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clairecrive · 3 years

Note

Hi could we please get a really angsty fic with nikolai (with a happy ending pls) where reader and he has had a fight so they maintain the facade on the outside bc they're royals but in private it's just ignoring each other/angst?

Young Royals

A/N: ahh, this is angsty alright but it seems I'm only capable of writing hurt/comfort lately. This took a life of its own and it's long af but I hope you like it anyway x

Warnings: miscommunication, angst, fighting, hurt/comfort, Nikolai is a bit absent, you're a bit jealous of his relationship with Zoya

Tags: @jupiterandbutterflies, @agentsofsheilds , @for-bebbanburg , @randomoutsiders , @pansysgirlfriend , @hannaxmaria , @vintagebitc , @story-scribbler , @crowssixof , @odetostep,@lizzie-he4rts, @korol-lantsov, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @gallysonegoodlung, @a-c-lee, @mriddlemethis, @carnationworld,@thanossexual, @luvxginger, @sanna2020,@partiesandblurrypolaroids, @edithsvoice, @wafflesandschemingfaces (tag list form)

SHADOW AND BONE MASTERLIST

"Do not put words into my mouth, Nikolai."

"Please, you already have so many, my love," he scoffed and the use of the term of endearment hurt the most.

"You're making me sound like a brat while I'm providing you with a viable solution," you insisted with a flare of your hands, frustrated by his unwillingness to listen to you.

"No, you're not. What you're doing is being childish."

"I'm your queen, Nikolai. I'm only asking to be more involved."

"You're my wife, y/n, and you know nothing about politics or running a country." He retired, putting emphasis on wife. This felt a lot like being put into place. And the fact that it was your husband doing so, hurt. It was also the most you had seen him this week.

"Neither did Zoya, nor Genya or anyone who's currently running the country."

"That's different and you know it."

"Only because you're making it so," you exclaimed finally exploding. His despondency got on your nerves and this conversation was going nowhere anyway.

Surprised by your raise of voice, Nikolai stood before you just blinking at you.

Sighing, you took a step toward him, holding your hands up, "look, you're right, I don't know about running a country but teach me. I'm not stupid, I'll pick it up."

"Why are you insisting so much? You've never shown any interest in politics before." He gave you a puzzled look like he didn't really believe your intentions.

"I've never wanted to be queen before." before meeting you.

"Ah, I see," he chuckled mirthlessly, "I put you in this situation and now you're taking your revenge."

To insinuate that your marriage with him was you "being put into a situation" rather than a consensual decision you had made out of love was absurd.

Nikolai was right. You had never cared about politics or diplomacy before meeting him. You were a soldier. There was no reason for you to meddle with something that didn't concern you.

But now you were queen and you felt a responsibility towards your people. You wanted to help but so far, Nikolai hadn't allowed you to take part in any meetings. He said that anyone who needed to be there was already involved. What he didn't tell you was that while Grisha made excellent soldiers and even good councillors, one of them being a royal was a very different matter.

He had indulged his love for you by marrying you. You were his vice and he simply couldn't accept the idea of being without you anymore. He had married you, consequently making you queen, going against what his advisors told him.

While he ignored his warnings he was painfully aware, however, how difficult it was going to be for a Grisha on the throne. It was the first time something liked this had ever happened and unfortunately, the country was filled with people who resented Grisha for their powers.

Nikolai feared that the people were never going to accept you. Hence why he'd been keeping you secluded in the palace.

To be fair, you were doing a wonderful job. Like he had pointed out, you were not accustomed to politics but you made up for that with empathy and kindness. You started to interest yourself with the problem of poverty and lack of provisions for some parts of the country.

And while no one was aware of it, Nikolai often turned to you for military strategy. You were an apt soldier and had fought bravely alongside him and everyone else in the battle of the Fold. You were the very reason why he was still alive, to be honest.

While this arrangement worked for the first months of your reign, it was starting to feel an inadequate effort. You needed to do more, you wanted to do more. You didn't expect Nikolai to oppose it so vehemently.

"If I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be, Nikolai, you'd do well to remember it," you pointed out coldly, straightening your spine.

"Since you seem so adverse at spending time with me or including me in important matters, I'll find someone else who will." And with that, chin held high, you walked out of the room.

You missed him. It felt absurd to say this but you missed your husband. He was always busy with meetings or official visits to some noble across the country. For most of them, he went alone or with Zoya.

You knew that she was his first in command but you couldn't help but be bothered by it. It was one thing to accept the fact that he hadn't given the role to you "because the queen cannot have that role as well", it was a whole other thing to accept the fact that another woman spent more time with your husband than you did.

Countless were the fights you had with him in this regard. But they were pointless. Nikolai was still set on not bringing you and he and Zoya were always found together.

You didn't know what hurt more. The blow at your pride for being denied a position you deserved because of who you loved, the jealousy or being punished for your identity.

One thing was sure though, it was getting too much. At first, you pulled thought for Nikolai but now that you didn't have him anymore, your efforts seemed to be in vain.

So, like you had told Nikolai, you looked for someone who was willing to teach you. You wanted to help and if Nikolai wasn't going to let you here at the palace, then you'd find somewhere else.

Count Kirigin had always been nice to you and he was a very generous host. You knew that he played a central role in Nikolai's plan so you thought that there was no one better than him.

You reached out to him, wrote him a letter in which you showed interest in his activity and asked him if he was willing to show you. Of course, anything that came from the queen or the king couldn't be denied but you knew that the Count truly enjoyed your company. If your position didn't put so much higher than everybody else, you'd even consider him a friend.

You waited for his reply before putting in motion the preparations for your departure.

In the meantime, you and Nikolai kept conducting your separate lives. Usually, you'd only see him at night when he returned to your chambers if you were still up. Now, you had decided to sleep in separate rooms too.

If he wanted a wife, then a wife he'd get. But kings and queens do not sleep together.

If the new arrangement was bothering him, you didn't know. He hadn't reached out to you nor made any move to rectify your decision.

Turns out that he wasn't even at the Palace. He had left for a mission near the border with Shu Han and wouldn't be back for at least a week. Well, then. Of course, he didn't even bother with telling you. Not even a small note.

Jokes on him though, you thought, since when he was going to come back, he'd finally get what he wanted. You weren't going to be there to bother him anymore.

Differently from him though, you did indeed left him a note. Nikolai found it a week after you had set it on his pillow. Its presence made him furrow his eyebrows since he had already been wondering where you were. You usually came out to meet him at the gates whenever he'd come back from a mission and even though you had fought before he went away, you weren't one for holding grudges. So e guessed there was something holding you.

Unfolding the paper he was met with your familiar chaotic writing.

"I don't know when you're going to find this letter but if I'm not there yet it means that I'm still at Count Kirigin's. Do not bother with writing or visiting, I'll come back when my business with him is done.

Y/n"

What in the name of every sweet loving saint???

The letter wasn't dated, no dear, no yours no nothing. Fuck. You were still mad or worse, hurt.

Asking one of the servants, he learned that you had been away for a week already. But what business could you possibly have with the Count??

Nikolai had nothing against him. Seeing Kirigin get all flustered as he tried to flirt with Zoya amused him to no end but the idea of him and you in the same house? Alone?? Unacceptable.

Not even bothering to change clothes after his long journey, Nikolai headed to the stables to ask for a well-rested horse. Luckily, Count Kirigin's estate was not too far away. A couple of hours ride.

Turns out that the Count had a lot to teach. Despite his aloof reputation and extravagant clothes, he was very observant. He lacked ambition, which was why Nikolai trusted him and had a curious way of behaving in social situations.

But Emil had been born and raised in high society. He knew how things were run even if he had no desire to be in charge of them.

So far, you'd be having a wonderful time. Emil was a wonderful host, as you remembered, but without Nikolai's presence, he was even more extravagant. He had an unexpectedly dry sense of humour and a never-ending list of jokes.

Being in the open and in the company of someone who saw y/n instead of the Queen of Ravka proved to be even more needed than you thought. You felt reinvigorated and much lighter than you'd ever been.

You had also been learning a lot. Emil had been teaching you about diplomacy. About the best ways of formulating a sentence so that you wouldn't offend anyone but still get what you wanted. He had also been talking to you about your husband's ministers. About their weaknesses and vices and what was the best way to approach them to get what you wanted.

So far, it was proving to be a wonderful decision to come here.

Whenever your mind strayed on Nikolai, you willed it to focus on something else. You didn't know if he had already come home or seen the letter. A part of you thought that if he had, he would at least write one back. But the thought felt a lot like hope and seeing as how little he saw you even before you left, you didn't think it safe to harbour it.

When Nikolai reached the estate, he was met with Kirigin's servants. They welcomed him inside and profusely apologised for the Count's absence. They told him that at this time of the day, Kirigin and his guest would usually go out on a ride but that they were also about to return.

So Nikolai waited, sitting in the most comfortable chair the Count owned, fuming at the thought that his wife had felt the need to go away and be in the company of another man.

"If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be Nikolai. You'd do well to remember it."

Your words haunted him. They were the last thing that you told him. How stupid had he been to let you walk away. How utterly careless of him to disregard you like that.

He had promised himself to truly talk to you about it once this pressing matter of state was taken care of. Apparently, he had waited too long.

But Nikolai knew that the problem was at the source. He noticed how hurt you had been when he made Zoya his first in command. Or how sad you seemed everywhere he went somewhere with her and didn't ask you to join.

He was doing so to protect you from the inevitable slander you'd be met with. He should have known though that putting you aside was going to be even worse. You were a fighter just as much as Zoya was, if not stronger.

She hid behind her veil of indifference and superiority while you had never lost that emphatic verve that made everyone love you so much. In his attempt to make you safe, he had only managed to hurt you.

You were a warrior. You had accepted the role of queen only because it was the only way for you to be with Nikolai. And instead of praising you by making you a warrior queen, he had decided to hide you away.

Well, no more.

If his mistakes had not ruined everything already, he was going to make everything better.

Lost in his musing, he didn't hear the sound of hooves approaching but he did indeed hear your laugh. It immediately brought him back to the present and a wave of ugly jealousy hit him.

He couldn't remember the last time he made you laugh.

"I shouldn't even laugh Emil, the joke was terrible," Nikolai hear you giggling from somewhere in the hall. So now he was Emil, huh.

"You know you can't resist my charm, your highness," Emil replied and Nikolai had to call on every bit of his self-control to not barge out of the room and punch him.

"Stop it, you know you can call me y/n."

Before Emil could reply, they had both made it to the sitting room where Nikolai was waiting for them. It looked like no one had warned them of his presence because Kirigin looked surprised then utterly mortified.

"Your majesty, I wasn't aware you were here. Please forgive me for making you wait."

"Don't fret Kirigin, it was an impromptu visit. I came to see how my lovely wife was doing." No matter how green he was feeling right now, he knew that Kirigin was loyal to him and the crown. Whatever was happening here wasn't one of his schemes.

"Of course! I'm going to send for some tea while you two get reunited." Kirigin quickly bowed before hurrying out of the room.

Nikolai met your eyes for the first time since you had arrived. If at first, you were surprised to see him, now you couldn't help but be a bit sceptical about this visit.

"What are you doing here?" you asked breaking the ice.

"You leave with only a few lines on where you're going and you expect me to just accept it?" He scoffed, his hands curling on the armrests of the chair.

"It's more than what you gave me," you quipped, crossing your arms on your chest.

Nikolai sighed while his gloved hands run through his hair. You were right and he knew it. He had been a horrible husband lately.

"I know you're mad at me, honey, but listen-"

"I'm not mad. You didn't want to give me what I wanted so I went looking for it somewhere else." Scrolling your shoulders, you interrupted him without meeting his eyes. A list of excuses was not what you wanted nor what you needed from him.

Nikolai didn't miss the innuendo. His jaw clenched, his hands closed in fists. But he willed himself to stay calm.

"You think Kirigin can give you something that I can't?" Nikolai was a master in diplomacy. Never did he get frustrated or angry or raised his voice, even with the most aggravating people. Here though, with you, he didn't have to keep a façade. He spoke through his teeth barely containing his anger.

"Well, so far, he's been giving me attention and interesting pointers that no, Nikolai, you refused to give me."

"So this is how you solve your problems? Running away in the countryside with Emil?" Nikolai sneered, his tone souring around Kirigin's name.

"Don't you do the same with your precious first in command?" Tired after your ride with Emil, you plopped down on the chair in front of Nikolai's. Completely ignoring his tone, you pointed out calmly. The perfect image of aloofness even when it was the last thing you were in this moment.

"That's different," he snapped trying to meet your eyes that were carefully analyzing your hands.

"Yes," you signed, "it seems that when I'm concerned everything is different."

"There's nothing between me and Zoya, y/n and you know it." Nikolai was getting more frustrated by the second. He came here to apologize, to make things right and so far, the conversation was going in the opposite directions.

"Maybe now, but you spend more time with her than you do with me. It's only a matter of time before it happens and you're sorely mistaken if you think I'll just stand by and watch."

"This is not about Zoya," he insisted but so far, he wasn't getting the reaction out of you he wanted. You seemed... resigned at the situation. And that worried Nikolai to no end.

"It never is."

"Why did you run away?" Opting for a more direct approach, he bit the bullet and went straight to the point.

"I did not run away," you scoffed in contempt at his choice of words, "I told you I wanted to do more and Emil is teaching me. Not everyone is so against spending time with me, you know." You shot him a glance.

It was the first time that you had looked at him since you had been left alone.

"I married you, y/n. How can you possibly believe I don't want to spend time with you?" As desperation slipped through his words, Nikolai leaned towards you in his seat. As if he couldn't bear the distance between you anymore. But you knew it wasn't that. You and he had been distant for months now.

"Because that's what's happening, Nikolai," you clipped back and Nikolai had to refrain from wincing at your tone.

"It's not intentional, my love, I've just been busy." His tone softened. It was a poor excuse of an apology but it was sadly the truth.

"But when I say that I want to join or help you with it you strongly oppose?" Again, there was that suspicious implication in your words that Nikolai just couldn't stand. To think that you believed he'd ever cheat on you with another woman when he had done so much, taken so many risks, to be with you.

"It's not what you think, y/n." He insisted again but immediately realized he had said the wrong thing when he saw you leaning back into your chair shaking your head.

"I don't think anything, anymore. Do whatever you want. You do your thing and I'll do mine. I won't be a bother to you anymore." Holding up your hands, you gestured as you spoke.

A beat. Nikolai froze in his seat at what you were suggesting.

"You're never a bother to me. Never." He leaned even forwards in his chair, basically only propping on it now. The desperation was now clear in his voice. He reached out to you to try and take hold of your hands but you were too distant.

"I love you more than anything in this world and if you think that I'm going to let you go without a fight, you're sorely mistaken." The steel determination of his words caught you off guard. Nikolai was strong-headed, you knew that better than anyone else, but it had been a long while since that determination had been directed to you.

"You already did." It was barely a whisper. The sad truth about your reality, the downfall of your relationship. The wavering of your voice, the pain in your eyes were enough to tip Nikolai off the edge.

"Milaya, please."He fell onto his knees in front of you. Leaning forward he reached for your hands that he could now hold. "I'm sorry. I put you in a difficult position when I married you and I tried my best to protect you."

"I don't need protecting, Nikolai, especially if it's by pushing me away."

"I was keeping you away from danger and I know that you're strong and capable but I hate to think of you as the object of public slander." His eyes darted between yours, frantic, desperate to make you understand.

"I'm Grisha, Nikolai. It's nothing new to me," you pointed out but then it hit you.

"By difficult position, you meant a Grisha Queen, didn't you?" Your eyes hardened at the implications, your hands going slack in his hold. You would have pulled them away if Nikolai didn't tighten his hold.

"Please, do not think I'm regretting my choice or I think you're not worthy of the title because that's not true." Pulling your hands, he tried to get you closer to him. "I fear that there will be repercussions among the people." And there it was, at last, the truth.

"And among your ministers," you added remembering Emil's lessons on the people at court and their role.

You scoffed when he stayed silent. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing, my love."

"So Zoya can handle it and I can't?"

"For the millionth time," he groaned, "I don't care about Zoya."

"I only care about you and I know you can handle it. I just didn't want you to. You deserve happiness and peaceful life and I know it's impossible to have in this saints' forsaken country but I can at least try." His eyes lowered in shame and his confession sent a pang through your heart. You took a moment to take in what he said.

Never had you thought about the possibility of Nikolai's distance was a form of protection. You were a soldier of the Second Army, after all. But being a queen, especially a Grisha one, was a delicate thing.

It was the first time in history that something like this happened. Nikolai's worries were not unfounded since even after the destruction of the Fold, anti-Grisha movements were spreading fast.

It was sad to see the General's attempt of assuring safety for Grisha, provoking exactly the opposite thing.

"Oh, Kolya," returning his grip, you leaned towards him, "I just want a life with you by my side."

"As do I. I want you always and forever but above all, I want you safe. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, you know it right?"

"I just ask that you tell me the truth and let me play the role I've been given."

"It's not going to be easy. People at court-"

"I know. That's why I'm here. Emil's been teaching."

"Well, no more. I'm going to take care of it from now on."

"Is this a promise or a threat?"

"Rest assured my love, the difference between the two is almost nonexistent." He flashed you a smirk and you couldn't help but smile at him. Here it was, your beloved Nikolai.

"Things are going to change, aren't they?" you murmured softly as he gently rested his forehead against yours.

"We're going to show everyone what a "power couple" is." Here was his promise. Sealed with the gentlest nudging of his nose to yours. The action made you smile and your heart soar. You missed these little moments of intimacy with him.

One of his hands came to cradle your face as the other kept hold of your left hand. Your rings softly clicked as they touched. A form of reassurance.

"I love you, y/n."

"And I you, Kolya."

You were completely lost in your little bubble, even more so when Nikolai's lips finally met yours, that you had forgotten where you were. And that there was an embarrassed Kirigin outside the door waiting for the right moment to come in with tea.

#nikolai lanstov #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lanstov x you #nikolai lanstov angst #nikolai lanstov fic #nikolai lanstov imagine #nikolai lanstov imagines #nikolai lanstov one shot #nikolai lanstov fluff #grishaverse #shadow and bone

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writer-in-theory · 3 years

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The Moment I Knew (Spencer Reid x Reader)

summary: when spencer misses one of the biggest nights of reader's life, she wonders how much more of this she can take. series summary: a series of oneshots to celebrate the release of red (taylor's version). 19 songs, 19 fics. pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst with happy ending content warnings: a bit of language, sexual allusions(maybe? kinda? very subtle) word count: 4.4k a/n: and with this double feature, we are officially caught up from my oopsie last week. i genuinely cannot believe there are only three days left. someone tell me how this happened. but also, thank y'all so much, i really cannot explain in words how happy your comments and tags and such have made me. i love seeing what you think of my fics and i'm so glad we're all having fun in this lead-up to red (taylor's version) bc i know that i'm definitely not ready for that album. it's gonna be so great. so thanks for letting me share this with y'all 💜

series masterlist masterlist send me a request!

“Now I just wanna be alone, but your close friends always seem to know when something is wrong..."

It wasn’t obvious how much Spencer Reid changed your life until you were standing in front of nearly every person you love, wishing he was there.

It wasn’t fair, really, how much you could come to love one person in such a short amount of time. Accidentally meeting Spencer that one morning turned into something far greater than either of you expected, but something you would cherish for as long as you could. He’d been trying to meet up with one of Savannah’s coworkers to grab something for Derek, so when he’d seen you in your scrubs at that coffee place he’d run right over. It hadn’t taken long to figure out the confusion but afterward, you’d pestered Savannah at work until she told you everything about Derek’s best friend, Spencer.

If you knew where it would lead you to, you might have told your past self to skip the coffee for the morning if only to avoid him. This was the worst feeling you’d felt in years; a deep disappointment gripping tightly to your heart and preventing the joy of the night from reaching you.

Spencer was late.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, you found yourself worrying your hands in each other, constantly positioning yourself in conversations to keep one eye on the front door of your apartment. Every little noise had you looking, hoping to see your boyfriend walking through that door with a bright smile on his face. Each time it wasn’t, your shoulders dipped and you tried to keep the smile plastered on your face; because this was still your family and friends. They’d all shown up to celebrate you and deserved to see you happy.

“So when are we meeting this guy of yours?” one of your closest friends and coworkers asked, nudging your hip with theirs playfully.

“Hm?”

“Spencer. When do we get to meet him? You’ve been talking about how great he is for months, I gotta meet the guy that’s been making you that happy and annoying,” and normally you would have laughed at the playful teasing in your friend’s voice.

Instead, after checking the door again only to see it hadn’t moved, you only said, “He’ll be here.” It was more for yourself, you knew, a gentle reassurance that Spencer wouldn’t miss tonight. He’d be there for you, he had to be.

It might not have been so disappointing, had Spencer not gotten your hopes up in the first place. The entire party had been his idea, so it broke your heart more at the thought that he wouldn’t be there to see how happy it had made you.

Spencer made it obvious when he wanted to talk to you about something important. He would never make you wait, instead always coming out with it right when the thought came to his head. It was something you appreciated about him, the ability to be so open with important matters.

That skill hadn’t always come easy. In fact, the lack of it at all had once nearly destroyed any chance at a relationship the two of you had. Now though, you woke up in his arms and knew from the little glint in his eyes that he had a question for you.

So you pressed a kiss to his lips in good morning, keeping your legs tangled together and pressing as close as you could to him while still looking into Spencer’s eyes.

And when he was ready, he asked, “What are we doing for your birthday?”

It had stunned you, honestly. That was something he considered to be this important? It was the first birthday you’d be spending with him—and that thought alone surprised you as it often felt like you’d known Spencer for lifetimes—and honestly, you hadn’t considered it at all.

“I don’t know. We don’t need to do anything big,” you answered, shrugging as best you could from how to lay, “maybe just takeout and a movie?”

“What do you mean? You don’t want to celebrate?” Spencer asked, seeming too much like a heartbroken puppy over something as trivial as a birthday.

“I never have before,” you admitted, “with the day being so close to Christmas, it usually just gets forgotten with the holiday. It’s never really been important enough to celebrate.”

That did Spencer in. Immediately he was tugging you even closer, your face dug into the crook of his neck and arm coming up to wrap in his hair. He pressed gentle kisses against the parts of your face he could reach until you were giggling at the sensation.

“Spencer, what are you doing?” you laughed, trying to pull away but his arms around your waist wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m showing you how important you are to me,” he answered simply, “I’m sorry no one’s celebrated you before now.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” and suddenly the look in Spencer’s eyes seemed far too serious as if this was about something a little more important than a birthday celebration. “We should celebrate every year that the world gets to have you.”

“Spencer.”

“We’re having a party. We’ll invite all of our friends. I can finally meet your family and coworkers. It’ll be the night before your birthday, so you’ll have everyone you love around you the second it turns midnight,” Spencer told you, and it was hard not to buy into the fantasy. You’d never felt the need to celebrate the day before but Spencer was making you believe in it.

“You’re too good to me,” you answered, rolling the two of you so he was on his back and you were straddling his waist.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, hands hovering just over your thighs.

“It’s my turn to show you how important you are to me,” you answered easily, bending down to press a long kiss to his lips.

And as the two of you found a reason to stay in bed a little longer, you found yourself looking forward to your birthday for the first time, all because of Spencer.

When it hit midnight and your friends cheered, you swore they could all hear your heart shatter. You stood there in your favorite dress—the one you only wore on very special occasions—staring at the door with a sudden realization that it wasn’t going to open tonight.

Spencer wasn’t coming.

As you smiled and laughed for your friends, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly naive. How could you have ever expected any other result for tonight? You’d always been patient with Spencer’s job. He was literally saving lives by catching people who did unspeakable things, how could you ever fault him for missing something as trivial as a date here and there?

Except, it stopped being here and there. Suddenly you learned not to actually get dressed for dates because, more often than not, you’d get a call saying Spencer had to stay late or was being called out on a case. He’d started teasing you about how you never started to get ready until he was already at your apartment, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him the reason why.

Spencer loved his job, how could you ever ask him to choose when he’d worked there for over fifteen years?

Now you were blowing out the candles on your birthday cake, wishing for the one thing you knew you couldn’t have.

You should have known better than to get your hopes up. Any other year, you would have been ecstatic over this party. You would’ve cried and cried in only the best way, thanking everyone profusely for choosing to spend their night with you. You’d lose yourself in the fun, wondering why you’d never celebrated like this before.

Screw Spencer Reid, for ever letting you think he’d be there for you.

So when you felt the tears start rising even as you smiled at everyone you knew, you did the only thing you could. You made a couple of excuses, hoping no one saw the way your eye makeup was beginning to smudge. You nearly sprinted down the hallway to the safety of your bedroom, your legs giving out as soon as you got there.

It was only after the first sob tore through you that you even realized someone had followed you. Two someones, actually, and neither of them was who you would’ve expected. Two of Spencer’s closest friends stood there, sympathy filling both of their expressions.

You’d met Derek through Savannah first. The moment you met him, you knew he would be perfect for your friend and coworker. He was one of the kindest people you’d ever met, almost always willing to see things from the other person’s perspective. While there was no proof, you were sure it was Derek who had pushed Spencer to ask you out.

It was Derek now who was crouching down in front of you, strong hands guiding you into a hug. “I know, let it all out,” he gave you permission and it was like the dams had burst. Your body shook against his and you only had the brief sense of mourning over the shirt that would now carry mascara stains on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you cried, your fingers digging into the fabric and holding him closer. It felt strange to be comforted by your boyfriend’s best friend, but then again Derek always did seem to know when something was wrong. You’d blame the profiler in him, even though he hadn’t been one in years.

“Hey, what are you apologizing for, sweet girl?” Derek asked, keeping his voice as light as possible, “None of that, okay?”

“I’m ruining your shirt,” you whined.

That was when the other person made her presence known. She stepped fully into the room, shutting and locking the door to offer you as much privacy as possible. “Don’t worry about that, Pumpkin. I’m an expert at these things, I can get any stain out,” Penelope reassured you, trying to smile even though you could clearly see tears of her own slipping down her cheeks.

While you absolutely adored everyone who was, or used to be, on Spencer’s team, you had to say Penelope was one of your closest friends out of them all. She’d been the one to pull you in and make you feel like part of the family when Spencer finally asked you to meet them all.

“He was supposed to be here,” you spoke up, voice wet with thankfully slowing tears. You pulled out of the hug but Derek stayed near you, always ready in case you needed more support.

“I know he was, I’m so sorry he’s not,” he told you, face tensed with everything he wasn’t saying. And though you weren’t a trained profiler, you knew enough to notice the frustration behind his eyes. He was mad at his friend, he was hurting with you. Maybe Derek was simply remembering those first few months of his and Savannah’s relationship when he’d once prioritized his job too.

“I may not work there anymore, but I can and will track them down,” Penelope vowed, causing you to laugh through the pain and shake your head.

“That’s okay, Pen. I know where they are, Spencer just promised he’d fly back early if the case wasn’t done,” you explained, watching as both of their faces crumpled at that.

This was not a time when Spencer simply went on a case, unable to help it. This was a time when he expressly promised to do anything to be there, had made a plan for what to do if his job got in the way, and then ignored it all.

“There could be a really good explanation. Maybe their flight got delayed?” Penelope tried, but all three of you knew better. It was a private jet, the likelihood of them being delayed was slim. Besides, if that were true then he would have called.

No, Spencer just once again picked an unsub over you. “You know what I wished for tonight when I was blowing out those candles?” you asked, scoffing at yourself and fiddling with the bottom hem of your dress.

“What, Pumpkin?”

“I wished that once, only once, I would be Spencer’s first choice.”

Then Derek was bringing you in for another hug, holding you tight as the tears renewed. Penelope joined in, and soon enough you were sitting on the bedroom floor with two of Spencer’s closest friends, all of you mourning his disappearance tonight.

And when you were ready, Derek would leave the room to help get the word out that you were okay. He’d send in Savannah, and she and Penelope would get to work helping you fix your makeup. Soon enough, you were heading back to your party with no sign anything had ever happened.

Everyone knew, but thankfully they also knew not to say anything about it.

So you spent the rest of the night with almost everyone you loved, coming to the painful conclusion that there was a decision you had to make.

The party didn’t last much longer, after that.

While you’d put on a brave face, your friends knew you well enough to notice when you were hurting. So they’d wrapped up quickly, giving you hugs that lasted a little longer than usual as they left.

Savannah and Penelope stayed under the guise of helping you clean up. In reality, you understood they just didn’t want you to be alone; and honestly, you didn’t want to be alone either. The three of you blasted music as loud as you could without getting a noise complaint, cleaning up your apartment, and talking about everything but Spencer.

And when you were done, the three of you set up a giant pile of blankets and pillows in the living room. You’d piled in and chose the saddest romantic movie you could come up with. It felt good to cry, uninhibited and without an ounce of embarrassment.

It was nearly morning when the phone call finally came.

“Should you answer it?” Penelope asked, the three of you crowding around the phone you held in both hands.

“If Derek had the nerve to do this to me, I’d make him sit with it for a few more hours,” Savannah suggested.

As much as you wanted to, you knew what that would do to Spencer. That had been his one request when you two got more serious: please, just tell me when you’re mad, don’t shut me out. Spencer had lost so many people, had been abandoned without any word of warning. You’d promised to never do that to him. So you answered, but put the call on speaker so your friends could be there to properly support you.

“I’m on my way, Y/N, I promise. We just landed, I can be there in half an hour,” Spencer spoke rapidly as soon as you tapped the ‘accept’ button. At least he sounded guilty.

“The party’s over, Spencer, you missed it.” You were shocked by how neutral your voice was, almost distant sounding. It was easier this way, to disconnect yourself from the surge of anger and hurt that was swirling in your chest.

“It’s still the same day, I can be there. I’ll be there to celebrate, I promise. Just give me thirty minutes, and-”

“I gave you all night,” you sighed, running one hand through your hair. Why didn’t he understand how much this had hurt you? For a genius, Spencer seemed completely oblivious to the gravity of the situation. “I kept waiting for you to show up, and you never did. Do you know how humiliating that was for me, do have to explain that my boyfriend with near-perfect recall forgot about me?”

“I didn’t forget about you, Y/N, I’d never forget about you,” Spencer rushed to blurt out, and you could hear the panic welling up in him. Normally you’d comfort him, reassure him that you weren’t going anywhere.

You’d had that tough conversation before, laid nearly bare against each other in the middle of the night. Spencer had opened up to you about his wrongful conviction, about how sometimes it felt like he didn’t deserve you. How sometimes, on those bad days that never seemed to completely disappear, Spencer feared that one day you’d wake up and realize you deserved better.

You didn’t deserve more than him, but you did deserve more than this.

“I made a breakthrough in the case, I had to stay and help finish it out,” Spencer explained as if that would help matters at all. As if that hadn’t shattered the pieces of your heart into something that felt horribly irreparable.

“That’s so much worse, Spencer,” you told him, biting your lip as you tried not to cry again. He wasn’t worth it, you told yourself, even though this relationship had made you the happiest you’d been in a while. “You chose your job over me again.”

“It’s not like that,” he immediately protested, “I can’t just give up this job.”

“I’m not asking you too,” you shot back, “I would never ask you to give up something you love. All I want is to be a priority for you at all. It feels like I’m always your backup plan.”

“What do you want from me, Y/N?”

“I want you to actually act like you love me! Everyone else on your team has been able to set professional boundaries and have lives outside of their job. Why can’t you? Why aren’t I good enough for you to choose, Spencer?”

You heard the choked gasp through the phone, knew he likely had tears clinging to his face that matched your own. You tried to picture it, him standing in the BAU office at his desk, one hand holding the phone and the other gripping the strap of his bag tightly for comfort. The others would be around him, checking up on their friend who was so clearly upset.

Would they blame you for everything falling apart? Would they look at their lifelong friend, who’d been beaten down and scarred by the world so many times, and blame his broken heart on your selfishness?

“Something has to change. I can’t keep doing this, I can’t get my hopes up only for you to let me down every time,” you spoke softly, voice shaking through the tears.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” and Spencer’s voice almost sounded pleading, as though he desperately needed you to know he realized what was wrong with this situation.

You couldn’t do this.

“Yeah, I am too,” you whispered, hanging up the call and allowing the other women to hold you.

Spencer wouldn’t be there for you tonight, but his friends would be.

Two days later, you were sure Spencer had made his decision. When there was absolutely no word from him it was clear: he’d chosen the FBI over you.

It wasn’t like you were all too surprised. Spencer was good with his words, always making sure you felt loved and cherished, but when it came down to actions they spoke far louder than anything he could say.

By midday, you still hadn’t gotten out of bed. After thanking them on the morning after the party, you’d said goodbye to Penelope and Savannah then immediately curled up into bed. You didn’t move for two days except to get bits of food or water. The two of them texted, and you promised you were okay, and they saw right through it but didn’t say a word. They’d let you come to them when you were ready, and you were so thankful that you had such amazing friends.

You hoped you could continue to be friends with Penelope after Spencer and you inevitably break up. Briefly, you wondered if Spencer would have the guts to do it in person, or if he’d leave it at that last conversation. You genuinely weren’t sure which was worse.

The knock on your door was decidedly worse than anything you’d been thinking about. You let out an annoyed groan, figuring it was Savannah or another coworker doing a wellness check. You swung the door open harshly, lips parted and ready to reassure your friend that you were perfectly okay.

Instead, Spencer was standing at the door in that suit with the red vest you loved, pink roses in his hands.

You blinked, wondering if you were hallucinating from dehydration. The image stayed firmly rooted in front of you though if a bit more nervous looking as the silence dragged on.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer spoke, and you shrugged.

“I know,” was all you could think to say because you’d heard those two words so many times before they’d begun to lose all meaning. “Why are you here, Spencer?”

“I missed your birthday.”

“I’m aware of that, thanks for the reminder.” Why did he come here? Was this his attempt at giving you the kindness of an in-person breakup? If so, you would’ve preferred leaving it at that phone call.

“I don’t have a good reason for why I missed it and I wish I did,” Spencer spoke, hands fiddling with the little tie around the flowers. “Because then there would at least be a reason for why I hurt you.”

“I do too,” you answered, because what else were you supposed to say to that? Because it wasn’t just this one time, it was all of those times he’d missed something important. It was every time he promised you something then never followed through. It was the way you loved him so much, the way you were exhausted from being hurt by him.

“I don’t want this to be the end, but if you want to break up then I’ll accept that,” Spencer started, “but first I’d like to show you something.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a g-”

“Please, just trust me, Y/N,” Spencer pleaded, suddenly realizing what he held in his hands and offering them out to you. “Pink roses can symbolize an apology. They can also be a symbol of gratitude and devotion. You’ve made me happy in a way I never thought I’d get to be, and I am so thankful for every day I get to wake up to you. I’m so sorry I made you feel like I didn’t care.”

“Spencer,” you tried, feeling tears well up as your fingers curled around the flowers. He’s good with words, your brain tried to remind you, this part has always been his strong suit. It was your heart though, reaching out to the nearly broken look in Spencer’s eyes and begging you to make it go away.

“Please, let me show you how important you are to me.”

And you were brought back to that day, laying in bed together watching the sun peek through the windows; gentle touches and even gentler words passed between you. It was a day filled with so many beautiful promises whispered but never fulfilled.

You wanted to refuse. You wanted to shut the door and tell him to find someone else to prey on. Instead, you stepped forward and shut the door behind you with a quiet, “Okay.”

“Really?” You watched hope light up Spencer’s entire expression, pulling his eyebrows up and creating a shine in his eyes that for once wasn’t tears.

“It’s not forgiveness,” you clarified, making sure he understood the boundaries you were setting for each other, for yourself, “not yet.”

The walk to Spencer’s apartment had never felt so long. You didn’t live too far from him, but even now being this close to him sent pulses of tension through every muscle of your body, as though you were preparing to run when things looked bad.

And when you got there, both of you stood outside his apartment door, Spencer actually looked nervous. His hands shook as he fumbled with his keys, eventually guiding you into the cozy apartment.

Now, standing there in sweatpants and an old CalTech t-shirt you’d “borrowed”, you were reminded of something your mother had once told you before bed. You’d asked her why she and dad had a fight and if that meant they were going to divorce like one of your friend’s parents had. She’d laughed and shaken her head, explaining that love isn’t a straight path but eventually you’d find where you were meant to be.

You hadn’t understood what she meant until now. You turned to face Spencer, who’d shoved his hands into his pockets and was trying to hide how nervous he was about it all. “Happy birthday, darling,” he told you, and that was the only invitation you needed to close the distance and wrap your arms around him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you told him, wondering how long it had taken to put up the decorations. They were all red, your favorite color, and were all a little crooked but absolutely stunning to you.

“Yes, I did,” Spencer countered, finally wrapping his arms around you in return, squeezing just a little too tightly. You’d let him though because finally, he was showing you how much this mattered to him beyond just beautiful words. “I love you, Y/N, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” you reassured, your hand finding its home in the tiny curls on the back of his neck, “I love you too, Spencer, I promise.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be perfect right away, but I’ll make changes. I’ll try to be home more often.”

“I don’t need perfection, Spence, I just need you,” you murmured against his neck, allowing your bodies to sway to the music that wasn’t playing. It was the dance you’d hoped to have on your birthday but somehow felt more special now. This moment was just for you two; a careful demonstration of how much love there was between you.

“Hey, Spence?” you spoke up after a few moments of peaceful silence.

“Yes?”

You were sure of it now. The decision had been made, and in this moment you knew the truth about what you wanted for the future. “This is forgiveness.”

SERIES TAGLIST

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer x reader #spencer reid one shot #loving you was red #my fics

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nationalharryleague · 4 years

Text

Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.

Genre: Famous Fake Dating!

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!

An extra for our babies can be found here!

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kkodzvken · 4 years

Text

suit up - hawks x f. reader

the one where keigo marries the girl of his dreams, and then takes her home and shows her just how loved she is. title cred/inspo: suit up by jonghyun

notes/warnings: smut and fluff (your teeth may rot and fall out, you’ve been warned), soft dom!keigo, praise kink, slight size kink, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex + creampie. reader and kei use the traffic light safe word system and they review it beforehand, and he checks in with her at one point but she’s green, so everything is 100% consensual. they flirt + kei says explicit things at the reception but nothing /actually/ happens in public. mentions of alcohol

wc: 5.3k

a/n: this idea’s been bouncing around my head for a while bc i wanna marry this dumbass so bad :’) my first full hawks fic!! im so happy hehe

Beautiful.

You’re so beautiful.

Keigo’s always known, of course. He’s found you beautiful since the very first moment that he laid his eyes on you, all those years ago. He tells you that you’re beautiful every single day, no matter how much you roll your eyes or jokingly tell him to shut up.

You’re beautiful all the time, but there are certain moments that leave him especially breathless. The day that you foolishly challenged Rumi to an arm-wrestling match. The determined look in your eye as you clenched your fist, sweat dripping down your brow and arm muscles straining (you lost, of course – the rabbit hero was ridiculously jacked). The brilliant smile that graces your face whenever he brings you flowers or little souvenirs from his work trips. The very first morning after you moved into his penthouse, when he woke up next to your peaceful sleeping form, and realized that he’d have mornings like this for the rest of his life.

The day that he flew you up to the mountains for a starlit picnic. The smile on your face as you polished off your meal, and the way that your hand flew up to your mouth when he got down on one knee. Your teary-eyed look of pure love as he slipped the ring onto your finger, the diamond gleaming like one of the stars that shone down on you. The way that your eyes rolled back and your legs wrapped around his waist when he took you home and fucked you for hours.

And right now. Keigo swore that his heart damn near burst at the sight of you. The organist was playing, but he couldn’t hear the notes, couldn’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears. Your hands clasped an elegant flower bouquet, and Keigo was sure that the blossoms were pretty, but he couldn’t spare even a second to glance at them. No, his entire focus was trained on you. You, with your beautiful dress that perfectly accentuated the body that he loved so much. When your eyes raised to meet his, and that perfect smile worked its way across your face… he had to bite his inner cheek to try and hold the tears back.

In a simultaneous eternity and heartbeat, you were handing off your bouquet to a bridesmaid and clasping Keigo’s large hands with your much smaller ones. The officiant was speaking, but Keigo didn’t process any of it. The sight of your eyes shining up at him, more beautiful than any of the stars in the night sky, was the only thing anchoring him to the world. He felt like he was floating through a dreamscape with only you, the happiness in his chest powerful and all-encompassing.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re talking to a group of your old friends from high school when a tap against your shoulder grabs your attention, and you turn to see your fiancé – no, your husband – smirking down at you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says to your friends. “Mind if I steal her for a moment?” His amber eyes glint mischievously, and you swear that a whole swarm of butterflies take flight in your stomach.

Your friends giggle and nod, and then Keigo’s spinning you around so that you’re face-to-face. He’s stunning, in his black suit and red dress shirt, the shade of crimson matching his wings perfectly. “Dance with me, dove,” he says, before leaning down to press a quick kiss against your lips. You nod, and he leads you towards the center of the venue, where most of your guests are dancing to some cheesy pop song. Keigo nods at the DJ, who nods back and switches to the music. Soft synth notes travel through the speakers, before the singer’s dreamy voice floods your ears.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders. His wings move to wrap around you protectively. You’re not sure if he even realizes that he does it – it’s such a normal thing, now, for him to shield you, to create a little cocoon for the two of you. You frown as you feel his muscles moving underneath your fingers. “You’re too tense,” you say, fingers gently kneading at the parts of his back that you can reach. “Let me give you a massage once we get home.”

He chuckles, one of his own hands coming up to capture yours. He laces your fingers together before bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. The look he gives you is so tender, the love radiating off his body so palpable, that it makes your knees feel week. “Sweet, but I’m the one who’s going to be taking care of you tonight.” You open your mouth to protest, but he tuts, and a feather flies up to shush at your lips. “No, listen. You’re driving me crazy. Every time I turn my head, I see you looking so damn beautiful that my heart stops. Makes me wanna just pull you away and rip that pretty dress off.”

You gasp at his words, a pretty blush dusting your cheeks. “Kei! People are gonna hear you!”

He shrugs, pulling you even closer and swaying your bodies lightly to the music. “Let them,” he says nonchalantly, but the glint in his eye is pure sin. He leans down so that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. You can’t help the shudder that wracks through your body as his warm breath hits your skin. “You’re so cute when you’re blushing like that. Did I make you flustered, baby?” His fingers release yours, instead gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me, love.”

You nod, feeling small. Only Keigo can affect you like this, can reduce you to a trembling mess with just a few words.

You love it.

He smirks at your confession, pressing a kiss against your cheek before leaning his forehead against yours. “What do you say we jump ship, babe?” Your confusion must show on your face, because he continues. “I think I might die if I have to wait much longer to get my hands on you. And judging by the way you’re acting… I’d bet good money that you’re already dripping for me.”

“Kei!” You swat at his chest before burying your face in it. He laughs, one of his real, genuine laughs that makes your heart soar, before kissing the crown of your head.

“I don’t see you denying it.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, is my cute little wife flustered?”

Wife. The word sounds so pretty rolling off his lips that you can’t resist retreating from the safety of his chest to press your lips against his. He cups your face with one of his large, rough hands and kisses you back. His wings shift to cover you up before the hand on your waist moves down to pinch at your ass – or, at least, it tries. The layers of your dress obstruct him, and he growls in frustration.

You can’t help but whine as well. You want him all the time, of course. Years of being together haven’t changed how fucking badly you want him all the time. You’d used up all your willpower behaving for the ceremony and the reception so far. You’d been good, had kept your hands to yourself throughout dinner and the toasts. But now, the mix of his body against yours, the dirty words that he’d whispered into your ear, and the cocktails running through your bloodstream were making it very hard for you to ignore the pooling heat between your legs.

You wanted him. You wanted your husband.

“Please,” you whisper. Under normal circumstances, you’d hate how whiny and pathetic you sound, but you’re too far gone to care. “Please, let’s go, Kei. Need you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A few whispered words to Rumi, and a knowing smirk from her, and you were gone. It was surprisingly easy to slip out the venue. You’d expected to be stopped by some nosy family member, but it seemed that everyone was too tipsy and having too much fun to care. Nevertheless, you had to be careful once you stepped out into the fresh night air. The number two hero’s wedding was perfect paparazzi bait. You didn’t even want to think about the feeding frenzy that the media would go into if they caught sight of you now.

The night sky was like a shield, though, and it protected you from prying eyes. You’d been discreet when picking the wedding and reception venues, and even more discreet in choosing your honeymoon destination. Tomorrow morning, you and Keigo would fly up to the mountains, where he’d rented a little cabin for the two of you. By some miracle, he’d managed to get a whole week off work – a whole week where you’d have him, entirely to yourself.

But right now, you aren’t thinking about tomorrow morning, or the lovely, peaceful honeymoon that you were about to embark on. Right now, the only thing you can think about is Keigo. Keigo, with his beautifully messy hair that moved like ocean waves as you soared through the air. There’s nothing in this world that you love more than flying with him, pressed against his sturdy body with his strong arms wrapped around you. Light pollution makes it hard to see the sky from the ground, but up here, the moon and stars are breathtaking.

Almost as breathtaking as your husband, who’s eyes are prettier than any stars could ever hope to be.

He looks down and catches you staring, taking him in with your wide, wondrous eyes. You can barely hear anything through the noise-cancelling headphones that he makes you wear whenever you fly, but his words reach you, clear as day – “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Your voice comes out small, stolen away by the rushing wind. You try again, louder this time. “I love you!”

He chuckles, chest shaking as he tries to keep his laughs contained. “You trying to one-up me? I can be loud too.” He takes a deep breath, before tipping his head back and shouting an I love you up into the heavens.

His lips are soft and sweet as candy when they dip down to meet yours. “I’m just so happy,” he whispers against you. “You make me so happy.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment that you set foot into the penthouse, you gasp.

“Oh, Kei,” you breathe, hand flying over your mouth.

He bounces nervously as he locks up the balcony door, not meeting your eye. “Do…do you not like it?”

You march up to him and grab his face in your hands, before standing up onto your tip-toes and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I love it, baby. Really, you’ve outdone yourself.”

He perks up at the praise, kissing your lips once before his hands move down and he picks you up, clean off the ground. You can’t hold your shrieking laugh back as he spins you around, a smile lighting up his face like a god damn Christmas tree.

The house is beautiful. Really, he did outdo himself. Back when you’d first started dating, he’d had to call off your six-month-anniversary date because of a mission. You’d assured him that it was fine, that you understood, but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t upset. He promised that he would be back in a week at the latest. You’d spent the night with your friends, eating ice cream and watching shitty movies, and left for work the next morning. You weren’t expecting him back for a few days at least, but when you opened your door after an exhausting day at work, he was there, waiting for you. Scratches on his face and bandages on his arms, but he was there. And he’d decorated your apartment with flowers and fairy lights, centered around a haphazardly made blanket fort in the center of the living room. Little candles were placed across the room, each with a red feather standing guard, making sure that the flames didn’t accidentally get knocked over and grow. After you’d gotten over your initial shock – how the hell did you get in here, Kei – you ran into his arms and squeezed him, tight. He didn’t let go of you for the entire night – his body always pressed against yours, fingers constantly entwined, even as he made you cum so many times that you forgot your own name.

It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brought a smile to your face. You’d mentioned it offhandedly last week, while you were in the weeds with wedding planning. Honestly, you didn’t think that he’d even heard what you said, with how stressed and busy the two of you were. He was picking up extra patrols to make up for his honeymoon vacation time, and you were working your ass off to get your overbearing boss off your back.

But he had heard. He heard, and he listened, because that’s just the kind of lover – the kind of husband – that Keigo is. Attentive, sweet, and intuitive. You swear, he spoils you beyond belief. You don’t even know when he got the time to decorate the apartment today, but it’s beautiful. Even more beautiful than the decorations from your six-month-anniversary, because this time, the sight is sweetened by the knowledge that this is your shared home. This isn’t just your apartment, that your friends helped sneak him into so he could fancy it up. This is your shared space, where you’ll spend the rest of your lives together. Where you’ll wake up in his arms every morning, his wings wrapped around you protectively, fragmenting the morning light into shards of red. Where you’ll make meals together and laugh at his bad cooking, where you’ll take sanctuary from the harshness of the world. This place is your home. Keigo is your home.

He finally stops spinning, but refuses to set you down. Instead, he readjusts you so that he’s carrying you bridal style. You almost laugh at how cliché it is. It feels like something out of a cheesy rom-com, but you’re so happy that you feel like you’re in one of those rom-coms.

You do laugh out loud when you see the trail of petals leading to your bedroom. Keigo feigns disappointment, dramatically sighing. “Don’t laugh, princess, you wound me.” That just makes you laugh even more, and soon, he’s joining in, burying his face in your hair as he walks the two of you towards the bed. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic! Quit making me laugh!”

“I can’t help it,” you giggle as he gently places you onto the bed. Thankfully, he had the common sense to not put any petals on the actual bed, but the floor is absolutely covered. Blossoms line the walls as well, along with candles that bathe the room in their gentle glow. You take a second to admire how beautiful your husband looks in the soft light. The shadows make his wings seem that much bigger as they unfurl to their full size. He looms over you, looking like the most delicious mix of devil and angel that you’ve ever seen. There’s still a playful smile on his face, but something mischievous simmers beneath it.

“Hope you didn’t forget what you said at the reception hall, baby,” he says, eyes glinting. “What was it? Hmm, something like, need you, Kei, need you to take me home and fuck me, I’m already so wet for you.”

You groan and try to bury your face in your hands, but he’s too fast. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, easily wrapping them with just one of his large hands. “You’re making shit up,” you pout. “I only said the first part.”

“So you admit you said it? That you need me?”

“Shut up.”

“Mm, no thanks.”

You groan again, trying to suppress your smile. There are plenty of times that you and Keigo have had “serious” sex, but you mostly find yourself like this, devolving into giggles and teasing. There’s something about him that makes you feel so safe and at ease, and you can’t help yourself from giggling at his stupid remarks. He laughs, and releases your wrists to cradle your face with both his hands. He shifts so that he’s properly on top of you, his thighs on either side of your hips, and bends down to press kisses all over your face.

“My wife,” he breathes, in between kisses. “My sweet, beautiful, amazing wife. This dress is so pretty, but let’s take it off, my love. You don’t need it anymore.”

It takes a few minutes of awkward wriggling and tugging to finally remove the lace monstrosity, but at long last, the dress ends up on the floor. Keigo’s hands are on your body in an instant, fingers trailing over the curve of your waist and snapping the waistband of your panties. “God, you’ve got such pretty little lingerie on.”

“Wanted to dress up for you,” you say, pawing at his tie and trying to loosen the knot. It makes you feel small, to be so exposed while he’s still fully dressed. Normally you love to savor in that feeling, but right now, you need to feel his bare skin against yours. “Now take your clothes off, please.”

You finally manage to loosen his tie enough to pull it over his head. After stopping for another deep kiss, your hands continue their path over his body. His suit jacket comes off next, although he has to help you gently maneuver it off his wings. His cuff links clatter to the ground as you almost viciously rip off his dress shirt, and you moan when you finally feel his warm muscles.

You’re practically grinding into each other by now. Little whines leave your lips as you shamelessly roll your hips, seeking any friction you can get. You can feel his hardness, even through his thick pants, and you chase it with vigor. He’s not much better, a light blush dusting his face as he meets your rolls with shallow thrusts of his own. “Off, off, Kei, need to feel you,” you babble, fingers desperately trying to undo this belt buckle. Breathlessly, he pushes your fingers aside and pulls his belt off, unceremoniously throwing it across the room. You half expect it to collide with a candle and set the entire building on fire, but a few feathers fly out to catch it and gently set it down.

You don’t waste a second in pulling his pants down and throwing them as well, trusting that a feather will keep it from crashing into anything. Your fingers try to pull down the waistband of his boxers, but he tuts and grabs your hand.

You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please,” you whine.

The smile on his face is gentle beyond belief as he answers. “I told you that I was going to take care of you tonight, baby. Let me make you feel good, okay? Can I make you feel good?”

You want to protest, want to beg him to stuff your face or your cunt and fuck into you until you’re lightheaded, but Keigo’s insistent about making you cum at least twice before even thinking about his own pleasure. And you can’t deny that you’re aching for him. You’re certain that you’ve soaked through your flimsy panties by now, and your mind is hazy with want.

You nod. Keigo takes your face in his hand, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Can you give me your colors too?”

You force your mind to push through the fog, force your heavy lips to move and form words. “G-green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“Good girl.” The praise goes straight to your core, and you whine. “Oh, baby, I know I just vowed to give you everything you could ever want, but you’re so damn needy. Be patient for me, okay? Let me touch you.”

You nod obediently, but you can’t fight the urge roll your hips and feel him again. With a soft, scolding noise, he presses one of his hands into your hipbone, effectively pinning you to the mattress. Try as you might, you can’t squirm away. He’s so ridiculously strong, his muscles toned from years of training and hero work, that you’re no match for him. But it’s not so bad. You love the dominance that oozes off his body as he moves down, his hands and tongue exploring every inch of skin that they can find. His teeth nip at the sensitive spot on your neck, the spot that always makes you melt for him. You shamelessly sigh and tilt your head to give him more access.

His right hand, the one that isn’t currently pinning you to the mattress, plays with the lacy edges of your bra. He palms you through the thin fabric, making you groan and arch your back into his touch. It’s not enough, you need more, need to feel more of him before you lose your mind. He seems to read your mind, because he doesn’t even bother to unclasp the bra, electing instead to rip it clean off your body. The snap of the straps breaking makes you gasp, but you revel in the sting of the elastic bouncing back against your skin.

“Couldn’t wait,” he says, not a hint of shame on his face. “You know how much I love to tease, but fuck, I need you now.”

He’s a bit more ceremonious when he removes your panties, choosing to use a hardened feather to slice through the fabric instead of just ripping with brute force. He fucking moans at the sight of you, wet and needy for him. It sounds like absolute heaven, but you don’t have even a second to revel in it before he’s diving into you. The sudden rush of pleasure is electrifying, and you go to instinctively slam your legs shut, but Keigo’s hand is too fast again. His tongue doesn’t falter for even a second as his fingers dig into your thighs and push you open. His lips wrap around your clit and suck, and he’s outrageously loud as he moans into your sex. It’s all so much – he’s licking at you like a man on death row, coaxing little whines and gasps from your lips.

His beautiful eyes are trained on yours, pupils blow out with love and lust. He memorizes every little expression that flits across your beautiful face as he eases a finger into you, eyes only leaving your face to admire the way that your little cunt sucks him in. But he can’t tear his gaze away from you, and the way your mouth falls open, or the way that your eyes flutter and roll back. The way that your hands ball up into fists, alternating between grabbing the bedsheets and lacing through his hair. Fuck, he loves how you pull at his hair when his fingers curl up against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Loves the little curses and gasps of his name that spill past your lips as he scissors and thrusts his digits deeper and deeper into your perfect pussy.

“Cum for me, princess,” he groans. “Please, cum for me, need you to be a good girl and cum for me.”

And, well, you did just vow to give him everything that he could ever want.

You throw your head back and almost sob as you gush all over his face and fingers. He’s insatiable, licking and fingering you all through it, desperately trying to lap up every single drop of your juices. Your body is shaking, and you whimper, the overstimulation building until it’s too much, until you’re crying out too much, Kei, ‘s too much!

“Give me your color, baby,” he says, slowing his assault against your body.

“G-green,” you stutter out, the words as shaky as your legs. “Green, don’t stop, it’s just – ah! Kei!”

Your verbal confirmation was all he needed to dive back in, sucking at you with even more vigor than before. His fingers twist and curl against your spot, and his tongue lashes at your clit. He doesn’t stop for even a second, burying himself in your heat. It’s all you can do to maintain your grip on his hair, tugging at it just the way that he loves. You’re thrust headfirst into your second orgasm of the night, crying out his name and positively sobbing at the onslaught of sensations.

When he finally pulls away, the lower part of his face is soaked with your cum. He makes a show of licking his lips clean, not breaking eye contact with you, no matter how much you blush and squirm. He saves his fingers for you, though. A gentle tap at your lips is all it takes for you to obediently open your mouth and take in his digits. You swirl your tongue around, eyes lidded with the afterglow of your pleasure.

But you’re not finished, are nowhere near finished. You suppose that you are being needy, but how could you not, when your husband looks like an absolute fucking god? The candlelight makes your cum on his face glisten beautifully. You whine and pull him in for a kiss, mashing your lips against his and greedily swiping your tongues together. It’s sinful. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you shudder, makes you need him that much more.

“Please, please fuck me,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and trying to pull him closer, closer, closer. “Please, Kei, need you inside me, need my husband inside me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you didn’t feel the word formed against your lips. “Fuck, baby, okay.” His hand slides between your bodies and quickly pushes his boxers down. He uses a feather to pull them all the way off, because he can’t be bothered to focus on that, not when you’re practically drooling at the sight of his cock.

Your fingers twitch, and you aren’t able to hold back any longer. Your hand finds his cock, marveling at how heavy and perfect he feels as you wrap your fingers around him and guide him towards your sopping cunt. You pause before you slide him in, though, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can I ride you? Please?”

He curses again under his breath, practically shivering at your words. His strong hands reposition the both of you, until you’re sitting on his thigh and he’s leaning back against the headboard. He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Well, then? Get to work, princess.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at his antics. “What happened to Mr. Let-Me-Take-Care-Of-You?”

“He’ll come out later. If my pretty wife wants to ride me, she gets to ride me.”

You laugh for real this time, but it quickly turns into a moan as you sink yourself down on his length. No matter how many times you take him, he always overwhelms your senses, always stretches you so deliciously. You lean your forehead against his and give yourself a second to adjust, and then you’re rolling your hips, little whines leaving your lips.

“Feels so good, Kei.” You throw your head back, your fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back to anchor yourself. “You always feel so good.”

His eyes are half-lidded and dark as he takes you in. He’s memorizing every inch of your body, every detail and movement that he absolutely fucking adores. “You’re the most beautiful thing in the world,” he whispers, seemingly more to himself than you. “So beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

Your thighs burn, but you force yourself to ignore the pain. You’d rather die than stop right now. His strong arms encircle your waist, and his wings surround your bodies, ruffling with every one of your movements.

You want to ignore your exhaustion, but your husband is perceptive as ever. His hips raise up to meet you, and it sends a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. You’re shaky, though, and you’re getting sloppy.

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re being spun over and pinned to the mattress. A gasp leaves your lips, and you whine as his cock slips out of you. Your hand reaches out and paws around wildly, searching for him through your haze. Keigo’s quick to kiss you and shush your protests, entwining his rough fingers in your searching hand and stroking his thumb against your palm.

“Relax, angel. Let me take care of it.”

He slides into you again, making you both moan. Your pussy sucks him in greedily, clenching and fluttering around him. He pauses once he bottoms out. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and he presses sweet kisses all over your skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze, trying desperately to make him move. “Keigo, baby, please,” you whine, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back.

He coos, cupping your face and kissing you before he readjusts himself. “Of course, pretty girl.”

His thrusts are deep and hard, so hard that they make the entire bed shake. Your eyes flutter shut, but he grips your jaw and begs you to keep them open – please, baby, look at me, need to see my pretty wife fall apart.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans, teeth nipping at your lips. “So perfect, and all mine.”

“All yours,” you agree. You’re practically babbling by this point, unable to stop the noises slipping past your lips. You’re floating on a cloud, soaring through the sky, anchored only by his body against yours. “You’re so deep in me, Kei, can feel you so deep in me. Please, ‘m so close, just a lil’ bit more, Kei.”

He coos again, hand slipping down to toy with your clit. You wail, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the coil in your stomach snaps and you gush uncontrollably. You can’t do anything but cry out for him, can’t do anything but cling onto him and shake and twitch. The feeling of you clenching around him is too much, and with a broken fuck and a cry of your name, he spills inside of you. He fucks you through it, the obscene sounds of your combined release making you feel lightheaded and weak.

He holds you for a few minutes, just like that, bodies entwined. You both pant and try to catch your breath. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, so you protest when he finally pulls out and sits back to admire the way that his seed drips out of you.

“Come back,” you complain. “What kind of husband doesn’t give cuddles to his wife?”

“The kind of husband who needs to clean her up,” he says with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s go take a bath.

Your body feels boneless with exhaustion and the hazy afterglow of your three orgasms, so you’re grateful when he scoops you into his arms. You tuck your face into his neck and hum contentedly, unable to stop the giddy smile that blooms across your face.

“I love you, Kei,” you say, planting little kisses over his neck and jaw.

“I love you too, princess,” he says, grinning and poking your nose. He laughs when you scrunch it up and scowl at him. But, with how cute he looks, you just can’t hold the scowl for long. Soon, you’re giggling too.

You look up at him with so much love that it makes his heart ache. His eyes grow a bit more serious, and he dips his head to kiss at your swollen lips. “I mean it, baby. I’m so happy to spend the rest of my life with you.”

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

“Harry’s stylist, right?”

Summary: Harry and his personal stylist are great collaborators, on screen and off. She helps his visions come to life and in turn they’ve become close friends. As she helps him to bring his fashion dreams come to life during the Fine Line era, will some other dreams come to life as well?

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this fit is very important to this part lmaooo - I literally have no idea what to call this lol, anyway I've been sitting on this for forever and I wanted to get something out for yall and i love this story there will be a part 2 when i get to a writing mood. I love this story bc its my literal dream - anyway!! pls enjoy and reblog and lmk what you think :)

Word Count: 14k | Warnings: swearing, drinking, tame for now, should be smut eventually - aka slow burn (what else would you expect from me at this point i guess)

part 2

“Hey, H, I just had a question about one of the SNL outfits? Do you have a sec?”

Harry looked up from his phone and raised his brows at his stylist, Y/N.

Y/N had worked with Harry previously. In photoshoots for Another Man magazine and his most recent Gucci campaign. As well as some other random times, such as one-off award show looks and specific appearances. However, this past summer Harry had hired Y/N to work fulltime for him, exclusively. He had told her that he was planning on releasing his second album in the winter and he wanted someone there to help him plan his clothes for music videos, award season, interview appearances, as well as tour outfits.

Y/N stood just inside the doorway of the room, leaning her back against the wall, looking expectantly at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips were pursed. She was dressed simply in a white satin skirt and a matching cropped button-up, they both had cream flowers embroidered on, paired with horsebit slim Gucci mules. Her style was eclectic, but she had definitely noticed an increase of Gucci in her wardrobe since starting her employment with Harry.

Y/N’s passion in life was fashion and clothes and she constantly worried that one of Harry’s outfits wouldn’t deliver as much as she wanted it to. He was quick to tell her not to worry so much though, as long as they both were happy with it, how could anyone else not love it. Plus, he’d always add, it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought. But as more and more events began to crop up, Y/N’s worry over her work grew. She had only been the head stylist for Harry on projects that were still underwraps - except for Lights Up which had been released a couple weeks ago now.

The first project she ever worked on with Harry as his full-time personal stylist was the Lights Up music video. She had never worked so closely with one person for so long on just one project. Harry was insistent in vision and came in the first day filled with ideas, what he imagined for the video's concept and how he wanted to incorporate clothes. She had been happy to make his dreams become reality.

The two of them spent hours at his house for weeks, pouring over every detail of every outfit he planned to wear. They both wanted it to be perfect. And eventually, it all came together, exactly how they had planned. All of the garments for the video took up two entire garment racks. Y/N had made Harry pose in every single outfit for polaroids that she dated and then put into a lookbook she started for him. She had told him she planned to document every outfit she styled for him and Harry had been so excited. The outfits he wore in the video were received with praise when it was finally released, and Harry and Y/N were overjoyed. There was already a party for its release, but they both were especially happy that night. Throughout the evening, Harry and Y/N would gravitate to one another and fall into side conversations about the outfits and what people had been saying. Even if Harry said it didn’t matter, he and Y/N both knew, at the end of the day, they loved when people were happy with their work.

“Sure,” he bounced to his feet, but Y/N made a hand motion telling him that he could stay seated. He settled back down as she crossed over and sat beside him on his couch.

She was at his house in London today planning his next few appearances that were promotion for the upcoming album, Saturday Night Live was next. Harry had been taking a break from their work until she had come in.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to be at his house, they had been working together for months now. First, it had been for his outfits in his music videos that were filmed in late summer and early fall, like Lights up, but also a few other ones. Now, it was clothing for promo appearances, interviews, and listening parties. Next, it would be tour outfits, which she had already started planning, but officially, they hadn’t started discussions yet. Harry had helped her to get a flat closer to his house in London just for her to be able to head over and help with the planning or fitting of his outfits more easily. She also was constantly traveling with him to his appearances, making sure outfits were perfect right before whatever show it was or making last minute adjustments in case either of them decided something wasn’t right.

While Harry was a big guy, his waist was far trimmer than a usual man built to his size, this meant she had to take in a lot of his trousers at the waist. As well, with his shirts and coats, she’d have to take them in or out depending on how Harry wanted the fit to be - either perfectly tight or perfectly oversized. He was particular, but she appreciated his drive for fashion and how he cared for his appearance. Before performances, she often had to take things in or out based on any body fluctuation that had occurred since the initial fitting.

She was looking at her sketchpad that held all of her notes on his clothes - which was different from the lookbook of polaroids - including patches of the actual colors and little Harry figures dressed in what he was going to wear. Right now, she had the pad opened to a page titled “SNL Opener - November 16, 2019”.

“So I was thinking with your opening monologue outfit, it might look better to have a different colored blazer? A matching yellow would be great, but if you did more of a toned down - maybe light tan or beige - blazer with gold embellishments, you’d elevate it to look sophisticated and stylish, rather than just stylish. It’d be exactly like the runway look - which I know you sometimes don’t like, but I think it’s what looks best.”

She ran her finger between two swatches of what she thought would be the better blazer color and the one Harry had originally wanted. He wet his lips and gazed at the page as he thought about what she said. Normally, she liked monochrome on him, but she thought the deep blue underneath a completely yellow suit might wash him out on the stage.

“Yeah,” he pointed to the top beige swatch, “I think I do like this better.” He paused and turned his head to Y/N, looking in her eyes before asking, “Is that all?”

“Er...no,” Y/N ran a hand over her unstyled hair, slightly fluffed by her constant musing of it. She often fiddled with it while she worked, better than biting nails she always said when confronted about her tick. After a sigh Y/N continued, “I was just on the phone with Jane from Gucci and she said that for Look 57 they could only send your technical size, for some reason they can’t custom make it. Meaning, I’ll have to tailor the whole thing to you when it arrives. Is that alright? Or do you want to choose something else?”

She flipped to a page that said “SNL WS.” Harry followed her hands and nodded realizing she was talking about the Gucci suit he wanted to wear for Watermelon Sugar. It was a watermelon’s inside red. When he had found out the suit came in that color, he had danced around the dining table for what Y/N had felt like was an hour, humming the tune of Watermelon Sugar excitedly. Finally, she had coaxed him to sit back down and get back to their other work, which was still picking out clothes.

“No, that’s fine,” Harry shook his head and used his thumb to scratch under his lips absentmindedly, “It really needs to be that color.”

She nodded, she knew what his answer was going to be, but she also knew he still liked to make the final decision.

“Alright, we’ll just have to meet for longer when everything arrives, to tailor that one. Then the rest of them should just be making sure the fit is perfect.”

She rose up from her seat and patted Harry’s shoulder, leaving him to his thoughts, as she went back to finish up the calls with Jane and the designers.

He caught her hand in his before she completely walked away, “Thank you, Y/N.” He was so grateful he had hired someone who was as driven as he was and understood his fashion sense and wanted to help enhance what he was thinking, rather than someone trying to control him or just going along with whatever he said. Neither would be productive or helpful, thankfully Y/N loved her job and cared to do things right.

She grinned before exiting, “H, you’re going to be this century’s style icon if it’s the last thing I do.” He laughed as she walked out of the room, leaning back on the couch to continue his lurking on Instagram.

One week later

“I’m here, H! I come bearing Gucci and more!” Y/N said as she shuffled through Harry’s front door, she held a deconstructed rack and a garment bag filled with heavy suits and things. Inside were Harry’s four most important outfits for SNL, some other garments for SNL, and some clothes they had talked about for his upcoming listening sessions later in the month. Y/N needed to check the fit on all of them and begin tailoring the Watermelon Sugar suit. The key Harry had given to Y/N, previously, had let her in, but she assumed he was home. He said he’d be.

When Y/N rounded the corner she found another empty room. Confused, she set down her large items and went to search for Harry. Y/N literally needed him to be here for this part. It was the only real time she actually needed to see him in person - but that was beside the point.

“H?”

She wandered through the different rooms of his home. Normally, Y/N didn’t go into the other rooms, she was always mainly in his lounge area, the dining room, and a little casual office room he had - sometimes the kitchen for water, his bedroom once. Still not finding him, she decided to venture to the furthest door, Harry’s bedroom, she remembered.

Harry groaned at the sound of a knock on his door, he rolled over in his bed. After a few moments of hearing nothing else than his groan, Y/N felt like she had to go in and check on him.

“H, it’s 12:30 and we agreed we’d meet at noon. Are you feeling alright?”

Y/N moved into the room and found a shirtless Harry surrounded by rumpled sheets, clutching at a pillow. He groaned into his pillow again in response. Her legs bent at the edge of the bed and she reached out to smooth some of his chestnut hair out of his face, “What’s wrong?”

He moved his head to allow his eyes to look at her, “‘M so tired, don’t know why. My stomach kind of hurts too…” Y/N looked at him quizzically, before running her hand over his tan forehead once more, this time checking for a fever. “You don’t have a fever. When did you go to sleep? Have you eaten anything today?” With her help, Harry moved into a seated position, head tilted back against the bedpost. He sat silent for a moment before blowing air out of his mouth. “Went to sleep kind of late for me, I guess...Haven’t eaten.”

“Ok, you’re just tired from staying up late, you old man, and you might be a little dehydrated and hungry. Listen, I’ll go make you some food if you get up and prepare yourself for the day. We need to get all your clothes fitted so that I can fix anything before next week.” Y/N was always good at getting Harry back on track when he got distracted - or even out of the station, when he wasn’t in the mood to work on something. She slid from her perch on the bed and walked to almost the edge of the room before Harry called her back.

“Can you pick out my clothes for me?” His soft, tired voice whined. “So hard...and you’ve got the best eye. Pleaseeee,” he pleaded softly.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N sighed and made her way back into his room. Crossing to the door that led to his walk-in closet, she set to work. As silly as he was being, she could never pass up on a chance to pick out an outfit for Harry.

“You’re literally going to be changing the entire time, H, you could have just thrown on sweats,” she called back to him once inside the smaller room. He repeated how she always picked the right thing, even for just around the house. Again, Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry, but she also couldn’t hide the warm smile on her face that was due to his compliment.

She couldn’t believe how dramatic Harry could be sometimes. Right now, he was a lesser form of hungover and he was acting like his life was ending. Y/N had made a note a while ago to never agree to a meeting on the day after any partying. She learned the hard way one particularly terrible Sunday. She had come round his house at a similar time, noon-ish and found Harry dead asleep, backwards in his bed. When she had roused him, his only responses were grumbles and groans. She had to not only pick out his clothes, but also help dress him. Then, after providing water and aspirin, she moved all their work into his bedroom so they could work from there. Harry had proved to be a baby when it came to hangovers. But, she hadn’t realized he could get like this even without being truly hungover.

After settling on his live aid t-shirt, that Y/N was eternally jealous of, located at the front of his drawer and his favorite corduroy trousers, she walked out and threw them in the direction of his toned, but slumped body. “I will not get you boxers, that is most definitely not in my job description, Boss.” Y/N sent a pointed look in his direction, moving to finally leave the room. While he was technically her boss as her employer, their work relationship was extremely collaborative and it never felt like he was in control of her, she just liked to give him shit for being a drama queen.

“Guess I’ll be going commando. How’s that going to work with me changing in front of you a bunch of times?” He teased right back, taking the clothes you had thrown at him and giving them a onceover. His teasing signalled that he was already feeling better.

Y/N shook her head and walked out of the room, “For the love of God, Harry, please put on underwear before you come out and continuously strip in front of me!”

The words he shouted after that were muffled, but they were something along the lines of how the human body is beautiful and shouldn’t be covered up. Unbelievable. As she set to work on making both of them some lunch, she finally heard Harry begin moving around. They had a lot of work to do as it was and whenever Harry was in a mood, whether it be a good mood or a bad mood, they always seemed to have a hard time focusing.

One night, that could be seen as the poster child for Harry and Y/N’s procrastination, was during the planning for the Adore You music video. Harry was in a super good mood that day and he had brought that energy to their meeting at his house. Y/N was supposed to be fitting him for the various outfits, but Harry, in his mania, ordered an overzealous amount of Chinese food. It took her and Harry hours to even make a dent in the food. And while they passed the time with eating, Harry and Y/N got further and further from their tasks, opting for conversations that included more fun topics than work. They had gossipped about some of the other people they worked with, Harry had begged for “the tea” about some of his other staffers and Y/N was happy to oblige. As much as Y/N would hate to admit it, she loved when they got off of work subjects and talked about how their day’s had been and what has been on their nerves lately. It was a nice way to decompress, it was like hanging out with a friend, except it wasn’t, not really.

Harry shuffled into the kitchen wearing what Y/N had picked out for him. Her smile grew knowing that he hadn’t changed what she’d picked. His confidence in her and her abilities never failed to feel like the biggest compliment.

“Go sit at the dining table, I’ve made us some little sandwiches and then we can decide the order we want to go through the outfits in.”

Before following Y/N’s orders, Harry continued his shuffling around, first to the cabinet for a glass, then to the fridge for water. At the end of the table, she set the plates between the head of the table’s spot and the one to its left. Harry took the side spot, so Y/N was on the end. After a bite of his food, Harry moaned loudly in contentment. This caused an amused look on Y/N’s face, there had been nothing special in his house so she had just made what was possible. This meant that Harry’s satisfaction was a little over the top.

“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week. What did you do last night that got you in such a twist?” Y/N asked as she took a sip of her own glass of water. Harry nibbled at his lower lip after swallowing, trying to understand why he was particularly tired today.

“I guess I forgot to eat properly yesterday and then I went out running. And I stayed up late on the phone with,” he paused, eyes flashing to Y/N and then away again, “someone for SNL.”

Y/N hummed at his words before going back to her own eating. She didn’t understand why he hesitated about telling her he’d been on the phone last night, it especially irked her that he wouldn’t even say with whom. Professionally, it wasn’t really her business, but Harry was never secretive with her. Plus, it seemed to be work related so why was he being so flighty about it.

Moving forward, Harry peppier from eating and simply moving around, the pair set to work. They decided on trying on everything else first and then saving the Watermelon Sugar suit to the end. The other three main pieces for the night fit perfectly, Y/N had to only do minor reworks of certain areas.

“H, I need you to hold still…” Y/N interrupted Harry’s ramblings as she was crouched beside him.

She had to take up the hem on the pant legs so right now she was trying to pin them in the place she and Harry had agreed upon, without messing with the pleats.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, straightening out his back to stand taller.

He stayed quiet for a bit until Y/N popped back up, she looked at her notebook for reference on what she still had to tailor.

“Okay, next, the pants crotch is looking pretty fitted, so I assume you want it taken down a bit,” Y/N said as she got back into her crouching position. “Look in the mirror and tell me where you think letting it out looks best, I don’t have the best vantage point when I’m up this close…” she trailed off, placing her measuring tape directly on top of Harry’s crotch and running it down his leg a ways.

Once done with her first attempt at where she thought was best to let the pants out, she turned her eyes to the mirror that showed Harry in his suit with Y/N on her knees before him. Harry cleared his throat as he looked in the mirror, seeing Y/N with her eyes wide in anticipation in the position she was in made him want to run and hide. Her hands were extremely close to his dick, but it was literally her job, he knew he had to shake the thoughts that were running through his mind.

“Maybe just a bit further up actually, as much as I like the high waist with dropped crotch, I want this suit to have that specifically tailored look,” his hands motioned for Y/N to bring the drop up a ways.

Her hands then brought the measuring tape up, once again grazing over his area. Again, Y/N looked at Harry through the mirror for approval, and this time he gave it and she placed a single pin in the place where the pants would be let out to.

Standing up, Y/N hoped Harry didn’t notice the blush gracing her face. She was a stylist and used to being around naked bodies as well as touching around a man’s crotch when working. But Harry in this suit must have been magic, because she had felt extremely vulnerable on her knees in front of him in it. She had felt flushed the minute he hadn’t liked what she had done initially and she hated that she felt that way for some reason. Beginning to work on the sleeves of the suit set her at ease, Y/N was thankful to no longer be kneeling or in such close proximity to what was under Harry’s pants.

“Anything on your mind of late?” Harry broke the silence.

Y/N hummed with a pin stuck between her lips, folding up the suit jacket’s right sleeve. Plucking it from her mouth after a few silent moments, she said, “Not really, haven’t had time to do much else lately. Always thinking about you,” Y/N flushed as she realized what she had just said. “I mean, thinking about you like about your clothes and when they’re going to arrive and what I need to do about them, not you personally, sorry that came out wrong,” her blush intensified as she rapidly fumbled through her last sentence.

“Ow!”

“Oh my god!”

While Y/N had gotten flustered with her words, she managed to stick the pin she was using straight into Harry’s flesh. She immediately removed the pin from where it had stuck him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, H, we’ve got to get this off. I need to make sure you’re not bleeding onto the suit.”

Y/N rushed around to Harry's backside and began slipping off his suit jacket as Harry chuckled and began to unbutton the shirt as carefully as possible.

“‘S alright, Y/N, if there’s any blood on the shirt it’ll blend in, blood is practically the same color.” She glared at him through the mirror and Harry continued to laugh, “That is not funny, H, I shouldn’t have stuck you in the first place.”

“No, no,” Harry hushed Y/N as she began to slip off his shirt from one side to the other, taking off the sleeve on the side she hadn’t poked, “you’ve got so much on your plate with all the planning for the upcoming events. Then you worked yourself up over a little slip.” As Y/N carefully unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve to try and slip off the shirt with the least amount of blood on it as possible, Harry finished with, “I wouldn’t mind if you were just thinking about me, though, an’ not the clothes.”

This time, Y/N was very in control, not willing to let herself slip up a second time today. She didn’t know how to respond to what Harry had just admitted. It wasn’t like this hasn't happened before. Both of them were guilty of making little comments that made it sound like they were interested in each other in a way that was a little different than professional or friendly. But every time the other person always had the responsibility to shut the idea down or completely blow past what their counter had just said.

“Harry…” She began, it was soft and pleading, like she was saying she couldn’t entertain that idea. Examining his forearm, after pulling the shirt completely away and resting it on a nearby chair, she saw a little spot of blood protruding from the pin prick she had caused. “Where do you keep your bandages?” Y/N decided that it was best to brush past Harry’s words this time and went off to find his first aid kit. Harry stood there, shirtless, staring at the blood on his arm. It really wasn’t a lot and it wouldn’t have done anything to the suit, but Y/N was always so careful and never wanted to ruin any of Harry’s clothes.

On her return, Y/N came upon a shirtless Harry perched on the edge of the table, with one arm crossed and his other - that was bleeding - being held slightly away from his body, as if Harry was afraid to touch it. His posture was slumped so Y/N could see his spine curving beneath his tanned honey-soft skin and his shoulder blades slightly flexed. While most of Harry’s body was covered in tattoos, she noticed how the closest tattoo to his back was the small line drawing of a guitar on the back of his left shoulder. Other than that his smooth back was bare. Y/N found it interesting that Harry had never chosen to ink his back. She jogged lightly back into the room and Harry’s head turned to watch her approach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he regarded her. She noticed he was being particularly quiet, but she had no idea why. Maybe he was still tired.

Y/N set to work on finding the correct tissue, neosporin, and bandage for Harry’s small wound. As she worked on fixing up her mistake, Harry’s eyes followed her movements. Green eyes flickering between her hands on his arm and her own eyes focusing on her task.

“After this, I actually can just head home and finish the rest of the work,” Y/N said as she unpackaged the bandage, “I already know where I need to take in the suit sleeves and the shirt’s sleeves were looking fine. So, I can get out of your hair and you can get to sleep early tonight.” She placed the nude toned bandage over Harry’s arm, she was a little sad to find he didn’t own fun bandages. That was something that she expected from Harry, but she resigned that maybe she didn’t know everything about Harry.

Before Harry could speak, Y/N continued, “Don’t rehearsals for the show start tomorrow? When are you flying to New York?” She ran her hand over the bandage, smoothing it in place. Her hand lingered there as her eyes looked up and met Harry’s. Harry twitched his arm away from Y/N’s touch and scratched his nose slightly.

“Yeah, I’m flying out tomorrow morning. When are you set to fly out?”

“Friday. I’ll get in before the final dress rehearsal and then I’ll be there for the show.” Y/N stepped back and began to rehang the suit jacket and shirt that they had discarded in her haste to not get blood on them.

Then Y/N stood there staring at Harry. He looked at her slightly confused by her doing nothing when she said she was leaving. “Pants, H.” She said finally when she realized he had forgotten he was still wearing the suit pants. “Oh! Sorry,” Harry exclaimed as he began to unbutton and remove the pants he was wearing. He handed her the pants and she exchanged them with his live-aid t shirt. He took it graciously before slipping it on and disguising his toned body beneath it. Then he took his pants from earlier and fully redressed himself.

“Damn!” Y/N said and Harry’s head flipped to watch her as she began to put all of the clothing back in their garment bags and take down the rack.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just pinched myself with the rack, I’m all left feet today.”

“Here,” Harry chuckled as he walked over to help Y/N, “let me help you with all this. Just in the boot of your car, yeah?” Y/N nodded and smiled in appreciation for Harry. He grabbed her keys laying on the table and then took the rack and a garment bag. Even if things sometimes got tense between them, for whatever reason, he was always quick to move past it and be thoughtful and kind in the best ways for Y/N. After shaking her hand out, she grabbed the last garment bags and followed Harry out to her car. Harry shut the back of her car softly and turned to face Y/N, she stood beside her car door, ever so slightly leaning against it. He walked to her side and smiled.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he said before wrapping his arms around Y/N’s much smaller frame. His body was radiating heat and it felt good against Y/N in the crisp night air of London. She pressed into his hold and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him hard. “Less than...Can’t wait to see you make an absolute fool of yourself out there.” Harry protested her tease with a small, “Hey!” but mostly focused on his hands on her back and the way her hair felt especially soft under his chin. Finally, Y/N pulled away, “Kidding! You’ll be amazing and you’ll look killer while doing it.” She winked before opening her car door and driving off. Harry was left with the lingering scent of her perfume and shampoo mingling in his nose.

It was the Saturday night, November 16th, 2019.

Harry and Y/N were in his dressing room before the show started. His outfits for the night were lined up, except for his opener one that Y/N had just dressed him in. His first change would be for Light’s Up, then a couple skit outfits that had to be moved elsewhere for quick changes, then the Watermelon Sugar suit, and then finally his end of the show casual look. The opener looked incredible, it’s fit was impeccable and Y/N knew people were going to love it.

She stepped back from Harry to give his whole body a once over, the SNL hairstylist had just blown out his hair and given him a sort of middle part. It definitely looked good and paired with the suit - Y/N could already tell it was going to be a hit by all accounts. Harry grinned back at her, doing a little dance to show just how much he was loving his clothes and how excited he was.

Grabbing the lint roller, Y/N gave the lapels of his suit jacket a once over and then moved it slightly out of the way to roll the big collar of Harry’s shirt and the bits of the body of the shirt that were showing underneath the jacket. Basically, Y/N was lint rolling over Harry’s clothed abs. Apparently, that was a ticklish area for Harry because he began to squirm and giggle under the tool’s touch.

“Seriously, H?”

She smiled as she said it, so excited for Harry that she couldn’t be mad at his relestness.

“Can’t help it. ‘M so giddy. Plus, I’m a wee bit ticklish.”

Y/N gave him a single laugh before removing the lint roller and smoothing over the shirt against his stomach and then over the lapels when she put the jacket back in place. She adjusted the Gucci reader’s she was wearing today, that were more for decoration than anything, but she liked to pretend they made her see better.

“You look smashing, Mr. Styles. Absolutely gorgeous, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you talking to me or the suit?” Harry asked as he flipped to look in the full length mirror in the dressing room.

“Can’t it be both?”

“Sure,” Harry said, he noticed the clock and realized it was his time to get in places. He leaned down and placed a small kiss on Y/N’s cheek, “It’s my time, thank you, Y/N.” She blushed at his words and actions. As he walked out the door, she called after him, “Break a leg, H!” He sent a final air kiss in her direction before completely disappearing.

She looked at the clothes hanging on the rack in the room and palmed over the fabric. Checking the lapels and brushing the lint roller over the, she finally stepped back and was happy with how they looked. When the show was just about to start, she flitted to the part of backstage where she could watch Harry perform. She giggled along to his monologue and grinned whole-heartedly when the crowd would roar with approval. Y/N had heard all of the jokes already because of the dress rehearsal yesterday, but it didn’t matter. Harry was killing it. She also took time to appreciate how good Harry looked in his suit on stage. In front of the lights and all the people, his suit shined brightly with the pops of blue and yellow and the oversized grey-iege jacket. His soft chestnut hair billowed perfectly to frame his forehead as he sipped from the faux martini. Y/N bit her lip to stifle her laugh. The fact that Harry, her boss and friend, was up on the Saturday Night Live stage with pink and blue nails sipping from a faux martini, it was perfect.

When Harry came back for his first performance change Y/N was right there waiting for him.

“Hi, that was really good,” she smiled up at him as he began to take off his coat.

He smiled brightly back at her as he exhaled a hefty breath, “You think so?”

“Yes! C’mon, everyone loved it. You delivered it all perfectly…” she took over undoing the buttons on the shirt because Harry was moving too slowly. “I’m in a man band now…” Y/N mumbled under her breath before chuckling.

“Did you just imitate my accent?” Harry said, now pulling off his sleeves.

Y/N moved around his back to take the shirt to hang and grab his Lights Up outfit. They worked like a well-oiled machine together, constantly taking over roles to get things done more efficiently, but never stepping on each other’s toes.

“Nope,” she winked before handing him the black sequin jumpsuit and exchanging it for his yellow pants. After rehanging the pants and bringing over Harry’s different set of boots, Y/N said, “Y’know, I’d have to say that your hair is giving your suit a run for its money.” She placed the shoes on the table beside Harry and began to fix into the place different parts of the jumpsuit, moving to zip up the back and then coming to the front to smooth it.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked in the mirror and delicately touched the edges of his hair, considering Y/N’s statement.

“No one ever really sees it how it is, nicely blown out but not too much product so it falls to frame your face. What’d you tell the hair person you wanted?” Y/N stepped back to allow Harry to change his boots from one Gucci pair to another, like he did with most of his wardrobe.

“Just told them to make me look mature. You think it looks good?” He looked up at Y/N when he asked the question.

“Think it looks sexy, that’s what I’m saying, no one’s gonna be able to focus on your clothes with how good your hair looks.”

“Ah,” he deftly runs his hands down his suit as he looks in the mirror.

Y/N just stares at Harry, checking him over one more time. She wasn’t lying about his hair, it was sexy and she wanted to run her hands through it to feel how soft it was. In a complete friend way of course.

“I like it…”

“It looks like you just rolled out of bed, but the bed was made of angel feathers.”

Harry laughed at Y/N’s description. He shifted his body to face her more and moved closer to her in the process.

“Alright, you should probably get back out there,” Y/N closes the gap between them and adjusts the chain of his jade and silver crosses and brushes over his broad shoulders.

They’re professional touches, but her movements hold an undercurrent of intimacy that neither of them realize. If anyone had been looking on, they would see how Y/N’s fingers delicately caressed Harry’s skin right before she cradled the pendants to move them in place. They would also see Harry instinctively lean forward into her touch and breathe slightly deeper to take in her scent. When she brushes over his shoulders, he straightens up at the touch and shows he’s ready to get back out there. It’s as if she prepared him to go.

Harry sings Lights Up and the crowd loves it. Sarah kills her drumming and Mitch eats up lead guitar. The backup singers bring out a different tone to the song. It is all around an amazing performance.

As Y/N clapped along with the crowd from backstage, Aidy Bryant approaches her.

“You’re Harry’s stylist, right?”

Y/N turns her head at the woman next to her, “Yeah?”

Aidy smiles, eyes slightly gleaming, “Well, you’re wonderful at your job.” As Y/N is about to thank her, Aidy continues, “And Harry knows that too, he talked about you all week. We all thought you were his girlfriend at first.”

Y/N laughed lightly and had to keep herself from letting her jaw drop at Aidy’s words. She even choked a bit on her own spit and had to cough slightly before even being able to think of a response, “Well, um, yeah...no, H, Harry is just my employer and...friend. No dating, we just get along well. Which is important since we spend a lot of time together - for work of course!”

Aidy smiled sweetly at Y/N, “Yeah, Harry explained that when Beck asked him how long you’d been together. At first he had said a couple months and then said ‘wait, Y/N is just my stylist, we’ve been working together for a couple months’ and then we all felt really dumb.”

“Don’t feel dumb,” Y/N reassured her, unsure why she was actually continuing this conversation, “He loves to talk about clothes and that’s where I fit in to his life, so I’m sure my name would come up a fair bit. Was that it?”

“Yeah I guess, but-” Aidy began to say more, but Y/N cut her off.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, but Harry’s finished and I’ve got to go help him change for his next song.”

Aidy was left in Y/N’s wake, chuckling to herself, fully reassured about the reason that they had all thought Harry had been dating Y/N. Because they already acted like a couple. And they were both helplessly in love with one another and neither of them knew.

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Harry continued to wow the crowd and Y/N sent him off from his dressing room always looking fabulous. Just as he was about to walk back on stage for his final farewell, Y/N noticed a tiny string on his trousers zipper. Unable to stop Harry and unable to grab at the string without looking odd, she had to let him walk on stage with it. It wasn’t actually a big deal, but Y/N sighed in annoyance because she knew that string was going to bug her for the rest of the night.

“Treat People With Kindness!” Harry finishes off his farewell.

Applause begins to sound and the cast is out front hugging and chatting, while Y/N is watching from the side still fixated on the string on Harry’s pants, now simply dangling. Finally, they begin to clear the stage because it’s time for the after party. Y/N knew there was no stealing Harry away to fix the problem that was now fixated in her mind. Every cast and crew member was trying to talk to him, congratulating him, hugging him, anything to spend time with the incredible man. Y/N couldn’t blame them, but she also wanted to be able to go some place quiet and debrief with Harry about his outfits. She wanted to look up what people were saying about his clothes and discuss the critiques with Harry. She also wanted to start discussing what was coming next with Harry. But most of all, she just wanted to hang out with Harry.

What Y/N wanted wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which she knew, but it still only grew her annoyance with that string. If only she could get it off of him, maybe then her mind would be able to relax a little.

She meandered backstage, resigned she wouldn’t be talking to Harry for a while. There she went to find the band’s dressing room, knowing she would find Mitch or Sarah who she’d be happy to talk to. They weren’t ones for the spotlight and no one ever really seemed to want to brownnose with them at events like this. Y/N had met them a few times.

The first was when Harry had asked Y/N to meet him in the studio in mid July, Mitch and Sarah had both been there helping Harry finish up something for the album. Y/N never asked what, she liked music quite a bit, but when it came to the technical part of it, it went completely over her head. Harry had introduced them both and they seemed lovely. After that, she had seen them around for an event or two of Harry’s. It wasn’t much, but it was more than any of the other people around right now.

Just as she was about to knock on the door it swung open, revealing Harry’s entire backing band. “Hey,” Y/N said sheepishly, “Harry’s being fawned over by the masses and I don’t actually know anyone else here. Is it alright if I hang out with you all at this after party? I doubt there’s going to be anyone really dying to meet the stylist.”

She smoothed her own clothes as she spoke. Y/N wanted to look professional tonight because sometimes when she was dressed in more fun or “young” clothes she got mistaken for someone who had snuck in. The only thing that got people to not question her authority to be where she was, was a card that read ‘staff’ that she would clip onto whatever she was wearing at places like this. Tonight, she chose a pair of purple plaid pants, a sleek lilac tank underneath a cream knit shawl, and cream Gucci mules. Ever since Harry took an interest in Y/N’s pearl necklace, she had largely stopped wearing hers because she hoped never to be photographed matching with him. However, she had known the pearls would have completed the look, even putting them on in her hotel room, twisting a pearl in her hand as she looked in the mirror, and then taking the necklace off again and settling on a different silver necklace instead. The ‘staff’ card was clipped to her pants pocket tonight.

“Of course!” Sarah said as the band began to file out of the room, “You might want to take your tag off now, though, you’re done working for the night.”

Her laughter rang sweetly through Y/N’s ears and she smiled back before removing her identifying card. She hated the piece of plastic and was glad to take it off, it never went with her outfits, but she had gotten tired of taking out her business card every time someone asked what she was doing. Y/N was sure that during the tour she’d be fine without it, but as Harry’s show appearances were beginning to ramp up she knew it would be helpful to have.

“Thanks...you all were amazing out there tonight. Second time on the SNL stage right?”

The group of you began to walk in the direction of where the after party was being held. Mitch piped up, “Thanks. Yeah, I love their box stage setup, it’s pretty cool.” Y/N was happy that she had people who were easy to talk to so that she wouldn’t be alone tonight.

Arriving in the room of the party, they were all quick to grab the alcohol that was being provided at the pop up bar. Y/N wasn’t normally a fan of drinking at events like these, mainly because she was not usually invited to this part of the night and when she was she wanted to be alert. But she figured there wasn’t much else to do so she took a hearty sip of the champagne. It was a little sweet, her face scrunched.

“Too sweet?” Mitch questioned when he saw Y/N’s face.

“Just a little for my taste.”

“Harry’s not going to be drinking tonight then. So particular about his alcohol,” Mitch continued.

Y/N laughed, “Well I’m glad, then I don’t have to deal with him being a baby about his hangover tomorrow.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow at Y/N’s statement. Sarah and the others in the band had dispersed to mingle with the SNL party goers, leaving Mitch and Y/N to their conversation.

Realizing what she said could be seen as slightly weird out of context, Y/N quickly started again, “because I’m supposed to go shopping with Harry tomorrow. He wanted to go to Gucci and a couple other stores here before flying to LA. I’m going back to London until the listening parties, so we need to figure out the finishing touches for those and..” Y/N trailed off trying to remember which looks weren’t completed yet for the next few shows, Mitch waited patiently, “a few of the suits for the Late Late Show. He’s not happy with one of them so we might switch it. But anyway, you know how he is with a hangover. Proper child.”

Mitch threw his head back in laughter at Y/N’s serious look that she gave him. “Yeah, he can be...a lot. I meant to tell you, Harry looked great tonight. All of the clothes were fantastic,” Mitch added.

He was kind and Y/N appreciated him sticking with her. The two of them had rested themselves against a wall near the bar, sipping their champagne and enjoying each other’s company.

“Thank you.”

Mitch opened his mouth to say something else, but Heidi Gardener, another SNL member interrupted.

“Y/N, right!?”

Y/N and Mitch both turn to her, equally taken aback by the sudden burst of energy from this person they didn’t really know. Y/N nodded.

“Oh my gosh! You have to tell me where you got the jacket Harry is wearing!”

Heidi even goes as far to point in Harry’s direction. Y/N knows what she’s talking about, but her eyes still wander to where she pointed. Harry stood in a clump of people, surrounded by Ben Winston, James Corden, and the Gerbers who had all come to watch. She sighed as she watched his eyes shine as he laughed with a smile on his face. She hoped that by now the string had fallen off his pants by now, if not she was going to kick herself later.

“Oh, it’s Bode,” Y/N’s eyes coming back to meet Heidi’s happy face, “but it’s custom made from a vintage blanket. There’s only two that exist.”

Y/N and Mitch watched as Heidi’s face dropped.

“And I’m pretty sure the designer owns the other one,” Y/N added, “Sorry.”

Heidi smiles and jokes, “Know any ways I could possibly get Harry to give me his?”

“He loves that coat. I have no idea what you could possibly do to convince him he didn’t need it anymore.”

“Sex, probably,” Mitch says under his breath.

Heidi doesn’t catch it as she walks back off and Y/N turns to swat him with her free hand.

“What? He always gives away his clothes to girl’s he has crushes on.” Y/N rolls her eyes at Mitch’s words.

“Probably best if you don’t inform the masses about that,” a new voice says.

Unbeknownst to Mitch and Y/N, Harry had broken away from his entourage to steal a few minutes with his two friends, his best friends if he was being honest. They laugh together as he wraps his arms around their shoulders and pulls them both into his chest. Y/N feels the warmth radiating from Harry’s body as she snuggles into his side. Her hand wraps under his jacket and around his waist to squeeze right about his hip bone. His face is gleaming with a small sheen of sweat, but his smile is so big she barely notices his perspiration as he looks down at her.

“Heard you were talkin’ shit?”

Mitch quips, “Us? Never.”

Harry scoffs, “Come off it!”

When he releases Y/N and Mitch from his grasp, Mitch straightens up while Y/N’s eyes immediately go down to Harry’s crotch. She’s not paying attention to their conversation as she tries to make out in the dim light whether the string is gone or not. The men realize she’s not listening and they both follow her gaze.

Confused, Harry asks, “Y/N, any particular reason you’re staring at my dick?”

Her head shoots up, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“I wasn’t!”

Mitch laughs and decides he wants another glass of champagne right then, mumbling something about how that was his cue. Harry smiles, knowing she wasn’t doing what he had said, but still intrigued to know what was going on in her mind.

“You had a string right on your zipper and it’s been bugging me since you went out for your outro. This is the first time I’ve seen you on your own and I couldn't exactly go up to you in a random crowd and grab at your crotch. But now I can’t see in this light…” Y/N bit at her lower lip and furrowed her brow still trying to see if the string was there.

“Have you really been thinking about it this whole time?” Harry asked, slightly concerned.

“Yes...I know it doesn’t matter, but I just want your clothes to look perfect.”

Harry takes a deep breath as he makes a small smile at Y/N. Then he brushes over the front of his pants, hoping he removes the string if it's still attached to him. “There, I’m sure it’s gone now. I’m sorry you had to worry about that. Just know everyone I’ve talked to has been raving about the clothes.” He placed his ring-clad hand on Y/N’s upper arm and squeezed it.

“You did an amazing job,” Y/N said.

Harry pulls her into his chest one more time. This time without Mitch so both of Harry’s arms go around her shoulders and both of hers go around his slender waist. Again her hands disappear under his coat and thumb over his warm white t-shirt, her face resting on his chest right next to the word ‘Sex’. His arms tighten around her back as they rest there for a while. Y/N always has to make herself pull away, knowing that Harry will stay there for as long as he can - in anyone’s embrace - and remembering they’re in a public setting, she didn’t want anyone to assume things, even if she had already been made aware that people had.

“We’ll debrief more later tonight, yeah? The champagne is terrible so I won’t be drinking,” Harry said.

Y/N laughed under her breath as she smiled at his words. Mitch and her knew Harry too well. She nodded about getting together later, “Alright. Get back to your fan club.” Harry narrowed her eyes at her words, not sure if she was trying to sound sarcastic or not.

Hey, I’m back at the hotel. Just let me know when you want to debrief :) x

Y/N texted Harry the minute she got back to the hotel, she had no idea if he had left before her or was still at the after party. All she knew was that it was late and she was starting to get tired. Still, it was important for them to talk about their plans for tomorrow and she also really wanted to just be with him alone. Whenever they would debrief after big events Harry and Y/N would laugh at all the outrageous stuff they had seen go on throughout the night.

When she was still a freelance stylist she had helped Harry to plan his Camp outfit at the Met Gala. That night, they never even went to bed and had to debrief about the clothes the next afternoon over tea at the Palace. Both her and Harry were recovering from their exhaustion and nursing equally terrible hangovers. But there they were, sitting in the center of the dining area of the hotel, being served some of the nicest tea and sandwiches Y/N had ever had. It was amazing. Y/N had never felt that rich in her life before and Harry had told her the craziest stories about the most famous people in attendance. It was almost unbelievable what these people would reveal to Harry and Y/N was happy to listen to all of it, promising to never tell anyone else. That outing was probably the first time Harry realized he really liked Y/N and wanted to work more closely with her.

While tonight wasn’t quite as wild as the Met Gala had been, Y/N was still excited to hear any funny stories Harry might have in addition to their clothing talk. They really hadn’t had much time to chat since she had gotten to New York yesterday so it would be nice to just be alone together. Even if Y/N chalked their debriefs up to ‘shop talk’, she was always very excited for them.

As she reached her hotel room door, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry.

I’m still out, but should be heading back soon. Up to you if you want to wait up or we can just debrief in the morning while we shop. x H

Y/N sighed at the message, she wanted to wait up and debrief before tomorrow, if not for alone time with Harry but professionally for being able to plan out their shopping tomorrow. Where Harry was carefree, Y/N was meticulous and planned out. She liked to have fun, but she knew when she had to get her work done, even when Harry was off in his own mind. Their work styles mostly coincided, Harry could be serious and focused, too, but often when he was surrounded by all his famous friends he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to whatever came up. So Y/N knew that Harry’s definition of ‘soon’ could range from actually soon to almost dawn. She really hoped he actually meant soon, so she shot him a text saying:

Just knock on my room and if I open it we can debrief lol x

Harry smiled down at his phone when Y/N’s text came through, slightly chuckling before double tapping and placing a heart reaction of her text. Then he was pulled into the limo that one of his friend’s had gotten them and was handed a flute of champagne.

Back at the hotel, Y/N threw her phone on the bed and decided to change and simply settle in for the night. If Harry made it back, he made it back and if he didn’t she’d wake up well rested.

Maybe thirty minutes into scrolling on her phone, Y/N heard a rough knock on her door. She was actually quite surprised that Harry had indeed been back soon. Rising from her snuggled place in the bed, she shifted around her night clothes and padded to her door. There stood, rather hung, a slightly disheveled Harry. His hair was whipped into disaster, something was smudged on his face, and she noticed a stain on his t-shirt that hadn’t been there the last time she’d been with him.

He slurred her name as he stumbled through the doorway. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation. She was in awe that somehow Harry hadn’t gotten off his ass in the past hour and a half.

“What happened to not drinking tonight?”

She walked beside him and helped shove him into a sitting position on her bed. He flapped his arms, chaotically trying to get his plaid jacket off. Throwing her phone in the direction of her pillow, she moved to help Harry with his jacket. After quite a bit of strugglings, Y/N finally got the Bode jacket off of him successfully and threw it onto the nearby chair. Sighing, she settled beside him.

“So, Harry, care to explain?”

“Hi, Y/N…” He swayed slightly, attempting to face Y/N more. She threw out a hand to his shoulder, gripping him tightly to try and steady him.

“We went in this limousine, and they had champagne - good champagne - and I drank a bottle or so pretty quickly.”

“Or so? Oh Harry...I mean you’re free to make your own choices, but I don’t know if this was one of your best.”

“Wasn’t...wasn’t my idea. I was planning on just going back to the hotel. Then James convinced me to come out for a bit. Then the champagne was looking good so I went for it.”

“Like I said, you can make your own choices,” she patted his arm and went to the en suite bathroom to wet a washcloth to clean off his face.

“So, is it champagne on your shirt or am I going to have to go through hell to get the stain out?” She called.

Harry groaned and leaned back on the bed, fingering at the crisp white sheets. “Champagne,” he finally muttered as Y/N reappeared into the dim room, only the outside world and the light in the bathroom lighting this area.

“And on the face?”

She climbed onto the bed and kneeled beside Harry’s prone body, beginning to swipe at the smudge on his face. He tilted his head to face her, bringing the cheek with the dirt to lay facing perfectly up. His jawline showed perfectly and she felt the strength that laid beneath the skin she was washing.

His eyes flitted up to her face, trying to stop the spins he was currently experiencing. He hadn’t thought he was that drunk until he had been required to find his way up to their floor on his own.

“Lipstick?”

She sighed, running the washcloth over his cheek once more, and tried to push the image of some woman (or man who wore lipstick, she guessed) with her lips all over Harry’s face. She didn’t want to know who it was or why it was. It was too hard, especially after the day of people asking her about Harry and her relationship and insinuating things about him and his romantic life. She just liked to keep the words Harry and romance apart as much as possible, it made her life easier that way.

“It was only from-”

“It’s ok, Harry, I don’t need to know who you were…” She stopped herself, not even wanting to say ‘kissing’ or ‘snogging’ or even worse ‘shagging’. Adults were human beings and they could do a lot in an hour and a half. And again, she didn’t want to know.

“You keep doing that. Are you mad at me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Calling me Harry, not ‘H’. Is it because you’re mad at me?”

“No,” she sighed, shifting to sit more casually, “No, I’m not mad at you. I just wasn’t expecting you to show up at my door like this. I try not to worry about you, but then when you show up like this, it kind of affirms I had reason to be concerned.”

She took a hand and smoothed over Harry’s tousled hair, he rolled his head back to face the ceiling. “Like I said, you’re an adult, capable of making his own decisions. And, I am just your stylist. I’m just glad you made it up here and knocked on my door. Probably would have given someone else a fright.”

He laughed, starting to sober up as the spinning in the room stopped. Her hands on his face and hair were soothing and sobering.

“Thank you for caring about me, love. And going beyond being just my stylist, you’re my friend Y/N.”

His eyes flickered shut and Y/N stared at his soothed features. His words were still slurred and she was sure the use of love was just his britishness slipping through his drunken state. The part about being more than a stylist, she tried to push it away, telling herself not to read more into it than her heart would like to. Even though he said she was a friend as well as a stylist and not anything more, it still sent so much joy through her body. He didn’t just see her as a work colleague and he had said it. But in his inebriated state, Y/N didn’t want to take everything he said as gospel.

She moved him up the bed with a little bit of his sleepy self’s help into a more comfortable position. It was pretty late now and she wasn’t going to kick him out. It would have been rude and unkind and that were two things Y/N rarely was. She went and grabbed the extra blanket from the cabinet and draped it over Harry’s large body for extra warmth since he refused to get under the covers. She also slipped off his boots and stained shirt per his request before getting into the other side of the bed and falling asleep.

She awoke to a shifting body beside her and she sat up confused as to who it could be. Quickly, Harry showing up drunk at her door came flooding back and she turned to look at the groaning Harry beside her. His arm was thrown over his face as he moaned, just waking up as well and experiencing the first bits of his hangover. This was going to be a long day.

“Hullo,” his voice was especially low, groggy and hoarse from the night before. He peaked over at her from behind the crook of his elbow. His eyelids barely open and his eyelashes weighing them down so much so that she could barely see his sleepy jade eyes.

“Good morning, H. Have a nice rest?” Y/N sat up and began to ready herself for the day, rummaging through her suitcase for an outfit and moving about the room.

Harry’s arms went to his sides as he worked to sit up, eyes following her figure as she moved around, seemingly not groggy very much unlike him. “Erm...I’m sorry for showing up pissed.”

“S’fine, H. Just glad you didn’t end up in a ditch or someone’s bed - someone’s that you might regret…” She barely regards him, throwing a single glance his way before shuffling to the bathroom to change. She knows they’ll be photographed today, it’s almost inevitable right now. Everyone knows Harry is in New York and people are buzzing to see him after his performance last night. She slips on the 70s inspired dress, the v-neck and long sleeves settling perfectly on her frame, it hugs her curves and lands around mid-thigh. Rolling on the bold mustard yellow tights and strapping up the brown leather mary jane heels, she looks herself over in the mirror. She then tries to tame her hair and do the rest of her routine, knowing she needed to get on with the day, shopping first and flying home second. Making sure Harry was okay was also on that list, but she couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t a little disappointed in him after last night.

When she returns, Harry is sitting with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, head hanging as he’s hunched over himself. “C’mon, you gotta get going, kid. Lots to do today.” She’s pacing over to Harry’s deflated figure to pick him up and prompt him to get moving. When she arrives by his side his head lifts and his now more awake eyes stare up at her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, really. I mean it.”

“I told you already. It’s fine.”

“It’s not - or it wasn’t. You called me ‘Harry’ last night. I don’t think I’ve heard you call me that to my face since we started working together. I took your answer last night because I was swimming in it, but now, thinking about it. I know you were upset.”

She huffs, taking a seat beside Harry on the bed, choosing to not look at him, slightly confused why she had been so upset and why he was pushing it. “Ok, yeah I was annoyed, but I was also genuinely worried. I didn’t know you could physically get that drunk in that small amount of time. And then you show up at my door with somebody else’s…” Y/N falters, catching her slip up and deciding to fix her gaze on her shoes and their intricate design built into the leather.

“You’re upset that I had lipstick on me?” He’s trying to meet Y/N’s gaze, but her eyes are really interested in her shoes. His tone is confused, he’s trying to understand what’s going on in her mind.

She scoffs, risking a glance to Harry but then returns quickly back to her dress this time. “Please...it was just inconvenient for me, okay? Thought we were going to debrief and stayed up late for you. Then I had to take care of you after you hung out with your famous pals and I had barely even seen you all day. Felt a bit used.”

Harry shifted in the bed, turning to face her by tucking one leg beneath him. He places a hand on hers that was placed on the end of her dress. Her eyes finally meet with his and she feels her breath slightly catch in her throat. His eyes are piercing, his gaze intense, maybe even a tinge of anger. “Y/N, I would never have come to your room if I even had an inkling that this would be how you’d interpret it . Even though I was drunk, I wanted to see you, that’s why I came up here, because I wanted to be with my friend, one of my best friends, not because I just needed some pushover to care for me.”

She sighs, feeling icky still about the whole situation. She sometimes found herself in fights that she never intended, she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. But she also knew that wasn’t healthy either. Flipping her hand, she intertwines her fingers with Harry’s and smiles for the first time that morning. His expression softens at it. “Look, I’m sorry too, H. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal, but I appreciate that you’re such a great guy and boss to want to truly apologize and make sure I’m comfortable and happy… Oh, and I promise I’ll never call you anything but H from here on out - unless you tell me otherwise.”

He cackles unabashedly at her words, before suddenly clutching at his temple with his free hand. “Fuckin’ hangover,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands up, beginning to throw his shirt and shoes from the end of the bed at him, “You need to get ready. Go pop some advil or whatever. My flights at 5 so we haven’t got all day, H.”

“There she is,” Harry grins, beginning to put back on the stained ‘Sex’ shirt.

As he hustles out of the room, shoes in hand, she calls to him one last request, “When you’re in fresh clothes make sure you bring me that stained shirt. Gonna have to spot clean it when I’m back in London!”

“Of course! And we’ll debrief as we shop, yeah?”

“Yes!”

The two of them were shouting to each other as the door continued to close on them. Chuckling to herself, she begins to pack up her room, knowing she had to check out before they left. Her spirits already lifted, she doesn’t even notice as she throws Harry’s forgotten Bode jacket into her suitcase with some other items that had been on her chair. She wouldn’t notice it until she was back in London unpacking from the trip.

Shutting the case, she springs back up from her crouched position and walks to look in the full length mirror again. Her fingers run the length of her dress, leafing over the slightly darker brown embroidered flowers that were woven into the tan fabric. She squints as she turns sideways and pops a heel up behind her. It looks good, but something is missing. Rummaging through her carry-on she pulls out her old butterfly bandana she used as a head scarf and begins to fix it into place on her head. Placing large sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, she feels like the look is complete and gives herself some poses in the mirror; a peace sign, an air kiss, a Marilyn Monroe. She laughs at herself.

A knock on the door shakes her from her childish fun. Straightening up, Y/N saunters over to the door, swinging it open with ease. “H?”

“You ready?” Harry stands in a fresh pair of Marni trousers paired with a striped orange and mauve Marni sweater. He, like Y/N, had this thing about wearing the brand you planned to shop at. He didn’t always stick to his rule, but he usually didn’t like to wear Gucci when he shopped at Gucci.

“Yeah, just need to check out and drop my baggage at the front to be held for later.” Y/N slips through the door and notes how his outfit compliments hers. She wouldn’t mention it, but it's something to think about since he had known what she was wearing. She wasn’t sure why she noticed things like that, if asked, her answer would probably be that it was the stylist in her, just her job.

Stepping out of a black town car on the side street next to Gucci to go in the side entrance would never get old for Y/N. She had never really enjoyed the idea of fame, but from a young age she had known she wanted to be able to afford the finer things in life. Going into the Gucci store now, especially with Harry, was like going to the candy store once you’re a grown up and can buy whatever you want rather than what your parents will allow you to.

Today, Harry and Y/N didn’t have as much time as they would usually like to spend in the store, but they were just happy to be doing what they loved. Y/N had been ecstatic to find out Harry found shopping to be an essential part of his life and that he liked to do his outfit shopping in person rather than online. Trying on clothes and picking out things you liked just was so much more fulfilling when you were in the physical store. Then make that all happen with Harry Styles as the buyer, then it was a real party. The stores liked to pull out their Champagne and clear the store to allow him privacy, specifically when it was for clothes for projects under wraps. In the beginning of her employment, it was only ever Harry who would do the trying on of clothes, but as the two of them got acquainted and comfortable with each other, she found herself trying things Harry would pick out for her. At first, she would veto some items saying they were too expensive for her, but eventually she learned that her new salary covered whatever it was. She had always enjoyed designer labels and choosing to be a stylist meant she had nice clothes, but only working for Harry had caused her closet to double in size and triple in value.

“So we are looking for some trousers today,” she tells the worker at the store, reminding them of what she had already called ahead about. The employee nods and proceeds to lead them into the room where they had laid out an assortment of pants for Harry to pick from.

“What do you think of these?” Harry walks out and strikes a pose, popping one of his hips to the side and his hands on his hips. The pants strain around his thighs, but fit practically perfectly everywhere else. His slim waist is perfectly encircled by the fabric and he’s decided the sweater he was wearing didn’t match them and he’d rather go shirtless. This choice technically should allow her to solely focus on the pants, but it actually makes her focus that much more diverted. She makes a spinning motion with her pointer finger as she purses her lips. He takes a quick spin and the boot cut slightly flares with his movement. The pants are a dark brown with a single plaid crossing in a lighter brown. They are only lightly flared, which she prefered to the extreme flare that some of Harry’s suits had. She narrows her eyes at the pants to keep her gaze from shifting to the taut muscles of Harry’s arms and torso or the dark ink that licked over his skin in the beautiful designs of his choice.

“They’re nice,” she pulls up a picture of the top part of the outfit he was planning on wearing, “Do you think they match with this though?” Harry walks over to her seated position and bends to look at her phone. His skin radiates heat and the smell of his cologne and she sniffles slightly with her sensitive nose. His eyes flicker to her face when he notices her little noise, but returns to looking at the phone when she doesn’t spare him a glance. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look from the phone. She knew his proximity would make it even harder for her to keep her eyes off his naked torso. The expensive smell of Harry mixed with the expensive smell of the store was a lot to handle.

“Yeah...no. You think they’re not right,” she widens her eyes at Harry’s words when he pulls away. He turns to the mirror in the open dressing room and fiddles with the waistline of the pants. “I agree,” he finishes before stalking back into the room and shutting the heavy velvet curtain that worked as the door to it.

He tries on five more pairs of trousers and finally settles on two pairs for the two different listening parties. A heavier, wool-tweed pair that was dark brown and then a lighter brown tweed pair. He was still in the lighter pants as he stared into the mirror. He beckoned to Y/N, and she quickly set down the flute of Champagne she had been sipping at lazily as he admired himself.

“Is it possible for you to take it in a bit more,” he says in a hushed tone to her, not wanting the workers to overhear. They were helpful but if they overheard they would wait for the store to tailor the trousers and he preferred for Y/N to do it. He rubs at the waistline again and she moves closer, her hands going to his sides. Her fingertips graze the naked skin above the trousers and Harry shivers at the coldness of the new touch. She ghosts softly over the waistline herself and smooths the fabric until she’s pinching a small amount on each side. She hums, pulling back from Harry and looking at the fit of them now, examining whether that makes them look better.

Then she nods and smiles up at Harry, “Ever the slender waist,” he grins right back as she admires him. She knew how much he liked praise and she was happy to give it to him, especially when he was so deserving. “I’d say size down, but then your thighs and bum might strain the fabric too much.” His face turns to a smirk as she blushes at her words. She releases the fabric and takes a hand to pat Harry’s smooth chest before walking back to her seat on the lovely couch.

“You sure you don’t want to try anything on, Y/N? Saw some killer boots when we walked in that screamed you.” Harry calls from behind the curtain, presumably getting redressed. Her laugh comes through the curtain slightly muffled, yet still a sweet melody in Harry’s ears.

“Definitely not now, we’re leaving any minute. Plus, I’ve got plenty of Gucci boots, don’t even show me them or I’ll be tempted.”

His laughter rings through the curtains, loud and unrestrained. She smiles to herself, unable to discourage the pleasure that weaves through her at the sound. His presence in all the different ways she experienced it was instantly comforting.

When she arrives back to her London flat, she practically flops on her couch once she’s inside the door. Her luggage forgotten at the door, as she shrugs off her coat. It was around 7 am because she had chosen to take the red eye for some reason. She groaned as she thought about the day ahead of her. Even though Harry was halfway across the globe, she still had plenty of work to do. She had to finalize the outfits for the listening parties now that they had the pants to complete the looks. Then she had to start thinking about Harry’s December appearances. She had sent ahead his Late Late outfits that he had needed in Los Angeles for the pre-filming, but she still had to deal with the outfits for the live part of the show.

Today, she was set to go pick up the other pieces needed for the listening parties as well as items for the Graham Norton Show and Jingle Ball. She was most excited for her travels because that meant looking at brand new clothes that were perfect and gorgeous. She also knew she needed to spot clean Harry’s shirt, which didn’t spark as much joy in her tired mind.

The idea of the shirt staining with alcohol was what brought her out of her snuggling with her comfy couch. Sure, it couldn’t get that bad, but still she was a worrier and it would pain her if the iconic shirt got ruined. She padded back over to her luggage, now without her jacket or shoes. Her major suitcase got flipped on its side and she began to unzip it. It came open easily seeing as it was stuffed with her clothes and various items. She had to rummage a minute for Harry’s shirt that seemed to have run away inside the bag. Finally, the large white shirt made itself known and she grasped it happily.

As she looked over the stain near the collar of the shirt, her eyes traveled to a piece of fabric peeking out of her suitcase. It was a familiar blue, cream and white. A specific fabric she would never misplace, would never not recognize. Harry’s plaid Bode jacket. It was iconic and she loved it, but why did she have it in her suitcase. She definitely didn’t mean to have it, it’s genuinely just one of Harry’s jackets so it wouldn’t make sense for her to bring it back with the show's wardrobe. She tries to think back to yesterday, when she was still in New York. Thinking about why she would have it, she places the memories of Harry coming to her room, taking off his coat, and accidentally leaving it in her room all fit together. She must have just absentmindedly placed it in her suitcase without even realizing. She’s sure Harry wouldn’t mind, she’d shoot him a text, though, to tell him she had it. So he wouldn’t worry about whether he’d lost it or not.

When she gets ready for the day, she finds herself being drawn to blue and cream. Her outfit is understated and she just knows the jacket would finish the look. She loved that jacket and now that she had it, would it be a big deal if she wore it out. She figured it was fine. After she grabbed her purse, keys, and other essentials, she slipped on the coat. Harry was very broad shouldered and it hung oversized on her. She loved the look and snapped a selfie in the mirror before she headed out. While it felt a little narcissistic to constantly take photos of herself, she felt like as a stylist it was important to document her looks just as much as she documented her clients.

What she didn’t think about is just how much the rest of the world liked to document her client and those who were seen with her client. She didn’t think about how she had just been seen with Harry yesterday. That thought didn’t even cross her mind as she walked around the streets of London picking up her work. As she saw some photographers out and about (whom she assumed were for famous celebrities, not her). How it might seem with her wearing the Bode jacket Harry had worn on SNL two nights ago. The Bode jacket that there were only two of.

None of it crossed her mind. Not until it was the end of the day and she had a whole slew of texts from Harry’s manager. A few from Harry, and others but the other fifteen were solely from Jeff. She was a bad texter so as she walked into her flat and finally looked at her phone after putting down all of her garment bags her eyes went wide.

Please tell me you’re not out in London right now!

What are you wearing??

That cannot be Harry’s jacket Y/N

Seriously?

Please call me.

CALL ME. NOW.

- All from Jeff.

She grimaced. The others from her friends including Harry would have to be ignored right now. Even if Harry was her boss, Jeff was who she had to deal with when it came to public appearances and it didn’t seem like she could get around this one. Normally, she never had to deal with him, but it seems today wasn’t normal.

part 2

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cdroloisms · 3 years

Text

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like.

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not.

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs.

Dream leaves.

It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore.

None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature.

Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.”

Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?”

“If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?”

Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.”

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information.

Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns.

“From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.”

Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

“He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.”

“He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.”

Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern.

“Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?”

Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense.

“Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

---

Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream.

“Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff.

“Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.”

“O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him.

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod.

“There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.”

Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place.

“We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head.

“I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.”

“Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?”

Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.”

“Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?”

Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

“He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.”

Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?”

Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table.

“You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut.

“The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

“But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?”

“He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.”

“But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

“There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.”

Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh.

“I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.”

---

They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

(She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange.

“Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back.

“You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?”

Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh.

“You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head.

“Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him.

“...these are going to take so long to clean out.”

To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

“Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head.

“They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “

He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes.

“You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done.

“The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.”

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.”

Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.”

Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

“Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

“-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.”

“When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.”

“We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Alright, then. Here’s the plan.”

---

It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis.

“Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.”

“Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin.

“Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back.

“You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider.

“Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier.

“You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.”

Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?”

Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now.

Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass.

(Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later.

“I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened?

Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.”

“I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.”

“Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat.

“Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped.

“Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

“He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light.

“Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

“I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?”

“You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.”

They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava.

“Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him.

“Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident.

“You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs.

“Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.”

Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

“Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

Oh fuck.

“Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.”

As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor.

Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?”

She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava.

“There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

“You there, Dream?”

She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

“Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath.

“Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.”

“I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

“And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-”

“They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

“And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-”

“I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.”

“Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-”

“Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?”

Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.”

“You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.”

“Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye.

“Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

“Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Niki, give us some fire res please?”

She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.”

She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep.

“Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend.

But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw self harm #tw disordered eating #tw ed #tw sh #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw starvation #c!sam critical #c!quackity critical #my writing :D #> my writing

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strawberrymilkgeorge · 4 years

Text

Part Six. Movies and Speedruns

warnings: swearing, many memes word count: 3.8k (not including pictures) (wow okay ash pop off!)

behind the screen (irl!dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

A/N: LETS ALL JUST AGREE TO NOT LOOK AT THE DATES ON TWEETS AND STUFF BC SOME CHAPTERS ARE SO SCUFFED WITH DATES!!!! JUST KNOW THIS STORY STARTS MID NOVEMBER!!!!!!!! (in a world where covid doesn’t exist btw)

**********

Unknowingly and unintentionally, Y/n let out a big sigh as she poured a glass of water.

"What's wrong, Y/n?" Naomi asked gently, coming up behind her and hugging her tightly.

"Peter."

Naomi hummed, a sign that she was waiting for Y/n to lead the conversation so she could follow because if it were up to Naomi, she would immediately start trash-talking Peter and she wasn't sure if that was the vibe right now or not.

Y/n shook her head in disbelief as she jumped up to sit on the counter. "He got so mad when he found out I slept over at Karl's."

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I wish you would just cut him off completely."

"I don't know. I know I should but... part of me wonders if he could ever go back to how he was when I met him. I would probably date that guy again but not who he turned out to be."

Naomi looked horrified. "No. You sound like you're considering hearing him out. No, is that a joke? He's a bad person."

"I'm not," Y/n reassured. "I'm just thinking hypothetically. Probably because I miss having someone..."

"Y/n, you have a ton of thirsty people in your mentions. If you really want someone that bad, just scroll through, land on one and I bet they're a million times better than that sack of burned potatoes."

Y/n rolled her eyes but smiled lightly. "Most of those are jokes."

"Not all of them," she teased.

"I know you're going to tell me anyway so just say it. Who specifically do you think isn't joking?"

"Dream," Naomi sang.

"Okay, crazy." Y/n reached over, staying seated on the counter as she grabbed a bowl from a cabinet on her left. She then leaned all the way right, reaching as far as she could, but couldn't quite grab a cereal box from the top of the refrigerator.

Naomi rolled her eyes as she helped, handing Y/n the box. She even went the extra step to get Y/n a spoon and the milk because she was that nice. "I'm not joking. Neither is he. Karl and I have talked about it and we both agree."

Y/n paused at her friend's words, her hand hovering over the milk that Naomi held out for her. "You guys gossip about my love life?"

Naomi set the milk next to Y/n, tired of holding it out for her. "Of course? Like we don't do that about Karl? Or you and him about me?"

She couldn't argue there.

"Karl says there's a different vibe from Dream when you join calls and I believe it. I mean, I've seen it during streams myself so I can only imagine how much more obviously in love with you he is during private calls.

"That 'vibe' is Karl's delusional mind creating things. He's too scared to talk to cameragirl so he's projecting onto Dream and I."

"Yeah, okay," Naomi agreed sarcastically.

Y/n huffed. "Besides, he's in Florida. I'm in North Carolina, in case you weren't aware."

"So you're saying if you lived in the same state, you'd date him?"

"I didn't say that." She honestly had never thought of it. Sure she liked hanging out with Dream and her stomach got butterflies when he talked directly to her and he made her smile harder than anyone ever had and he—

And she didn't like him like that. She had only officially met the guy like a week and a half ago and she didn't know what he looked like. There was no way you could catch feelings for someone without seeing them.

Naomi's expression fell again. "Distance doesn't matter, anyway."

"I swear if you say something about George I will slap you," she threatened through a smile and Naomi gave her an innocent grin back.

"If you're lonely, get on Tinder, not Peter. Or get on Dream. I have no qualms with that."

"Peter isn't even an option, Naomi." Y/n sighed, ignoring the comment about Dream. "Also," she swallowed the last of her cereal and set the bowl down with a clank. "I'm gonna tell Peter I don't want to be friends anymore. Dream and George can be added to the list of Peter haters."

"You talked to them about it?"

She nodded. "You know how I have little gossip sessions with George? Well, Dream was there too this time."

"Well, of course Dream would hate Peter. We've established that he likes you."

"No, no, you and Karl delusionally hypothesized that."

Naomi tapped the counter methodically, a sign Y/n knew to signal that she was thinking hard. "Somehow, one day, I'll prove he does."

"Good luck."

"Wanna watch a movie?"

"Yes," Y/n perked up. "Go pick something, I'll get blankets."

She went to her room, grabbing her favorite cuddling blankets. She started leaving her room when she heard a ding on her open desktop, signaling that she had a call incoming from Discord. Cool timing.

"I'll be just a second, Naomi!" she called across the house before dropping the blankets on her bed and sliding her headset on, answering the call from Dream. "Hi, Dream!" She sat on her chair and tucked her knees to her chest.

"Hi," he greeted sweetly. "How are you doing today?"

"Much better than when we last talked. How are you?"

"Great now that I'm talking to you," he said smoothly. Y/n rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. "Are you busy?"

"Unfortunately, yes. My roommate and I are about to watch a movie."

"Ooh, what movie?"

"Not sure yet. Any suggestions?"

"Dark Knight. Unless you wanted me to say, like, Tangled or something."

"Yeah, girls' night is exclusively princess movies. Do you know nothing?"

"Apparently," he said with a laugh.

"What's up?"

"Oh, well, I was just gonna see if you wanted to be on call later with me, George, and Sapnap while I stream speedruns, but you're hanging out with your roommate so nevermind."

"Oh," Y/n deflated. "That sounds fun."

"I can push it back if you want to be part of it. If not, that's fine. I just thought it would be cool."

"No, no, no I really do want to, but I don't want you to have to push it back. When were you planning on starting?"

"In about an hour."

"I'll just join later if you're still playing. If that's okay that I come late."

"No. You have to be on time or not at all," he joked. "Of course that's fine," he assured. "And if I'm not playing anymore, you can still join... we usually talk for forever after we play games and it's fun. I would, er, we would love for you to hang out with us."

Y/n couldn't help the large smile on her face from staying even after they hung up and she walked back into the living room with her pile of blankets. She couldn't help it even when Naomi pointed it out and asked why she was so happy.

"Oh, uh, I've been invited to join Dream and them later for a stream."

"That vague answer doesn't warrant the shit-eating grin you have."

Y/n shrugged and cuddled more into her blankets. "What movie did you pick?"

*****

As the end credits rolled across the screen, Y/n yawned and looked over to Naomi in the dark. She was out like a light. Y/n stood up and made sure Naomi was covered in the blanket and she had a pillow. She crept back to her room and slid her headphones on, pulling up Discord where she saw the three boys' names still in a voice call.

She pulled up Twitch on her second monitor and looked for Dream's stream. It was already about an hour in. She clicked on it and her headphones echoed with the sound of George and Sapnap laughing like they said the funniest thing in the world.

"Shut up," Dream muttered. "Guys, what were the coords for the portal? Seriously, come on."

"Nobody tell him," George joked.

"George!"

"Where's Bugsyyyy?" Sapnap whined. "I want her to make fun of you with us."

"Half the stuff we're making fun of him for is about his big fat crush on her so..."

"George!" Dream yelled again. "No, it's not!"

Y/n smiled as she heard that, knowing it was a joke but laughing at the way Dream laughed at the accusation. She knew it wasn't serious or else they wouldn't talk about it on stream. George and Sapnap teased a lot, but certainly, they wouldn't out someone's crush in front of a hundred thousand viewers live.

"Oh!" Sapnap spoke out loud as George laughed loudly, both reading the text at the same time. "Speaking of..."

Dream waited for either of the two boys to elaborate but neither of them offered one. "What happened?"

"Bugsy texted us," George said off-handedly, typing a response to her. "She's coming in a second."

"Oh."

"What do you mean 'oh'?" Sapnap laughed.

"You guys have a groupchat?"

"Aw, jealous?" George asked.

Y/n joined at that moment, the first sentence coming from her Discord instead of Twitch being from Sapnap saying, "Would it make you more jealous to know our group name is Bugsy's Boys?"

"No, Sapnap, that's the one with Karl," George corrected. "The one with just you, me, and her is Bugsy's Boyfriends."

"WhAT?"

"I still don't approve of that, by the way," Y/n commented.

"Bugsy!!" Sapnap giggled happily. "You're finally here!"

"BUGSY!" George cheered.

"Hi guys!" Y/n laughed at the enthusiasm she was greeted with. "Hi, Dream!"

There was a few seconds of silence before, "Dream!!" George yelled right before the death screen appeared on the Twitch tab still opened on Y/n's right screen. "You idiot, what are you doing?! Why did you throw that run??"

She covered her mouth with the hoodie collar and laughed. "Off to a great start, bud."

"NO!" Dream yelled, knocking something, or somethings, off his desk. "Noooo! I didn't throw it, George, I FELL! Oh, that was going to be such a good run."

"What happened? How did you miss that huge ravine?" George asked while laughing. "It was literally right in the open. You didn't even try to use your water bucket."

"I-I was... I was distracted."

"By what? The completely open field with nothing blocking your vision?" Sapnap criticized with a laugh as well.

Y/n giggled to herself before letting her eyes trail to his chat, which was filled with the same accusations and guesses.

user5: BUGSY!

user2: DISTRACTED BY BUGSYS VOICE

user4: imagine saying hi so cutely that you make a man fall into a ravine

user1: are they dumb? obviously bugsy saying hi made his brain short-circut

user6: guys stop it wasn't bc she said hi. it was the g i g g l e

user3: DISTRACTED BY BUGSY!!!!

user8: HI BUGSY

user10: how to kill a man: hire bugsy to giggle and say hi directly to him

Y/n immediately blushed and covered her face again. She really had a habit of hiding even when no one could see her.

"Oh my gosh," Dream groaned, leaving the world and starting a new one. "Oh. My. Gosh. That's so annoying. I was doing so good."

"Oh," Sapnap laughed. "I understand now."

"What? What did I miss?" George asked.

"Just read chat," Sapnap explained. "They have the answer. Dream, your chat is so smart. Thanks for solving the mystery, chat!"

"No, they aren't ri— that isn't true!" Dream defended. "Chat, shut up."

"You sure?" Y/n asked teasingly, watching as his character paused when she started talking. Was she really making him this flustered just by talking? Surely not. He was just playing into the joke. He continued playing without saying anything, which made George and Sapnap laugh more.

The subject eventually changed and the atmosphere quickly became more relaxed and chill. Tonight was not a feral night like George had texted in all caps.

"Hey George," Y/n started, biting on her hoodie string with a smile because she knew Naomi would hear this when she watched the VOD the next day. "My roommate says hello."

"Oh my gosh," he muttered, making her laugh. "Let it go."

"Wow, I guess that's one way to treat your fans..."

"Fine," he sighed. "Tell her I say hello."

"Well, not if you don't mean it," Y/n teased.

"Yeah, George, you sound so unenthusiastic?" Sapnap asked.

"He's just flustered," Dream commented. "It's okay George, you can have feelings."

"Dream, you fell into a ravine because Bugsy said hi."

"Oh, come on! That's not—I just— I missed the jump! That's it!"

"I'm not flustered or unenthusiastic, I'm just tired, okay?" George explained, ignoring Dream, a yawn spilling out of him to prove it.

Y/n smiled. "Well, you could always let me give her your number if you really want..."

"No. If she had Discord you could give her that but not my phone number."

"Wait, really?" Y/n gasped. "Seriously?"

George laughed lightly. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

"YES! Okay, a huge win for the girls. Well, a huge loss for the fangirls but a huge win for the girls of this apartment."

"Oh my gosh," he muttered and she could practically see him rubbing his face in embarrassment.

"I'll send you her hashtag when she makes one so you know who to add back."

"She's going to make an account just to talk to George?" Sapnap giggled.

"Yes, dude!" Y/n defended. "She at least wants to be his friend, let her shoot her shot!"

Dream ended the steam soon after, not being able to focus enough to beat the end on any of his runs. He had streamed for just under two hours so he seemed to be getting tired as well. George went to bed soon after and after 20 minutes of talking with Sapnap and Dream, Sapnap mysteriously disappeared.

Y/n was about to leave as well, not wanting Dream to feel obligated to stay on the call with her when he spoke up.

"Does Naomi actually like George?"

"Yeah, she does."

"Then I want him to accept her love."

Y/n laughed. "How is he with long-distance relationships?"

"Well, he and I do just fine..." Dream joked. "Oh, not what you meant. I don't know, you guys are the ones that talk about each other's love lives apparently."

"You're still bitter about that?"

"Yes!"

"Suck it up," she laughed. "Naomi would do probably anything to date him so I doubt distance is a problem for her."

"George's sleep schedule is completely messed up, so the time difference wouldn't matter too much. And when he comes to America they can meet in person."

"Wait, he's coming to America?" Y/n gasped happily. "When?"

"There's no set date, but yeah eventually. He'll probably just come to Florida but we've all talked about having a huge meetup with a lot of our friends."

"Oh... cool..."

"Bug? You know you'd be invited to that, right?"

"Oh, really?" she smiled.

"Of course. You're part of the group now."

"Sick," she muttered to herself, but he heard.

"Bug, you're one of my favorite people, do you know that?"

She blushed. "Really?"

"Really."

"You barely know me, Dream."

"Yeah, well, I know enough to know that I'm sorta attached to you."

"Attached to me? In what way?"

He suddenly sounded nervous as if his brain caught up with what his mouth was saying. "I don't know, nevermind."

"No, Dream, what do you mean?" her voice was soft and understanding and it made him feel safe.

"I just... I don't know. I care about you a lot. We met only, what, like a week or two ago, and I already worry about you a lot. Playing games doesn't feel the same anymore unless you're playing with us."

"To be fair, we have been tweeting at each other for much longer than a week or two."

"Yeah, that's true. But it's not the same as actually talking to you."

She smiled shyly. "I care about you a lot too, Clay." His name sounded strange as if it suddenly made everything much more serious. "Sorry, that just kinda slipped. I won't call you Clay if you don't want me to—"

"No, it's okay, it, uh, I like hearing you... say it. But, uh, you can call me whatever you want."

She smiled widely at the nervousness in his voice and the hard pounding of her heart. "I've heard from multiple people that you never stop talking about me."

He laughed timidly. "Maybe. Do you talk about me?"

"Ask Karl," she giggled. "My guess is yes." Her stomach felt tingly and her hands shook lightly. Why did she feel like this all of a sudden? It was late, she reasoned. That, or it was because Naomi had planted the seed of curiosity in her mind. Did Dream like her? No... right?

"I'm sorry if my chat was making you uncomfortable at the beginning when I died..."

"Don't worry, I wasn't uncomfortable."

"It was true, by the way," he paused, "what they were saying. Just... in case you were wondering."

Y/n couldn't wipe the smile off her face, which was growing painful at this point. "What, my voice makes your brain short-circut? That was one comment I saw."

Dream laughed. "More like your entire presence, but... yeah I guess so."

How is someone supposed to respond to something like that? The sweetness in his voice almost made her sick but in a good way.

And just like when he named her Minecraft flower something sweet knowing that no one would see it, why was he still playing up the joke when no one was around?

Not knowing what to say, she decided to let him in on a little secret. "If it matters, you're one of my favorite people too."

"It does."

There was a deathly moment of tense silence as if both of them were screaming to say something but neither did.

"Basically, if we do have a meet-up, I'll sue you if you don't come."

Y/n laughed. "My pockets are empty, sir, so... good luck."

He laughed and it was music to her ears.

"Are you not nervous to show everyone your face? Like, if or when we do all get together."

"Not really. Especially not if it's just to our friends. Are you?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

"Why?"

She sighed. "I'm sure people have me painted in a specific way in their heads and I've seen fanart of me that is way different and way more attractive than I am. I just don't want to let anyone down by not living up to their expectations."

"Bug," Dream said softly, "you couldn't let anyone down."

"You don't know that."

"You can't disappoint real friends or real fans with the way you look."

"To be clear, Dream," she laughed nervously, afraid she would sound conceited, "I don't think I'm ugly. I like the way I look. I'm happy with me. But that doesn't mean I can't still let people down."

"Different than expected doesn't mean disappointing."

His words smacked her in the gut. He was right. Reality and imagination are very different. Neither has to be better or worse than the other. She could look the complete opposite of how someone expects but that doesn't mean they will be either disappointed OR pleased. And why does it matter anyway? If she likes how she looks, who cares what other people think?

"It's also scary to think of getting recognized in public," she admitted. "Being recognized from the start is one thing because it starts off slowly with only a few people knowing your face but if the first time people see your face is when you have millions of fans, the recognition would be overwhelming."

"That's true. I don't think I would mind that much, though."

"Of course not, you're you."

"What does that mean?"

"You like the spotlight."

"I guess. Not all the time."

"Well, what about you?" she asked. "Are you afraid of people knowing what you look like?"

"No. I want to do a face reveal soon but I don't know how I would do it. I want to do it at some kind of event or something but I don't know."

"I need to schedule around when you do it because you'll break the internet. Give us content creators a warning so we can prepare to not get viewers for a week."

Dream laughed. "Oh come on."

"Twitter would just be full of the same picture of you in every single tweet."

"It won't be that big of a deal."

"Something tells me your millions and millions of subs say otherwise."

"Whatever," he said. "As if you wouldn't break the internet too."

"Maybe for a day or two. But you'd break everything for weeks."

"Sure." There was a long pause before Dream softly said, "Karl's lucky."

"How so?"

He didn't speak for a moment, almost like he wasn't prepared for that question because he didn't mean to be heard. "I wish I could know you the way he does."

"You could. He and I knew each other in person first so it's different. You and I could get there eventually."

"You think so?"

"I know so. I trust you a scary amount for someone I met weeks ago."

"I didn't mean to sound like I'm trying to pressure you into showing me your face or telling me your name. I didn't mean like he gets to know what you look like and I don't. I meant, like, I wish we could hang out in person because I prefer that over talking in Discord."

"I get it, Clay. I feel the same way," Y/n said softly. There were a few moments of silence before she spoke again.

"Oh, gosh, it's already four."

Y/n's head snapped to look at her clock, which read 3:57am. "Already?" she whispered. "Dang."

As if acknowledging the time changed the atmosphere, it suddenly felt like 4am. Her back ached from her shifting in her chair so much over the last few hours, never being able to find a good position. The house was eerily quiet and all she heard was the low hum of the heater. The house felt stale, not used to its occupants being so alert and awake at that hour.

"I should probably go to bed..."

"Yeah, me too," Dream agreed. His voice sounded tired. "Thanks for joining us, it was really fun with you."

"Thanks for inviting me. Sorry I made you die. Hopefully you'll still let me back again."

"You're always invited to barge into my streams. Actually."

Y/n giggled again and mentally slapped herself for sounding like a little kid. "Well, you too. You can interrupt my streams anytime."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Goodnight, Clay."

"Goodnight, Bug."

**********

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#rpf #real person fic #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcty x reader #mcyt x y/n #clay x reader #smau #dream smau #dreamwastaken smau #social media fic #social media au

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bodyguard | kth | m

pairing: kim taehyung x oc

genre: enemies to lovers, Bodyguard!AU but oc is the bodyguard, fluff?

warnings: eventual smut, sexual tension, light choking, suggestive content bc oc is a minx and so is tae, i'll add as the story progresses, kim taehyung as a rich kid

words: 2, 138

summary: you protect taehyung from people but forget about the biggest threat. yourself.

“You’re who Namjoon hired?”

You’re used to having bewildered expressions when they find out that you out of all other possible candidates was what your agency decided to provide clients with rather than an objectively more stereotypical option—the big man.

But you were here for a specific reason and you knew that your duty lied in your responsibility to the man in front of you, even if his expression of doubt irritates you.

“Yes, Mr Kim. My name is ____.” You bow your head slightly, hands held together by your pelvis as you stand with your back straight.

The man in front of you glances over at his assistant, who only shoots him a firm nod as if to tell him that he was in fact stuck with you, despite all the uncertainties he may have.

Frankly, when Seokjin first recruited you into the agency, you were merely meant to be in charge of off-field duties and act as intel for field agents, but few of your previous mentors recognised your potential and physical agility when it came to mandatory training and pushed for you to be trained as an official agent rather than a tech lady.

You were lucky that a few of your colleagues had long ditched the misogynistic mindset that women were biologically weaker than men and would serve as a liability to the agency, but there were still a few higher-ups that were traditional in every sense that stuck their noses in your business when Seokjin would assign you to high profile clients.

Kim Taehyung was no different, but you were sure he fell into the latter of the traditional man. He did come from a lineage of old money.

“But you’re a … woman.” He says slowly, eyeing you up and down.

Even the outfit you were in was far off the usual appearance that most bodyguards would take on the first day of work. A long dress with a maxi slit by your leg, which left little to imagine what lies beneath. You bite your tongue to keep the snarky remark down and nod your head tightly to your new boss.

“I best fit the requirements you listed out to my agency.” Is your simple response.

His assistant steps between the two of you before your boss can say anything else, and based on your observations you note that he probably is the rationale behind Kim Taehyung’s mind; the reasonable and objective one.

“I’ll show ____ around headquarters just so she’s aware of the layout.” His assistant says hastily.

You don’t miss the last look your boss gives you, and all you do is bow your head before you turn on your heels, pulling out the gun in your garter and hold it behind your back—ready for duty.

“Jesus fucking Christ, _____.”

You’re used to hearing Taehyung sneer at you. It was something that you needed to get used to when you first were hired for the job because while he was known as an icon, a genius behind his father’s legacy—he was still wholly immature in every sense of a man child.

“Yes, Mr Kim?” You say blandly, flipping through the brochure that was laying idly on his coffee table; clearly ignoring the glare he was shooting you as he wraps the robe tighter around his frame.

Before he can open his mouth to yell at you again, you see the silhouette of the woman that was previously occupying his bed scurry past by the two of you, offering a meek bow of her head towards Taehyung before she’s out the door.

Your eyes follow her uninterestedly until you hear the click of the door, signalling that she was out and gone.

“What is your problem? Is my sex life something you need to protect too?” Taehyung spits.

You skim your eyes over his frame and spot a few marks littered along the expanse of his neck before your eyes rest on his tightened expression; your own one remaining impassive.

“My duty is to ensure you’re safe.” You remind him.

He scoffs, running a hand through his tangled hair—a clear testament to what he was engaging in before you had shamelessly kicked the woman out, mid-progression.

“Hyunbi is harmless.” He sneers at you.

You note that his erratic behaviour was likely a symptom of being cock-blocked, so you hold your tongue and just level him with an unimpressed stare.

“Hyunbi is the heir to the Im group. Need I remind you that her father’s company is the one that threatens your stockholders?”

Frankly, you try to engage with Taehyung on business matters as little as you could because all you were here for was to protect him and ensure that his head wouldn’t be served on the plate of an assassin that was out to get him.

You scoff to yourself because men were truly blinded by their desires and he would’ve risked his family’s fortune because he wanted to get laid.

“Okay, and? She was about to suck my dick not steal intel to the company.” He scoffs.

You don’t say anything but drop the files you found in her purse as you were doing your much-needed background checks on the woman that was visiting on such short notice, especially given the fact that she managed to bypass the system on being on the list before she was sent up.

The moment the beautiful women stepped foot into the apartment, you knew something was off about her. It was intuition from years of training under your belt, but also a womanly instinct. An intuitive sense that told you that she was going to wreak havoc if she could, and it was your duty to prevent that from happening.

“What’s this?” He picks up the documents to skim over the contents.

You don’t say anything but keep your eyes focused on his expression when you see it morph from confusion to realisation and pure mortification.

“She was going to blackmail me?” He asks in a disbelieving tone.

You nod your head.

“And if I hadn’t intervened then she would have probably falsely claimed that she was carrying your child.”

Taehyung shoves the documents aside and rubs his hands across his face, releasing a grunt as he lays back into the expensive leather of his couch.

“I can’t even get laid.” He huffs.

You roll your eyes.

“Taehyung,” You call out to him sternly, and when he opens one eye to look at you, only then do you continue, “You need to be more careful with who you fraternise with. You’re the CEO of the biggest manufacturing company in Korea and that is bound to make you a target to competitors. I can’t be cross-checking every single person you come across because my job is to protect you from physical harm—not be your mother.”

He narrows his eyes at you, and you see the petulance skim the surface of his iris as he leans forward, ensuring that his gaze is kept on your blank expression.

“So, that’s it? I can’t fuck around with anyone? Just because of my position? That’s a load of bullshit ____.” He snaps.

You purse your lips and give him a pointed glare.

“Stop twisting my words. Fuck who you like but be smart about who you stick your dick into.” You tell him lowly.

“Then I might as well fuck you, right? You’re the only person I can trust.” He sneers, leaning closer to you.

Your eyes widen, and your stoic demeanour is interrupted with his blunt words.

While you couldn’t deny that your boss was undeniably attractive, and alluded major sex appeal—he was still your boss and you would never cross professional boundaries no matter how much your body betrayed you. Even the Taehyung’s banter got much more … explicit and flirty, you brushed it off as him being himself. But he’s never explicitly stated anything like that before.

When you realise you’re gaping at him, you quickly try to compose yourself but unfortunately for you, he immediately catches on your surprised expression and bathes in it.

He smirks at you, standing up to walk across to where you were sat and plops next to you, a bit too close for a boss to be to his bodyguard.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You said to be smart and fuck someone who won’t have anything against me.” He whispers into your ear and you try to stop the shivers that travel down your body.

Taehyung notices how tense you are and reaches an arm to trail down your neck, slowly and teasingly until it rests on your hipbone.

You curse yourself for wearing only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, since it was meant to be your day off until you were made aware of Hyunbi’s visit.

“Watch your mouth, Kim Taehyung.” You grit.

He snorts but nuzzles his nose into the column of your neck, and you feel the hot breath fan across your skin.

“You’re not denying it. Does that mean you want me to fuck you? Nice and deep?” He whispers the words against your skin and you can’t help the involuntary clamp of your thighs.

Taehyung, even as dense as he is, picks up on your movement immediately and reaches his other hand to keep your thighs apart, large hand sprawled across your thigh and you marvel for a moment at how big his hands are.

“Bet I could fuck the uptightness out of you, sweets.”

“Did you forget that I know everything about you?” You hiss, attempting to sound threatening but that only causes Taehyung to grin wider.

“Ooo. I love it when you get bitchy with me.” He teases, rubbing a circle with his thumb on your inner thigh as you feel desire pool in your belly.

“You’re insufferable.” You huff and you hate the way you sound breathless.

“Did I ever tell you how much your bitchiness turns me on? Always dreamed of shutting you up with my cock.” He confesses against your cheek this time and your eyes widen comically, your own hand clamping over his one over your thigh.

As Taehyung momentarily gets distracted with mouthing at your ear, you come to your senses and realise that you’re becoming the pawn in his game.

You quickly flip him over, until he’s settled under you with your knees sprawled next to his thighs, pelvis’ nearly touching as he smirks at you.

“Listen, Kim,” You whisper, leaning down until your noses are touching and you can spot every freckle on his face. He leans up to chase your breath but you don’t allow him the satisfaction of caving in.

“You’d never be able to handle my pussy.” You grin at him.

His eyes darken, and you feel his hands rest tightly on your hip.

You straddle his thighs and lean in until you’re sure his cock feels your pussy against him through the barrier of his robe and your shorts.

“Try me.” He challenges, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“You know why?” You lean into his ear to whisper, and your hands trail down his chest slowly and seductively until they reach the opening of the robe where his pelvis is, touch teasing and suggestive, especially when his breath hitches.

“Why?” He attempts to grind up to you, blinded by his carnal desire.

“Because …” You bite his earlobe and hear the grunt he lets out, cock unmistakably hardening until your core.

“Once you fuck me, you’ll never be able to fuck any other pussy without wishing it was mine.” You say as you pepper kisses down his jaw, right up to his chin until your lips are hovering above his.

But as soon as he attempts to close the distance, you push yourself off of him and return to your stoic and professional stance.

“You have a meeting with your investors in twenty.”

Taehyung gapes at you, the outline of his cock clear against the thin material of his robe as he releases heavy breaths of want as he looks at you in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” He snaps.

You shrug your shoulders and cock your head to the clock behind him.

“Good luck getting ready, Kim.” You say with a final smirk, enjoying the fact that you had him frustrated and high.

“This isn’t the end, _____.” He says lowly.

“You better hurry up and hope you finish in less than twenty minutes.” You tease, and you see the tip of his ears burn.

“Maybe I’ll give it five.” You say, flipping your hair over your shoulder and making sure to add a little sway to your hips when you walk away.

You briefly hear a fuck being uttered when you open the door to leave, and you feel triumphant with what you left him with.

#bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts smut #bts taehyung #bts v #taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung imagine #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #Kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #smut #fluff #taehyung enemies to lovers

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cinnamonest · 3 years

Text

Rewriting my Diluc housewife thoughts but I saved it in my notes this time, but I made it infinitely more sexist than it already was before bc 1) I was in the kink mood and 2) the spirits of writing gods possessed my body and told me that is the way all Diluc content should be, so, this is major 1950s-ish housewifey horrendously misogynistic shit, you've been warned. Like, even *I* looked back over this and was like "wow this is vile" which is kinda saying something for me so, putting the nastier parts under cut for the sake of my followers' eyes ----------- I was thinking about the post a while back about Diluc reforming a criminal darling - a thief around Mondstadt that's been on a crime spree and of course he catches wind of that and goes to defeat the perpetrator (surprisingly very easy? How is a thief this weak?) and haul the bastard off to jail except... What's this? Said criminal is actually just some girl and not a gross ugly bastard?? This changes things. Clearly, this was not an intentional act of malice or greed, but rather, he, master of criminal psychology™, rationalizes that the world is far too cruel for unwifed girls that have no one to depend on, a cold terrible place, so you must have been driven to these actions out of desperation. You had no provider, no caretaker, which are needs. How could you possibly be expected to provide a means of living for yourself?? This is just the consequences of the unfairness of the world. However, things all work out in the end. You need to be taken care of and restrained from these self-destructive choices by force (since you cannot recognize how bad it is, not that you're expected to, it's natural that you have poor perception, that's why you need a man to make choices for you), and he needs a wife. This solution benefits all parties.

He is, however, a rather dense man, and doesn't really think to like, tell you that. Or tell you anything. He's too lost in thought in his planning -- gonna get you new clothes to replace your ragged ones, gonna have to rearrange the guard schedule so they can watch the house better, all that -- and just kinda slings you up and over his shoulder without a word. Ignores you kicking and hitting because it doesn't really hurt or anything, you're too weak for that. Just says he’ll explain in detail later, but don’t worry, you’re not going to jail. He’s just taking you home. This is better, he says. Stop struggling so much, what, you want to go to jail? No? Then be still. And you don't recognize that it's good for you yet, but again, that's expected. In a better time or society, you would have been married off sooner, and prevented from ever falling victim to your own decision making to begin with, but the world isn't perfect and you can be forgiven for it. You're not responsible for your own actions since you can't comprehend them. It's frustrating and he sighs a bit over it, but that's just the way things are. You'll be happy in the long run, even if it takes a while, you're naturally programmed for a better lifestyle he has in mind. And, really, he's glad you weren't married off, because if you were then he never would have had you, so even though it was technically unideal, the stars align and the universe works out things perfectly. It's all the more of a sign that this was fate and you were made for him. The issue is that a hardened criminal darling is... Not the ideal candidate for a housewife. To some extent, he's right that the criminal underworld hardens a person, you can't survive in that realm if you're submissive or weak willed. And criminal darling certainly is not. Loud mouthed, opinionated, argumentative, bad attitude, defiant and aggressive and very much unafraid. A complete loose cannon. All very unfavorable traits. Worst of all, very much unaccepting of and ungrateful for the privilege of a second chance and being graciously granted the opportunity for a better life. Lots of bad behaviors.

The cursing is a problem. It's not very... Wife-like. Gives off a bad image, you know. Especially since said cursing is usually directed at him at a very loud volume with a snarl and getting all up in his face to tell him he's fucking insane and a bastard. To be honest, the worst part isn't the words themselves, it's the fact that you are so unafraid to be defiant and so fiery that is the primary issue. You disobey very deliberately. Little acts of pettiness. Being mean to the maids who are so graciously trying to teach you how to cook (at his direction), since you had no idea how to (and nearly burned his house down as a result). The first time you were mean and bitter and that's how you learned they report back to him about how you behaved. It did not go over well.

Intentionally burning food. Once you somehow found a bottle in a cabinet somewhere in the mansion and put rat poison in his food, made him sick. Muttering a sarcastic whoops and shoving a vase off to crash and shatter on the floor. Early on you refused to wear all the nice dresses you were generously given and even tried to go through his clothes to find something to wear, which was kinda cute since it was way too big, but still. You mutter and grumble under your breath every time you're given a command. The most important thing is sex, though. You know, your job. One of your only real responsibilities. He has a very stressful job. It's only reasonable that he can expect to come home to his sweet, loving little wife with open arms and equally open legs. You've probably fucked around a bit right? For money, for favors, for intel, you get the idea, lots of ties to criminal gangs to earn their trust. So, if you do it for something so insignificant, how much more does he deserve it for taking care of you fully? You should -- and you will, with time -- drop to your knees the second he walks through the door. But instead, sigh, you fight and whimper and cover your face in shame after you spasm and cum, and worst of all, you actively try not to cum. You shouldn't feel ashamed of that, it's good, he says. Sure, you may not be officially married (since the laws of Mondstadt unfortunately require that whole "consent" thing for both parties, ugh), but, he's basically your husband right? So, it's perfectly normal, you're supposed to cum for him. Maybe once you're all knocked up you'll be even hornier, and less shameful. He actually wasn't expecting you to be this bad. Incredibly stubborn and prideful. Literally the exact opposite traits of a good wife, you know, submissive and humble and obedient. He kinda thought that it was like... automatic. That once he just kinda shoved you in the right environment, it would be like flipping a switch right? Apparently not. But no matter. It can be changed, with effort and time. You're worth it. See, you're not supposed to backtalk him, you're supposed to smile and do what you're told without question. You're supposed to submit and obey, and instead you seem hellbent on pissing him off out of spite - and frankly, you're doing a good job of achieving that. Every time you defy him it sparks an irritation he can't describe, worse than he'd normally get from just being snarled at by anyone - no, something about being disrespected by someone he feels is beneath him makes him much, much angrier than it would be if it were, say, one of the business partners who get snappy and argumentative very frequently. He could break you and it would be easy, don't you know that? You stomp and you hit him and you yell, but clearly you process that you have to look up to look him in the eye, you have to realize how much smaller you are. You hit him even though you have to know by now he'll just grab your wrists, and like always you'll be unable to even hope of pulling out of his grip, the strength difference between you two is so great. There's no way you don't realize all that, yet you continue to behave the way you do. The inferiority is so blatantly obvious, but you act as if it's not. He spends a lot of time contemplating the source of this, the cause of your behavior, it occupies his thoughts. It's like... You resent him for something. Could it possibly be kidnapping you and keeping you as a glorified sex slave? No, no, that's not it. It's something else, yes. Are you just bitter about being inferior in, you know, every conceivable way? Is that it? The criminality for you was compensation to make you feel powerful, perhaps. You have a complex. You resent him not for anything he's done, but because you know he's stronger and smarter and generally superior to you. You don't want to accept it. You're prideful when you shouldn't be. You're supposed to be humble and content with your inferiority. Yeah, that's it. You just have a negative perception of the lifestyle you're supposed to have. Maybe some event in your life or someone else warped your view of things. You don't realize how happy you'd be if you just accepted it. Yes, if you submitted to it, if you swallowed your pride and actually accepted your place, you'd find you would be very happy, you just don't know that. Or maybe, your brain can't grasp something like that. After all, that's the reason you're supposed to be the submissive party of the two of you, you're not as bright or perceptive (says the densest man alive). You have to be... Led. Guided. So he says it. He is, again, a dense man. He does not really think about the fact that perhaps blatantly confronting you with the epiphany he thinks he's had and specifically using the words inferior and weak and small is probably not going to make you very happy. You get bitchy and bratty and try to hit him and he sighs because, see, this is exactly what he's talking about. You reacting the way you did only confirms you do have a complex, he says. So, how could he go about... reconditioning? He is not the most creative man, but thankfully it's a rather easy problem to solve. If you're reminded of a reality often enough, you have to accept it. For starters, using physical strength against you. Maybe that will metaphorically open your eyes. Holds you down in place when you're hitting him like you do, firmly bending you over a counter or whatever and just holding you in place. Come on, try to get up, try to push him off. You snarl and claw at the marble and push will all your strength, but he doesn't budge, not until you politely apologize and ask him to let you up. If you're being difficult and not going where he tells you to, well, he can just sling you up over his shoulder and carry you. If you're fighting being fucked he can just flip you over and press your face into the mattress and hold you still, and you can't help but take the brutal reality that you're basically a ragdoll to him, that is, physically overpowering you doesn't even require trying. It helps to knock you down a peg, remind you of your place and maybe get you to swallow that pride a bit. The orgasms and fucking have a similar effect -- every time you can't help but feel like he has a power over you. And really, he kinda does. Every time you lay there still panting and shivering in aftershock, the shame comes swarming in, all the obscene noises you made and the way you came undone under the person that treats you like property. Even if the rational part of you knows better, you can't help but feel like in a way it's like you let him win, allowed yourself to more or less prove him right. Maybe you'll learn better if you're in more humiliating positions. Stuck getting rammed from behind, hand forcing your face down and ass up. Actually correcting bad behaviors requires more direct approaches, so he takes the... Old fashioned route. After all, it's pretty much guaranteed to work. You don't listen to words, you don't listen to reason, but you'll certainly listen to handprints and belt welts on your ass. It's the first time you really, truly break, and that brings him a lot of satisfaction. The first time you really cry and whimper and beg and apologize so profusely it feels like you mean it for once. Granted, for a while you just persist in your bad behaviors and even try to run when you see him sigh and take the belt off, but you never get far. And, most notably, you actually fix your behaviors, with enough reminders. At one point, the next time you start being bad and get to bitching and snarling and putting up a fight, you catch the look on his face and, for once, you shut your mouth and look down and mumble an apology by default. See, you're learning. Speaking of, you still have that major issue with backtalking him. You're supposed to submit to him and acknowledge his authority over you. So he gets firm. Grabs you by the jaw and forces you to look him in the eye and reminds you that you will *not* get an attitude with him. You *will* show some respect. You say yes sir and no sir and do what you're told. And if you forget, he can give you a reminder, if you want that. But you shake your head with fear in your eyes, say you don't want that. It makes you mad. You want to lash back, but you swallow your pride and mutter a fine - before realizing the mistake, violating the rule you were just reminded of. You stammer out a yes sir but it's already too late. He has to control himself too, not let his anger get the better of him. He speaks in a way that isn't snarling and mean, but rather firm, cold, a flat tone that asserts dominance and demands respect. But... still wants you to like him. So he has to be nice, too. After all, you'll learn better if you're rewarded for being good, right? So you can get little rewards. Words of affirmation. A pat to the head. He'll buy you something you want, let you drink a bit (since, as a thief, of course, you had a problem with that before you came home, but that had to be corrected too, since drunkenness isn't very befitting). And sooner or later he does have a really good little wife. He's proud of you. You smile and obey commands without complaining. He can come home every day, and rather than hearing a long report from the staff about how much trouble you caused that day, instead you have food and smiles and sweet affection waiting on him, you hug him when he walks through the door. You're polite and sweet to the various business partners and guests that come through -- you don't speak to them without permission though, of course, and you look down at the ground so you don't make eye contact with another man. People say he's lucky and how they wish they had a wife that was so outwardly affectionate to them as you are to him, always clinging to him physically. And you don't complain or every object to anything, you just smile and say yes and do it. It makes him happy in a weird way he can't quite articulate. A warm swell of pride, a feeling of success. You have vague memories of a time when you were breaking into houses just to scrape by, not knowing when you'd eat next, not knowing where you'd sleep. It's kind of a fuzzy memory now. You don't have to worry about those things anymore, and you're a lot happier this way.

#this is vile im sorry #tw: ff #tw: misogyny #.dl #yan.txt #q

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thelargefrye · 3 years

Text

YEARNING FOR YOU. kang yeosang (18+)

── summary. you’re just within reach and yet every time he tries to get to you, you vanish right before his eyes... again and again and again.

── roles. mage!yeosang + mage!f!reader (ft. poly!mage!ateez & other idols)

── genre. smut + one-shot + mages + magic shop + supernatural + mythology + historical to modern day + romance + eventual poly relationship + angst + drama + reincarnation (most of these are for the overall story not necessarily this one-shot)

── word count. 3.3k

── warnings. nightmares + language + sub!yeosang & dom!reader + kissing + little hair pulling + one moment of spanking + anal fingering + handjob + degrading + amazon position + y/n is mentioned to have tattoos

── developer’s note. happy birthday @atiny-piratequeen !! this is just a small something that i’m working on that’s inspired by against the tide !! i figured that since i probably might not get the whole story done by your birthday bc i’ve already been working on it for two weeks and i’m only still doing world and backstory building rip then i would just share a small piece that included yeosang. i’m still working on characters and personalities so anything you read here is subject to change by the time i get the first official chapter out.

when the door to the shop chimed, yeosang didn’t bother looking up from his book he was reading. he knew that usually customers – humans at least – would just look around before leaving or come up to mindlessly flirt with him. it was the same thing every time the bell dinged.

he could hear the customer’s shoes, heels to be exact, softly thudding across the old wooden floors as they strolled around the small shop. his hearing could pick up where exactly in the shop they were, so when they finally started nearing the back to where he and register were, he assumed this customer just wanted to flirt with him like always.

“um, excuse me,” yeosang’s head shot up immediately at the sound of the familiar voice. you stood in front of him also with a look of shock from how quickly yeosang moved and his eyes flickered down to the canvas in your arms.

“o-oh, um, hi. how can i... how can i help you,” yeosang says as he tries his best to relax, but honestly he doesn’t think he can, not when you’re here in front of him and talking to him.

you smile softly at him before handing over the canvas you had in your hands, “this is the painting hongjoong asked me to paint. he told me i could find him and the rest of you here. is he, um, is he here by any chance?”

“huh? oh, yeah is he, let me go get him!” yeosang had never moved so fast before as he practically jumped off his stool and ran to the back to get the group’s leader and tell him you’re here.

“y/n’s here!” yeosang says probably a bit too loudly and maybe just a little too excitedly but he hasn’t seen you in centuries. he has a right to be happy to see his missing lover.

hongjoong isn’t by himself in the back, all the others are basically here too, except for jongho and san who had gone out to get information on how to help you remember your first life.

“she is? why?” mingi asks, a look of shock drawn on his face knowing you’re here just in the other room.

“she brought the painting hongjoong asked her to paint,” yeosang says and hongjoong is quick to go to the front and yeosang picks up on how hongjoong greets you with a cheery tone.

at first yeosang thinks about staying in the back and letting you and hongjoong talk for a moment, but his need to see you again overcomes that he heads back to the front of the shop. he hears the others coming up behind him as he does and he figures the others couldn’t wait either.

a wave of memories washes over him as he sees you and hongjoong interacting so closely. all the times he would see you and hongjoong interacting on the utopia, all the lingering stares and touches you thought no one else saw, but in reality everyone saw.

he misses you. they all miss you.

“wow, y/n, this is beautiful,” hongjoong can’t take his eyes off the painting you gave him and you have a proud look on your face as your eyes flicker between the male and the painting before you slowly look up and over at where him and the others are.

“oh, i didn’t know you all worked here as well!” you say and greeted them all with a smile.

“i actually own this shop,” hongjoong says and you turn to look at him in shock. “my grandmother ran this shop before passing it down to me before she retired.” yeosang couldn’t help but slightly snicker at how hongjoong called hyuna a grandmother.

“really? that’s so cool! i had actually never been in this shop before until today,” you offhandedly as you glance around the shop some more. “oh!” you say catching the six males off guard as they watched you dig through your bag before pulling out eight envelopes. “siyeon is throwing a party and wants me to invite you all!” you say handing each other an invitation before giving jongho and san’s to wooyoung. “i hope you all can make it!”

“of course! we’ll do our best to be there,” hongjoong says, but yeosang knows that all eight of them are definitely going especially since you’re going to be there. “also, thank you again for the painting, it really is beautiful.”

“oh, of course! i’m glad you like it, i always enjoy painting sea related stuff, so this was a blast to paint,” you explain with a small laugh. “well, i should be going! i promised siyeon i would help her with party decisions, so... i’ll see you all around,” you say bidding the males goodbye before turning on your heels and leaving the shop.

yeah, yeosang and the other are gonna have to work fast.

𐂴𐂴𐂴

sometimes when yeosang misses you, he’ll find himself remembering the time when you all were together on the utopia. he’ll remember how you use to help him in the kitchen, acting as both a hand and taste-tester to him.

all the heated gazes the two of you shared being the reason for his flushed face that he would blame on the heat in the kitchen when the others would question him. although he was sure the others didn’t believe because his magic dealt with fire, so some kitchen heat was nothing for him.

but no matter what the same thought still comes to him. he just misses you. he thinks that over and over again until he falls asleep and you appear in his dreams.

it’s silly he knows it, mainly using his magic in order to ensure that you appear to him. he has sweet dreams when you are with him and others all enjoying your time together; however, the moment he remembers that none of it is real and that you are living a completely different life without remembering them, without remembering him. it all turns into a nightmare.

and its always the same. the same day he and the others are forced to remember and sometimes relive again and again for centuries.

“yeosang, wake up!”

his eyes snap open and he feels hot, his bangs matted to his forehead with sweat and his eyes are immediately trying to get used to the darkness of his bedroom.

that voice... he thinks as he brings his hands up to cover his face. huh? was he crying?

“yeosang,” he hears it again and sounds so close to him. right next to him and he feels like he’s still dreaming. but he turns his head and his brown orbs meet your own worried eyes as you sit next to him in his bed.

“y/n...?” he reaches out to touch your cheek, his hands caressing your face and he gasps when he realizes you’re real and next to him.

“why are you crying, love?” you ask him watching as he sits up. you reach over to brush his tears away before he suddenly takes you in his arms. “did you have a bad dream, yeo?”

yeosang doesn’t trust his words so he just nods his head as he nuzzles his head into your neck. “it’s okay,” you say softly, rubbing his back in comfort, “i’m here and nothings going to happen while i’m here. i promise.”

yeosang has heard you say those words before and it only makes him cry harder. you said that to him the first time you woke him up from a nightmare. you would always take him into your arms and hold him and wipe away his tears and tell him it’s okay and it’s all in the past.

when yeosang does finally calm down, tears no longer running down his face, he slowly pulls away from you to lay back down. you lay down right next to him, pulling the blanket up to your chins as you brush hair away from his face.

“i love you,” he says as he feels himself slowly falling back to sleep. you smile sadly at him, a hand still running through his hair as his eyes finally close.

𐂴𐂴𐂴

seonghwa was jealous, yeosang was 100% sure of that. the ice mage’s glare could probably set someone ablaze if he had fire magic instead. and honestly, yeosang doesn’t blame his boyfriend for being jealous because he was as well.

“and who the hell is that?” wooyoung was the one who spoke up, shocked like seonghwa and himself at the sight of you talking to this unknown male.

well, unknown to them at least. you seemed to be pretty close to the male, too close if yeosang or any of the others could say anything.

“do you think they’re...” mingi didn’t want to say it out loud, probably knowing how much chaos he would cause among them if he did.

yeosang wanted to be upset. upset at you for potentially going and falling in love with someone that isn’t them, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t be upset at you because this you, the one standing not too far from him and his seven lovers, this you isn’t the same you he met all those centuries ago.

you don’t remember the love you shared and it broke yeosang’s heart.

his eyes flickered over to seonghwa noticing the furrow in his eyebrows before he looks over to hongjoong who is just staring at you with sadness. then his eyes go back to you and this male who are sitting closely next to each other. the guy looks at you with such a softness that it reminds the fire mage of how seonghwa looks at all of them, with love.

the male plays with the ends of your hair, running it over your face in a teasing manner that makes you laugh and yeosang would be lying if he said your laugh didn’t make his heart flutter.

yeosang misses you.

𐂴𐂴𐂴

yeosang can’t help but sigh as soon as his body hit his bedsheets. he felt clean and relaxed after a long day of working in the shop below them and dealing with both humans and supernatural creatures alike.

while he was staring up at the ceiling, he closed his eyes and started to doze off. he’s not sure for how long his eyes were closed, but he only opens them when he feels his bed dip.

looking over he was greeted by the sight of you in little to no clothing and a warm smile on your face.

“y/n, what are you doing?” yeosang was more than surprised to see you in his room. he was quick to sit up with a shocked expression as he moved so he was sitting right across from you.

“what do you mean, yeo? i’m visiting you of course!” you say cheerfully.

yeosang looked over you and he noticed the familiar tattoos that decorated your right arm. “you’re not real, are you?” he asked as he bowed his head so you couldn’t see his face.

one of your fingers reached under to tilt his chin up and you looked at him with a gaze, “i’m as real as you want me to be,” you say with a smile as you leaned over and kissed him.

yeosang immediately allowed you to take the lead. your lips guiding his as you ran a hand threw his hair and gently tugged on it causing yeosang to moan into your mouth as your tongue explored his mouth and while also teasingly play with his own wet muscle.

yeosang was melting into the kiss, his hands coming up to your waist to pull you closer to him with your chest flushed tightly against his. when you pulled away from the kiss, yeosang tried to follow after your lips making you let out a small laugh at how cute he was acting.

yeosang only looked at you with slightly dazed eyes, still not fully believing you are here in front of him which allowed you to push at his shoulders, making him fall on his back and into the softness of the bed.

“y/n... please,” he whines as you hover over him slightly, both your hands caging his head to the bed as you look down at him.

“what yeo? what do you want me to do?” you ask with a teasing smile, god, he hasn’t seen this smile in centuries.

“p-please, please fuck me,” he chokes out and your smile turns into a grin as you trail your finger down the center of his body before it stops at the towel he still had wrapped around his waist.

“want me to take it off?” he nods without hesitation, “words.”

“yes!” and the towel was unwrapped from his hips and now he was completely bare to you. his cock was only semi-hard when you removed the towel and yeosang watched as your fingers ghosted over the tip, just barely grazing it. “please touch me, don’t tease me,” he begs and you hum before wrapping your hand around his cock and slowly began stroking it until it was fully hard and an angry red, his pre-cum only just slowly starting to appear at his tip.

he let out a string of whines and curses as you began moving your hand suddenly at a fast pace without warning. yeosang’s back arched off the bed, but your free hand came down to hold him still to the bed before you suddenly stop stroking him.

yeosang watches you as you move in between his legs before grabbing the underside of his thighs, giving them a good squeeze before hoisting them up to his chest. when you let go of his legs, yeosang immediately went to hold them in place as his face was flushed a bright red.

you cooed at him as you leaned over his bent body and kissed him before pulling away to look at his ass that was now on full display for you. his hole tight and pink as you played with it, wiggling just the tip of your index into him before pulling out.

“you’re so tight yeo, does none our boys fuck you open enough?” yeosang moaned at the degrading tone you had laced in your voice. “that’s okay though,” you begin adding a firm smack to both his asscheeks, “i can just fuck you open myself.”

yeosang wanted to come with there and then at your words, but he only settled for letting out a few moans instead. he knew the minute he came then it would all be over. he watched you quickly stand up and go over to his bedside table and dug through the draw before pulling out a bottle of lube.

yeosang watched as you squeezed the clear liquid substance into your palm before he felt you apply it to his hole. he moaned at the cold feeling it gave him as you rubbed it around his puckered hole before applying more to your fingers. fuck, he couldn’t hold his excitement as he felt your index probe at him before slowly slipping inside him.

“f-fuck– oh god, please!” he moaned out, throwing his head back as you eased him open. your movements were slow, almost too slow as if you were messing with him and he looked over to meet your eyes.

when you finally entered a second finger he felt his eye roll back as you started to pick up the pace a bit in your thrusting. yeosang let out a broken fuck as you slowly started hitting his prostate before grabbing his dick with your free hand and stroked him in time to your fingers thrusting in and out of him.

“does that feel good?” you ask and yeosang can only nod as his head fell back onto the bed. you frown at his nonverbal response and quickly stop both your hands making his whine as you remove your finger from him. “i asked a question yeosang, so answer it,” your voice sent a chill down his back as if it was seonghwa speaking to him.

“it does, it feels good,” he says, face burning red, “b-but...”

“but what? what do you want?”

“please, let m-me... let me be inside you,” he says and you coo once more at him before you lean over him once more. your nose brushing his from how close you are.

“do you deserve to be inside me? you may have a nice dick, but do you think you can use it to pleasure me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and yeosang felt his dick twitch from between the two of you at you questioning tone.

“p-please, y/n, please u-use me to pleasure you,” he says out of breath and you let out a small laugh as you sat up and slowly grind down on his dick. the fabric of your underwear slightly damp from your growing wetness and causes yeosang to moan at knowing how close he was actual to you.

“do the others know how much of slut you are?” you ask with a small laugh, “i’m sure they know how much you like to be used. hm, don’t they?”

“t-they do,” yeosang stutters out as he watches you move off of him to take your underwear off and he feels a chill run down his spine as you hover back on top of him to take his dick in your hand a position it at your entrance.

“is this what you want?”

“y-yes!” you smile as you sink down on his length with a moan. yeosang lets his mouth drop open as you start to bounce on his length, the sound of your skin meeting his joining the sound of his and your moans.

“f-fuck, yeosang!” you moan as yeosang takes you all in. his eyes fall on your chest which was still covered and he lets his legs go for a moment in order to unclasp your bra. you take your bra off and throw to the side now allowing yeosang the ability to see you completely bare now.

god, how he missed this sight and he was glad you were using his legs as support for yourself because this allowed him to roam his hands over your body.

getting lost in his pleasure he accidentally thrusted up making you glare at him before stopping, “toys don’t move, so still or i won’t let you cum,” you say and yeosang nods letting out a quiet y-yes before you continued between bouncing and moving your hips in figure-eights.

yeosang felt himself grow closer to his orgasm and you clenching around him doing nothing but bringing him closer. “i-i’m c-close! please y-y/n! let me–

he own choked moan cut him off as he felt you clench around him as you came with a loud moan and a whimper of his name. you coming was enough to finally send yeosang over the edge as he took in the sight of you climaxing, knowing you used him to reach your own pleasure.

it took you a moment before you slid off of him and next to him. you were quick to get him to put his legs down which felt a little sore from the position he held for so long.

while he caught his breath he felt you reach over and press different kisses all over his face making him smile. you pressed a final kiss to his lips before cleaning him up and helping him under the covers.

“i love you, y/n, please don’t disappear,” he says as you hold him close to you under the covers of his bed. you remained silent, only slowly running a hand through his hair and lulling him to sleep.

eventually, yeosang closed his eyes welcoming sleep as he fell asleep in your arms.

when he woke up the next morning he was greeted by an empty bed and yeosang can’t tell if what he experienced last night with you was even real or just a dream. with a sigh, he gets up and starts to get dressed before heading out of his room and to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for himself and the others.

“i love you, too.”

#8makes1teamnet #kdiarynet #poly ateez x reader #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez blurbs #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #poly ateez #ateez yeosang x reader #yeosang smut #kys.#dream films.

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