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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ

Harry Styles x British Royal!Reader

Her Royal Highness Princess YN, daughter to Prince Charles and late Princess Diana, Prince and Princess of Wales, younger sister to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, and Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, and granddaughter to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and His Royal Highness Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh would’ve never thought to meet Harry Styles by accident—by literally running into him. And Harry Styles would’ve never considered meeting the Princess of England again after that seemingly fateful afternoon.

faceclaim: Saoirse Ronan

author’s note: I still can’t comprehend the immense feedback and support this series got so far! Thank you so damn much for that, it seriously means the world to me <33 Attention: this is long. Like, really long.

series masterlist

;

sunflowerbutterfly Why am I still part of this circus.

Liked by murderbane, archielives, gingerprince and 4 others | 10 comments

archielives 🥺🥲

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I should’ve hidden in your suitcase when you left for the states 💀

↳ archielives I should’ve just grabbed and taken you with me.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly That’s categorized as treason, my friend. Would’ve made you the enemy of the state but not the Will Smith kinda type💀

↳ archielives I don’t care. The President of the United States would’ve understood it.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly … you mean the 🍊? I don’t think so. President Obama? That’s another story.

liked by archielives and murderbane

gingerprince What did Granny do this time?

↳ MacMark Better question: What did she not do?

↳ gingerprince Touché.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I’ll text in our group later ❤️

↳ MacMark Should I bring you something, lovely? Cookies? Lemonade? I think I saw some strawberry lemonade on my way up.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly That would be actually kinda sweet, Meg 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

liked by MacMark and gingerprince

murderbane Who do I have to murder?

liked by archielives, sunflowerbutterfly, MacMark and 2 others

↳ sunflowerbutterfly No one, Mer.

↳ murderbane I would do it.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly No, you wouldn’t because you’re not even capable of killing an insect.

↳ archielives YNN is not wrong.

↳ murderbane I hate you both.

liked by sunflowerbutterfly and archielives

;

“So, let me repeat that to get that straight into my head,” Meredith started while YN sipped her cocktail through the colorful straw accompanying it, chin propped up in her palm. “You have Harry Styles’ number for a week and a half saved in your phone and still didn’t call him? Are you sick, YNN?! Do I have to call an ambulance?” Her voice raised a couple of octaves, but YN only could shrug her shoulders half-heartedly. “It is complicated, okay?” More didn’t leave her mouth before her lips closed around the straw again, and the princess took a long sip, feeling the alcohol seeping into her body and letting her feel lighter. The burdens, usually resting on her shoulders, almost flew above her now.

She knew that alcohol never was the solution, but sometimes even YN couldn’t resist the tempting liquid.

Mer watched her over the edge of her own glass, blonde brows furrowed, and forehead wrinkled. “I saw the pictures, YNN. It didn’t seem complicated in that Starbucks or that park.” Her voice was softer now, and YN felt as if she wanted to cry right on this very chair, in this packed bar, somewhere in London. A thought seemed to strike her best friend while YN started to nibble listless and without appetite on a mozzarella stick. “What did she say?” The princess didn’t need to ask who Meredith meant by she. There was only one she who could ruin her week, and it certainly wasn’t Camilla. Her father’s wife was a nuisance on worst days, but nothing more.

Shrugging, YN let the mozzarella stick fall back into the basket before wiping her hand with the tissue lying next to it. “Rambled something about he isn’t a proper association for a princess and that I have to think about my family and my position.” Her voice was laced with unbelief and something resembling… rage. The latter was unlike YN because she usually was truly a peaceful individual, always searching for a way to solve conflicts—without hatred and anger.

Meredith choked on her cocktail and coughed to get the liquid out of her windpipe before taking a deep breath. “She lost her mind,” her friend decided, and YN laughed joylessly while Mer furrowed her brows even more. “What was her reason for this rubbish?” The blonde princess pulled the straw out of her glass and let it fall onto the tissue next to her hand before grabbing the drink and taking a bigger sip than necessary. “He is a singer, and, most importantly, it’s the way he dresses. His fucking clothes, Mer! Utter bullshit,” seethed the internally boiling woman, and Meredith couldn’t help it but chuckle softly at her rare outbursts, even though the topic wasn’t something she could laugh about. Meredith emptied her beverage and showed a final nod. “It’s official. The Queen of England threw her mind out of the window. No wonder Archie left this shitshow. Sorry.” YN hummed softly; the sound got almost swallowed by the sea of noises around them and the beating music in the background. “Don’t need to apologize, love. It’s true—my life is a shitshow. Think about it. I’m never utterly and truly free, even though they try to mask it that way, but at the same time, ordering me around and trying to control which people I am allowed to consider friends. Utter. Bollocks.” YN fell silent, emptying her cocktail and letting the glass hit the table a tad too hard. “No wonder my mom lost her mind.”

Sadness etched its way into her mind, and the feeling of longing wasn’t an unusual companion for the young woman. In such situations, she missed her mother more than she already did every day of her damned life. YN believed it would be easier to handle if Diana was still alive and still by her side to guide her through the strong tide of protocols, rules, and demanding people. Diana would help her escape from time to time—fully escape. But all of it was a silly, childish dream because her mother was dead, and no power on earth could bring her back.

Camilla would know how to prevent that.

A soft hand clasping hers pulled YN back into reality and out of her spiraling mind. Her eyes found her best friend, a worried and apologetic expression on her face. “Don’t say that,” she pleaded. “You are not your mom. You won’t live like her because I’m here, and I’m here to help and stay. And that’s why I’m telling you to call this angel of a man. I’m sure his personality will brighten up your day. Think about it: He gave you his number. He wanted you to call.” YN swallowed dryly at that thought and lowered her gaze, her pointer finger following the edge of her glass. “He said he wants to see me again. That day of our first meeting,“ the princess confessed to her best friend, and just as anticipated, Meredith almost freaked out but remembered where they were and lowered her tone. “Are you freaking kidding me?! YNN, that’s… that’s amazing! And so sweet!” But the excitement soon died down at the face her friend showed. “Oh no,” the Brisbane mumbled, while the blonde only pulled her shoulders up to her ears—a clear sign of her spiraling thoughts and rising anxiety. “What if he only wants to see me again for the tabloids, the paparazzi, his impact on social media? What if he only sees the princess when he looks at me, the titles, my family, the attention he can gain through me? I experienced all of it, and it never seemed as if that were their intention. Never.”

She really had stood last in line while the universe had distributed the luck a human had in life. She always found the assholes within the sea of individuals. Or maybe she was a magnet for such people; a screaming, beckoning light in the dark ocean that was their miserable life until they could ruin a person. It was exhausting.

Meredith cocked a brow. “Do you really believe a single word you just spat out?” She looked up from her empty glass, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t know, Mer. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to think and what not. It’s a mess up here.” She pointed to her head and shook it. “I probably don’t believe a single word floating through my mind, but the fears are there anyway. I can’t turn them down or even off. And that’s probably why I haven’t called him yet.” Her best friend sighed while she softly patted YN’s hand. “What about a deal? You gonna call this poor man who is definitely sulking somewhere in England, asking himself what he did wrong because his phone still isn’t ringing, and if he turns out to be an asshole like everyone else, you hit me up, and I will end this bastard. Deal?”

Swallowing, YN nodded, and suddenly, Meredith pushed the basket with the mozzarella sticks right in front of her. “Perfect. And now, you’re gonna eat those damn sticks because they’re part of your culinary journey in becoming a peasant—and because I paid eleven pounds for these bastards.”

;

sunflowerbutterfly Hi, I’m YN, and that’s 100% me.

By the way: Behold and witness my immaculate photoshop skills. ✨Digital art is my passion✨

Liked by murderbane, archielives, and 3 others | 4 comments

murderbane Do I have to move my ass over to Kensington?

↳ sunflowerbutterfly …no.

↳ murderbane Call him. NOW.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Stop screaming, I’m sensitive!

archielives Call him. NOW.

liked by murderbane

↳ sunflowerbutterfly WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

↳ archielives Call him.

↳ archielives Now.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Remind me again not to send you anything for your birthday.

↳ murderbane I will send you something, Arch!

liked by archielives

;

It took her another day to finally take the phone from its station.

—

Harry had just ended a fresh verse for a new song that had stuck in his head ever since that day, as his phone started to vibrate, announcing an incoming call. His band members had never seen him react this fast; usually, Harry barely acknowledged his phone when writing songs inside the studio, but in the past almost two weeks, he had acted differently, and not only Sarah suspected something.

“Yes, hello?” He sounded out of breath, his heart jumping in his chest and up to his throat. “Mr. Styles, this is the Royal Palace of Kensington. Her Royal Highness, Princess YN, would like to talk to you. I’m connecting the call now. Have a good night, sir,” the authoritative, nameless voice explained without waiting for even a second if that was alright. Well, it certainly was, and probably no one in his right mind would decline a call from the palace, so it made sense. Still, it felt odd to the singer, but those thoughts vanished immediately as a short beeping sound announced the connected call.

Silence settled into the line before her voice spoke up. “Uhm… hi? Oh gosh, is this even the right number? Shit. Uhm… if you are not Harry Styles, then I am truly and immensely sorry for bothering you, and even if you are Harry Styles, I am sorry for bothering you so late. Shit, I did not check the time before deciding this, I-…” Harry chuckled lowly and closed his pen. “YN?” His voice asked softly into his phone and let her pause. “It’s me, and it’s totally fine. You didn’t wake or disturb me,” he promised with a gentle smile spreading on his lips.

Sarah and Mitch, who had wanted to go over some things, now sat awfully still and quiet in the studio and listened to him with wide eyes.

A deep, relieved sigh traveled through the call. “Oh God, for a second, I seriously thought I gave them the wrong number. I am too bad with numbers. This always ends in a catastrophic disaster, so please, keep that in mind if you ever want me to calculate something. I am not even able to remember my own phone number correctly, which I have owned since 2009. And now I’m rambling. Gosh, I am so sorry. And now I’m apologizing again. Universe, please send some help.” The last sentence was definitely not meant for his ears, but her whispering was too precious, and Harry was glad he had heard that. It made her even more human—and so, so relatable. “I keep that in mind,” he grinned, leaning back into his chair but turning a tad serious now. “I thought I’d never hear from you.” He almost mumbled the words, not wanting to pressure her in anything or make her feel guilty. Another sigh reached his ear. “I know, and I’m sorry for that too. I had a lot of responsibilities, and after a day that started at four-thirty in the morning and ended way past ten in the night, I didn’t feel like I would be great company. And… well, I am not self-confidence in person, so that came on top.”

Harry felt his heart leap in his chest at her words. So she thought about me too, the singer grinned before standing up and moving to the cushioned corner in the studio. “I totally get that, don’t worry. I just thought… well. I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that I made a mistake or offended you in any way, I wasn’t aware of.” The brunette heard a chuckle, and he had to laugh softly as well. “Maybe we should decide right here, right now, to just jump into the cold water in any case of doubts and episodes of overthinking,” YN suggested with another chuckle, and Harry thought that he had never grinned this wide in his entire life. “I think that’s a great idea. Maybe we should toast to our deal with another coffee.”

He swallowed hard after the suggestion, which had slipped out of his mouth without a second thought on how that sounded, but her answering voice, instead of the beeping sound of an ended call, saved his rapidly beating heart from exploding. “Smooth, Mr. Styles, exceptionally smooth.” He could hear her grin from the opposite end of London. “What about a day trip? Just… getting out of London and maybe somewhere more peaceful? Don’t get me wrong, I love this city with my entire heart, but-“ Harry continued her sentence. “-but the paparazzi are horrible.”

He knew that feeling all too well.

“Yes! Exactly this. So… Would you be up for it? We don’t have to drive far. Maybe Reading? Oxford is a bit farther, but not as far as Brighton or Portsmouth…” Harry had to admit that he loved to listen to her ramble, slipping into the depths of her mind. It was the most adoring thing he had ever witnessed, and he hoped instantly to hear it even more often. “We can go wherever you want to go,” he returned and meant it with every single part of his being. “Reading, Oxford, Cambridge, Brighton, Bath… Road trips are fun.” He could hear her smile again—she almost always let a very short, very quiet chuckle out while forming her lips into a smile. It was strange how fast he had caught up to one of her habits. Harry had to ask himself what else he could explore when spending more time with the princess. Everything in his body tingled at the prospect of more time with YN.

“Bath is a bit far for only a day trip, don’t you think? And… do I need to prepare something special for a… road trip?” The princess spoke the word as if it meant traveling to the moon, and Harry had to cock a brow. “Your Royal Highness, do you try to let me know that you never experienced the magic of a road trip?” His voice had gained a teasing tone, the nervousness finally disappearing. Her groan made him laugh under his breath. “Do not dare and tease me about my lack of experience and knowledge! Meredith—my best friend—is not particularly hyped for long car journeys, and Archie—my other best friend—didn’t have a driver’s license until he moved to the States. And asking my two shadows always seemed kind of… odd. Not to mention my family, even though Harry would have done it if I had asked really nicely.”

The other Harry—it was funny thinking like that about himself—hummed, interested, listening intently about her life and family. He only had known the things made public, and even those were probably straight-up lies. Well, most of them, at least. “I would never think of it,” he grinned before humming again, deep in thought now.

“We would need a good playlist for the road.”

He could hear her scribble on paper.

“Consider this done,” YN decided, and Harry thought further.

“Snacks and drinks, of course.”

“That’s my job as well.”

“You can cook?” He didn’t intend to sound this surprised, but YN gladly only laughed wholeheartedly. “Yes, I am capable of following recipes and actually am able to cook and bake without them—without poisoning everyone around me, thank you very much.” Harry fully ignored Sarah’s and Mitch’s stares at his loud laugh escaping him now. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I’m providing the drinks. Is it true that you love strawberry lemonade, or is that just a straight-up lie created by tabloids to boost beverage production?” He waited for an answer while already planning to ask his mom for her recipe. “This one is, surprisingly, very true. But don’t believe the things about my morning routine if you ever stumble upon them. Who drinks Earl Grey with raw eggs? Is that even a helpful concoction in the eyes of the beauty industry? I believe not.“

It was official: Harry could listen to her all day long and wouldn’t get tired of her voice. Quite the opposite was the case—he craved more and more of those soft sounds leaving her lips.

“I can outdo this easily. I only have to say three words: bull testicles moisturizer.” Her escaping laugh was almost like music in his ear, and he wanted to write songs about it.

Harry, deep breaths. The century’s biggest crush is showing.

But it was too hard when she was not only stunningly beautiful but also funny, intelligent, and one of the gentlest and most compassionate human beings walking on this planet.

“Tabloids only hire a certain kind of people, don’t they?” YN still laughed but took a deep breath. “Okay, back to the topic at hand: do we need a picnic blanket? I mean, it is still February, and the last snow only melted yesterday, but… I don’t know, the thought seemed so enticing in my head, but it is probably not manageable without getting a horrible cold. Which I cannot cast upon you, fine sir, and I am not allowed to get sick any time soon either.” Harry could hear incomprehensible mumble reaching his ear, and he already figured out what that meant. “Busy schedule?” He desperately wanted to know more about her life; maybe he could help her a bit, and if it would just contain road trips here and there, he would do it. “Kind of. The birthday of my uncle—Edward—is coming up, and Granny is head over heels for the idea of a ball. Nothing big or fancy like the Royal Caledonian Ball in May, but still something I have to attend in a fancy, uncomfortable dress and torturing heels,” she explained with a soft groan, and Harry smiled at her being so completely normal. If the world only knew that… “How about that: We will leave the picnic blanket for now, but we’ll take it on a road trip another time?” He had spoken the words without thinking—again. He wanted to hit himself.

“Are you already planning another trip with me, Harry?” In his panicky screaming mind, he couldn’t process her tone, or if YN smiled, so he stammered around it. “I… It shouldn’t… I didn’t…” But her gentle laugh silenced him, though he could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks. “I was only teasing you, Harry. I’d be honored to have a road trip companion. So… When do you think we can do it? I’d love to say we could leave right away or tomorrow, but I’m visiting a children’s hospital.” His heart almost jumped out of his chest, and Harry had to take a deep breath. “What about next week? Tuesday? Most tourists will be around during the weekend.” He tried to think about anything that would make this day impossible to maneuver around it. “Tuesday sounds perfect. Do you want my number? Just in case something comes up?” Harry swallowed, eyes widening, but he nodded even though YN couldn’t see it. “That would be great, though there won’t be coming anything up.” He would know how to prevent that from happening.

After he had scribbled down her number next to the verse he had written earlier this evening, there was a short silence between them before YN cleared her throat.

“…Harry?”

He perked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you were my collision partner in that Starbucks.”

The singer could hear her smile appearing again—and he smiled as well.

“Me too, YN.”

;

haroldsmind He can’t stop writing. Wonder why that’s so. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with those phone calls he always accepts within a millisecond, nope 👀 Sincerely, Mitch (yes, I stole his phone for this post)

Liked by annetwist, gemmastyles, pillowpersonpp and 3 others | 5 comments

jefezoff Or that free Tuesday he demands he needs 👀

gemmastyles Phone calls? I need details? 👀

annetwist Mhmmmm 😇

haroldsmind And I wondered where my phone was. Thanks, man.

liked by mitchrowland, jefezoff, and pillowpersonpp

↳ mitchrowland I had to do it.

↳ haroldsmind And why’s that?

↳ mitchrowland Capturing it for the future so I can say “I told you”?

liked by pillowpersonpp and jefezoff

pillowpersonpp Don’t mess this up, Haz, thank you.

↳ haroldsmind I don’t know what you mean.

↳ pillowpersonpp Don’t act dumb, I want to meet her.

sunflowerbutterfly And suddenly, a bouquet of flowers appeared on my doorsteps 🙊🥺

Liked by MacMark, gingerprince, archielives and 4 others | 6 comments

archielives Excuse me while I cry in my pillows (out of pure happiness)

liked by MacMark and murderbane

MacMark Mhmmmm? 👀

↳ sunflowerbutterfly 👉🏻👈🏻

↳ MacMark I want to hear everything after that horrible family dinner tonight.

gingerprince Okay, yeah. Interesting. Do you mind pointing me in the direction of the suitor, so I can play out the big brother act?

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I seriously don’t know what you mean.

↳ gingerprince I call bullshit.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Ah ah ah! Don’t let Grandmother dearest hear that. She could get the impression the Americans rub off on you 💀

liked by MacMark

↳ MacMark What a shock it might be if she learns that Harry was already like that before we even met 👀

liked by sunflowerbutterfly

;

YN would’ve lied if she said she wasn’t nervous as she climbed into the waiting Jeep after Bernard had pulled up in front of the palace. He had handed her the keys with a smile—he knew just as well as she that she hadn’t driven her car ever since returning from Oxford—while Aaron and Egil situated themselves in the black Audi behind her. At least she would have some privacy before picking up Harry, so she could try and calm her nerves a bit.

“Everything will be fine. Everything will be okay. It’s nothing. Just a day with the hottest and most handsome and wonderful male individual gracing this earth with his presence. It’s nothing unusual, YN. Nothing to worry about.”

She tried to calm herself with the newfound whispered mantra but failed miserably, even until the last intersection she had to cross. It was as if she was back at square one and as if the nightly phone—and even FaceTime—calls didn’t happen for the last six days. It was maddening.

Stopping at the given address marked the point of no return, especially because the door leading to his property had already got opened, and Harry bloody Styles appeared in all his handsomely glory. He held a basket in hand on which two thick blankets laid, neatly rolled up, and an umbrella in his other hand—you never knew in England. Harry turned after closing the door and spotted the described Jeep immediately—plus the sleek black Audi waiting behind it.

“Hey,” the man smiled after putting the basket in the trunk and climbing into the car seat. YN released a relieved sigh and returned the smile. “Hey,” was all she could return before—in an impulsive reaction—she leaned over the middle console and pressed a featherlike kiss on his cheek. He chuckled after YN pulled herself back onto her side of the car, cheeks trying to challenge a hydrant. “I guess the flowers arrived?” The princess nodded with another smile and started the engine to leave London behind for the day. “They did. And… and they are breathtakingly beautiful. Thank you. How did you know that periwinkles and cream roses are my favorites?” A curious expression settled on her slightly concentrated face as she maneuvered through the heavy London-ish traffic, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from staring and watching her. “I didn’t,” he grinned softly. “I just went into that flower shop, saw the florist unpacking a fresh box of cream roses and periwinkles, and thought, They look gorgeous, I have to send her them, and the rest is history, as one would say.”

She could feel how her cheeks proceeded with their goal to be just as similar as a hydrant while turning onto the A40, heading to Oxford. They had decided upon her beloved city of scarce freedom two nights ago while talking about their respective lives, and YN had sucked every word of him up like much-needed oxygen. But somewhere along the FaceTime call, during which she had settled in the comforts of her bed, the princess had fallen asleep, and Harry still couldn’t comprehend the burning but soft, warm feeling that had spread through his body at the sight of her peaceful sleeping face—because his voice had guided her into slumber. He still felt privileged because he had seen her in her most vulnerable state so far: in the comforts of her home no one outside her family and friends had ever seen before and her trust to let him see her sleep.

Don’t try to talk yourself out of it, Harry. This crush is still there, and you are falling even harder for this woman.

It was probably very true.

“Then you must be a wizard—or the Fates had their fun,” YN grinned, eyes quickly jumping up to the rear mirror before changing the lane, black Audi still behind her. She could never outrun them, not even if she took lessons with the Fast and the Furious cast. “You know, I can drive us as well.” But at his words, the princess settled into an even more comfortable seating position—almost slouching in the driver’s seat. “Nah-uh. You can drive us back home if you like, but maybe I won’t let you then either because it was my idea.” She paused, and her thumb softly stroked over the steering wheel. “And I missed driving, to be quite honest. Haven’t done it since returning to London full-time.” Harry slouched as well; long legs outstretched and an elbow propped up on the small space next to the window. “So, this is a drive along memory lane?” He asked, and YN nodded with a radiant smile. “It totally is, yep. I always took this road when driving back on Sundays if my presence was needed in good ol’ London. Same car, same black Audi behind me, with the exact same men inside it. But this now… this is much better.” Harry could witness the transformation from that radiant smile into a shy one and—again—couldn’t stop staring.

YN chuckled, embarrassed, and shook her head softly. “That sounded too cheesy, even for my standards,” she mumbled, but suddenly, she felt a warm, much bigger hand enveloping the one resting on the gear stick, lacing their fingers together. The princess only spared a quick glance down but was taken aback at how good their hands looked together; how they fitted almost perfectly. She had never thought that this was possible—that her brain went into overdrive just at the mere sight of two hands together. Or that her stomach fluttered like a tornado of butterflies at the feeling of his warm skin pressed against hers in the most innocent but intimate gestures this world had to offer.

But there was probably always a time for firsts.

“Not too cheesy,” Harry almost whispered, and YN couldn’t stop but push their fingers closer together, getting a better hold on them and reveling in this unexpected feeling. “Okay,” she grinned softly and pointed her finger in the direction of the audio system. “Would you mind? I’m a bit… preoccupied.” Laughing, Harry watched her as she helplessly shrugged her shoulders; one hand at the steering wheel and the other clasped in the soft embrace of his hand. “Of course.” He touched the display to wake it up and was suddenly faced with a fully prepared playlist. Instead of looking through the titles YN had put on there, he only started the list and widened his eyes as the first tunes of Heart Of The Country by Paul McCartney filled the car.

“Where did you…-“ Harry couldn’t even end his question, too stunned he felt, and YN reveled in his expressions. “I wasn’t an A-student for nothing.” The satisfied grin was accompanied by her thumb gently caressing his hand—YN could not not cave into that desire. “I took my research very seriously,” the princess nodded proudly, while Harry leaned even further back into the seat and shook his head unbelievingly. “You constantly amaze me, Your Highness,” he finally spoke as Heart Of The Country ended, and Bridge Over Troubled Water started. YN granted herself one very quick look over to him, saw his slightly blushed cheeks, the small smile on his lips, those mesmerizing eyes settled entirely upon her, and looked back to the traffic in front of her.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

She really wasn’t sure.

His following chuckle would’ve swept her off her feet if she didn’t sit already.

“It’s more than just a good thing.” So much more.

;

ynismyqueen Excuse me while I sob uncontrollably.

SHE WAS ONLY A HANDFUL OF FEET AWAY FROM ME.

I BREATHED THE SAME AIR AS SHE DID

‼️AND HARRY WAS WITH HER‼️

Liked by royalistsbitch, yn_harryshipper, yourfan1, hsfan1, and 358 others | 99 comments

royalistsbitch I spilled my tea.

yn_harryshipper WHAT?! IS MY DREAM REALLY COMING TRUE

↳ ynismyqueen I THINK SO??!!! They sat SO close to one another 😩 And their expressions were EVERYTHING 😩

↳ yn_harryshipper screaming crying dying right now.

hsfan1 another account posted the pictures of Harry, but I can’t find them anymore!!! 😭

↳ hsfan2 perhaps you mean harrystylesfanpage?

↳ hsfan1 Yes. YES! Thanks so much!

liked by harrystylesfanpage and hsfan2

yourfan1 Can somebody recall a day in the past months where she looked this happy???

↳ yourfan2 Nope.

↳ ynismyqueen Only the day she met Harry in that Starbucks

↳ yourfan1 True! I missed her smile 🥺

↳ yourfan2 +1

↳ ynismyqueen +2

harrystylesforever I probably died, and this is just the afterlife where all your ships become a reality.

Liked by ynismyqueen, yourfan1, hsfan1, hsfan2, harrystylesfanpage, and 1,219 others | 311 comments

hsfan1 i kinda love the content, but i kinda feel bad because those photos violet their privacy, urgh

liked by yourfan1 and 113 others

↳ yourfan1 Same, bestie, same.

hsfan2 Look at how they sit 😮‍💨

ynismyqueen Still not over these two. And it’s so sweet that they do it here in Oxford because Oxford means so much to YN 🥹❤️

↳ yourfan2 Had the same thought. She probably showed him her favorite spots in the city 🥺

harrystylesfanpage We’re really rooting for these two now. Haters gonna hate soon, but we don’t care. We love a happy Harry! And a happy YN!

;

sunflowerbutterfly Who needs cooks when they have a cooking Harry? 🤷🏼‍♀️

Liked by murderbane, gingerprince, MacMark, and 3 others | 4 comments

MacMark Harry Styles is in the palace kitchen, and nobody thought to give me a heads up?

↳ sunflowerbutterfly We sneaked in. No grand announcements possible 🤷🏼‍♀️

↳ MacMark Aha 👀

gingerprince You are lucky I’m not there.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly 🙄💀

↳ gingerprince But seriously, YNN. I wanna have a word with him if this continues.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I don’t know what you mean, Henry Charles Albert David.

↳ murderbane COULD YOU PLEASE STOP WITH THE SELF DENIAL?!

liked by gingerprince

↳ gingerprince Thank you, Meredith. What she said 👆🏻

liked by murderbane

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I hate you both. If you’ll excuse me, I have a guest.

archielives YOU GO GIRL!!!

murderbane Will the cooks keep their mouths shut?

↳ archielives They will. They adore YN to pieces.

haroldsmind Chef Harold is here to save the day👨🏽‍🍳

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Well, the food is already smelling (and looking) delicious

↳ murderbane I can’t see the first reply, but I’m sure it’s Harry, so here is the 1,000,000£ question of the evening: Do you really mean the food or the cook only inches away from said food?

liked by archielives

↳ sunflowerbutterfly 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

↳ archielives Those emojis won’t save you, dear.

liked by murderbane

;

“Do you need anything else, Your Highness?” One of the cooks asked after Harry had divided the spaghetti between two plates—the plain white ones, not the fancy porcelain with the white gold designed edges—and YN shook her head while Harry gathered the two plates and a bottle of wine. She already held the two mugs in hand, out of which they would drink it. Who needs fancy glasses made out of crystal? “No, Chef Laurent, but thank you. You all can head home and to bed—we will be just fine. But please don’t lock the freezer, that would be really great, and I would appreciate it on an entirely different level.”

Who knew, maybe she craved ice cream at night?

The chef of chefs nodded and started to usher everyone out of his realm. “You know it is only Laurent, Your Highness,” he scolded her with a smile, but YN shrugged. “And you know I told you I would start using only your name if you drop the title as well. Good night!” YN coaxed the bottle out of Harry’s grasp, smile on her face, so that he could use both hands for the plates, and guided him back to her apartment after passing the several stairs to the second floor of the east wing. It was far enough away from her brother, Kate, and the kids to be quiet enough but not too far away if YN felt the need for her eldest brother’s hugs or advice from her sister-in-law. And so the entire second-floor wing belonged to her—including the attic above her six-room apartment.

“They really love you,” Harry said, and the princess cocked her head slowly from side to side, unsure. “Maybe. Maybe they are just friendly because they have known me my entire life and always had to keep up with me stealing the cakes out of the cooling room. Maybe they are just friendly because they get paid to be. Who knows.” She always had a hard time believing that people actually liked her for herself and not for the title, her family, or position—the latter containing connections and relationships with powerful and influential people. She had learned early in her life that it wasn’t her title that contained said things because even with a title, one could be as insignificant as a stone in the mud.

Her uncle Andrew was only the most recent example. The thought alone made her skin prickle in the most unpleasant of ways.

But Harry thought differently about the kitchen staff. “I believe they do. I’m not blind; I saw their faces when we entered, and you greeted them. They love you. They would cook you the grandest dinner in the middle of the night if you’d ask. And, to be honest, it doesn’t surprise me a bit.” They had reached the last step and turned right to pass the long corridor and finally reach the french doors to her very own realm. “Why doesn’t it?” YN had to ask. Harry grinned down at the blonde, and if he didn’t carry their dinner, he would stretch a hand out to push that blonde strand out of her face and behind her ear, maybe steal a quick touch of her soft skin. But instead, she did it herself with a hectic move which he knew that it screamed insecurity. “Because you, YN, are a compassionate and loving person. You treat people with unbelievable kindness and tend to them if they need you. I saw those pictures from your trip to the hospital—every single one of these kids, and even their parents and the staff loved you. They respect you. It’s who you are. And it’s inevitable to fall to your feet.”

He swallowed before turning again and walking to the mentioned doors, the princess closely next to him. She opened one of them without a single word and let them into her sacred halls. Harry let his eyes wander again—they had been up here shortly before going down to the kitchen and making dinner—and he still couldn’t grasp the coziness of this place. Everything seemingly screamed “YN” in every octave and sound he could imagine. He may not know her for long, but it was enough to picture the perfect home for the woman now striding to the small coffee table in front of the fireplace to clean it off books and paperwork. Two comfortable-looking pillows found their way onto the softly looking carpet; two fluffy blankets followed just as closely. He carried the two plates over, settled them onto the table, and plopped down next to YN on the ground, watching her as she skillfully decapitated the wine and poured it into the two mugs.

She finally looked up to him again because even while sitting, Harry almost loomed over her. “Which one do you like?” The question got asked with both mugs in hands, raising them now onto eye level, so Harry could inspect each of them more closely. “A fancy and noteworthy selection, miss, and a tough decision.” She nodded, suppressing her grin. “Indeed,” YN answered with the most serious tone she could master. “I will happily take the I survived my trip to New York City mug if you don’t mind.” The princess handed the white mug with the yellow cab over to the singer while taking a better hold of her own mug Meredith had made for her birthday three years ago. The dark blue “YN’s Rule #16 - Never mess with a Princess’ coffee if you want to live” still made her chuckle every time she looked at that mug. She may have graduated with honors, but she definitely had pulled many all-nighters with Mer to watch every single episode of NCIS. She still was a young woman with a burning passion for tv shows and Hollywood movies, after all.

“An excellent choice, sir,” YN grinned before taking the first sip of some white wine she had found in the kitchen—and which suited their dinner if one could believe a world-known chef. But then, she turned serious again, swallowing dryly before opening her mouth and asking the boiling and tickling question. “You said something about it being inevitable to fall to my feet. Does… does this statement include… well, you?” Only a second after the question mark had left her lips, the princess felt the blood rushing into her face, and her lungs stopped working entirely while her heart working overtime. Almost hectically, the blonde turned to their food and tried to find the manual on how to use a fork again in her brain. But emptiness was all that greeted her up there. “I’m sorry,” YN whispered then, not daring to raise her gaze. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It is none of my business, I suppose, so… forget I ever asked.” The muscle in her chest ached, and YN wished desperately to reverse the past twenty seconds to return to the fluffy mood they had created with those silly mugs.

A warm finger underneath her chin guided YN’s face gently into another direction, pushing her to look Harry right into his handsome face, those sea green eyes intently wandering over her face before they stared right into hers. “If you allow it.” His voice was a husky whisper in the silence of her living room. YN blinked slowly, not daring to move too fast in utter fear she would destroy this moment when moving too suddenly. “What?” Her voice had never sounded this breathless in her entire life. Harry softly grabbed her chin with his thumb, his pointer finger still resting underneath it. “If you allow me to fall to your feet, I will happily do it. I’m probably already at your feet without even knowing it, hoping to have the honor to get to know you better, spend more time with you, show you how you deserve to be treated every single minute of every single day. To cook for you after a road trip, full of singing along the playlist, in that massive kitchen downstairs, while you’re sitting on the counter, reaching for every spice I need, adorable smile on your pretty face. To show you my kitchen and living room where we could play Monopoly all night long while eating Chinese takeout, reading the notes of our fortune cookies out loud. To take you out to a proper sushi restaurant because takeout sushi doesn’t count. Convincing you there that green tea and sushi are a delicious combination. I will do all that and more if you allow it.”

Harry stopped for a short moment to take a deep breath and tried to soothe his rapidly beating heart. Forgotten was the steaming pasta next to them, the wine in their silly mugs, the unfamiliar environment the singer found himself in.

Only YN had space in his mind.

Only YN was important now.

“Will you allow it, YN?”

And her barely observable nod was everything he had ever wanted.

;

haroldsmind Incognito 101: how to pull off the sunglasses-hat-combination without a single ray of sunshine.

Liked by pillowpersonpp, gemmastyles, annetwist, jefezoff, and 5 other | 8 comments

gemmastyles I think I just hyperventilated.

↳ annetwist Deep breaths, love 😇

↳ gemmastyles Don’t be the calm one now, Mom!!!!

jefezoff So, this is where you disappeared to today 👀

↳ mitchrowland I told you 👀

↳ jefezoff I know, but I thought it couldn’t be true 👀

pillowpersonpp Excuse me, I have to get my worldview in a new order.

sunflowerbutterfly I just entered this magical realm and suddenly faced myself. That’s surprising.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly (No, it is not because you asked very lovely if you could post this one here.)

↳ haroldsmind 😊

liked by gemmastyles, pillowpersonpp, annetwist, and 2 others

↳ gemmastyles He is using emojis. I’m repeating, he is using emojis.

↳ haroldsmind 🙄

liked by gemmastyles and sunflowerbutterfly

;

Lying between pillows, blankets, and comforters spread over the fluffy carpet in front of the now crackling fireplace, YN held Pride and Prejudice securely in her hands. Harry laid beside her, propped up on one arm, eyes fully taking in the woman next to him, while her lips moved and let the words of her most favorite novel out in the air.

“But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.”

The singer smiled at the sight of her closing eyes with a deep, comfortable sigh escaping YN and letting the old book slowly rest on her chest. The cover, though… “Wait. Is this the same book…?” Harry didn’t even need to end his question because YN turned her head, eyes opening, and her slight grin gave him the answer. “It looks so old. I remember thinking the same, especially while holding it, but I thought Harry, she would never bring an old book to a Starbucks.” Now, her grin held a piece of secret knowledge, and the princess sat up in their self-made coziness. Harry followed her close, still resting his weight on one hand that rested closely behind her back, and looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing. Her fingers let the pages fall back into their usual position and opened the first page. The tips of her fingers softly stroked over the old, yellowish paper until they reached the printed year of release. His eyes fell on the black ink above her finger, and the singer felt as if his eyes would pop out of his head.

“What the….-“ His voice died down, and he scooted closer, not thinking about it further, and not even the pressing feeling of their legs against each other could pull him out of his disbelieving daze. “This can’t be…” But her chuckle proved otherwise. “It is,” she grinned, and Harry stretched out his hand to intently grace the surface of this first edition. “And you brought this first edition to a Starbucks? Seriously?” YN chuckled again and let her thumb tenderly stroke over the cover after closing it. “It’s a bit… no, very posh, I know. But I never owned another copy of Pride and Prejudice because I never think about it when I’m in a bookstore. And… I’m biased in buying another edition, to be quite honest. They were my firsts, you know? Thanks to them, I fell in love with literature, with books, and the written word. It feels like betraying my one true love.” YN chuckled with a head shake.

But Harry understood it and nodded his head. “It’s like for me with music, with my guitars, my piano. I understand. It’s still more extra than I have ever thought could be possible.” YN shoved him playfully to his side, and the singer laughed loudly, the princess following close. “Better carrying one first edition volume rather than all three, don’t you think?” The brunette grinned up at the woman still sitting upright on their makeshift island of comfort. “True,” he agreed, and after YN had put the book on the soft cushions of the sofa next to them, she settled back onto their island, head slowly resting on Harry’s outstretched arm.

She moved her face to look up at him, furrowing her brows in question. “Is that okay?” The man hummed in agreement at the almost whispered ask—soft expression settling on his face while watching the blonde woman, settling closer to his body without even thinking.

“Was there ever a time when you wanted to do something different than what you do?” Her question pulled Harry back to her after losing himself in the view of her right next to him, head resting comfortably on his biceps. One shoulder got shrugged, and he was quiet for longer than intended because YN had started to play with a loose thread on his hoodie. “Before everything—before X-Factor and finding the boys, starting the band, going solo—I thought of attending university as my sister did. Maybe something along law, sociology, and business. But then everything changed, and I remember how I once sat in my room, trying to figure everything out, and thought how music had changed my life and, finally, that music was the one thing I wanted to do. Plus, I never was a good student, so university would have probably been a struggle throughout.”

While talking, Harry had looked upwards to the ceiling, but now, his gaze settled back on YN, realizing that she had observed him while telling her all these things. And at the sight of her bright blue eyes, which always reminded him of a spring or summer sky, he had to ask something. “Do you mind it?” Creases formed on her pale forehead as YN knitted her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Her voice was quiet, not to disturb the peace they had found after dinner. “Do you mind I never went to university? Never graduated and earned degrees?” The princess propped herself up on one arm and starring down onto the brunette with still knitted brows. “Are you asking me if I mind that you’re a singer?” At his nod, YN sighed gently and, with her fingertip, booped his nose. “Of course not, silly,” she smiled. “I actually admire you and your decision to do what you love, to follow your heart. It’s more than I have ever done.” Now it was her turn to shrug her shoulder. “My decision to study literature was the only thing in my life I actually decided myself without getting pressured into it.”

Now thinking more closely about it, YN decided that her life was not only sad but pathetic.

“What would you do if you had the choice?” Harry’s question let YN settle back closely next to him—he was so perfectly warm and invitingly comfortable to snuggle up to, and his arm the best pillow in the world. She didn’t need to think long about it. “Probably something with literature. Maybe an editor—finding new talents in the writing industry, publishing them, giving them a voice. Or maybe something with art.” The easel in the other room almost screamed for her undivided attention. Harry looked surprised but impressed. “I didn’t know you painted,” he said, and YN hummed, moving her head slowly closer and closer to his shoulder. “Few people know about it. The public does not belong to this circle of knowing people, though. There are few things they don’t know about me, and I revel in every single one of them—my painting and drawing are a part of it.” Harry chuckled at the mischievous glimmer in her blue eyes. “You little devil,” the singer whispered, a grin tucking at his lips, and, without a second thought, pressed a tender kiss to the princess’s forehead and hairline.

YN closed her eyes at the feeling of his lips against her skin; relishing in it because it had been long since her heart had fluttered like an excited bird in a cage, shortly before it would get opened to release the little creature into freedom. “It’s a lonely life,” she suddenly whispered, barely above her breath, because the princess had never admitted this part of her mind, not even to Archibald or Meredith. “Tell me about it.” Harry’s response was just as quiet as hers. “There isn’t much to tell. It is just… lonely, especially when one of your parents is already long dead and your father has a new wife you never warmed up to, and when you are constantly surrounded by people who do not care for you. I’m barely alone. And yet I feel incredibly lonesome. I have Meredith, of course, but she has her own wonderfully successful life, and I am so immensely proud of her and her achievements. Archibald escaped this life because it was easy for him—too far behind in succession to have a realistic chance. But I cannot… leave. I have to stay and hope to not lose my mind like my mother somewhere along the road and do something irrational and destroyingly.” YN stopped to breathe deeply; trying to fight down the rising tears. “I’ve never expected to be so lonely and to feel like I am trapped constantly,” she finally muttered, feeling Harry’s arm slowly enveloping her shoulders and tightening his hold on her. But it didn’t hurt—quite the opposite: she felt protected in the best possible way.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered into her blonde hair, feeling her shrug under his arm and hand. “I should be used to it by now, but sometimes the feeling and thoughts return like a crashing wave, and I have to figure out how to prevent being dragged down under the surface by the current and thrown into the ocean. I never intend to become a delicious snack for sharks.” The singer laughed under his breath at the comparison but tightened his hold further nonetheless. “If you ever consider finding a job, let me know. You would be a great songwriter,” he tried to lighten up the mood but meant it at the same time because YN was good with words. Probably better than many people in the industry. “Don’t be silly,” she laughed against his shoulder. “I would write novels, short stories, or children’s books—fewer rules, more creative freedom. Songs have to rhyme, have a rhythm, and I am not good with either of those. I preferably enjoy music made by others than me—yours, for example.” YN lightly nudged the man into his side, and while she tried to nuzzle her face into the soft fabric of his—deliciously smelling—hoodie, her eyes fell on top the small clock settling atop the still crackling fireplace, but the flames slowly died down, the wood already half-eaten.

Her eyes shot open, but YN didn’t let her body shoot up in panic. Instead, the princess hummed interested, acknowledging, and Harry made a questioning noise somewhere deep in his chest.

“Do not panic—“

“It’s never soothing to start a sentence like that.”

Giggling, YN looked up and reached for his lips to put her fingers on top of them in order to silence the man. “Shush.” She could feel him smile against her fingertips. “Do not panic, but it’s already half past six.” Her voice lowered itself as if it was forbidden to be still wide awake. Now it was Harry’s turn to look at the clock with wide eyes. “How did that happen,” he asked, curiosity clear in his voice. “I don’t know. Do you mind? Is it bad? Do you have an early morning?”

She should’ve checked earlier—or asked him before they even drove to Oxford, to begin with.

His headshake soothed her bubbling anxiety. “No, of course not. Everything is alright. It just didn’t feel like we spent more than eight hours talking and reading. And I don’t want to… to let this end already.” YN watched how his eyes jumped over every inch of her face, desperately trying to remember every mark and freckle. “Hey.” Her soft voice and even softer skin of her knuckles caressing his cheek let him stop. “I will not disappear, H. I will be right here.” The nickname had slipped without thought, and the singer felt his body burn and heart racing. “Okay,” he mumbled with a dry mouth. “I am only a phone call or text away. And if I don’t react immediately, don’t worry—I will call or text back, pinky promise.” YN moved her hand off his cheek and stretched her pinky out for him to grab with his own. He did it without hesitation. “Same goes for you, y’know?” The princess nodded slowly before taking another glance at the clock.

“I can drive you home if you want,” she suggested, but the knitted brows of the singer let her stop right away. “That’s not how this works. I’m the one who brings you back home. I won’t let you drive alone back here, in the dark and cold. Nope, not gonna happen.” YN sighed with a smile tucking at the corners of her mouth. “Well, okay, fine gentleman. At least let me call you a cab and bring you down to the gate then.” She would’ve loved to ask Bernard if he could drive him so he wouldn’t have needed to wait in the cold, but she didn’t want to wake the poor man in the middle of the night.

This was something Harry could live with, so he nodded and waited until YN had peeled herself off his shoulder to stand up. The brunette stretched a hand out, palm facing up, and the blonde took it without hesitating a second, letting him pull her up, and the woman couldn’t stop her wandering eyes from resting on his strong biceps hidden by his sunflower-yellow hoodie. Calling herself out mentally, YN averted her gaze and slipped back into her sneakers, waiting next to the French doors, and wanted to open them, but Harry was quick to hold the door close. With a questioning expression, the princess looked up, raising both eyebrows, watching the man who stared her down.

“Coat?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, it will not take hours.” And she tried to open the door again. But Harry was as persistent as she loved to be. “Coat. I won’t let you out without another layer.” Another eye roll followed, but the woman finally rounded him to grab her hanging coat. He turned as well to help her slip into the thick and soft fabric before Harry gave her a once over and suddenly grabbed right over her shoulder to retrieve a scarf. “Oh, are you bloody kiddi…-“ But he had already started to wrap the article around her neck; his concentrated expression made the princess chuckle into the fabric. “Satisfied?” She asked Harry as he seemed to be done, and the singer grinned down at her covered form, plucking the scarf to its perfect position. “Now? Yes,” he agreed and finally let her open the door while slipping into his coat himself.

They walked the stairs in comfortable silence, and as they slipped out the front door, YN shrieked at a sudden movement to her right. She clung to Harry’s side, fingers burrowed into the arm of his coat, eyes wide in shock as they stared at an already working Bernard. “Your Highness,” the driver chuckled while bowing swiftly. “Bernard!” YN pressed a hand to her rapidly beating heart and inhaled the cold early morning air deep into her lungs. “I thought you’d still be at home.” The middle-aged man and Harry nodded to each other respectfully before he looked back at the princess. “Your brother and sister-in-law have appointments to attend, but there is still much time in case you need my service, princess.” YN quickly looked from Bernard to Harry—she let go of the poor man’s arm as it dawned on her that she still clung to it—before looking back to her favorite driver. “Actually…,” the blonde started. “Would it be possible to get him home safely? We forgot the time, and I do not want to dump him into a cab.”

The singer tried to protest because he didn’t mind taking a cab, but the driver was faster in his response. “Of course, Your Highness. Mr. Styles.” YN rolled her eyes with a smile and led Harry to the shining black SUV. “How does he know who I am?” He only dared to whisper the question. “He has two sixteen-year-old daughters, plus barely anything is secret within these walls. The bush radio never sleeps,” she whispered back, chuckling softly as they arrived at the back door.

Harry opened it while Bernard had already situated himself behind the wheel and started the engine, his eyes resting on the blonde’s face. She smiled up at him. “This was by far the best day in a very long time,” YN spoke first and let his face settle into her memory, saving everything she could put in a folder up there. But instead of saying something himself, Harry grabbed her hand softly and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her middle. He could feel her arms encompassing his neck and how she leaned her hairline against his jawline after he had bent his head a bit. “I‘ll call later,” Harry murmured and dared to touch her temple with a feather-like kiss. “Get some sleep first,” YN mumbled back and pulled gently back. “Text me when you get home, okay?” The man grinned tenderly at the evident concern lacing her voice. “Will do.”

With that, he got into the car, and after one last look at her, Harry closed the door, and the vehicle ventured off the palace’ grounds, leaving a squealing YN with reddened cheeks behind.

;

This one got… long. Holymoly. But it’s here! I hope y’all enjoyed it as much as I did while writing it. As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

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driaswrld · 5 months

Text

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.

🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog

CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *

L'INCOMPARABLE.

Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.

Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.

Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.

Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.

“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.

“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.

“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.

Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.

“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.

Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.

At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.

It was a disastrous first few encounters—

(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )

His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.

Not around you, at least.

“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.

That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.

THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.

Dearest gentle reader,

As all royal scandals do,

It started with an invitation.

We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].

This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.

What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!

Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.

But I assure you,

When it comes to matters of the heart —

Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.

You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.

And yet.

“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.

Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince

Is not the strongest.

“Some nerve you have, boy.”

Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.

You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.

And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.

“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”

Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.

You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.

No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.

“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”

You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.

“She will never be Queen.”

It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.

It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

Three months, thirteen days.

Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.

Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.

Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.

Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.

Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.

“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”

The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.

Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.

You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.

why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me

“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”

The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.

That, and the prize.

The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.

Gentle reader,

The famed jewel for the taking

This summer, is none other than—

“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.

It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .

Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.

“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”

( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )

“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”

She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.

There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.

A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.

—The champion’s jewel,

A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.

The L’Incomparable.

“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.

Three months, thirteen days.

You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.

He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.

It’s eerily similar to your childhood.

“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.

L’Incomparable.

The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.

Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.

A gift he only got to place on her corpse.

Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.

And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.

“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.

“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”

L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.

It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.

A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.

And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.

“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.

“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”

( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )

He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.

“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.

And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.

“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”

He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.

He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.

This urge—

( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )

The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—

( it will pass. )

“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”

Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.

Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.

He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.

“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”

( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )

There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.

And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.

As if you had never been there.

The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.

L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.

Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.

You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.

Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.

It made you giggle.

The palace corridors are bustling with life.

Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.

Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.

“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”

“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.

Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.

Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.

“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”

You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.

His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.

“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”

You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—

“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”

You choke. Audibly.

Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”

“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.

Oh, fair reader, it seems

Our dear protagonist has come upon

A treasure trove of memories.

“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”

Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.

“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”

“Oh, about Prince Geto!”

Dearest reader,

Suguru Geto enters.

A man of great mystique,

the northern Prince.

And striking opposite of

our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.

“Yes! About him—”

Suguru Geto.

In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.

Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.

“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”

( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )

“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?

The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.

“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.

Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.

But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.

And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.

( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )

Faithful reader,

she could not have been

more wrong.

Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.

Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.

You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.

Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.

This time, you’re taken aback.

Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—

There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.

Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.

But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.

It's almost intimate.

When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.

You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.

( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )

˚ ༘ *

The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.

When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?

Wait, why do you even care?

You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.

Darling reader,

it was in fact,

not the tea.

Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.

Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.

One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.

And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!

Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?

( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

is in denial.

“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.

( oh god, no. )

Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.

“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.

“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”

The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.

You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.

He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.

You don't doubt that.

“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”

“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.

You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.

( oh, the gloves ! )

“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.

Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.

The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.

( what a coincidence. )

˚ ༘ *

Time passes in waves.

People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.

‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’

‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’

‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’

‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’

“Bitter.”

Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.

Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.

The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.

“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”

You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.

( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )

“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”

When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”

He looks. . . disheveled.

Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—

And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .

( so that's what he was doing. )

“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.

The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?

“I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.

“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”

If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.

“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.

“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.

Marriage.

Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”

Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.

“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”

When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.

“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.

Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.

“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.

Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.

But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.

My dearest reader,

brace yourself for the

next publication.

Your kind author

bids you farewell.

#⋆ 🪷 A ROYAL AFFAIR ! ˚ ༘ *#👑 TSCC — series.#★ driaswrld #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fic

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