must re-scent you.” He reaches out for her again, taking her by the wrist and pulling her back towards him, to which she goes easily, allowing him to burrow his face in her hair and wrap his arms around her in a much less organ popping way, “Which is not a problem by me.” 

Before Y/N can question what “re-scenting” actually indicates, Niall clears his throat dramatically, and Y/N and Harry both turn to face him, “Listen, I know the lot of you are lovebirds and s’precious, but I have not gotten a single ounce of attention for the five minutes you’ve been here, and I would just like to remind everyone I’m the reason you two met in the first place.” 

Snorting, Y/N rolls her eyes and slips from Harry in favor of giving Niall a hug, “Hi Ni, you know I missed you too.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he wraps the hand not occupied with the sign around her shoulders, giving her a firm squeeze, “Missed you too. Missed your cookies and Grandpa most though.”

Grandpa, who was now being retrieved from his carrier by Harry (who did not believe that any animal should be kept in a crate, and only allowed it when Y/N explained that he had to be), was wiggling happily in his arms and licking and slurping at his face. From a jealous puppy to werewolf correspondence, to being the only two beings in a room who understand each other wholeheartedly, was a wholesome development on their part. Harry adored Grandpa (if not for being bonded to him, Y/N would have assumed he missed him far more than he missed her), and when the security guard walks up to him to let him know that animals are not allowed outside of their carrier  in the station if they are not a service animal -- she could see the flicker in Harry’s eyes that he was not going to allow it. 

“He will stay out of his crate,” he said sternly.

“Sir --” 

“Would you like to be put in a crate?” His voice is deepens, a dull growl that makes Niall stiffen and her heart race; it’s the voice of an alpha that encourages Niall to stand up taller, Y/N’s veins sizzle and her abdomen twinkles and warms, and the security guard shrinks away, “He is living and breathing, has his shots, and in no way violent. He will not be put in a crate.” 

The security guard nods, “Very well, Sir.” 

The power he emanates and oozes is maddening, radiating throughout the entire station, from wall to wall, and it is so all-encompassing that Y/N feels swallowed whole by it. In the absolute best way possible. Over the phone and on the screen, she forgets, because he doesn’t use that voice with her but when he is around his pack, or if she’s ever gotten him in public and something is occurring that is not up to part with his standards, he uses it. She hates the way it makes her insides twist and thighs squeeze together; the response is instinctive and apart from her -- she’s usually got such a handle on her arousal, but when it comes to Harry and when it comes to that voice, she doesn’t have a handle on anything. 

Harry turns to them, a goofy smile painting his lips as Grandpa pants happily beside his face, a complete contrast to the man that had just been standing there before, “There is a great feast, awaiting you, my Love, we must go at once.” 

                                                      .                           .                           .

It was a second homecoming in the span of two weeks when she steps onto the grounds and inside of the now-familiar foyer. Werewolves, she finds, do not take well when their assumed human leave for any amount of time and come back smelling of others. So she was passed around like dinner plate as they all welcomed her with hugs, Grandpa following suit, sniffing and licking all of them, and in their own way, they were all scenting them both. At least taking the edge off of the other wolves, is what Niall said, when he embraces her one last time as to not look like he didn’t care that she apparently “reeked”. 

Dinner was set up already and her assigned spot besides Harry had already been set with food -- all of which her favorite that she had tried since she’d been here. From vegetable shepherd's pie with duchess potatoes to marmalade sponge pudding, about three separate slices of chocolate pie coated in rainbow sprinkles. The scent of the dining hall, in general, made her mouth water, and as Harry holds her chair out for her (as he always does), she tells him as such and he reaches out, stroking at her face tenderly. 

“The chefs have done their best work for you, I’ve made sure of it.” 

They eat till their stuffed full; Y/N feels as though her stomach had expanded three sizes and one more bite might make her pop. She tells them stories of her hometown, what she did in her absence, and how every single one of her friends just about gushed at the fact that she was with Harry. “They talked you up so much, I was almost jealous,” she told him as she cut into her slice of pie with the side of her fork, “Got irritated when they would be saying, ‘Oh he’s so hot’ or ‘God, look at the mouth on him!’ ‘cos like, no shit I know that -- and they weren’t even bringing up how absolutely sweet you were. Didn’t want them objectifying you, s’why you didn’t video chat with any of ‘em.” 

Harry had made a point to keep their fingers interlocked the rest of their time at dinner, squeezing every so often, and she revels in how much she loves the feel of his hands on her skin. It almost feels urgent that she gets him to his bedroom then, and from the way they lock eyes towards the end of dinner, when they’ve come around to collect the plates, she knows Harry is aware. More than aware, actually, of how she’s feeling, because not only has his body grown to match it, but he can smell it. He once told her, that the smell of her arousal commands his attention almost as instantly as her heart starts to pump a little faster, the blood rushing to her groin. 

(He told her this, because she had been trying to hide how needy she was for him when he was particularly busy. Though as they sat quietly in his office, him bent over papers and Y/N silently reading, he had slammed his palm against the desk in a clap that echoed through the room, dragging her attention to him, “How am I meant to focus, when you smell so enticing? Why have you not asked me to tend to you?”) 

However, both of them were filled to the brim with food, and feeling sluggish and slow, and so sleepy. Y/N couldn’t fathom doing any vigorous activity other than trying to find a suitable snuggling position in bed, and when she tells Harry as much he looks grateful. Though, just as soon as Y/N lies beside him after switching into her pajamas (made of the finest threads of silk, from Harry as a gift for Christmas, despite him feeling it was a baseless holiday and he feels he should be able to gift her things because he wants to and not out of obligation for the season), he drags her to him so closely that barely a slip of paper could fit in between. He dips his nose into her neck and rubs the tip against the skin of her throat, his arm encircling her waist so that she could barely even wiggle. 

Soon, where his nose was, his lips meet in a soft press against her throat. She thinks at first he’s just being sweet -- he liked neck kisses -- but then he captures the skin, sucking it between his lips and pinching at it with his teeth. A gasp slides from her throat, her eyes opening up wider as she’s hit with a short gust of liveliness from where she had been slowing down for bed. The hand of his arm tucked around her, is tucked between her and that mattress as if to hold her even closer, as he works the skin over, only parting to lick the broad of his tongue around the tender skin. 

When she craned her neck to look at him, he pushes their mouths together with little warning or thought, a smear of lips that makes her body tingle. He slides his tongue in between her lips and curls it around her own, no hesitation, no playful flirtiness to it like he sometimes did, but full, needy strokes like this was all he had been thinking about. All that he could think about. 

The hand that had been at her side, slides up to her cheek and cradles her face, aiding her in turning so that he could more adequately invade her mouth. He shifts so that he is halfway on top of her, his thighs astride her own, his cock throbbing to life in the small, tight pair of boxers he wore. They were the ones he chose when he couldn’t be arsed to go fetch his laundry. He’d long since outgrown them, but Y/N is often grateful that he kept them around, given they left very little to the imagination and the cotton -- while worn -- was soft (which, in filthier connotations, was very nice to grind against). 

“Need you to smell like me,” he parts from her mouth but doesn’t stray far, speaking the words against her tongue as she flickers it against his plushy, swollen bottom lip, “Inside and out.”