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#harry syles
ifancyharry · 1 year
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Too late
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Word count: 6.8k
What is it: childhood friends to strangers to lovers; YN is getting married and she and Harry haven't spoken in five years. Harry hopes it's not too late, because he's been in love with her since he was 10. angst
TW: mentions of marijuana
When Harry received the invite he was coming back from his usual morning run. It had started as a rather nice kind of morning, really; the weather was warm and the sun kissed his tights with every jog he took, turning his skin a nice golden color, but not enough to make him sweat to the point of grossness. 
Days like that were rare in London, especially in May, so Harry, while he was running, thought about five nice things he could do outside to take advantage of the beautiful weather. Of course, he obviously hadn’t taken in prospective the possibility of getting home to an invitation to his best friend’s wedding, so instead of sun bathing, eating his favorite meal on the porch and whatever other three things he’d come up with, he closed the door behind him, shut all the blinds, and sat on his bathroom floor for hours. And not what felt like hours. He really sat there until his bum had taken the shape of the floor’s tiles. 
He has to admit, albeit without little shame, he tried to throw up a couple of times. He most definitely knows how dramatic that sounds, but call it poetic license or a really bad taste in romantic movies, it felt appropriate at the time. Because he really did feel like throwing up. 
When he started feeling too pathetic to excuse his behavior, he jogged downstairs once again, and he picked up the invite in between his fingers. If he’s being honest, he really hoped the letter wouldn’t be there anymore. He’d rather have imagined it. A nightmare he couldn’t seem to wake up from, or perhaps a sick joke? YN wasn’t like that. She could never joke about such things. 
Harry was definitely the more unserious out of the two, and even he wouldn’t dare to pull such a prank on her. So he knew the invite was real. 
After a brief moment where he seriously contemplated going MIA and pull another ‘kissy’ post and disappear until the upcoming year, he took out his phone from his hoodie’s pocket and opened the calendar app. 
As he came closer to the date, he was praying to god he’d be busy. Call him coward all you want. He was really hoping YN chose the date of the Met (it’s not like he was planning on going, but he’d definitely reconsider if it meant missing her wedding) or the date he’d set for an album release. She hadn’t. She actually chose a nice, free Sunday at the end of the month. And Harry felt like lying on the bathroom floor all over again. 
If Harry was any other person in the world, he would have felt guilty. Because you’re supposed to be happy if your best friend’s getting married. Except, Harry isn’t like other people. Because Harry’s been in love with YN since he was a child; since the very first moment she moved next door and Harry wasn’t even old enough to know what love was all about. He’s certainly aged now, and with it you’d think the love he felt for her could have subdued, or fade, but it never did. It stayed with him until the very day he received the invite. 
Harry eyes briefly the piece of paper in his hands, ‘You’re invited to YN and Graham’s wedding’ and bla bla bla, written in that one font Harry despises (he truly doesn’t, he wasn’t even aware that font existed before this morning), and he feels the sudden urge to pick up a lighter and burn it. That’s how much he despises that font. That’s how much he loves YN. Because seeing her name close to another who isn’t his, makes him want to never get out of bed ever again — he contemplated doing that already, and, frankly, he probably will, at least until he isn’t required to do something like a show or whatever else Jeff schedules for him. 
The thing is that the invite wouldn’t have had this effect on him if YN and Harry were still friends. Because despite Harry still calling YN his best friend, he doesn’t know if she considers him even a friend anymore, and he made it that way. It’s his fault. Harry, who’s someone who never takes accountability for anything, knows it’s his fault. And everyone around them knows, but sometimes Mitch, who maybe cares about him to the point of hiding the truth from him for his sake, tells him it wasn’t his fault entirely; he says: you followed your heart, so you made the right choice — which coming from Mitch means a lot. But Harry, despite appreciating the effort, knows it’s not true. Because he did follow his heart, but he lost her. So really, he would have preferred a life in pain beside her. Because now he’s still in pain but without her. So who won? 
-
YN never thinks about Harry. She doesn’t think about him when she’s shopping at Primark and sees a fruit theme stuffy she knows he’d like, she doesn’t think about him when she gets in the car and her bluetooth connects to his playlist on her Spotify automatically (she told Graham many times it wasn’t her fault, it was kind of a default thing her car did), she’s not thinking about him now, in front of her closet, debating whether she should wear a dress he bought her for her wedding rehearsal dinner.
YN sometimes likes to pretend she never knew Harry. She likes to pretend she never moved next door to him when she was only ten, she likes to pretend he never auditioned on xfactor, she likes to pretend she loves Graham as much as she loves Harry. 
Other times, YN likes to pretend there’s a universe in which Harry’s the one she’s marrying. In this universe, she imagines never meeting Graham, she imagines Harry never leaving and shattering her heart, she imagines the cat they’d adopt, the house they’d buy, how they’d raise their children; in this universe she sees herself always happy. 
She knows she’s not being fair to Graham, so she lets herself linger in this universe only for a couple of minutes and especially on hard days when she feels overwhelmed, it doesn’t make it more morally right, she’s aware of that, but what else could she really do? 
When YN sent Harry that invite, she certainly didn’t think he’d come. It’s not like she appositely called Jeff and asked — begged — him to free his schedule the day of her wedding. She asked Glenn instead because she’s friendlier with her. 
A part of YN still wonders why she did it, from time to time. Maybe, if she was a bad person, she could’ve done it because she wanted Harry to see her happy and in love. But she’s not like that. She could never imagine hurting him in that way. 
So, she always comes to the conclusion that maybe she sent the invite because she just misses him. It’s not like she has to have another reason. Missing him is enough. 
She knows no one is truly aware of the affection she feels for Harry. What she feels for him isn’t nowhere near what she feels for Graham. In the past, she used to be so scared of feeling such things for another, because with those feelings came the realization that she also had something to lose. And she truly felt like she couldn’t do it without him. 
But then, he left her. And she did do it without him. She met Graham, graduated college, and got engaged. And at one point, she felt like she’d give up everything to have Harry beside her again. So, can you blame her if she remembered his address by heart? Can you blame her if she invited him? 
-
Harry feels like a pretentious asshole. 
He hates his car; he hates the flashy yellow color of his Ferrari, the sound it makes when he revs the engine and all heads turn to look at him. All but one, because YN’s the only one that recognizes him by the sound of his car. Even five years later.
When he gets out of the car, he feels like everyone’s looking at him, and he doesn’t dare shift his gaze to see if she’s looking at him too. He feels like they all know what he did that night, that he broke her heart. He feels exposed before them.
He’s glad YN invited Jeff and Glenn too, and he waits for them to get out of their car too before approaching the crowd.
“So nice!” Glenn exclaims once she’s out of the car, shutting the passenger’s door loudly behind her. 
Harry looks around and has to admit, it really is nice. A nice old cottage in the English countryside, with a big well-kept garden full of flowers he knows it’s where the wedding will take place (because YN loves flowers). It’s nice. He’d be a liar if he said otherwise, but it’s not YN. Because YN, or at least the version he knew of her, wanted to get married in the winter — on Christmas Eve —, in a small chalet with only her close family and friends, where the snow would never stop falling and they’d be forced to stay in with the fireplace popping and wool, chunky blankets to keep everyone warm. 
“YN!” He hears Glenn once again, and he shifts his attention to her. 
She’s standing on the porch, wrapped in a long black coat definitely too warm for the weather, and despite being far from where he’s standing, he can see her clearly. She hasn’t changed. It’s still her. 
Harry doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe a more grown up version of her, definitely boring and that kind of resembled her mother a bit. He wasn’t expecting her. The YN he once knew still there, perhaps more beautiful than ever. 
He feels his heart skip a beat, and with her walking slowly towards them, waving politely at a couple of guests that stop to greet her on the way, he feels warm. A kind of warm that resembles the one he felt as a kid when he was sick and his mum would take care of him. He feels something that reminds him of a certain familiarity, like he had been floating all this time and he’s finally back on the ground. He feels parts of himself coming back with every step she takes forward.
“Hello” he hears her giggle, and he feels the sound resonate in his chest, spreading all over his body up until the very end of his fingers. 
“Hi!” Glenn squeals, shrugging her shoulders and stretching her arms forward, closing YN in a hug between her arms.
“I’m so happy you came” she says, her voice muffled by Glenn’s shoulder, and Harry isn’t sure if she means him too. 
She hasn’t exactly looked at him, but Harry isn’t upset about that. He knows her. He knows how she is. She never makes eye contact when she’s uncomfortable. And Harry feels a certain smugness come with it. He’d rather make her uncomfortable than uninterested, because with her uncomfortableness comes the realization that maybe, maybe — deep down, under her skin and rooted in her heart — she did miss him too. And maybe it’s not like Mitch says. Maybe it was his fault and he should’ve fought for her. 
However, Harry realizes things always late; because she’s getting married to someone else now. 
YN briefly hugs Jeff too, and after that, she smiles awkwardly at Harry and waves at him with her hand, “Hey” she says, her hand dropping by her side. 
“Hey” he replies, and he watches as she hugs the coat closer to her body as a sudden gust of wind embraces them, ruffing her hair. Harry can make out the faint scent of her shampoo, and as it fills his nostrils, his mind is swarmed with memories of hot summer nights where they would talk in bed for hours after swimming in his stepdad’s pool all day, minds free of whatever worry a 15 year old could have, sweaty bodies sticky together, tanned skin against skin, Harry not being able to make out where he’d end and she’d begin. 
“This place is so nice!” Glenn interrupts, and YN is grateful for that, because she isn’t sure what she would’ve done if Glenn hadn’t talked. She fears she would’ve leaned in to hug Harry if she’d stared a second more into his green eyes. 
In the five years they spent apart, YN always wondered if there would come a time when she’d no longer remember the exact shade of green of his eyes and the way they used to twinkle when he’d talk about something he was passionate about. 
Now, YN doesn’t know what things Harry’s passionate about, but his eyes are the same color she remembered. Despite the stubble on his chin, and the cheeky grin he used to give her turning in a more mature one, his eyes stayed the same. 
“I know, right! Graham picked it, he used to come here on vacation with his family when he was a child” YN smiles happily at Glenn, and turns her body to look around herself.
Harry frowns at her words. Of course Graham picked it. She never would’ve if it was up to her, he knew that. And somehow, call him an asshole all you want, he feels a certain smugness coming with the awareness that he knows YN more than her own fiancee does. 
“It’s nice” he agrees, and he smirks at her when she snaps her head in his direction, probably not expecting him to talk, “but I prefer winter weddings, you know? With the snow and everything…” 
YN’s happy smile turns in a frown when she hears the words come out of his mouth. She isn’t entirely sure about Harry’s motives. She doesn’t know if he remembers that she wanted to get married in winter or if he’s just expressing a preference. She doesn’t know this Harry anymore.
“It’s beautiful, YN” Jeff chimes in, and YN shifts her glance towards him and smiles at him too.
“Let’s go, then! I want to introduce you to Graham” she exclaims, and turns around, grabbing Glenn by the arm and intertwining it with hers.
“C’mon” Jeff says, patting Harry on the shoulder as an encouragement.
Harry nods and starts to walk beside him, his hands tucked in his pockets as another gust of wind flies over them. 
He watches YN walk in front of him, too occupied to talk with Glenn to close her coat against the wind, and he’s sure he can make out the floral design of the Gucci dress he bought her on his vacation to Italy many years ago. How happy she looked when she opened it, and Harry remembers he thought about how much he wanted to buy her every pretty dress in the world if it meant seeing her so happy.
He kisses his mouth at the memory of every dress he saw in those five years and that he thought about buying. Now, knowing she still wears his gifts, he wishes he did. He wishes he bought everything that reminded him of her. 
Harry knows it’s just a dress, and he shouldn’t get this flustered over such a simple thing as that! But with it comes the realization that maybe, in her deepest subconscious, she wore it for him. And Harry’s content with that. Because maybe then that means that those five years apart didn’t mean anything. Maybe then she missed him as much as he missed her. And Harry feels warm at the mere thought. Maybe he hasn’t lost her entirely.
-
Harry met Graham, and everything went somehow fine. 
It’s not like she was imagining Harry fighting Graham over her — no, that’s just a thought that pops in her mind every once in a while when she catches herself fantasizing over what her life with Harry could be like.
It’s weird to YN how there’s someone in her life that Harry didn’t know until she introduced him. And not just someone; her future husband. It sets a weird kind of awareness, because until now she was almost pretending Harry was in an island unknown to mankind, without his phone and that’s why he wasn’t calling. 
Now, seeing him shake her fiancee’s hand, smiling politely at him, she realizes Harry wasn’t stranded on an island without technology; the missing phone calls were a choice. So she should be happy she’s no longer involved with such a person. 
Why isn’t she happy, though? Why does she catches herself wishing she could go up to his room, lay on his bed and talk to him? 
She really wishes she could tell him she’s scared of marrying Graham. She knows he could tell him that and he wouldn’t judge her like everyone else would. She knows he’d have the answer. He’d say something like “get your stuff, I’ll start the car” and they’d laugh and run away to the nearest McDonald’s drive through to stuff their mouth with a big mc or some chicken nuggets, and Harry would purposely stain her wedding dress with barbecue sauce, and she’d laugh. As I said before, whenever she catches herself fantasizing about an alternative universe with Harry, she’s alway happy.
So, then, why didn’t she call? Why did she let five years pass? Five years without hearing his voice. Seeing his eyes. 
She doesn’t know why. 
At first she was mad, because Harry made love to her and then he left. So she was really really mad. Then, after the anger had subdued, she got scared. Scared he didn’t want her anymore. Scared their friendship wouldn’t be like before — now, she thinks it doesn’t matter if their friendship had changed. She wanted Harry around, no matter what.
She’s aware sometimes nostalgia makes you remember things that were never there. But she feels like it was different with Harry; it’s why she’s walking towards his room now, heart in her throat, and hands twitching at her sides.
She wishes it could be easier. She wishes she could be different. She has a fiancee. Why is she going to Harry’s room? Why did she invite him in the first place!
The cottage has six rooms upstairs, and she remembers exactly in which room she put Harry. He’s the only one without a plus one, so his room is smaller than the others. She hopes he liked it, but she knows he didn’t. It’s too fancy, for him. He doesn’t like flashy things, which is kind of ironic for someone who owns six cars, but who is she to judge when she helped him pick the very one he came here with? 
When she stops in front of his door, she feels ashamed, and she’s scared someone may catch her, even if she’s not doing anything wrong, just greeting an old friend. But Harry wasn’t always a friend. There was one night in which they were more than friends, and she feels herself fluster at the thought of being alone with him in a bedroom.
She releases a big breath and closes her hand in a fist, knocking it against the door. 
When he doesn’t answer she tries again, “Harry, it’s YN”, she clarifies. 
Nothing.
She stands before the door for a couple of minutes, but then realizes he’s not going to answer. He doesn’t want to see her. 
It’s fine. She’s fine. 
She understands, it’s been five years. She can’t pretend nothing has changed between them. She feels stupid when she turns around to head back to her room and a single tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away before anyone can see. She refuses to cry. She cried enough when he left. 
This gave her the answer she needed. She’s marrying Graham, and if before she wished Harry’d persuade her in not marrying him, she knows he doesn’t care now. 
-
Harry’s sitting on the his bedroom’s floor, freshly showered, his hair still a little damp from the water, waiting near the outlet on the wall for his phone to charge. He’s playing with the chord of his phone’s charger as he listens to his mother rumble on the other side of the line. 
He’s not paying much attention to what she’s saying, his mind is definitely more focused on this morning’s encounter he had with YN’s fiancee. Harry tried to be on his best behavior, because despite hating Graham, he loves YN and he wants to be respectful of her choices. Harry has always been someone that never fought for what he wanted. He kind of always went with other’s decisions. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. Sometimes he thinks it’s just easier to let others decide for you, other times he’s aware it’s a matter of accountability: he doesn’t want to be responsible for his own choices, because then if something goes wrong, he doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. 
“How’s YN? I’ve seen her Instagram and she looks even more beautiful” he hears his mum say, and his eyes widen at her words.
“Mmmh, yes, she’s beautiful” Harry agrees, chewing at the skin of his thumb. 
“Do you think she’ll have a baby soon?” Anne asks, and Harry almost wants to throw his phone against the wall at the mere thought of the love of his life having a baby with someone else.
“I don’t know, mum… I don’t think so” he shakes his head, but his words aren’t that much convincing to him. He doesn’t know if YN wants to have a baby with Graham. She had expressed her desire to have a big family when they were still friends and when she thought the timing was right, but was it now? Was it with Graham? He honestly doesn’t know.
“You know, I always thought she had a little bit of a crush on you” Anne giggles, almost childishly.
“She’s getting married” Harry says, and his tone suddenly turned stern. He doesn’t want to be rude, especially to his mum, but thoughts of what could’ve been have been hunting him especially hard since he saw her, and he doesn’t want to come to terms with the fact that maybe something could’ve happened between them if he had been a little more brave.
“She isn’t married now” his mum says, and he rolls his lips in his mouth. 
Weird enough, he knows what his mother means: she’s giving him an ultimatum, a sweet reminder that there’s still time. She’s not married yet. But what could Harry do? He really wishes someone could tell him. He wants his mum to say, Harry, tell her you love her before it’s too late. And he swears he’d do it. He’d do it right now. But coming up with that decision on his own? He’s not that much impulsive. 
“Mum” he says, “I have to go now. It’s time for dinner”.
“Okay, my love.” She replies.
“We’ll talk tomorrow” he nods, and ends the call, throwing his phone in his lap.
He shuts his eyes tightly and his head drops between his knees, his hands reaching up to clutch his hair at the roots. 
He feels pathetic. He feels like screaming in a pillow. He picks up his phone again and taps at the scree to check the time: 7.37 pm. At this time tomorrow the love of his life will be married to someone that’s not him.
-
Harry is late. Everyone has already eaten their appetizer and he still hasn’t shown up. Yn knows she probably shouldn’t care, especially after he didn’t answer the door after she knocked on it three times feeling like a naive teenager with a school crush. But still. She wonders what he’s doing. It’s not like she blames him, this dinner is pretty boring, and coming from the bride says a lot! But Graham especially requested no music and no dancing while eating, so the room is kind of quiet, albeit for a soft giggle or whispered words every once in a while. 
She’s biting in her pasta when Harry walks in, and suddenly she feels breathless. He’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that warms her insides and reminds her of the color yellow, the sun shining when they visited Rome together, the tan he used to get at his stepdad’s pool when she’d spend hours looking at his lips while he sunbathed and she wondered if they tasted like chlorine. Beautiful. 
He walks slowly towards where he spots Jeff and Glenn, and YN looks at him shamelessly; he’s wearing cream tailored pants that hug his tights perfectly, paired with a silky blue blouse tucked at the front of the pants. She swallows the mouthful of pasta. When they were friends he definitely didn’t dress like that, he was more into skinny jeans and flowery button down shirts. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like him like this. But, must I dare say, she’d like Harry even if he was wearing a trash bag.
He throws her an awkward smile before sitting down, and she shifts her eyes down on her plate, suddenly aware of being caught staring. 
As dinner goes on, she never raises her eyes from her plate, not even when she feels a familiar pair of green eyes burning her skin.
-
YN pushes her palm against the wooden door and takes in a big breath once the fresh spring air hits her warm face. She takes a step outside and the door closes behind her with a thump. She cringes at the sound and hopes it didn’t wake anyone up.
It’s almost one in the morning and she couldn’t sleep. She doesn’t know wether it’s pre-wedding anxiety or the thought of another universe soon to be lost forever, but she felt a heavy weight on her chest that made it hard to breathe.
She looks at the garden before her and decides she wants to take a walk in the rose garden. She’s always loved flowers, and she thinks seeing some beauty could help her clear her mind.
She makes her way down the cobbled path, illuminated by some lamps paved across the way, but when she reaches the start of the rose garden, she has to blink a few times to accustom her eyes to the darkness. 
The garden is the only thing she likes about her wedding location, and she’s thankful Graham agreed to get married there. He decided everything else, so at least he left that part up to her.
When she turns the corner of the hedge that divided the rose garden from the location of the wedding, she’s surprised to see a dark figure sitting in one of the reception’s chair.
She walks closer and she’s able to make out a familiar pair of broad shoulders bent over. Harry’s sitting on a chair from the first row, his head hanging low between his shrugged shoulders, his legs are slightly opened and his forearm is resting on one of his tights, the bright fire red of what she knows is a joint illuminating the side of his face. 
She’d recognize Harry even in darkness, but she still feels her heart fall to her chest when she realizes he’s right in front of her, sitting probably where he’d be tomorrow.
She debates whether she should go sit next to him or go back to her room and pretend she never saw him. It’s almost like she can’t control her own legs when they start to walk towards him.
With the movement, Harry turns his head around and his eyes widen at the sight; YN’s walking towards him, but what’s most shocking to him is that she’s making her way down the aisle. He suddenly gets up on his feet when he sees her, and when she stops right in front of him, she gives him a mischievous smile.
She’s breath taking. If this is what Graham will see tomorrow, he doesn’t know how he’ll manage not to faint.
“Walked like a true bride!” He says jokingly, and she giggles at his words, slapping his chest lightly. Harry feels the skin burn under her touch.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, and she shakes her head.
“Can I?” She says, gesturing to the lit joint he’s holding between his fingers. He’d almost forgotten what he was doing before she appeared.
“Mhmh” he nods, stretching his arm. 
She doesn’t take the joint from his fingers though, she just opens her mouth and waits for him to place it between her lips, and Harry swears he can feel himself faint, his head dizzy with all the love he feels for her.
He holds the joint between her lips and she takes a long drag from it, tilting her head towards his fingers, closing her eyes after she inhales. She opens her mouth again and opens her eyes as she exhales the smoke from her mouth, Harry watching closely her every movement, his eyes dark and glazed over.
He watches as she turns around and sits on one of the white chairs, the one next to where he was sitting before, and she tugs one leg to her chest as she hugs it closer to her chest.
Harry stays standing before her for a while, looking at the faint image of the cottage behind her and absentmindedly smoking his joint. When he feels her eyes on him, he looks down at her. It’s been years since they’ve been this close, and suddenly he’s 15 years old again, his hands twitching at his sides from how much he wants to stretch them out and just touch her.
“Graham is nice” he says, and immediately after he cursers himself in his mind for ruining the moment when he sees her gaze harden.
“Yeah, he is…” she whispers. 
Harry tilts the joint towards her to ask her if she wants another hit, but she shakes her head no and he drops his hand at his side, nodding his head.
“I really like the place, by the way. I was only teasing this morning” he shrugs, smiling at her. 
“You were?” She asks, and when he nods she says, “so you remember?”
“Of course I remember.” And he doesn’t have to say anything more, because they both know what he means.
“Graham picked everything” she releases a shaky breath at that, and Harry takes another drag from his joint and raises both his eyebrows to signal her to continue as he exhales the smoke from his mouth.
“I wasn’t… I didn’t want this” she shakes her head, shifting her gaze from his eyes to an indefinite point behind him.
Harry wonders whether she means the cottage or the wedding. Perhaps she even means their fight. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t dare ask, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that maybe she’s offering him an opening to a conversation he isn’t sure he wants to have.
 “I’m sure it’ll be wonderful anyway.” He smiles and throws the joint’s butt on the grass.
“Yeah” she nods firmly, and he’s aware of the tension lingering between them.
“I better go,” she says, getting up from the chair and tugging at the sleeves of her sweater to cover her hands “big day tomorrow”.
She smiles awkwardly at him when she walks past him, and Harry notices the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. 
He shifts his gaze in front of him, staring out in the darkness. He’s about to lose her all over again, the bitter night five years prior vivid in his memory, hitting him like a bullet. He thought the pain from leaving her that night had left, and he wonders how much time it will take for it to stop hurting. Maybe it never will.
He’s sure he doesn’t want to live his life with the memory of her back planted in his brain, leaving him once again. He doesn’t want to think back to her and remember her like this. Leaving.
So, when she’s about mid way through the aisle, he calls her name.
He doesn’t have a speech in his mind, and when she turns around with her brows furrowed and her shoulders sagged he doesn’t really know what to say, how to tell her.
“What, Harry?” It’s the first time he hears her say his name in five years, and he’s upset she sounds so defeated. He wishes he could make this easier for her, but he doesn’t know how.
His chest floats as he takes a big breath. 
“Whatever” she says, shaking her head, but Harry notices she doesn’t turn around.
“Don’t marry him” it’s the only thing he manages to say, and he isn’t even looking at her, he’s still looking out in front of him, and she wishes he could look at her to see if he’s joking or not.
She scoffs, because despite the words coming out of his mouth made her insides warm , she isn’t sure if he’s being serious. “You’re so… so immature! You enrage me!”
“No, no!” He hurries, waving his palms in front of him. “Hear me out, then you can — you can leave. if you want you can leave.” He nods, trying to convince himself, but he really doesn’t want her to leave.
“Don’t marry him. You know he’s not right for you! He… he’s controlling, he doesn’t know you! You shouldn’t marry someone like that.” He’s standing in front of her now, and he grabs her hands in his.
“Is that the only reason you don’t want me to marry him?” She whispers, looking up in his eyes.
“No… i-“ he sighs. 
“You can’t even say it, Harry.” She frowns, trying to free her hands from his grip, but he only tightens it, intertwining his fingers with hers.
“I can say it.” He nods, “i don’t want you to marry him because I want it to be me. I— I have loved you since I could remember.”
She shuts her eyes tightly at his words, “you don’t mean that”.
Harry frees her hands and reaches for her face, caressing her warm cheeks with his thumbs.
“I do. I do.” He nods, “look at me, angel — please look at me” 
YN opens her eyes and Harry can feel his heart clench at the sight of her beautiful eyes filled with tears. 
“You had me, Harry. All those years ago, you had me. But you let me go! You have no idea how… how hard it was”
This time, Harry closes his eyes and then reopens them, despite being aware, the thought of making her suffer is hard to face. 
“I thought… I didn’t…—“ he shakes his head, his hands still keeping the firm grip on her face, “my life was hard, YN. It was crazy. I thought… you weren’t ready. I didn’t want to ruin you.”
“You did anyway. I hated you for what you did to me. I hated you for leaving.” She frowns, tears spilling from her eyes, but Harry wipes quickly at them with his thumb before they can roll down her cheeks. He leans down to place a delicate kiss between her eyes.
“I never once left you. In my heart it has always been you.”
He can feel her start to soften, but the she says “It’s too late now.”, and she shakes her head, her hands reaching up to remove Harry’s from her face. He complies, not wanting to force her. “I’m getting married, tomorrow.” 
“Angel, please” he whispers, but she’s already turned around, and Harry’s left alone in the middle of the aisle.
Suddenly he feels nauseous, and he brings a hand to his chest to calm his restless heart. As I said before, Harry realizes things always too late.
-
The next morning, Harry wakes up on his bed with the sound of an alarm he forgot he’d set. As he rubs the sleep off his eyes, he can’t wait to get the hell out of this place as soon as he can, and when he reaches for his phone and checks the time, he remembers why he set the alarm so early in the morning: this way he can avoid everyone from the ceremony on his way out. 
He can’t bare the thought of sitting through the wedding. He’ll send YN some fancy gift that she’ll enjoy with her husband and then he’ll disappear from her life once again. 
He knows it’s better this way.
He did it one time before. He knows already how long it will take to mourn their lost friendship and get back on track. The sooner he goes home and sleeps his feelings off, the sooner he’ll feel better.
He hurriedly throws his clothes in his suitcase, without caring if they get wrinkly or ruined. He grabs his phone and its charger and doesn’t even bother to check the bathroom twice to see if he left something behind. He doesn’t care, he’s eager to get far away and never face the heartbreak he’s leaving with.
As soon as he opens the door, though, the bag in his hand falls from his grip to the ground as he takes in the image in front of him. 
YN’s against the other side of the wall, her head hung low between her shoulders. 
“YN?” He asks, and she looks at him with her big, glossy eyes, and Harry feels like staying. He feels like grabbing her hand and tugging her inside, kissing her until he’s finally able to show her how much he loves her.
“I’m not… I—“ she shakes her head, her voice trembling as she gets her back off the wall and takes a step towards him, “i called the wedding off.”
It’s the only thing she says, but Harry feels butterflies fly in his stomach. His heart clenches in his chest, and he has to bring a hand to his chest like he did the night before to make sure he’s not having a heart attack.
“It’s not too late.” She whispers, “if you still want me, it’s not too late.”
Harry reaches up to her and tugs her closer to him by her arm. 
“I’ll never not want you”.
YN steps in the room and closes the door behind her, and Harry gently takes her face in his hands and tilts her head up. He looks from one eye to the other attentively before placing his lips against hers, and he almost contemplates not closing his eyes in fear she’d no longer be there when he reopens them, but YN moves her hands from his neck, to his shoulders, and he feels her grabbing his shirt between her fingers and holding him closer, her fingers digging in his skin. She’s real. She’s here, and he’s kissing her. It’s been five years since he’s last tasted her, and this time he’s kissing her without guilt. Because it’s not too late. Life just started.
YN parts her lips slightly and Harry sucks her bottoms lip in his mouth, eager to taste her more. 
His tongue licks over her lips and when she whimpers against his lips, he sneaks his  tongue inside her mouth and caresses hers with his. He explores her mouth like his life depends on it, and he feels like he wants to drink her. He wants to get drunk on her taste and never recover.
YN moves her hands from his shoulders to the hem of his shirt, tugging on it, and Harry parts from her mouth breathlessly. He feels dizzy and he’s not entirely sure it’s from the lack of air.
“No” he says, taking her hands in his and squeezing them in his grasp.
YN pouts at him and he tilts his head to kiss it away from her lips with a brief peck: “i want you. I really do. But not here”.
She widens her eyes at his words and realizes she was almost about to have sex with Harry when her ex fiancee and his family could hear them. She giggles loudly at the thought, and Harry, despite not knowing why she’s laughing, lets out a chuckle, shaking his head and looking at her with a bewildered look in his eyes.
“Let’s leave then.” She says when she calms down.
“Okay.” He nods, picking up his bag from the floor, “get your stuff. I’ll start the car.”
YN bites down on her bottom lip hard, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 
“What?” He says once he realizes she still hasn’t moved from her place.
She shakes her head, “nothing” she says, “i’m glad I wasn’t too late.”
“You could never be too late” he smiles, and he hopes she knows he’d wait for her all his life if it meant having her beside him. 
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mysharona1987 · 2 years
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I don’t think this is true…but why did the guy feel the need to respond to such a silly and weirdly specific allegation? Just ignore it, like everyone else.
“I am not a fan of Big Foot erotica.”
But now that gives me suspicions you might be.
This film is a beautiful disaster. Even Big Foot is involved,
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fishnets-fingers · 1 year
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Out by the Docks
“Did you um- have you… touched yourself more to the thought of me?” She asks him quietly.
“What do you think, hmm?” He responds with a smile. He had come on his stomach and hands an embarrassing amount of times replaying that night. It was pathetic how much she had him in a chokehold.
“I would like to kiss you,” she says, scooting forward to slot her knees between his. “Would you like that too?”
He nods, tongue licking his lips in anticipation as his heart kicks up again. The butterflies start flapping about in his tummy as she leans in with puckered lips.
“I said that I’d like to kiss you not that you could,” he explains when she looks at him with furrowed brows. “You gotta ask me nicely, if you want me to kiss you,” he teases, kissing the tip of her nose.
“You want me to beg?” She scoffs.
PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n
a/n - the long awaited part two to forbidden hours. it was initially supposed to be a small blurb that somehow became twice as long. thank you for waiting and i hope you like this part as much as i do. if you have any requests or ideas for the next part, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!
Word Count - 6.2k (not proofread)
MASTERPOST 
.....
பரிசோதி. Examine. Harry runs a check of his catamaran for the fourth time in the past hour. Sailing was something he grew up doing and that did not mean he took it nonchalantly. It was not an easy task in the slightest; if one was not cognizant and five steps ahead of every single aspect of it, the sea would consume them. In a lot of ways it was an intricately woven tapestry of mastering the control of being at the mercy of the ocean. Two completely opposing beliefs somehow meshing together - like acrobats swinging from one side to another, it might seem like they are at the mercy of gravity and the ropes beneath them but they spend their lives mastering and learning how to taunt the inevitable forces without succumbing to it.
“The sea is a cruel mistress, Harry,” his father would often bark at him when he got one of the knots wrong. Which would then result with him doing a plethora of knots over the next few days until his father was convinced he could hold his own with the crew. He looks around, one more time, for good measure. His oars were greased up, the fabric of the sail - albeit dirty - was without tears, he had more ropes than necessary, a smaller set of paddles in case he’d lost it, food to hold him over, and a can of water. 
Late, he sighs, sitting in his boat that was bobbing along with the lazy waves. The sun was over his head shining radiantly casting small shadows. It was past noon and no one had come to hand him the message from Princess Y/N. Did she forget? Can’t be. Maybe the stupid guard is lost, besides, the docks were vast. He reaches into his bag grabbing a fistful of puffed rice and throws it in the water, making the fish - that were previously eating the algae from the sides of his boat - flounder up and nibble on the white flakes. He looks over at their streamlined moist bodies flipping over others as they ravenously eat the floating white specs and his hands absentmindedly tightens the knot that was anchoring his boat to the side of the docks.
“Took you long enough. Have you no regard for people’s time,” he grumbles, as a shadow blocks the beam out light illuminating the iridescent scales of the fish.
“That’s no way to speak to the Princess,” she replies, with a hint of mirth in her tone. He whips his head around to find Y/N towering over him on the wooden dock. 
“I apologise, your highness. I did not know it was you,” his cheeks tinge with pink as he vaults over to the wooden structure.
Y/N did not look like a member of the royal family today. There were no silks or expensive jewelry adorning her body, her hair was not done up high with flowers. It didn’t make her any less captivating in the slightest with her raven hair slicked back in a low bun, a red cotton saree with the long end twisted around her waist to make a belt to keep the top half of the saree intact since she was not wearing a blouse, and a small black dot in between her eyebrows. She had clasped an oxidised silver ornament around her neck and a small ring around her septum. She looked like she’s spent her whole life here out by the docks rather than the giant mansions with sprawling gardens. 
“You - um - look-” Harry starts.
“I’m in disguise, Mr. Styles.” She answers, pulling out a blank parchment paper and hands it over to him. “I apologise for being late. I had stopped by the bazaar.”
“The bazaar, Princess Y/N,” he repeats, looking over her shoulder to find it empty.
“Having guards following me sort of defeats the purpose of the disguise, Harry.” She catches on as his eyes scan behind her.
“Of course.” He looks at the parchment in his hands turning it around. “It’s blank.”
“It is.” 
“I thought I needed to sail to Lanka to deliver a message, ma’am,” he mumbles, looking down at the sheet of yellowed pulp running his thumb over to feel for any creases or indentations.
“Ma’am,” Y/N snorts out. “Really? You’re calling me a ma’am after what happened the other night,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief.
“It’s protocol,” he tells her blankly.
“Was it also protocol to crowd me against my desk in the middle of the night?” She arches her brow, enjoying the way his face flushes with colour. “The message is intended for the recipient’s eyes only. Karthi will know what to do.”
He nods, folding the paper and slotting it into a small zipped pocket of his dhoti pants. “I should set sail soon,” he informs her, making his way into his vessel. “Looks like a storm’s heading this way.”
“How can you tell, Mr. Styles,” she asks, stepping forward to look over at the horizon to find rain laden grey clouds but is instead met with tiny fluffy cotton akin ones dotting the powdery blue skies.
“I can smell it. There was a ring around the moon last night and red skies at dawn. It probably won’t break ground until a few days.”
“Very impressive,” she praises, looking down at him. “Here, I bought you some food for your travel,” she shifts through her linen bag that was draped over her shoulder. She pulls out a box of rambutan and some partially cooked spiced lentils.
“Thank you, Princess.” He stashes it next to his metal box of food supply. “Do you come to town often in your disguise?”
“Not very-” she is interrupted by the sound of people marching and a loud whistle followed by a booming voice asking the soldiers to fall in a single file. “That’s the admiral,” she whispers, eyes bulging out of her head. “Fuck. If he catches me I’m so dead.”
“Hop on,” Harry tells her.
“What?!?” She whisper shouts at him. “I have to head back.”
“I’ll take you to the palace. I know a way - right behind your garden. Get in,” Harry offers, coming over to the side and holding onto the side of the dock.
Y/N balks, looking down at his rickety catamaran. The structure looked like it was going to wither away in a few days - calling it old would be an insult at this point. Prehistoric was more so the right word. The ropes were frayed and seemed used. She is pretty sure the thing was built before she was born. No way in hell, she shakes her head.
“Princess,” he urges, as the sounds of footfall grow closer and closer.
“I’ll walk back. Maybe I can slip past them,” she tells him.
“It sounds like twenty men, how are you going to slip past all of them,” he shakes his head. “You’ll only be dragging me down with you.”
“I’ve slipped in and out of the castle loads of times,” she reasons.
“There’s only one way out of here, unless you fancy swimming,” Harry points out. “Y/N,” he insists, holding out one of his hands. She lets out a sigh and grips his palm as she climbs into the bobbing catamaran. Once she gets situated, Harry grips onto the oars and starts speedily rowing from the dock, away from the bay. 
Harry looks over her every so often at Y/N as he steadily paddles his boat away. She was curled into herself, looking very unsure with her hands wrapped around her arms as she looked back at the disappearing docks. When the vessel bobs due to a sudden current she pales, gripping onto the wooden plank of her seat firmly, eyes never drifting back to the pier. He’s never seen her like that, and he certainly did not peg her to experience trepidation, uncertainty, and fret. The memory of the first time he met her was etched into the deep recesses of his brain. 
It was eight months since he’d seen her for the first time. He had quickly become fast friends with the Crown Prince - her older brother - who had invited him to train within the palace grounds. He made his way into the halls of the building in wonder of tall ceilings and intricately carved woodwork and artwork and was led to the sparring arena. Vikram was waiting for him sans armour - he believed that having armour on while practice lets one have a certain air of nonchalance with the training thereby removing the stakes. His moves and close combat skills were immediately applauded by the members there with the Princes - Vikram and Karthi - asking a guard to take him to the stables, so he could pick his own horse and learn how to ride. That’s when Y/N walked into the arena, dressed immaculately in a cream silk saree and a colourful pashmina wrapped around her shoulders. There was no jewelry on her body other than a pearl choker and her hair was pulled back into a loose braid. There were four other handmaidens following her, who’d stopped at their tracks by the opened double doors as they giggled at the sweat laden covered men.
“What?” She stalked forward and snapped at her brothers.
“Good day to you too, little girl,” Vikram mocks.
“I have far more important things to do than entertain you, Vikram.”
“Don’t get snippy with me because I pulled you out of philosophy class -”
“A class you should be attending,” Karthi notes, throwing his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “One word to the Queen Mother and you won’t see the outside of the library for the next month,” the two giggle together.
“Books don’t teach you anything, combat does. Anyway don’t go ganging up on me,” Vikram raises his hands in submission. “I just called you to meet my new friend,” he cocks his head to the side. “Y/N meet Harry Edwards Styles.”
Harry feels her gaze pierce right through him, her eyes roamed up and down his body. Being scrutinised made him straighten his back upright - mostly in a way to show off his stature. After a few moments her hickory eyes finally settled at his jade orbs. “Mr. Styles,” she greets him with a polite smile. “You must be the sea merchant who’d bought the crates of berry seeds.”
“Your highness,” he bows. “The sea merchant is my father.”
“Ah, makes sense. You seem awfully young to master navigating the treacherous waters of the Pacific.”
“Thank you, Princess,” he mutters, cheeks heating up at her calling him young.
“That was hardly a compliment, Mr. Styles. I was simply noting your lack of experience,” she lifts up her chin, keeping it parallel to the floor. “I understand from what my brothers have told me you plan on riding to battle with Vikram.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“As noble as your intentions are, how are we to know your allegiance lies with the flag of Chozhamandalam? You landed here seven- eight months ago, am I wrong? I don’t doubt that you’ve seen many kingdoms in your father’s quests, why are you choosing to devote your life to mine? Why not the Crown of England, the land of you and your forefathers?”
“Y/N,” Vikram states firmly. “You are insulting my friend by insinuating things.”
“I’m not insinuating anything, Vikarm. I’m simply doing the grunt work for you like always,” she bites back.
“Stop th-”
“Well she’s not wrong to ask this, brother. Especially after what happened the last time,” Karthi notes. 
“You two never stop throwing what happened ten years ago in my face every single time,” Vikram gets frustrated.
“Your highnesses,” Harry interrupts their squabble. The princess staggered him in a lot of ways, she just met him but it seemed that she had some sort of an upper hand with him and it didn’t stem from her lineage. She seemed to know a lot about him from growing up in different parts of the world to the seeds his father’s crew arrived with. Surely royalty had no business knowing inventory of all the consignments at the ports; he’s sure they had people for that. His accent once thick and pronounced - resembling the dialect of his mother’s village - had now got muddled up spending time with his father’s crew men and it’s settled into a transatlantic hybrid; is that how she pegged him to be English? 
Unlike most women he’s met, Princess Y/N looks directly at him - through him in a manner of speaking - holding eye contact until their exchanges come to a halt. It felt as if she was giving you her utmost attention at all times, but it was also unnerving because Harry felt like she was also playing a game of chess. Slotting individuals in their designated squares after she thoroughly sized someone up. She was still breathtaking as the day he first laid eyes on her but seeing her up close with her gaze trained on him, made him gulp down the nerves that made him feel like she was a step above him, as he spoke, “I understand the need for Princess Y/N to ask me those questions… If I may,” he looks at her brothers flanking her sides for approval.
“Please do, Mr. Styles.” She motions with her hand for him to continue. 
“You are right, Princess Y/N, I have spent very little time in your dynasty as compared to everyone in this room but it does not take away my love for the people. You see, I have seen many places sailing with my father but almost all of them considered me a passerby - especially countries where people looked different to me. I have seen people treat people like sewage based on the colour of their skin, the faith they practice, or the wealth they’ve inherited. The first day I came to these shores, unloading heavy crates at the port, an old woman - who was walking off with a basket of fish - came up to the crew and noticed that we looked worn out and offered up some of the fresh catch so we could cook and eat. The captain denied it, but she insisted we must eat and somehow managed to have my father and the crew over to her house. She cooked for us. A woman who we did not know up until that day, invited strangers into her house and made us a hearty meal. So, to answer your question, my allegiance lies with the people, not a flag.”
“Satisfied?” Vikram smirks, taunting Y/N by bumping his shoulder on hers.
“And as for England, I haven’t been there in forever. I don’t have any ties that bind me other than it being the country my mother resided in.”
“Seems like you have your way with words, Mr. Styles,” she smiles up at him. Harry can’t help the way satisfaction brews in his chest in response to her smile.
“Oh, Y/N, Harry is good with swords, too,” Karthi tells her. 
“That so?” She arches her brow. “Now that is something I need to witness,” she says, walking over and picking one of the swords that was mounted on the wall. 
She unsheathes it, swishing it once to get a sense of its weight, before stepping into the circle. “I like a good challenge. Hope you deliver,” she tells him.
“I don’t quite understand,” he says, looking around the room for signs that it was an elaborate plan, only to be met with none. “Princess Y/N, I’m not going to fight you,” he steps back.
“Why not?” She arches her brows, pulling off the pashmina that was wrapped around herself and tossing it onto the readily waiting hands of a scurrying handmaiden.  
“Because women do not fight, ma’am,” he mumbles, and both Princes snicker at his response.
“Do not? Or not allowed to.” She challenges him.
“It is not what I mean-”
“Do you dare disobey my orders?” Y/N cuts him off. “Now fight. Don’t let up easy because you think women can’t hold their own. If you do, I’ll make you disappear without a trace.”
He nods, squaring his shoulders and hoisting up his own sword. Far be it for him to disobey the Princess Royal. He’ll give her the fight she was asking for.
He advances first, much to his surprise. He expected her to charge at him but she gilded around the periphery matching his moves, unwilling to attack. She swivels his sword to the side and from then their duel mimicked a dance They moved harmoniously, almost like each move was choreographed, both matching each other moves, the sharp end of the blades kissing each other only to be redirected elsewhere. He can’t help but get distracted by the way her supple skin feels when she brushes past him, and the way her scent niggles his heart. He wonders if she feels it too, but no cues that signaled him. They were synchronized - strike for strike, manoeuvre for manoeuvre, a sharp turn for a turn. But when Harry notices, her eyes darting to his feet, he figures out her next move and backs away when she advances forward trying to trip his feet with her own as her sword swivels around. It happens seamlessly, Harry twists around to trap her arm that’s clutching the sword and lunges forward to press the tip of his scimitar to her side of her throat.
He expects her to look up at him with surprise and even a hint of admiration - both looks he was no stranger to from women - but there was no sense of defeat in her face. Instead, her eyes glinted at him as her lips tugged up in a smug smile. His brows knit in confusion and he follows her eyes, feeling a pointy object push against his sternum - harder this time. Y/N’s holding up a small shiv, which she tugged from its sheath tucked against her waist, angled directly for his heart. 
“A stalemate,” she informs him. 
“How?” He asks, suddenly very aware that he’s got her pressed against him in front of a dozen people. She looks even more beautiful up close, with a bead of sweat running down her temple, her honeyed skin flushed from exertion, her full cheeks, flecks of gold in her eyes under the sunlight, a tiny crescent shaped birthmark on the corner of her chin, lips like a flower petal.
He’s almost reluctant to let her get away from his grasp when she steps backward, immediately missing her warmth on him. A soldier collects the sword from her, before she tucks her shiv away in its holder. She explains, while draping her pashmina the handmaiden scurried over to give, “You got cocky. You thought you figured out my next move and thereby acted in a manner that made your vision tunnel to the sword in my hand. While you celebrated your victory before your sword even touched my throat, you failed to realise that I had a shiv pointed at your heart.”
Her loud exhale of relief snaps him out of his reverie, her shoulder relaxes a smidge but Harry notices that she’s still tightly wound. Her arms are crossed protectively around herself with her knees towards her chest. She should look out of place in the catamaran he’d bought a few months ago at a bargain - bear boned structure unlike the things she was used to - but she didn’t. Almost like the wooden plank in front of him was made for her. She didn’t look out of place, just a tad nervous. “We’re in the clear,” she declares, once the pier completely disappears from view as he rows over to another bay nearby. It was rocky and jagged, lined with palm and coconut trees, dense with shrubbery sprouting all over the sand with an odd dollop of violet flowers breaking the monotony of green.
“Told you I knew a place,” he smirks. “Besides,” he remarks, leaning backward to get more movement with his row as he navigates away from the rocks and towards the shore. “It’s the least I could do. Disguising yourself and coming all the way to the docks to give me food and bid me farewell.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Y/N scoffs. “I didn’t sneak out of the palace for you.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Stop being so cocky,” she admonishes him as her eyes fall on the way the muscles on his arm flex and bulge as he moves the oars. The veins on his hands looked delicious with the way he gripped the oars as he tugs and pulls back as he moves. 
“Can’t help it, Princess.” He chuckles. “Especially with you drooling over my arms.”
Y/N feels the heat scorch her cheeks from his comment, immediately tearing her eyes away. “Shut up, Harry.”
“How was your trip to the capital? Did you confront your Uncle?” He inquires, asking her about the incident that led him to break into her chamber. 
“Busy. The capital is never not busy. Dad’s sick,” she adds the last part quietly.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.” There has been a hushed talk among the people about the King’s decline in health. Stories of people coming down from the far East and embedding needles in his flesh, and letting leeches draw impure blood spread like wildfire.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. People contract illnesses all the time. I’m sure it will pass.” She turns to the shores, eyes scanning to see if there are people around and Harry does the same, even if he knows that this area of the bay is always deserted. “I didn’t talk to my Uncle,” she answers. 
“Why not? Won’t it be best to put a stop to it right now?”
“Why would I let him know that I know what he’s plotting?” She shrugs. “It’s not about putting a stop to it, it’s how you do it. I didn’t talk to him. I asked to meet with the governors instead. Told them it was  time we start looking for brides for the future King. With Dad’s health, we must be prepared for Vikaram’s coronation and it would not be a good look, if he did not have a queen by his side at age of twenty five.”
“That helps how?”
“Easy. While they were busy squabbling over what kingdom to approach for talks of courtships, with fear brewing in their chest about the possibility of the Dynasty having added support from another kingdom. I’d simply said that I do not wish that and I would much rather prefer that the Crown Prince marry a Chola woman of nobility - one that knows our ways and our people. I’d pointed out that many of the governors - especially the ones who were meeting with my Uncle - themselves have daughters who were fit to be the future queen,” she smiles, satisfied with herself.
“Smart. There’s no way they’re going to support your Uncle now. Pitting swindling tax money and being the power that comes with being father of a future queen. Why would they not want to be the in-law of the Crown?”
“Exactly. You seed the idea of climbing up the ladder, and they are putty. There’s nothing more seductive than power. My Uncle’s support ought to dwindle.”
She is a good politician and the thought makes his chest swell in pride. Harry will never understand royal life. He covets the glitz and glamour that comes with hitting the genetic lottery but the more he spent time with the heirs the more he learnt that it was all exhausting mind games, endless duties to fulfil along with conducting yourself the way people deemed fit. It must suck. Uncle who doted on you growing up is the same one that's planning to overthrow you all this time, he thinks. He pulls the oars in when he feels the boat make contact with the sand bed, jolting the two in the wooden structure. 
Y/N lurches forward from the sudden movement, hands coming to grip his forearms to brace herself. “Sorry,” she mumbles, straightening up and squaring off her shoulders. 
“Are you sure you didn’t come all the way to the docks to not see me, Princess?” He teases. 
“You think highly of yourself, Harry,” she laughs, reaching in her linen bag and shifting through it. 
“How could I not? Besides look at where you got me,” he gestures to the scenery around them. It was just the two of them on his catamaran by the shore, the sun shining high up in the sky, and a cool breeze makes it way to them making the leaves and branches of the trees dance in its rhythm. Awfully convenient, he wonders as they bask in the solitude of the crashing waves and the screech of birds. 
“I got you?” She scoffs, raising her eyebrows. “If I recall correctly, it was you who pulled me into your boat. So, who got who alone?” 
A right menace, he shakes his head. “Why are you here then, Y/N?” He hopes it’s to continue where they’d left off that night, his body pressed up unbelievably close to her. He doesn’t miss sparing a glance - when she tucks a stray stand of hair behind her ear, inadvertently moving the fabric of her saree exposing the soft skin of her belly rising and falling as she breathes.  Even without all the fanfare around her appearance, she never looked less gorgeous.
She opens her palm, revealing a few brown candies wrapped in thin butter paper. A candy he knew all too well. It was popular in the port town. Sweet tamarind candy. “For these,” she admits. “My family thinks I should not be eating peasant treats. So, whenever I come to town to check on how the people are doing and how the children are responding with the school’s curriculum, I make sure to buy this in bulk from the market and stash it in my room.” 
“You do it often?”
“Not as often as I like,” she admits, stuffing them back in her bag. 
“Didn’t peg you as a sneak. Why not come to check on the people as the princess?”
“Because people don’t talk to me. They talk to the Princess. The crown. If they know I’m coming, they don’t see me, they see the ostentatious display of wealth and put on the best version of themselves. I want my people to talk to me, unfiltered as possible.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t been caught,” Harry claims. “It’s not the best disguise, Y/N. I can see right through it.”
“That’s because you actually bother to look at me. You’d be surprised how little people actually look into my eyes. People don’t pay attention to people they don't care about, especially ones that are from a lower caste and don’t draw too much attention to themselves. You’d be surprised how many people bumped into me today without so much as an apology.” She laughs, the tinkling sound cutting right through the monotonous sound of waves carding against the shore. “Besides, I’ve got my lady-in-waiting covering for me and my guards are standing outside the door, thinking I’ve taken to the bed,” she shrugs. 
“Next time let me know.” The words tumble out of Harry’s mouth before his brain can comprehend. “Can’t have people bumping into you.”
A smile blooms across her face. “I’ll survive. Thanks for the offer though,” she replies, pursing her lips together in an attempt to refrain from telling him how cute he looked. 
“You know,” Harry starts, taking one of her hands in both of his. “I was kinda hoping you came here and demand that you continue where we left off,” he confesses, green eyes flicking up at hers to gauge her reaction. 
Y/N can’t help but reel at the sensation of his slightly calloused thumb drawing circles on the back of her hand. “What if I did?”
“I think I would like that very much.” Harry gives her a shy smile. “Was kinda beating myself up for not kissing you that night.”
“I didn’t know you liked me. Much less in a sexual manner-”
“I think it’s more than lust, Y/N,” he confesses, bringing her hand up and brushing his lips against her knuckles. 
“Did you um- have you… touched yourself more to the thought of me?” She asks him quietly, hoping that he did not bed other women in town after that night.
“What do you think, hmm?” He responds with a smile. He had come on his stomach and hands an embarrassing amount of times replaying that night. It was pathetic how much she had him in a chokehold.
“I would like to kiss you,” she says, scooting forward to slot her knees between his. “Would you like that too?”
He nods, tongue licking his lips in anticipation as his heart kicks up again. The butterflies start flapping about in his tummy as she leans in with puckered lips. He backs up in the very last second when his lips were an inch away from hers, making her headbutt him in the process.
“I said that I’d like to kiss you not that you could,” he explains when she looks at him with furrowed brows. “You gotta ask me nicely, if you want me to kiss you,” he teases, kissing the tip of her nose. 
“You want me to beg?” She scoffs.
“Not necessarily but it won’t hurt to throw a please in there,” he mutters against the flamed skin of her cheek as he trails wet kisses up to the corner of her eye.
Her breath washes over him as she sighs, “Fine. Just this once though, don’t get used to it. Kiss me, pl-”
He cuts her off, smearing his lips with hers. Her lips were softer than he could have dreamt. His hands immediately move to cup her cheeks, tilting her head, so their noses weren’t smushed. He holds her delicately, like she was made of the finest crystal. Their eyes flutter close as their body relaxes into each other, lips moving in sync like they were destined to do this. Her palms slowly creep up his chest, resting firmly at the crook of his neck, grinning at the way she pulls a pleasured hum from him. Kissing someone never felt this right to Harry. They do it once, one more time, and another time before their lungs force them apart to pull in air. He leans in to peck her swollen lips again, silently thanking the ocean for bringing him to her.
Harry was right, he doesn’t think he had it in him to stop now that he had a taste. He reaches forward, wrapping a strong arm around the small of her back, while the other cradles her bum, pulling her onto his lap eliciting a quiet gasp from her. Y/N doesn’t waste time connecting their lips again. Only this time, Harry swipes his tongue across her bottom lip - seeking permission. His hands grip her in place at her ribs, resting right below her breasts. She opens up for him willingly and he wiggles his tongue into her mouth, licking hers hesitantly. She moans into his mouth, fingernails pressing crescents on the defined muscles of his back. He grunts out, feeling the heat pool from his chest and making its way south to his throbbing cock. They slot together perfectly, Y/N can’t help but grind down to help relieve the pressure building up in her tummy. 
“Do you like it?” He pulls back checking in, talking against her lips as they pant against each other.
“Very much,” she answers, fluttering her eyes open as her forehead rests against his. “Am I satisfactory in this kissing ordeal?”
Harry lets out a boyish laugh, the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and the dimples in his cheek deepen. “You are heavenly, Princess.”
Y/N gives him a satisfactory smile. “You have a scar here,” she notes as her eyes focus on the small cut under his left eyebrow.
“Got it from a fishing hook when I was nine,” he tells her. They’d been on this ship for a month now and Harry was getting restless, so he’d convinced one of the crew men to teach him to throw a line. Instead of waiting for the instructions, he simply grabbed the pole and whipped it around, resulting in a gash and his father incessantly yelling at him for being careless.
Her fingers feather over the mark, ghosting over the skin. Her touch was so gentle that Harry wondered if she was afraid that blood might ooze out if she put any pressure. He goes to tease her but she beats him to it, pressing her lips to the scar. She lingers breathing in his scent - a musky woody one underlying the smell of the salty sea.
Y/N’s gesture makes his breath hitch, a lump forming in his throat. The delicate nature of her action, knocked the wind out from his solar plexus. He didn’t realise he craved tenderness until now, there was no one to kiss his boo boos on the boat. He barely registered the pain back when the fish hook tore through his flesh, instead he was apologising to his father telling him that he’ll be better while pressing a muslin cloth to the wound. No one has been this tender with me. “Y/N,” he breathes out as a single tear rolls from his eye, “Thank you.”
She doesn’t understand why Harry’s crying as he thanks her but she gives him a comforting smile thumbing away the tear as he sniffles. He kisses her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth as they both sigh in satisfaction. That’s how they stay for the next hour, tangled together as desire simmers in their nerve endings. Lips caressing each other, as their tongue prods and rolls around in each other's mouth. Harry’s hands rests on her hips, fingers finding the skin of her stomach rubbing circles into them as Y/N tests Harry by making him moan as she tugs on the curls at the nape of his neck. The catamaran lazily bobs in the water not wanting to disrupt  the two, like the ocean understood that they were going to part with each other soon. But the sky had other plans, a distant rumble of thunder jolting them apart, reminding them of reality. Y/N shuffles back to her seat despite his grumbled protests, reaching in her bag to hand him some copper coins, “For your trouble,” she explains. 
“You’re paying me for kissing you?” He chuckles.
“No! It’s for rowing me here from the docks.”
“I didn’t do it for the money.”
“I know but I insist,” she states firmly.
He examines the coins in his palm and laughs. “I don’t understand how you haven’t been recognized in the markets. These are the shiniest copper coins I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he comments. 
Harry’s right. The Princess had no use for copper coins, she only used gold. The coppers denominated smaller values of money and had no place among royalty. She usually goes out of her way to request some from the mint in the capital, telling her father that she needs them to throw into wells when she makes wishes. Y/N thinks wishes were lame and if her father knew her any better, he’d catch on to the fact that she had been using the coppers to visit the markets. People rarely had brand new coins because it dulled and discoloured from use. No would have so many on them at once.
Their farewell was brief. Harry helps her to the shore, telling her how to sneak back into her castle. She interrupts him when he lets her know that there's a spot  - one that’s covered in vines and deceptive to the untrained eye - low in the stone back wall of the butterfly garden of her grounds, telling him that she was the one who designed it to aid in her sneaking out. He pulls her in a long tight hug, breathing in her floral scent as he mumbled goodbyes against the column of her throat he was busy trailing kisses on. It wasn’t lost on Harry that Y/N was trying to sneak some of the candy she’d purchased into his pockets.
“Show this to the soldiers,” she pulls out her golden ring, which bore the sigil of her family. “You won’t need to sneak in. Tell them I sent you and show them the ring, they’ll take you to Karthi.”
He nods, slipping the ring on his pinky, before kissing her with reckless abandon as his hands move down her back, grabbing a fistful of her bum and squeezing it. Y/N laughs, poking his side before getting on her toes again, to plant a kiss on his cheek. He wades into the waves, pushing the boat further out into the open water.
“Be careful, Harry,” she calls out from the shore when he hops on the boat. “You know with the storm and all. Don’t want you getting lost in the middle of the ocean,” she jokes weakly but even from far Harry could tell that her eyes were full of concern.
“Promise,” his voice rings out with sincerity. “Got someone to come home to now, haven’t I, Princess?” He teases one last time, giving her a wave.
“Promise,” his voice rings out with sincerity. “Got someone to come home to now, haven’t I, Princess?” He teases one last time, giving her a wave. 
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stylesnews · 10 months
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Harry out in London recently - posted 24/05
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rainyhoundanimemusic · 8 months
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One Direction gets pranked while on stage with 5SOS.
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simsim54 · 7 months
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-not teenage indian girls crushing madly after british men (both real and imaginary) after their ancestors spent two centuries trying to ditch the british hold on their country-
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No but the way the general public still believes in haylor so hard is hilarious to me because one direction has a lyric that's HEAVILY rumourd to be about Taylor and if it it is it straight up implies that they were fake.
And if you like cameras flashin' every time we go out
Oh, yeah
And if you're looking for someone to write your breakup songs about
Then baby, I'm perfect
And baby, we're perfect
This lyric if it is indeed about Taylor implies that she *needs* someone to write break up songs about which is weird because it implies she already has break up songs written and just needs someone to pin them too
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dailytomlinson · 2 years
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This is a Harry Styles solidarity post: leave your prayers on the tags after Louis got his blouse ripped in MXC, Night One.
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screaming crying throwing up
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olliethevampireslayer · 11 months
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I just finished Tired Tired Sea, and i... I'm not the same person I was before I read it.
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sadiewilliams · 3 months
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“Don't choose someone who's beautiful to the world. Choose someone who makes your world beautiful”- Harry Styles
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andtherestishistory13 · 11 months
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Just realized that I have to emotionally recover from Greta Van Fleets music video and then prepare for Harry Styles music video
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beetaku · 1 year
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👮‍♂️My Policeman background picture for iPhone
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happy birthday harry!! 🥰🫶🏻🦋❤️🌸
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wonrry · 9 months
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— — Now it’s just emptiness. # 🍵📃🦪
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prancingcrimes · 9 months
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Does anyone have that vine where Zayn is chasing the rest of One Direction in a car???/ 
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