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harryforvogue · 11 months ago

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hello welcome back to me writing out some ideas that will never become actual full stories. this was super fun because i've never written the bodyguard trope. i won't be writing more for this, but isn't this so fun???? hope you like it! (if the French is wrong, that's on me) 2.5k idk

***

France, 1843.

The tavern will do for the night.

It’s inconspicuous, a perfect hiding spot. In fact, now that she’s been in her room for the past three hours, it’s safe to say that if anyone were to come looking for her, they’d be long gone by now. That’s why she changes into a fresh outfit (provided by the very nice hostess who got teary eyed by the story she made up.) She’s now in a simple dress, much better than the other outfit. After all, it would be weird to be traipsing around in a wedding dress.

Her family went all in for the dress too. She’s going to hold on to it, see how much money she can make from it.

She comes down the stairs quietly. At nearly sunset time, the bar is starting to get crowded. She can definitely get mixed into the wave of people, giving her more cover. She expected several people to come in around this time anyways. Despite it being 4 in the afternoon, the winter allows for the sun to retreat earlier. The visibility outside must be terrible, and with a snowstorm on top of that, the only people coming into the tavern will be loyal customers and those sheltering from the weather.

Of course, her family is too highly opinionated to stop at a measly little tavern like this.

She skips off the last step and looks around. She's picked an excellent spot.

When she sits at the bar, it takes only a minute for the bartender to catch her eye. “Une bière.”

He retreats to pour her drink, and then slides it across the wooden bar.

She catches it and smiles sweetly at him. Then relaxes into her seat and listens to the music.

What a disaster of a day. The whole town will be talking about it tomorrow: the runaway bride. Well, maybe not this town. No, this place is smaller, and less wealthy. They care little for the problems of the rich folk.

The minutes pass by in silence and peace. That is, until the bartender comes by with another drink that she definitely did not ask for.

“Ça vient du monsieur,” the man says.

She looks over to where he's gesturing.

Sitting at the end of the bar is a man she’s all too familiar with. His curls aren’t wet with snow, nor are his clothes, which suggest he’s been here for a long time. Has he been waiting for her out? Did he follow her the moment she left the chapel, or was it that his guess was just correct? Pure luck maybe. Regardless of the how, what matters is that he knows where she is, and he answers her scowl with a smile of his own, lifting his glass in the air as if to toast her attempts at escaping him.

“Merci,” she grits to the bartender. She turns back to her drink, trying to come up with a plausible story before Harry makes his way over. The thirty seconds it takes Harry to show up, though, is simply not enough.

He sits on the vacant seat beside her. He slides his mug over and lightly taps hers. “Fear not,” he says in English, grinning with his dimples on full display, “I’m here alone.”

Harry’s been her guard for several years. He’s young, barely 3 or 4 years older than her. He rarely speaks with her, but he’s always there when she goes out, even when she’s with her fiancé. He was posted with her years ago when her father gained some political opposition, out of fear she’d get in harm’s way. Thanks to Harry, that’s never happened.

Suffice to say, she’s less than happy to see him here.

Normally, he’s a nice face to look at. All handsome and diligent. He stands nearly half a foot taller than her, always dressed in nearly all black. He has women fainting over him. She, too, can admire his beauty.

But she’s not going to tell him that.

“As if an army of my father’s men would frighten me,” she replies back.

“Aren’t you glad to see me? Out of all the guards that could have been here searching for the runaway bride, aren’t you happy that it’s me and not another?”

“I’d be more happy to see my fiancé.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Is he still your fiancé?”

“I mean, I still have the ring on my finger.”

“Would have figured you’d pawned it off by now.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you going to force me to go back? Because let me tell you, I’m going to put up a fight. I will scream bloody murder if you touch me.”

Harry looks amused now. He rests his chin on his palm.

“That is quite a plan. It’s easy to see how you could be so creative about running away too. Let’s talk about it because I do feel the need to give you kudos, mademoiselle. Not only did you persuade your father to have a winter wedding, but you also picked out the most expensive fabrics and gems for your big day. You convince your fiancé that you love him and then leave him in the church where everyone is supposed to witness a holy union. You thoroughly humiliated him. Excellent scheming.”

He actually does seem impressed.

She doesn’t say anything.

“And to answer your question,” he continues. “I don’t plan on forcing you to go back. In fact, I was actually anticipating this.”

“Anticipating this, how?” She doesn’t want to be on the defense, but he’s acting strange. Too comfortable.

He rolls his head back and looks at her incredulously. “You may not see me at all times, but as your guard, I do keep my eyes on you. And it’s a wonder how other people didn’t notice. The way your smile dropped at the mere mention of him, the way you had to leave the room with a pitiful excuse every time he showed up. The way you refused to let him kiss you after he very kindly walked you home all the time. Almost difficult to watch.”

She feels her face burn. “You’re not supposed to spy on me.”

“That is my job. I get paid for it, so I might as well be thorough, no?” He’s smiling again.

“All those things mean nothing. It was a last minute decision to run away.” She tilts her head back and finishes her ale.

“Ah, that I know. It was the most surprising part when you didn’t show up. I knew you would pull something like this, make an excuse of some kind. I anticipated that – but I didn’t anticipate it happening on your wedding day.”

“I wasn’t going to wait for an annulment. Don’t know if that would even be possible. And who'd want to marry me after that anyways. Running away was my best option.”

“He’s absolutely distraught, by the way. He’d be very unhappy if he knew we were talking like this. We’ve become friends of some sort.”

“Why would he be upset about us speaking?”

The incredulous look comes back. “It pains me that you don’t know how jealous your little fiancé is. You have such little awareness.”

“Jealous?” She suddenly laughs. “Oh please. As if he has anything to be jealous about.”

Harry finishes his drink and then orders another round for them. As he does, she takes him in. He’s in his black vest, white long sleeved shirt, with an undone white cravat, his jacket tucked away somewhere in the bar. He taps his perfectly polished boots against the floor, pristine black trousers fitting nicely around his strong thighs. His trousers are always perfectly fitted, unlike the rest of her guards. Or maybe she’s just spent a lot of time looking at him.

“He has plenty to be jealous about, mademoiselle.”

“All my attention has been on wedding planning and such for weeks now. I haven’t had the chance to even talk to another man.”

He glances back at her when she’s looking down at his thighs. He’s silent for a moment, but then says quietly, “Not all jealousy has to come from interacting with a man. It could just be from the way you look at one.”

Her eyes jump back to his face. His eyes are narrowed as if trying to figure her out. “He has nothing to be jealous about,” she repeats.

“He doesn’t?”

“As horrible of a woman I am for leaving a man at his own wedding, I’m not the type of woman to betray him, even though I don’t feel any particular affection for him. I respect him and myself.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with respect, mademoiselle. It’s about desire. After all, you should desire the man you’re marrying, is that not true?”

“Yes, and that’s why I’ve run away.”

“And if you were to desire someone else, it wouldn’t be betrayal, given you’re no longer his intended.”

He says it so casually, but she sees the way his eyes slip down to her mouth for a brief second.

“I still have the ring.”

He glances at her hand. “Will you keep it?”

“Not planning on it.”

“And until then, you’ll stay faithful to a man you have no intention of marrying? Forgive me, I can’t seem to make sense of this logic.”

She thinks about how much she should tell him. He’s had it figured out, it seems. Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding her true feelings about the union. Or maybe Harry’s just watched her too closely.

She says, “Are you really not going to take me back?”

Harry shakes his head. “What good would that do?”

“My father would appreciate it.”

“Your father has overlooked many things that I think have been worth appreciating over the span of my career as your dutiful guard, mademoiselle.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He simply watches her, as if she’ll understand him just from his expression. She doesn’t.

“Tell me,” she demands.

“I’ve done things that deserve recognition, that is all.”

“Like what?”

He narrows his eyes. “Like keeping you alive for the past four years, you ungrateful wench. With all the stupid decisions you make on a daily basis, I should actually be getting a fucking medal for managing to keep all your limbs in tact.”

The way he says it is so sudden and harsh, she can’t help but laugh.

“Funny, is it?” he grumbles.

“Hilarious. So, what type of recognition would you even have liked for keeping me alive?”

“It doesn't matter now, I think. Surely I’ll lose my job for not getting to you in time and bringing you back.”

She sits up straighter. “If I were to be brought back, what do you think you’d deserve for it?”

He sighs. “I shouldn't say.”

“I want to know.”

“You’ll hate me.”

She smiles real wide. “So what?"

He contemplates it for a moment. Finishes his second drink and then drums his fingers on the bar top. His knee gently brushes against her skirts beneath the table. “Did you know that before your father picked him to marry you, he had one of the other guards draft a list of eligible men?”

Her expression sours. “There was a list? How disappointing.”

“Mhm. It wasn’t a very long one.”

“What does this have to do with my question?”

He looks at her, unblinking. “If I were to bring you back to your father, and you still had to marry, I would like to be considered on that list.”

Everything falls away. Her smile drops, and her heart beats hard in her ears. Harry doesn’t look away from her, watching every expression take over her face. Surprise, worry, and then…

“Oh.”

The corner of his mouth twists. “Right. And a part of me wishes I’d throw you over my shoulder and drag you back to him. Just to be considered, even for a mere moment. Long enough for there to be a mental image of you and I at the altar in your father’s head. I’d be pleased with even a mere thought if it’s the only time we'd ever be together. But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“No.” Though the thought of being draped over that shoulder is more than enough to get her knee bouncing under the table. Her leg jostles his.

“And of course,” he says, smiling tightly, “you are loyal to your man because of that ring.”

They both look down at the gem. It gleams in the light.

Harry’s eyes dart back up to hers. He watches her for several long seconds before he reaches out.

With slow movements, he takes her hand. “Unless…” he murmurs, resting her hand on top of his knee. He gently twists the ring off her finger and drops it into his pocket. She keeps her hand on his leg.

Could he be trying to get her to make a move? She’ll be truly guilty if she advances first, but he doesn’t seem to be pulling away either. She holds her breath.

What she ends up saying is, “You said that as my guard, you’ve always needed to keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes.” His gaze is heavy. Dark.

“Even when I didn’t need you to?”

“I always looked out for you. I always will. It’s become second nature to me.”

That makes her feel a certain way. A way she’s never felt in her life. Her breath catches.

"You do deserve something for that," she says softly. She carefully squeezes his leg, right above his knee.

His jaw visibly tenses.

Harry leans in, and this is when she realizes he’s moving first. He takes a hold of her chin and tilts it up, eyebrows drawn together as if he’s really trying his best to stay away but can’t. He brings his head down. He whispers her name and her body caves, leaning into him.

For the first time in her life, she's excited about kissing a man. Her impatience suddenly surpasses the limit. She puts her other hand on his knee and pushes herself upwards to meet his kiss.

Just before his mouth touches hers, the bartender returns with a gruff, “Il est tout à fait inapproprié de le faire ici. Allez dans votre chambre.”

Harry pulls away, just barely, and looks down at her through his eyelashes. He keeps a hold on her face. “Shall we?” he asks her, ignoring the bartender.

She swallows roughly. His eyes are drenched with desire, her heart pounding away in her chest. She licks her lips, enjoying the way he follows the movement.

He whispers, “I’ll be nice, darling.”

Excitement spreads through her like wildfire. She balls her hands into fists and takes a deep breath. “Come.”

He smiles then, and it takes her aback. As he stands, he genuinely looks pleased. Relieved even. As if he’s been waiting for this chance. He takes her hand and tells her to lead him to her room.

And when he presses her against her door, hands tangled in her hair, a searing kiss placed onto her mouth, she realizes this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

#we've been talking so much about marriage of course i had to write about a runaway bride #the guard au is fun #dunno why i've always stayed away from it #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing

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