Harry Styles One Shots

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

i.

Harry is pissed off.

The morning had been difficult starting with when he woke; late, with his night clothes drenched in sweat from the same foolish nightmare he'd been having since he was a child with no chambermaid near to change his bedding, nor draw his bath. By the time he made it to the dining hall for breakfast, all the good of the feast had been picked over and the pastries had grown cold. He bumped into his smug-faced prick of a brother as Harry exited with a large peach wrapped in a handkerchief to at least quell the grumble in his belly, and was promptly scolded for sleeping in (to which Harry smiled gently at him and replied, "Mind your fucking business, Your highness,"). Really, the only thing that could fettle this shit of a morning would be seeing his favorite beautiful garden.

On his walks near the East-end, just past one of the inner flanking towers on the castle grounds, there is a gorgeous flourish of flowers. Harry always found beauty in plants, of course, and at some point in childhood, he had gathered as many written books about all different types, from marjoram, rosemary, and thyme to chrysanthemums, edelweiss, and orchids – his favorite were lotus flowers. If his father had allowed it, Harry is sure he would have clung to one of the elder gardeners throughout his entire childhood, but this was back when most of the people in the court believed Harry still had a chance at reform – to be a good boy, who listened well and did his duties as the second son. Had they known how Harry would turn out, he's certain they would have let him neglect his studies and done as he wished...he had started doing that in his teen years anyway.

But his adoration for plants was not his reasoning for appreciating the East-end garden. No, he liked this garden as opposed to all the others, because of the pretty brunette woman tending to it. She was nice to look at; her breasts were large, her skin appeared soft and regularly tended to, her hair combed through and drawn from her face in perfect braids. Harry didn't know her name, but he did know she smelled like gardenias and a beautiful set of lips he liked to imagine fixed around his cock while he shamelessly flirted with her. For a servant, she was a sight to see, and he had no problem entertaining thoughts of taking her right in the soft soil her knees usually lie in.

The woman was sweet, her cheeks grew rosy when Harry bid her compliments, and he loved the slow burn of a chase that would surely end in him fucking her stupid.

Yet as his teeth dug into the flesh of the fruit in his palm, and he rounded the corner where he'd usually see her arse up as her hands were covered in soil (but still managed to remain delicate and unscathed), he didn't find her there. No, instead he finds a different girl there entirely, and maybe on a different day, Harry wouldn't have much cared. On a different day, he would have shrugged his shoulders, continued his walk, and contemplated how he would be spending the rest of his morning.

But today had just been so awful to start, and Harry had not rested well, so the anger that spiked through him was a tad unreasonable – he could admit that – but that didn't stop him from acting on it.

He whistles to catch her attention; the girl's head pops up and snaps over to look at him before her eyes go wide. She scrambles to sit upright, straightening out her back and bowing her head, with her hands – covered in dirt – rested atop of her thighs. The smock she wore was ill-fitting, unlike the way the other gardener's clothes clung to her every curve and dip, this was much too big. So much so that it nearly swallowed her within it, "Good Morning, Your Highness! I hope the day is treating you well thus far."

"Where is the other girl?" Harry inquired, ignoring her greeting as he paused right in front of her. His shoe stood just before her knee and his proximity noticeably shook her, "The one who typically gardens here."