Yes pleaseeeee đ Iâm dying to read something from you
This is as unbetaâd as they come. I really would just appreciate feedback on characterization and the small amount of abo tropes I have written.Â
Autumn had withered under the frigid hands of winter, the morning sky of London now a reflection of warmthâs slow, painful death. Sandalwood wafted through the air with a pungent kick of lavender. The fragrant, springtime scent coming from the intoxicating slick of his omega. His unslept-in sheets wet with it. Her unmoving thighs covered in it.
The sight of it only made Harry ill.
He left her in her slumber, opting to slip away before she woke with the plea of alpha on her lips.
The sheets would have to be donated. Not a detergent in the world would rid the linen of a scent that only ever made him sick. It was a bitter shame to Harry. He stitched his favourite lullaby into the lining of that fabric.
Harry found solace in his ensuite and the golden lock of his door. His dressing gown slid from his shoulders, just barely missing the marbled floors before properly hanging it prim. He took a glance in the mirror, finally able to breathe in deeply without inhaling the scent of his omega. His body looked well kempt. Chest hair grown in a dusting, pubic hair still dark and trim. He didnât much appreciate the scattered bruises and bites of his chiseled torso. The battered purple shades were too reminiscent of the exhaustion that made a home under his eyes.
The muse had run its course, and he could no longer create with this omega in his space.
Amelia. Her name once sweet on the tip of his tongue, now sour, and an ever present burden in his life. She was too invested in love and the constant yearning for his distinguished knot.
His Nobel brand was built with his own pin pricked hands, brought from its mocked beginnings, to becoming the youngest to ever dress the Royals. Every second of his time was owed to his company, every second of the day was consumed by designs and fittings, and selecting the appropriate fabrics for Nobelâs alikeâand it was only a day job to her. She fucked him like a prop and hung off his arm for the merit. He was no longer charmed by being pulled from his work to knot on her time. He was only ever annoyed.
Harry ran a hand through his tousled hair, deciding he would need a trim and a shave to keep his look clean.
âHarry?â he cringed as Ameliaâs tired voice came muffled through the door.
He moved towards the shower, holding his breath and ignoring his bodyâs natural instinct to tend to her. It wasnât as overwhelming as it was in the beginning, and by this point in his endless string of relationships, it never really was.
Harry switched on the water, stepping right into the ice of it, willing his body to calm down and hoping she would go away. She knocked once and knocked twice, and finally tried for the locked golden knob.
Harry sighed in relief when not a sound followed and the thick scent of her slick dwindled further and further away.
He would have to get rid of her somehow. Steadily ignoring them usually worked.
âGood morning, Gemma.â
Harry stepped into the dining room, kissing his sister on the forehead, and taking his seat at the head of the table. Amelia sat to his left, pouring his tea for him the way she assumed he liked it. Always it bit too milky.
âMorning, Harry.â Gemma answered, looking up from her dayâs itinerary. âSleep well?â
âNo.â Harry answered, refusing the cup of tea pushed close to him. âI was kept up, tending to needs that were not my own.â
Ameliaâs cheeks burned as the energy in the room quickly became tense. Harry gave her a hard stare, his outright disdain visible. He couldnât figure out where the resentment rooted. He couldnât pin the exact moment where he began to waste time loathing her presence and every sound from her mouth. Gemma cleared her throat beside them, not entirely breaking the tension, but reeling Harry back into his morning routine.
âThose needs are extended to you.â Amelia spoke up, nerves colouring her tone. âAs my alpha, you have responsibility to meââ
âI am not your alpha,â Harry clanked a hand against the table, butter knives clattering against it. âWe are not mated, you are not my bride to be, and you will never carry any pups of mine. Is that understood? You are of no responsibility to me.â
Harry inwardly flinched at the cruelty of his own words and the angered tone of his voice, but it was nothing short of the truth, and it was about time she heard it. Â
Gemma kept her eyes on the tea she cooled with her lips, shoulders rigid.
âThere isnât a thing I can do, is there?â Amelia sought, voice thick. âYouâve been distancing yourself from me for weeks. Youâve fallen out of love, havenât you?â
Harry kept his fists balled, instincts threatening to reach out and soothe her.
âAmelia, I simply cannot begin my day with conflict. You know how difficult it is for me to recover if my day begins with a conflict.â Harry deflected, knowing he didnât have the grit to admit he has never been properly in love, and doesnât wish to be. âIâm delivering a collection to the dutchess today, I cannot begin my work with your squabbling.â
âPerhaps, you should take your breakfast in the other room.â Gemma suggested in defense of her brother.
She normally wouldnât dare dabble in the fits of Harryâs love woes, but the moment he happened to mention the heavy task placed on his shoulders for that afternoon, her eyes went wide and he could practically see the angry red blotches forming on her neck. Nothing would ever threaten the harmony of their business, or their fashion house. Not as long as Gemma was alive and breathing.
When Amelia kept herself seated, face painted the utter picture of shock, Gemma set down her tea and flicked her wrist in a pointed direction.
âGo on. Youâre excused.â
The hairs on the back of Harryâs neck stood up.
Gemma, a beta presenting omega, was often so stern it seemed there was alpha trapped inside of her. Likely, somewhere in the labyrinth of her vocal chords.
Amelia glanced over at Harry one last time, hoping that he would rise to her honour, but was inevitably left hopeless. She stood from the table in silence, bruises of her nape nearly as vivid as gloom mingling with cloud of her scent. Harry felt the tie, foolishly knotting her just the night before. His inner alpha instinctually wished to soothe and scent the curve of her neck, but his heart wasnât in it, and he was still repulsed by the stench of her - feeling nothing as she stepped dejectedly out of the room with her shoulders hung low.
âYou sure know how to pick them.â Gemma uttered with a sigh. âTruly, the finest taste. Would you like me to ask her to leave?â
Harry remained silent, stomach knotted in guilt and throat thick with sentiment. Although he didnât quite believe it, he knew he wasnât heartless. Intentions with his omegas always began honorable, courting each one properly and melting their hearts just to swallow them whole. Though, It never seemed to end quite as sweet.Â
Harry was undoubtedly and indefinitely cursed to bachelorism.
âIâll send her off with the September dress, yeah?â Gemma offered. She was only attempting to soften the blow.Â
If it were up to Gemma, not a single omega would walk these extravagant halls, daring to seduce her brother, and surely wouldnât be gifted with one of his gowns on their way out.Â
Harry thought back to the dress. A pale, silk, gown adorned in ruffles at the hips, and intricate lace. Harry stitched two lines from his motherâs favourite poem in the inseam, Among the flowers you left, among the flowers I stay. September would come and go with the anniversary of her death, Harry would mourn in silence, and overload himself with work as usual.Â
It was a beautiful design, the dress. Surely, it would fit elegantly against Ameliaâs flanks and rounded waist, and without a doubt she would flaunt owning a Harry Styles gown and the fables of the night they designed the piece together. She quite literally only stood there, useless. The measurements and shapes were hers, and that was about blubbering it.
