#That would be fitting for your muse since he's an important figure and all

[chiropterx]

hunger. "I feel we would be bettet as allies than as enemies."

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

His once powerful wings were the terror of Gotham, Man-Bat an apex predator swift as he was silent. Now? They had lost their indomitable strength, the immense bat finding it hard to flutter let alone fly off into the night. Evenings of being hunted relentlessly by angry dark-suited men in their noisy cars and even noisier flying machines made it nigh on impossible to hunt, even scavenge for food. Man-Bat needed food and plenty of it, and without proper nourishment, even going two nights without fuel was taxing. Dark lips drew back into a snarl as the sound of people approaching caught his sensitive ears, Man-Bat suspecting that the 'police' had found his hiding place, maybe even getting ready to fill his furry hide with holes. They always carried wounding weapons, ones that fired painful metal pellets. Sometimes darts, their sharp stings softer but no less frightening what with their ability to deliver the terrifying clutch of sleep. One, several Man-Bat might be able to take down before they shot him, even in his current condition but an entire flock? He had little chance, mouse brown fur bristling with fear and anger but it was some surprise that Man-Bat found that the people who stumbled across his lair weren't those he was expecting. Not at all. They were people, also covered from head to toe in dark clothing all except one, a man with sharp green eyes and fur on his face that could rival his own. This man was older then the rest but clearly the patriarch of his group, with a fierce, strong energy to his body yet Man-Bat did not feel threatened. Cautious perhaps of the unfamiliar, the unknown - any creature in his situation would be, but as the man approached, speaking in a soft, low voice, it was hard not to trust him, starving though he was. Dark eyes flickered back and forth, darting anxiously between the man and his followers. They did and said nothing, their leader in complete control of the situation as he stepped towards the huge bat fearlessly with words proclaiming that it was better to be allies instead of enemies. Allies? Yes... Man-Bat had plenty of enemies already, and so did the man too maybe. There was no lie in his words, nor fear as he extended a hand bearing fruit. Biting the hand didn't even cross Man-Bat's mind. With one quick glance to see if any weapons were pointing at him, the immense bat carefully accepts Ra's offering, immediately starting to feel better once the sweet treats slipped down his gullet. Sugary nectar revitalized his senses, Man-Bat feeling renewed strength surging back into his wings with every mouthful he took. As he fed, he listened to the man's words, feeling more and more at ease around him, Allies indeed. No enemy of Man-Bat would feed him and so he listened some more - really listened as Ra's spoke to him further. Nice man. Nice.

[starryficsfinishwen]

spring thief — xiangli yao x f!rover

(listen to this song while you're reading)

Peach blossoms usually sprout small buds.

A tiny, fragile thing. In spring when the tree blooms, its petals are perched on its branches, enclosed like hands in prayer. Sometimes they stay there, sometimes they fall onto the ground. When they do, awaiting hands always catch them, careful not to break them open.

While others believe its fragility is its downfall, only a few know of its true essence; waiting for the season when its pretty petals would open, the sweet smell dancing in the air. Xiangli Yao is no stranger to such occurrences, being a genius not only in the automotive field, but also in the nature of things. Watching a particular thing, glancing at sleepy eyes under the shade.

Like the peach blossom buds, somehow, you were there, too—waiting.

In the afternoon haze, a golden hour shade over the Academy, Xiangli Yao notices your sleeping figure.

Buried in the heaps of scrolls and papers, your head rested on your arms as you tried to nap. Albeit your workspace is plastered by the window overlooking the ocean, the blooming peach blossom as your source of shade—a good place for productivity, you claimed, being in touch with nature and your workplace—a few rays of sunshine still caresses your cheeks.

In hindsight, you looked like you were working hard with your head down. But between the Principal Investigator and you, the esteemed Rover of Jinzhou, you both knew it was far from that—a lazy weekday afternoon away from the pressure.

“I don't think you're faring any better,” Xiangli Yao chuckles at your nth attempt to block out the sun with the heaps of paperwork, “Shouldn't you move to another place, maybe, away from this?”

Fluttering your eyes open slowly, you pouted as you watch him lean to your predicament. “No...I don't want Baizhi to examine me again.”

“So you resorted to doing my paperwork.”

“Mhm...”

“...to which you tried to sleep on it.”

“Sorry!” You scrambled to sit up, tired eyes fighting to close again, “I promise I didn't drool over them.”

But Xiangli Yao gently places his hand over your head, lightly lowering it down back to the desk. “Honestly I don't mind, even if you drooled over them. Go back and take a nap.”

Helplessly, you followed his instruction, allowing yourself to relax in his hold. By the time your head had completely nestled back in your arms, you watched Xiangli Yao mimic your actions in the opposite direction. Resting his head on his robotic one, he tilts his head to meet your eyes.

“...Huh?”

Purple eyes glint in amusement. “I figured I'd share Mortefi's rage with you.”

You burst into fits of giggles. “Really? I thought you hated being scolded by Mortefi.”

Reflecting your joy, his smile makes his eyes close. “There are far more important things other than this paperwork.”

Using his free hand, he boops your nose. “Your sleep, for example.”

A comforting conversation between good friends. That was what you were to each other; despite the science of the unknown being in the way, Xiangli Yao guides you through it all, while you were there to be his muse in finding answers.

“I can't recall my sleep being as important as your paperwork.”

“Didn't you say Doctor Baizhi is preparing to examine you again?”

“I do, but I really just want a small break for now,” a small whine escapes your lips, “It hasn't been a week since the Moon-chasing festival.”

“True,” He hums, “Oh, it wasn't enough for you?”

Shifting your position so your chin is rested on your propped arm, you shake your head. “Of course not. I had so much fun...”

Your mind fondly remembers the event—bright lights, the moon, loud laughter, and the warmth of a familiar hand. Trailing to meet the same purple eyes in your memory, ones that looked at you, mirroring you.

At some point, before you could even say anything else, there was an irregular knock behind you. Looking back, you watched the peach blossoms sway with the wind as they fall to the ground, the flurry of flowers turns into a storm. Bracing yourself from the impact, you quickly try to shield the both of you, but a warm hand stops you.

“Oh, it must be time.” Xiangli Yao speaks as if this occurrence was something natural.

Looking back at him, you said, “Are you sure this isn't a storm?”

“It's pretty normal, to me at least.” He shrugs, “If you think about it, was there anything normal in Solaris-3 at this point?”

He makes sense. Relaxing in his hold, you mutter, “But still, it's so new to me.”

“I've always seen it happen whenever it's almost summer.” Xiangli Yao stands up and approaches the window. The flurry of flowers is still there. “It means that it's coming.”

Opening the window, the fresh scent of the tree almost drowns you. A few small petals and buds enter through the opening, landing on your lap and hands. Watching the man in front of you catch a few flowers in his robotic hand, a fond look in his gaze.

“Have you ever heard of the story of how trees, even as old as this one, can still bloom despite the years?”

Gently taking the buds in your hand, you glanced at the man, “No, what was it about?”

“Jinzhou may be young, but the trees have long been around even before its birth. And they only knew of our ancestors' love, a love that resonated so long, that it echoes even until now.”

Some buds and petals litter your hand. There was a tiny one, resting not too far from your pinky finger, so you pick it up. “And...?”

“My mother tells me that the reason why the peach trees here still continue to bloom,” He sighs, before a smile graces his lips, “It's because of love.”

The buds in your lap, as if listening to Xiangli Yao's words, slowly bloom in your touch. In awe, you continue to touch the blossoming buds, the tacet mark in your hand slightly glowing, “My mother believes that the resonator who can make the flowers bloom is a 'spring thief'.”

All of the buds in your lap have fully bloomed. Yet, the tiniest one in your hand hasn't. You triy to touch it, in every angle, but still, it hasn't. You look up to see Xiangli Yao's tacet mark in his robotic arm glow. The words are clear to you.

“The harbinger of summer. But they should also be driven with the same motivation for it to happen.”

Purple eyes find yours when he turns on his back. Walking toward you, Xiangli Yao kneels in front of you, reaching out for the one in your hand.

“The 'Spring Thief' has to be in love, too.”

With your combined touch, the tiniest bud blooms, with the sweetest smell and being the prettiest among them all. And Xiangli Yao, like that night, looks at you—fondly, softly, and only you.

Have you ever looked at Xiangli Yao this way? Have you ever noticed how pretty he was, drenched in the golden hour glow, the flurry of blossoms dancing outside? The sun's rays mimic a tacet cord, haloing over his head, capturing his face like an angel. Perhaps he is an angel, having spent his mortal days walking on Earth. And his words, honey and true, have long been clear to you.

“I-” The words choke you, but still you can't look away.

“I'm not asking for your immediate answer, [Y/N].” He brightly muses, “In any case, I'm sure that summer is coming.”

Taking your hand in his, bringing it to his sweet lips, he whispers, “The 'Spring Thief' has come to bring summer once more.”

Peach Blossoms have the sweetest bloom this season.

I'm down bad for this man, I love him

COME HOME OKAY??? I LOVE YOU XIANGLI YAO

p.s. I had a dream of my potential crush so this scenery was the inspo

— starry

[jtargaryen18]

His Inheritance ~ Chapter 35 Preview

Coming soon...

"You are almost ready," Yelena said with a smile, just after the stylists left. "Now the jewelry."

You paused, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your gown was an exclusive creation by a top designer, a beautiful sleeveless, a-line creation in layers of tulle, sequins, and matte satin. Shades of pale blue and gold transformed you, enhanced by the ornate way your hair was done, the subtelty of your carefully applied makeup. Beneath you wore the most elegant little gold heels that were surprising comfortable despite their minimal style. The stockings were sheer, hugging your upper thighs just below the skimpy ice-blue panties you wore.

The mention of jewelry brought up an unhappy memory and you knew Yelena recalled it too when your gaze met hers. How your husband's ex-mistress smuggled her necklace in for you to wear on another special occasion had never been solved.Had it been Neal? Hansen? A reminder from the not-too-distant past that your enemies could reach you at any time. A reminder to be vigilant. 

"What jewelry?" you asked carefully.

Yelena smiled. "I picked it up myself," she told you, lifting a delicate strand of diamonds set in gold from a black velvet box on the bed. 

When she draped it around your throat, you smiled at the way it completed your look. There were matching earrings, diamond studs each with a teardrop diamond dangling and catching the light. The set was exquisite. 

"Harry Winston," your friend told you, admiring how they looked on you.

"Nice of them to loan them to us for the ball," you told her, grateful you got to wear them. 

Yelena reached for the golden mask on the bed, holding it to you. "No loan. Steve bought them."

What?

"These must have cost a fortune," you mused. They probably cost more than everything else you owned combined. "Glad you're going with us. I'd hate to get mugged for these."

Yelena grinned. "Security is going to be tight already with the mayor there, one of the state senators. So many wealthy, important people like you."

That had you scoffing. "I'm no one special. At least not in the world of such important, political figures."

"But you are," Yelena told you. 'The fact that everyone wants you has been a powerful motivator in this game of chess. Your husband is completely devoted to you. Barnes would love to get his hands on you."

"Barnes would ring my neck the first chance he got," you pointed out.

Yelena's expression was difficult to read. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Hansen would for sure kill me," you said, putting your mask in place carefully. A soft mask of golden sequins that fit over your eyes. 

Yelena's gaze dropped at the mention of that name and you were ashamed. You needed to work harder not to bring that up to her. And you needed a subject change. Fast.

"Who's going to be here with Nat tonight?" You weren't surprised Nat didn't want to go. She'd been through so much between the horrific end of her abusive marriage and all trauma of years being left to the sadistic nature of Banner. You wanted to make sure she was well looked after while you and Steve were gone.

"Clint is staying here of course," Yelena said quietly. "Dyson will be here too. He's arranged for extra security for the house tonight."

You nodded your approval. "What about Scott?"

"He's coming with us," Yelena explained. 

That had you smiling. Sure, Scott would keep you and Steve safe, but he also got time with Yelena. You were pretty sure Yelena knew Scott's infatuation with her. Would she ever return his affections? You didn't know. Considering her tragic history, you weren't sure she could feel the same way towards him or anyone. But since you'd known Scott, you learned he was a good man who always had your back and never once questioned your authority. You trusted him with your life. You trusted him with Yelena, too.

But would she ever give him - or anyone - a chance after all that she'd been through?

You blew out an exhale, preparing yourself for the night ahead. "I guess we should let Steve know that I'm ready."

"He knows," a deep voice caught you and Yelena both off guard. 

Your husband strolled into the bedroom and Yelena stepped back to allow him a clear path to you. He looked breathtakingly handsome in the classic black tuxedo he wore, tailored perfectly to fit his tall, broad-shouldered physique. His tawny hair was perfectly styled, diamond cufflinks winking in the light. His tie was shades of gold and blue to match your gown, a subtle touch but one you appreciated.

Steve moved to stand behind you in the mirror of your vanity, bending to fit his handsome face in the reflection with yours. 

"You look so beautiful," he said with something like reverence in his voice. "I can't wait to show you off."

"I'll be downstairs," Yelena said, making her way out to give you some privacy. "We worked very hard on her, boss. Don't mess her up."

Steve smiled at what he took as a playful warning, his large hands smoothing over your bare shoulders. Slowly, you removed the mask, placing it in your lap with your hands. His watchful gaze didn't miss the slight tremble of their movements.

"Everything is going to be fine," he explained. "I've been to this event before. All the rich, politic elite of Boston come out dance and drink the night away and wallow in excess. It's probably Tony's favorite night of the year."

You could see it. And you were excited to go to the annual masquerade ball, as Steve's wife and not his trophy, and to enjoy a fabulous night on the town. You felt like Cinderella, going to the ball in the gown that truly looked as if magic had created it.

But you couldn't fight back an impending sense of dread. It had been so quiet in the weeks of your recovery and Steve's. Life went on. You were included in all the family's business meetings. The family business had recovered and was branching out, deals with three of the other four families made things even better. 

Not that you agreed with all of it. You weren't crazy about the loan sharking or protection deals the family made. The casinos and restaurants didn't bother you as much. And at least the family wasn't making any money off drugs or trafficking. Some of the stories you heard now that you were more involved were just horrified. You made up your mind early that no matter what, you'd never allow the family to make money off the misfortunes of women and children. Never.

It had been very quiet where the Barnes family was concerned. Too quiet.

"I'll  be the envy of every man there tonight," he murmured, pressing a kiss into your neck. The soft brush of his beard made you shiver.

A sensual smiled curved Steve's lips. "Are you ready?"

You nodded. You trusted your husband. You were going to do your best to have a wonderful night, just like he intended.

And still that little kernel of dread lingered.

You felt like you were in an old Hollywood movie to walk down the staircase on your husband's arm with the gown flowing softly with your movements. Honestly, you were grateful for Steve's help in keeping you balanced, relieved when you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Dyson, Yelena, Scott, Clint and Nat were a small crowd, watching in admiration as you approached. Nat's smile was all you needed to feel like you got the look right. Her lovely green eyes lit up as her gaze swept over you. 

"You look perfect," she exclaimed, carefully hugging you. "I knew that gown was the one."

Nat had been the one to find it when the two of you went out shopping. And you were all too happy to give her the credit. You knew very little about fashion, seasons, all of it. You would learn. But until you did, it was nice to have the advice of someone who already understood it.

As Nat stepped back, you forced yourself to smile. She still looked so small, so frail. She had yet to gain weight and regain her amazing figure. Your sister-in-law seemed fragile, even with the protection and love of the man she'd always wanted. Even with the full support and love of her brother. It worried you.

Dyson looked worried too, but as you did, he put on a quick smile. "You two had best get going. The line at dropoff takes forever."

"True enough," Steve said, nodding to Yelena and Scott.

You stopped to hug Dyson. "Keep her safe for me," you whispered.

"You know I will," he muttered.

Steve whisked you away to the sleek black limousine waiting in the driveway. Scott climbed in behind the wheel and Yelena rode shotgun as Steve got you into the back seat, helping you keep your gown away from the doors. Once you were settled, you studied your husband. Something was missing.

"Did you bring a mask?" you asked him. 

Steve smiled, pulling a small black mass from inside his tuxedo coat. No sequins, just a matte black mask he could wear. But he wasn't interested in the mask as he fidgeted with it. He was too busy staring at you.

"Are you excited?" he asked.

You couldn't help the smile that question brought on. "Yes."

Steve looked pleased. "As time goes on and things settle down, we'll get out more. Do more things like this. You look like a fairytale princess tonight."

Tears pricked at the backs of your eyes at his heartfelt words. He meant them. He was taking you out to a society function, dressed you up like you were going to the fucking Oscars. A night out like nothing you'd ever experienced before. You'd been excited since he told you he got the tickets two weeks ago.

[irisintheafterglow]

hello hello everyone my sincerest apologies for being so ia lately...

*drops this enemies to lovers abomination on your doorstep like a cat and then disappears back into the woods*

cw: swearing, hurt/comfort, descriptions of injury, more swearing

it wasn't your first choice to be roommates with dabi. in fact, it wasn't your choice at all; it was shigaraki's. when you first joined the league and were declared important enough to stay in the same housing situation as the rest of its members, the only available space was a small side bedroom that was more like an oversized closet.

and just your luck, it was connected to the bedroom of the deep-fried creep himself.

for one, he unsettled you beyond belief, always lurking in shadowed corners and moving about without so much as a rustle. he had a nasty habit of saying whatever was on his mind, always biting out a comment that had you scrunching your nose in distaste. but mostly, he figured out early into your situation that it was very easy to get on your nerves.

he hid your body wash.

he mismatched your socks.

he moved all of your furniture one inch to the left so you kept running into the corner of your nightstand.

he walked into your room and pulled a single corner of your fitted sheet off the mattress.

his little pranks were always irritating but not enough to feel genuinely angry over, which was frustrating in and of itself. your attempts to voice your concerns to others, however, proved fruitless.

"have you considered that maybe he likes the attention you give him?" you shrug in lieu of responding, plucking another puff of stale popcorn from the bowl between you and toga as your legs swing off the ledge of some abandoned high-rise just outside of musutafu. "i'm serious," she continues, unsettlingly thoughtful. "dabi doesn't do all of that for anyone else."

"yeah, because he actually likes you guys, even if he won't admit it," you point out. "he does all that shit because he's pissed he has to share a bathroom with me."

"i think it entertains him, to a certain extent," toga muses and you frown, feeling far from comforted. "i know he cares, if that matters at all."

"how so?"

"he's grumpier when you're on longer assignments. checks in on your room, waiting for you to get back." you blink at her and wait for toga to declare that she's kidding and spontaneously prance away into the night. but, she doesn't, and when she catches you staring in disbelief, she shows her palms in surrender. "dabi hasn't told me anything, i promise. it's just what i've observed."

"and how many times have you observed this and never told me?"

"let's see," she begins, counting on her fingers a concerning amount of times before giving up and rolling her eyes. "it's kinda hard, since it's not always sulking in your room. he pesters everyone about when you'll be back, especially me and twice. he and tomura almost got into it when dabi tried to interrogate the boss about your whereabouts."

"maybe he's just wondering when i'll finally die so he can have his space back," you mutter, unimpressed.

"no, i don't think that's it," toga states earnestly. "if he wanted to kill you, he definitely would have by now. we all would have."

"thanks, toga. you really know how to make someone feel better," you deadpan but are unable to keep your smile from breaking through when she beams at you like she'd won the lottery. "let's just hope i get to have a serious conversation with him before he pours sand in my sheets."

as luck would have it, your wish for a serious conversation would eventually arrive...while you were struggling to staunch the bleeding from your shoulder.

it was a lucky hit from your opponent, a simple lapse in your judgment that gave them enough time to swipe at your neck. you meant to block with your forearm, but barely brought up your arm in time for the blade to slash just above your armpit. by the time you'd disposed of the crime syndicate tomura sent you to destroy and clambered through your window, the dark spots in your vision were closing in like a black-and-white movie vignette. you couldn't muster the energy to shout for help, nor could you find another piece of fabric to stop the bleeding. eventually, your body slumps against the frame of your bed, the exposed mattress soft on the back of your head. that fucker must have pulled up the fitted sheet corner again, you groan in your head, a last-ditch idea forcing you to grab your phone by pure instinct.

"i'm busy," is the first thing dabi says when he picks up the call, not expecting to hear you on the other end. on your side, it's enough to annoy you into having more energy; on his side, he can sense something is off as soon as he hears the unevenness of your exhales. he wills his feet to move faster across the dark rooftops, away from the bright flaming scene behind him and closer to home.

"yeah, and i'm bleeding all over your dirty floor, jackass," you grit out. he can't tell whether to burst out laughing or stop his heart from sinking. "if you could steal some gauze on your way back, that'd be fuckin' terrific."

"stop talking," he grumbles, "you're wasting energy. i'll be home soon, so stay on the line."

"you're literally so annoying, do you know that?"

"yeah, yeah. i know you love it." even as your consciousness fades in and out, you can still register the smirk in his voice. "hey." the sternness in his voice snaps you awake. you don't remember closing your eyes, nor can you tell how long they were shut. "you better still be alive, idiot."

"my heart beats from pure spite, dabi, so don't worry about me," you scowl. "get here faster so i can wring your stupid neck."

"aww, the little wifey wants me home," he teases and you physically cringe away from the phone, your fingers stained crimson after trying to pack your wound with whatever rag you could find.

"remind me to kill you once you get back."

"you wanna kill me now that i'm back," he replies without missing a beat. the hang-up tone beeps at the same time as your window slides open again. you vaguely register him crouching in front of you, his fingers ghosting over your injury.

"i fucking hate you," you declare unexpectedly after he's retrieved the first-aid kit from your shared bathroom. "you have no idea how much i loathe your existence."

"it's good to see you too, i guess," he responds absentmindedly. you watch his eyes, so intense and absolutely molten, scan over your skin and analyze what to do next like a supercomputer. "hey," he snaps his fingers twice in front of your fading vision. "you gonna tell me why you hate me, or am i gonna have to drag your ass from out of the underworld?"

"i hate you and your pretty eyes," you scowl, once again very much awake. he makes a noise between a chuckle and a snort and prepares a cloth with enough alcohol on it to just smell painful. one hand firmly holds your shoulder in place and your body acts on instinct when he moves closer with the cloth. "don't fucking touch me with that."

something inside him snaps before he can control it.

"you wanna die instead, then, dumbass?" you blink at him, taken aback by the sudden frustration that breaks through his cool demeanor. your mouth tightens into a straight line when you catch the way his eye twitches just above the stapled purple skin on his cheek. it didn't seem like he was frustrated with you, he seemed frustrated with...himself? "you hate me that much that you won't let me save your damn life? what the hell did i do to deserve that?"

"you pulled the corner off this stupid bedsheet, to get started on just one thing, and don't get me started on that dumb--" you're cut off by your body spasming on its own as he presses the cloth onto your wound, white-hot pain searing through your entire right side. the action leaves you gasping for breath, heaving on the floor with tears pricking the corner of your eyes; when you come back to yourself a few seconds later, you register dabi's free hand has traveled from your shoulder to gently cradle the side of your neck.

"there you are, easy. you can come back to me now," he murmurs, his thumb brushing just under your jawline. "i figured making you angry would distract you long enough to let me clean this up...i'm sorry."

"is..." you swallow and your voice suddenly seems so much smaller. "is the painful part over?" to your surprise, he doesn't insult you or mock your cowering; if anything, his gaze softens when he nods.

you sit in an uncomfortably awkward silence for several more minutes as he stitches up your gash. being around dabi, for better or for worse, was like having a human muscle relaxant nearby. your body couldn't help but decompress, slowing your heartrate to a speed you almost mistook for feeling safe. as much as he irritated you and loved to get under your skin, something about his presence felt reliable, and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't attentive.

"do you mean what you say?"

"hmm?"

"you heard what i said." asshole. you roll your eyes and wait for him to back it up with some sort of insulting humor. but, when he's finished carefully pressing a bandage on your shoulder, he sits back and waits for you to respond. "well?"

"of course i don't," you force out after a few moments' hesitation. "i could never truly hate you, no matter how much i try."

"why do you try? am i that easy to hate?"

"honestly, i thought you would be," you admit and his eyebrows raise once, like he was huffing in amusement. "but for the life of me, i just don't see you the same way the world does." he stiffens and clears his throat, his attention darting anywhere but your face. "you're annoying, please don't get me wrong," you quickly clarify.

"oh, we were doing so well," he chides with a poorly-hidden smirk and you lightly swat him with your uninjured arm. "this is the part where you confess your undying love for me."

"in your dreams, stupid."

"isn't everyone always saying you can make your dreams a reality?" you finally spare him an exhausted laugh and he gives you a rare smile, one you only saw once in a blood moon. "speaking of dreams, you should rest. shigaraki's gonna want a debrief in the morning, and you know he gets grumpy on thursdays." you groan and put on your best innocently-manipulative face.

"do you wanna keep taking care of me and take over my breakfast shift for tomorrow?" your eyelids droop but you still persist in batting your lashes.

"i'd rather die, but good effort!" he replies and you return to your blank expression. without hesitation, his arms loop under your legs and back and gingerly set you on your bed, pulling the sheets over your body and going so far as to tuck you in. "you all snug in there, little bug?"

"i am, thank you." without another word, he departs with a single bow of his head and an unfamiliar sense of panic washes over you as he steps closer and closer to the exit. "w-wait--"

"i thought you'd never ask." he turns on his heel like he'd been waiting for you to speak up and returns to your side, respectfully stopping at the edge of the bed. "alright, let's hear it. i'd like to hear a 'please, dabi' and a 'thank you for saving my life' and a 'you're the best in the entire city' and--"

"get in the bed, idiot, before i change my mind," you conclude, carefully flipping yourself so that your back is to him. you hear him chuckle and slip under the blankets with you, draping an arm across your midsection to pull you closer. "is this the part where you confess your undying love for me?" his breath is even and warm on the back of your neck, and you swear you feel his lips brush your skin before he answers.

"yeah, something like that."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[partywithoutsmiling]

Some musing on the Wanderer!Branch AU

(Okay, bit of a chaotic lore dump incoming, as this is probably the first time I am putting it to words)

Okay, important info first:

I headcanon it that Branch- and thus the other Brozone bros- are half-pop half-rock in their herritage; this headcanon is an old one, ever since World Tour dropped, and honestly only supported by the fact that Total Eclipse of the Heart that Branch sung as trolling is considered a Pop Rock song XD But hey, one doesnt need to have many reasons to make headcanons pff

(I have some tentative lore about his parents- and his grandparents- too, and how that would effect Branch and his Bros growing up, but I will leave that for a separated post)

But anyway, with Branch's Pop side being moderated by his Rock side, he would have always felt a bit out of place among his tribe, even he grew up perfectly happy with no tragedy in his life (I know switching Branch's and Poppy's place when it comes to being grey is all the rage right now, but I still feel most are missing all the necessary nuance to really make it work, but lets not get into that pf)

Obviously, that feeling of not fitting it only got hundred fold worse since his PTSD and him being grey, as Pop Trolls doesn't seem to be known for mental health support. Branch eventually leaving is not him going 'Screw you all, I will find someone who appreciates me' (much like Clay did) but more of a 'I am sorry, I won't get in your way anymore, I wont be a burden'

Basically massive amount of self-loathing and severe lack of self-worth. When Branch had his final breakdown and decided to leave, I don't think it would be with the precise goal of finding anyone (yes, part of him hopes he would be able to find his brothers and at least find closure one way or another, no matter how much it terrifies him).

Honestly, Branch probably didn't dare to examine his decision to leave any closely than he needed to, lest it would stand out to him for what it really was- a suicide trip.

This was Branch that doesnt know anything about the wide, outside world; he knows Bergen Town, knows of the old Troll Tree, and now knows the Forest and their Troll Village. But everything else is uncharted territory for him. He knows of the Neverglades, because of a faint memory of John Dory constantly talking about them when he was a baby, but has only a vague sense which way they are (I headcanon they make up for the border of Pop and Rock territories)

His preparation for the trip was abysmal, and so was his plan in general. He just picked a direction- opposite of Bergen Town, away from them- and started walking. When he first encountered the towering high peaks of Classical Territory, he immediatelly recognized that they can't be the Neverglades- very much not fitting the description that he remembered, so he walked past/around them, smack dab into Country territory.

Compared to others, I don't think the Country Trolls would have been very welcoming to him at the beginning; used to hard life, inhospitable land and abundant death, Branch would be an unexpected disturbance; obviously not a Classical Troll, who borders with them the closest but never comes down from the skies, obviously not a Funk Troll, who with their technological advance might as well be myths at this point- and obviously not a Pop Troll, since he doesnt shower them with obnoxious music and doesnt even look the part.

Had he been at his 100%, they would have probably been quite content to send him packing, figuring he was just a Rock Troll going solo career (little insert headcanon: Rock Troll Rite of Passage is going on a Rock Tour, and sometimes the more adventurous Rock Trolls strays into other territories to bother and cause mayhem other trolls. Barb's Rock Tour was her Rite of Passage, and being a freshly fanged Queen, she took it to another level)

But Branch quite helpfully collapsed on their doorstep, half starving and dehydrated, and they weren't so callous as to leave him there for the elements to take care of him.

Naturally, their help hardly came for free, and even if they didn't ask, Branch would have already feel indebted to them for wasting resources on his wellbeing. A Survivalist himself, he easily spotted the tight budget they were running, and felt guilty for being a burden yet again.

To his surprise, when the country trolls found out he was a hard worker, a skilled architect and wiz engineer, they completely turned their wariness around.

It was the start of his 'finding himself' journey, but for the first time, Branch started to feel... appreciated. Yes, these trolls didn't know him- but they looked at him, looked at what he can do, and called him accomplished; they were praising his skills, and called him valuable.

(But some sense of danger remained with him; as far as he believed, 'Branch' was left behind to rot away in his bunker. So when introducing himself, and habit got better of him, he started with "Bra-" but caught himself and finished "-mble"; and that new name, 'Bramble', stuck XD Still a plant name, still close enough that he can learn to repond to it- and honestly, feels like fits him better right now, as he feel all out of sorts)

It was only the first step, maybe, but it was a step toward feeling that he had some worth.

I think, out of all the Tribes, he stays with the Country trolls for the longest; yes, the life there is hard, but that is perhaps why he feels most welcomed there. There are no useless nonsense parties, no senseless dancing- the times when they can finaly wipe their brow and relax is when the community gathers together and they just... talk. Sit around, share food, look at the stars and reminiscence.

It's all very subdued, and even though Branch is the most obvious outsider ever, he feels like one with the community, and that by itself is already healing a deep wound he didnt know he had.

When the country trolls finally start singing on their good day, Branch is rather taken aback (He forgot, that Trolls are Trolls, and Trolls sing)- but the sombre and slow melody and topic of the country speaks to him, and while he doesnt join- and they dont push him to join- he listens, and he appreicates.

It is with Country Trolls that he heals most of his trauma when it comes to music. His Grandma and his Brothers leaving him are still a big guilt that weights him down- and something he wont address for a long time- but Country trolls shows him that music can be wildly different. He still doesnt sing, but when offered to be taught to play a banjo (XD), he probably doesnt refuse- mainly out of fear of insult, but also because for the first time in his life, he wants to actually try.

As time passes, his more curious side comes out- he asks questions, wants to know everything- up to this point, he didn't even know that the Country trolls were country- and to them it was obvious what they were, so why would they need to introduce themselves?

That line of questioning leads to the explanation of the other Tribes existing, and that each Tribes' music is different.

And for the first time in his life, Branch felt something alien to him- burning Wanderlust. (Bit of his Rock herritage showing, eh? Solo Rock tour, Rite of Passage~?) The thirst for knowledge was always there- after all, his bunker had many journals filled to brim with information about what he discovered in the foods, helpful tips for survival and many plans for inventions- but those were always done out of necessity, discovered and noted down so that he could live another say. Never before he had a desire to discover simply for the sake of discovering.

Never before he also actually felt like he had the option to do so; the world has always been an inhospitable wilderness to him, only filled with a small handful of trolls and a town full of monstrous giants. His childhood was filled with memory of a large iron cage, and that trapped feeling didn't change; after all, his Bunker, for all that it offered him safety, was a different type of cage too. The whole Troll Village- Pop Village, as he learned now- was another cage as well. Gilded one, made of ignorance.

And so he knew his time with the country trolls came to an end- and it was because he grew to respect them and appreciate them, that he doesnt disappear in the nigh and haltingly tells them his decision to leave and explore.

Memories of his Brothers' argument echo through his mind as he waits for the inevitable blow up, but.... he is once again surprised when the trolls just accepts this decision and wish him all the best- going as far as to help him pack- properly this time- and wheedling out of him a promise to check in once in a while, whenever he is in the neighbourhood.

Equipped with a non outdated map, he decides to make visit all the other territories one by one, starting from Country and heading right towards Classical, going around in one large circle around Pop Territory- Going to Techno after Classical, and to Rock right after that. Funk is largely a mystery to him- the Country trolls are at this point content to believe they are just a myth- much the same way a unicorn is to us- but Branch wants to keep an open mind.

After all, he himself had no idea other kind of trolls existed, so why dismiss the Funk Troll existence right away?

His travels to Symphonyville proved to be as challenging as was the start of his trip towards Country territory. Being high in the mountains- higher than anywhere Branch ever went- really showed him that walking is easy only when the road is straight and flat.

The air growing colder and thinning, he probably doesn't make the best first impression neither- especially in his dishevelled state, he is once more mistaken for a Rock Troll, and it takes a gargantuan amount of effort to convince anyone that he is simply there to learn music, and not cause any trouble.

Out of all the Tribes, he would stay with the Classical trolls the shortest. They are strict teachers, and their culture is very frigid and traditional- and Branch knows that he would have to wildly change himself to fit among them. Yet looking around, seeing the tall spires of the buildings around him, he finds he doesn't really want to. The grandiose of everything is rather intimidating- but even if he tried his best, he would never fit well among the classical trolls, always limited by something (like his ability to fly)

And realizes that was okay. That was acceptable. And that the classical trolls knew he wasn't a good fit now, and would hardly ever be a good fit ever- but they never expected him to become someone he is not. He asked them to teach him and so teach him they will- but you cant force a white sheep to grow black wool anymore that you can force a black sheep grow white.

The moment they realize Branch is there to learn and not wreck their peace like wandering Rock Trolls tend to do, they definitelly warm up to him more- but it still with the mildest of disapprovals since compared to them, Branch looks like a scrunkly kitten and all of them are just itching to groom him properly XD

Branch himself is amazed at the variety of musical instruments that exists and very quickly finds that he is not a progidy in plaing them all pff. Wind musical instruments are most likely completely beyond him, and after some attempts gives them up for a lost cause. Percussion fairs a bit better; he definitelly has some idea how to keep a beat and a rhythm, but even there he finds playing piano the most comfortable out of them all, with drums being a close second.

It is with string instruments that he trully shines, especially those that he can play with his own hands, without the need to use a pick or a bow; a tentative hint at his connection to music, the vibrations just send shivers down his spine and makes him feel more close to the sound his playing produces. (Guitar and Harp becoming his favourite instruments from the get go).

Getting to Techno was trickier. Them living underwater makes access to their territory rather impossible- unless Branch happens to meet someone willing to cross then bridge between Land and Sea XD

It makes for a rather convenient introduction for minor genres; the land bordering Classical and Rock seems to be as the perfect land for various minor tribes to cohabit in peace.

Are there Techno Opera trolls? Siren like beings, that found their homes on the deck of boats, sailing from and to an island after island? Techno Classical that built their living on the coast line, wanting to be close to both land and sea?

In any case, Branch discovers that even with music it's not so simple as shelving it into labels, and that it is ever growing, ever evolving. He never manages to actually visit Techno Reef, but he doesnt' need to; compared to other trolls, the Techno Trolls are not insular, and quite happily come to the surface or to the coast, both to vibe with the offshoots of their genre, to discover what they came up with, but also to simply make friends and have fun.

It was the first time Branch encountered a large party not unsimilar to that of a Pop Troll one- and yet for all that the party was just as loud and wild as he was used to seeing, the sight of it didnt really fill him with uncontrollable panic. It definitelly helped it was once again more about the music and the beat itself, and about the mood of the partygoers than it was about the singing; it was about experimentation and trying out new things- and yet not every troll was dancing around like maniacs. They had the stage for sure, and large crowd was gathering there- but there were also the fringe areas and corners, where Trolls just sat and chatted and bopped to the beat. Not forced to do anything they didn't want to, simply allowed to have fun in their own way.

He doesnt really interacts with the Techno Trolls that much, beyond when there is a party happening on the surface. Gravitates more towards exploring the Minor Territory, and discovering that it holds more than just Techno Classical/Opera. Not wanting to stray too close to the border with Pop, he nevertheless encounters encounters various offshoots of Pop as well- and the K-Pop gang as well

This definitelly allows him to learnt that even the Trolls Kingdom are not free of corruption and the bounty hunters are not starving for contracts- crime does happen in the troll kingdoms, and when the local police force comes short, the bounty hunters are the next best thing to employ.

Speaking with the K-Pop gang, he learns- with a bit of unease- that there was an old contract unfulfilled, that searched for all the Brozone Brothers, and thanked his lucky stars he can in no way be connected to them. It was considered a cold one, where there was no hope among the communities of it ever being cashed in- but the knowledge someone was looking for them- specifically for the younger of the brothers (Him, Floyd and Clay) made him wonder who could it be.

(Part of him entertained that it could be John Dory)

(Other part dismissed it right away. After all, JD did specifically state 'Goodbye Forever'- why would he make the effort to employ bounty hunters to find three of his brothers, if he was even alive to do so?)

That meetings seems to set of a string of bad luck- at least, that's how he feels. Continuing down to Rock territory- of which he is most wary (after all, he was constantly being confused for one, and expected to cause mayhem and destruction- so what kind of Trolls Rock Trolls were to earn that reputation?

A very specific kind- wild and chaotic.

Compared to other Territories, no-one blinks when he just walks in and continues deeper into the Kingdom; and he can finally see why he was mistaken for a Rock Troll. Muted colours, sharp smiles and even sharper claws, it was like walking into uncanny valley, where nearly every troll wears his face. At that point, unknown to him, his colours are not completely grey and black, so he is sporting some faint hues, and very quickly learns that thanks to the direction he came from, Rock Trolls think he is from an Offshoot genre; either Punk Rock or Pop Rock (though they obviously hope for the former) They reconsider him to Folk Rock when he brings out softer tunes that he plays on a borrowed guitar; and for the first time in a while, Branch is asked to sing.

He panics, obviously- playing musical instrument is one thing, but getting over his trauma from singing is another- and quite swiftly and bluntly refuses, cringing after to wait for the inevitable "You are a Troll, why don't you sing?"

Only... it never comes. There are shrugs, and one "Cool." and then he just gets invited to an Indie Rock show, and that is that.

Completely baffled at this easy acceptance, Branch agrees out of shock, before he can trully think it through- and realizes it's the first time since he left Pop Village (at this point probably nearly two years ago) that he thinks back on its inhabitants and namely Poppy.

He feels rather guilty, for taking this long to really give them a concrete thought. Like yes, he did think of them at the beginning, when he lived with the Country trolls- but that was only in general way, comparing the different livestyles. He never really chose to think about the people he left behind.

Now, no longer blinded with grief, self-loathing and rampart paranoia, he does remember that not all adults in his life went out of their way to activelly fail him. King Peppy, for all that he was unequipped to deal with Branch's issues, tried to check up on him regularly; his Grandmother's friends or those who knew her, made it their goal to be kind, even if Branch tried to avoid them out of reminder what he caused

Hype, Trickie, Boom and Ablaze were old friends- his childhood friends- the ones he made after his brothers left, and the ones he pushed away after he went grey- and yet they still managed to be around, noticing them from a distance, even as he stopped speaking to them.

And then there was, of course, Poppy.

Just starting to mature when he left, it's not quite a crush that he feels for her (not yet anyway), but there is still some sort of appreciation for her- some part of him, that subconsciously aches at the need to be close to her, and feeling just that bit of her warmth and positivity- one that made him wistfully keep all her invitations and listen to the sound of her recorded voice.

For the first time, he wonders how they reacted to his disappearence. Wonders if they miss him- or if they curse him. If they do both- like he felt conflicted towards his brothers, the older he got and the more obvious it became that they are not coming back.

It was that thought- the comparison to his brothers- that pushed him to hesitantly think about returning back to Pop Village; to his bunker, to his old life- to Poppy.

It was a tentative thought really; truthfully, the desire was a half hearted spur of the moment, and not something he would drop everything for. He didn't miss his old life; where he was the village hermit, the outcast, the weird one. Besides, he just arrived in Rock, and he still had a whole adventure ahead of him, trying to find the Funk trolls.

And so, When in Rome, do as the Romans do- and so Branch steeled himself to attend a party, one that he was specifically invited to; after all, he had been at parties before now, within the reach of Techno Reef, it's not like this one is any different

Only it kind of felt like it- yes, the music was harsher, the beat went harder- but the harmonizing of voices reminded him so close of his own tribe that it just left him feeling jittery- and at first, yes, the party made him tense and hardly participate, but as it went on, song after song, he could feel himself slowly relax.

(Besides, there was something about rock music, that send warmth straight to the core of his being; something about it resonated with him more than any other music did, besides Pop- and where before he fought hard to not allow it to do that, perhaps, just this time, he could try the opposite)

(After all, they were underground, where Branch always felt the safest, and the Bergens had no idea other tribes even existed- he could indulge a little)

Of course, fate has a funny way of entertaining itself, and in the second of his indecisiveness, he gets bumped into and trips and falls- or he would, if pair of hands didn't steady him, and familiar voice asked him if he was okay

And Branch suddenly felt altogether three years old, getting fed empty promise and watching his older brother disappear through the entry to his Grandma's pod

And he is now in present, left staring at nearly 15 years older Floyd, his brother clearly living the best life, happily away from Pop Territory (away from Branch)

His name drops from his lips before Branch can stop himself, and that has Floy pause and squint at him- obviously not recognizing him, obviously trying to place him- before something clicks and his eyes widen and he goes pale

Branch most likely punches him- and then finds he cant stop heaving in fury and goes punch him again, not allowing Floyd a word in (honestly, he is not punching very hard, not apart from that first one)

Of course, Floyd is hardly alone, probably in a band, and his band mates are not keen on having their member be attacked by a random troll

Brawl very easily breaks out- honestly nothing new among the Rock Trolls- and ends up with all of them, especially Branch, thrown in a cell for their troubles, much to the protest of Floyd's bandmates, who curses and claims innocence

For the first time in forever, Branch feels hollowed out; yes, he had been hoping for a closure- but honestly, he had expected to find all of his brothers dead; not finding any of them living happily away, their youngest brother not even a blip of concern in their mind.

He certainly never expected it from Floyd, who essentially lived a stone throw away; who clearly was able to cross the distance it took from Bergen town to arrive in Rock troll's territory, just shy away from the Pop one.

------------------------------------------------------------ This is where I will stop the musing for now XD;

Obviously there are more things to add; Barb would make appearance, not yet as a Queen but definitelly in charge of keeping any Rock Trolls in line (she is not called a Princess because the Rock Trolls don't use that title for their heirs) and while Floyd is aware she is the future Queen, that information doesnt get shared)

The discovery of Funk Trolls still awaits as well, as does Branch's return to Lonesome Flats, as he had promised to do

But that's for the next time :)

[divinadeath]

wait till you hear about this next nominee: byun junho, born on the 15th of february, 1997 and bears a striking resemblance to cha eunwoo. they’re a first year bachelor of law student and started a charitable foundation focused on providing educational resources for underprivileged kids — impressed yet? rumor has it they’re hoping to be the ceo of his family's motel chain, but personally, i think they should aim a little higher — something like the king’s club, for one. now, that suits them a little more, don’t you think? guess we’ll just have to see if they’ve got the talent for it in our upcoming recruitment round. 

hello, guys! i'm tina (23, she/her) and i'm really looking forward to writing with you all! my mind is a little… feverish right now since i'm kinda sick, but i'll try to make sense here. if you want to plot something for our muses, hmu or like this, and i'll be in your dms. more about my angsty boy junho can be found under the read more.

UNTIL 2016

coming from a new money family, junho never took anything he had for granted. as a kid, he was always seen as kind and loved by all his family's employees for being so down to earth.

he always had this dream of helping people with his family's money since the whole lavish lifestyle never really suited him (even though his parents protested). you'd often see him giving away his toys and clothes to random kids he met.

even though he was passionate about it, his parents never took it seriously. to them, it was just a silly kid's dream, and they figured he'd eventually forget about it and start hanging out with more influential people.

that actually happened when they enrolled him in a prestigious school, and junho quickly realized he could be much more helpful if he was on the good side of these kids' families.

he started to dress and talk more like them, but deep down, he knew that even with his best efforts, he could never be like them since his family and their scandalous empire were never taken seriously.

sometime around high school, he decided to focus on other things instead, like becoming an exemplary student and giving another shot at trying to help people with a charity he planned himself and that was enough to him to ended up in snu.

being recruited for the club wasn't something he expected; it caught him by surprise. but all that determination and hunger for acceptance came rushing back, and he started giving his best to get in—even though he knew beating hyungseo would be almost impossible.

then the impossible happened—hyungseo died. he was actually happy that the competition was gone, and he could finally enjoy being part of something important.

UNTIL 2024

during his time in uni, he made good use of his connections, using them to distance himself from his family's brand and build a career of his own in law.

by the time he graduated, he had the best opportunities laid out for him and started working at one of the biggest law firms in the country, using the silent power of the club to reach even higher.

he was almost certain he could just take the money from the family, build a respectable legacy, and live among the other wealthy without being looked down.

but then, of course, his dad had to ruin everything and died… leaving junho very mad about it and with a legacy he wasn’t looking for.

now he was trapped again by his family name and the chain he hated so much, this time with no escape route since all the money came from it.

he doesn’t really know how to run a business and is struggling a lot with it, which adds insult to injury. but again, he’s determined to make good use of it and maybe a rebrand in the future so people forget about his father legacy.

PERSONALITY

junho is incredibly driven, always pushing himself to prove he’s more than just his family’s reputation. he genuinely cares about others and wants to make a difference, even though this is kinda forgotten in him. he feels a lot of pressure to fit into the elite world.

he often struggles with self-doubt and frustration, especially when balancing his values with what’s expected of him.

despite the challenges—like managing his family’s business and climbing the social ladder—he stays resilient and adaptable. junho is smart and strategic, using his connections and opportunities to his advantage.

although he’s constantly seeking approval and dealing with insecurities, his charm and natural charisma help him build influential relationships.

ambitious as ever, junho is determined to surpass his family’s success and leave his own mark.

glimpses of his conflicted self are hard for others to see, but they're there. somewhere inside, he’s still that kid who just wanted to be a good guy, but it’s hard now when he’s trying not to be a joke.

CONNECTIONS

i don't have anything in particular and would love to brainstorm something unique for our muses, or maybe fit in some connection you already have in mind!

[danieyells]

I asked bc some people are touchy with baby trap! Hshs either way I was thinking. VERY likely it's ooc but it's a thot

The mc manages to be freed by the curse but for some reason the matches don't work so darkwick is already like 'sure, finish studying here but you have to go on missions' I'm imagining that something like the Jiro dubcon fic happens but with some changes

like rather than just touching over their clothes he gets bold enough to slide inside them, and that the anesthesia is strong enough for the reader to barely remember it as a wet dream if at all. He ends up cumming inside thinking it would be alright bc he can give you some anomalous b plan pill, but during the while it takes the reader to wake up he warms up to the idea lightly, he wouldn't mind having to take care of your prenatal care. Maybe you could teach him how families work and feel

A few weeks later the reader is in a check up because of general sickness and soreness and Yuri notices something weird in their blood work like hCG so he questions them like "are you sexually active and you didn't think it was important to disclose?" "Mh? Nope since I came to the academy I didn't do anything" but Yuri doubts them bc that only means pregnancy!! So he tells them away and bitches to it with Jiro

"i'm the closest thing they have to a doctor, can you believe they lie about things like that?"

"I can take them next time"

"why do you care? " He starts leaving when Yuri figures something "jiro... Were you two alone two months ago???"

Either way next check up the mc is given a bs explanation about a wild mosquito anomaly that causes pregnancy when biting two people back to back and Jiro being bitten too. Nobody could believe it other than the mc hshshha

re: dubcon jiro fic

That's fair! Like I said, I have no squicks or triggers worth noting, so i just 'p' at just about any thought hahaha

DAMN ANON I DIG THAT the reason Jiro didn't go further in the fic was ultimately because that was part of anon's idea haha and i wanted it to have more of a dubcon and dubious feeling where it was kind of ambiguous if he actually did anything or not, but I feel like I definitely failed to give it the proper feeling of blurred reality lol. . .I think i was in too much of a rush to get the ideas in my head out and in the end I didn't entirely make what i wanted lolol

I think the matches not working could plausibly be explained away by the ring. Just a side effect of its defenses--it tried to protect them earlier after all! It wouldn't want the champion's memories altered further!

But yeah I. I like that a lot lol. . .it's a lot softer and less cruel than I usually like my babytrapping, but it kind of fits Jiro I think(or the Jiro in this fic anyway--)

(sort of kind of in and out writing and musing under the cut. It's like 1am as i write this, don't expect much--also doesn't entirely meet the idea but. /shrug) no written smut in this one.)

The curse is something mundane and silly that they already have the cure for. But they need to be put to sleep for it to work--maybe it's a simple curse where their body won't be able to sleep without outside interference, at which point the curse ends after a good night's rest once something puts them to sleep. Something utterly simple. But they're completely unconscious, at most a faint awareness of being touched that may not even be real. So unconscious that they couldn't wake up from the feeling of their cunt being broken into if they thought it was real. If they were even aware of more than pleasurable pressure at most. It's just a dream like many others. If they had a dream at all. By the time they wake up again it's just fuzzy, blurry, bubble-like thoughts, floating up and popping out before they can really be analyzed. They feel an ache in their abdomen, but they're aching all over and haven't eaten in a day due to the treatment. They can stand, they can walk, they can return to the Cathédrale Terminale. And they can sleep properly and don't feel anything but the ache of a particularly difficult mission, meaning the minor curse they experienced was gone. The days go by as usual, training with anomalous tools to be more useful on missions and studying various fields to help each house.

Jiro almost forgot about it when they come in one day feeling nauseous. It'd been weeks. Yuri had scolded him after reading the detailed medical log. But he, too, was too curious about the results to suggest they cancel his little "experiment" before he was caught.

They both agreed that sometimes ethics weren't worth considering when it came to experiments--or one's own strongest desires.

The anomalous emergency contraceptive he had considered administering after his rather untoward act of unprofessionalism had been placed back in its cabinet.

Injected along with medication to discourage side effects of the curse's healing, was an experiment of Yuri's that had been tested on several anomalies, increasing fertility and successfully allowing for some otherwise unnatural breeding patterns.

He'd drugged them and raped them and cleaned them. And after that, he'd all but guaranteed their pregnancy.

He couldn't imagine being like Yuri and being granted the privilege of acting like a spoiled child.

Perhaps the best way for him to experience 'family' would be to have his own.

That was the real reason the inspector had arrived, nauseous, to Mortkranken. But they weren't going to tell them that. Yuri scolded them for unsafe sexual practices, which they insisted with tears in their eyes they hadn't done despite the presence of hCG in their blood and urine. They had no idea how they could have become pregnant--surely there was an explanation? Yuri clicked his tongue in irritation, as though he suspected they were truly lying. Perhaps still somewhat annoyed by Jiro's misdeed, he said that they couldn't have simply been assaulted in the night by some scoundrel.

Jiro resisted the urge to snort.

In the end an explanation had been concluded--one rooted in some myth but hard to prove or disprove.

There supposedly existed a type of demon called a concubus. These demons feed on sexual energies and fluids. While they might typically seduce humans into feeding them, others were more 'shy' and would do so in the night while one slept. However many were infertile and these were able to impregnate humans using borrowed human sperm, as doing so provided them greater sexual pleasure and thus a more satisfying meal.

A female concubus(typically called a succubus) would have sex with a male human, take the semen, and have sex with a male concubus(typically called an incubus) who would absorb the semen from within the succubus, before impregnating another human with it. While the resulting child would still be human, as they were made only using the genetic material of human parents, the humans need not engage in intercourse to reproduce as a result.

Aside from the circumstances through which the conception occurred, it was an otherwise normal pregnancy with little to be studied.

Although such a horrifying conclusion shook them, they vaguely remembered wincing as Ritsu recited Japan's laws relating to abortion to a sobbing student some time before--surely this counted as rape and the pregnancy could be terminated? But with the way the ghouls were treated and restricted, something told them they wouldn't be allowed to leave campus for such a thing without reporting whoever had harmed them as proof.

And they'd been in Mortkraken long enough to know that no medical procedure would be normal here.

"You have some time to think about it." Is what everyone told them. Ritsu in particular gave them the exact amount of weeks.

Two things convinced them to carry the child to term.

The first was the realization that perhaps these demons would return to the scene of their crime--if they could be captured, the knowledge gained could help a great deal of people, especially the ghouls. Especially Luca, searching for his brother, and ghouls like Kaito, Haku, and Rui, who wanted to return to being human.

The second was the way Jiro placed a strong and heavy hand on their tummy, stoic expression somewhat curious. The way he looked at them and offered to help them. He didn't know much about babies or families or family planning, and he was a little scared to do more harm than good with his freakish strength and tendency to break fragile things--but it would be helpful to have a doctor nearby, right? And to not go at this alone?

"Even if it's not anomalous, a baby is sort of like an infectious disease." Was his comment that made them laugh for the first time the whole day.

(Yuri protested that Jiro handle this, as Yuri insisted he was the only real doctor present. Jiro managed to reassure him that surely an ordinary pregnancy would be uninteresting and unremarkable, and that the inspector wouldn't be willing to have their fetus subject to Yuri's experiments. If anything of interest or concern were to happen, Yuri would be the first to know besides Jiro. But surely he had more interesting subjects to examine?)

A matter of weeks later and the real shock came(for the scholarship student, although Jiro had forgotten, himself) when they ran a paternity test--Jiro had been 'struck by the demons' as well, and his sperm had been used to father the child.

". . .Huh." He was far worse of an actor than Yuri. Fortunately he wasn't one for big reactions to begin with. ". . .I guess that explains how I woke up a while back."

"Do you. . .still wanna help with it?" They asked in an uncertain whisper. "I understand if not. If you'd rather I not keep it. . . ."

"I kind of want it more." Jiro shrugged, continuing to mill about their checkup. "Is that weird? It's mine, so I don't think that's weird. Especially since it's with you."

They gripped their patient gown in their fists, feeling their face heat up from embarrassment. It was a bit of a stretch, and perhaps it was the sensitivity from the pregnancy talking, but that felt as close to a confession as they'd ever gotten from Jiro.

Perhaps these demons weren't all bad. Perhaps they were simply trying to help what they saw as a pair of lovers who needed a little push.

Maybe being a parent with Jiro wouldn't be so hard.

[emeraldtied]

↳ @ofteaandmagic asked: “SO I KNOW IT'S still kinda two months away, but what would be your thoughts 'or a couple costume 'or Halloween?” She mused, sitting on the couch with him, a bowl of popcorn between them. Every so often, she would toss a few bites into her mouth; even holding a few pieces gesturing if he wanted her toss a few in his while she was at it. After all the idea had got into her head with mentions of his favourite being Halloween itself. “I had some ideas, but since we're in everythin' together your input is just as important as mine. Few ideas 'or thought though : Westley and Buttercup from 'The Princess Bride', Peggy Carter and Captain America, Barbie and Ken or Mary Poppins and Bert? I love any of 'em honestly.”

THERE MAY HAVE BEEN a few bits of popcorn around them, but Maurice was happy. Both with the snack and their little game, even the question that came that he thought about for about three seconds before grinning. "I sorta figured that went without saying. Never gotten the chance t' dress up as a couple before, I'd like t' see what 's all about."

And he could think of no one better to do so with. She even had good ideas, which was more than he had at the moment, though the gears were most definitely going to be turning after today.

"Not bad, but something tells me you just want t' see me without a shirt on if we go all Marvel on it," he chuckled. He may have been fit, but he didn't think he really compared in that respect. Then again there were those costumes with the fake muscles if they wanted to get a little more cheesy with it. Which he wasn't against. He still fixed her with a look, bordering between humroed and semi-serious as he quirked a brow.

"And which one of us gets t' be Barbie?"

[egittae]

[ Fashion Police ] - What in the world is that person wearing, and are you fit to be judging them for it? Or are you instead the culprit in question? [ Champagne ] - Imported from the western shores of the Adrestrian Empire, the school purchases 70 bottles of this stuff well in advanced for this day alone. The bartenders are under strict orders not to offer any student more than one glass.

One champagne he holds together in his hand, its cracked shards all but sealed by the firm grip of the tormented prince, and the other he offers to his found company ( sought, he must confess, for rather much did he appreciate the company of his uplifting colleague ).

"I see you've done a curious thing with your hair," Rajaion muses aloud —— a much more refined look for the beorc, he ponders. "All the scruff gave you the visage of a member of the Beast Tribe." He smiles. "But I must say, customary or not for the beorc, it suits you."

And he sways his head, and long dark tresses —— left free and untied for the evening —— cascade over his shoulder. He smiles, nodding there.

"There's much autonomy in the control of one's hair," He hums. "I've mulled over cutting mine since ... well, some events," And he shines a hopeful, concealing smile ( for none save those there that day need know anything more of those events ). "But I'm rather concerned to —— early balding, it ..." He chuckles, shaking his head. "If you've seen a towering laguz here —— stoic beyond the stony will of any god or goddess —— then you've seen my bald father. I don't think bald would suit me."

He waves his glass, chuckling a quiet sound. "As the beorc say, I'm making my rounds. Enjoy your evening —— I couldn't go without commending a positive change."

Though still very much troubled by previous events, Lambert had been making efforts to at least regain some composure and not concern others about it- not only because he didn’t wish to distress any of the students and his colleagues…but because he also figured it would do him good to try to get his mind somewhere else. Yes, all of it would come crashing down later. It was a given. But for the time being he could afford to focus elsewhere.

Even more with the company of some fellow friends, such as the moment he spotted Rajaion approaching. Lambert received his friend with a smile, grabbing the offered drink and thanking him with a nod. “Beast Tribe and...beorc...I assume those are terms from your homeland, as they are unfamiliar to me…but I am very interested in knowing what those two mean, if you could explain.” He knew Rajaion hailed from a faraway land, and the idea was honestly exciting. Lambert did wish to know what those other continents beyond Fódlan’s borders had to offer.

He did appreciate the compliment, however. “Ahaha, thank you my friend. It was…done on pure impulse, I must admit. I simply did not wish to attend looking ragged, as this is a fine event. I must say that your hair being loose does suit you quite well, too.” He couldn’t help but think that Rajaion seemed a lot more relaxed now. It was reassuring.

But then, a sequence of…rather incredible sentences followed. At Rajaion’s fears of growing bald…Lambert couldn’t hold back a warm laugh. “Well, I do acknowledge that fear! I myself do not think going bald would suit me either…but you have so much hair on your head that I honestly do not think it will ever happen to you.” Then, he widened his eyes slightly, as if shocked for a moment. “Oh.”

“Dheginsea is your father? That…is a development I honestly did not see coming. You see, I have been sharing my quarters with him for a while now…as parts of the dormitory wing at the surface are getting cleaned up due to a plague of sorts…” What is the best way to say, ‘I have been trying to craft a big bed with your dad all this time?’

[zemkzone]

When Lightning Hits Ice: Ch32 (on AO3)

FULL FIC LINK HERE

The hidden room was not what Barry had expected. It had white walls with dots in patterns that bore only a passing resemblance to braille, a shiny black floor, some kind of podium, and a display area on the wall that looked suspiciously like one he’d seen before. They’d found it halfway down the hall from the Cortex to the elevator, and all he’d needed to do was vibrate his palm over part of the wall to get the door to slide open.

The team had guessed that the Reverse-Flash could travel back in time, but now Barry was starting to suspect the yellow speedster could have come from the future.

“That’s my original design for the suit displays!” Cisco exclaimed, stepping around him. “There’re these energy generators on either side of it that we’d never have needed in the Cortex, but the case looks like it came right out of my blueprints!”

“You wanted to put the Flash and Captain Cold suits in a room where anyone and everyone who comes into STAR Labs could see them?” Hartley asked incredulously.

“They would have looked cool there!” Cisco protested.

“Guys, can we focus on the important thing here?” Barry snapped, stepping between them and pulling back his cowl. He frowned when the door slid closed behind them. “The display case is empty. Which means Not-Wells is running around in his suit. We need a way to find out where he went. Or where he hid Len. And Eddie.”

“I still think we should call him Unwells,” Cisco said, squatting and peering at the podium’s plinth. “At least until we can figure out his real name. And I really want to know how he managed to fit his suit into that ring. I was thinking compressed micro—or nano—tech.”

“Tacky as your naming conventions are,” Hartley huffed, joining him and brushing the smooth white metal top, “maybe we can take his ring apart when we catch him.”

Barry turned from the empty case to tell them to hurry up, but a spark of movement at the far end of the room sent him zipping forward to shield them. He whisked them away from the podium as a large, bald hologram head materialized in front of it.

“Would you like me to pull up the schematics of the latest modifications to the Reverse-Flash ring, Mister Rathaway?” the talking head asked in a polite, feminine voice. As she spoke, a 3D diagram of said ring appeared beside her.

“Whoa, it knows your name?” Cisco exclaimed as Hartley stepped around Barry to examine the diagram more closely.

“Of course, Mister Ramon. My facial and voice recognition software can identify you and Mister Rathaway in any decade,” the head said. “My name is Gideon. How else may I assist you?”

“Do you know where the other secret rooms are in this building?” Barry asked impatiently. But Gideon didn’t respond. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Hey!”

“Do you think it’s a glitch?” Cisco mused. “Since she’s from the future?”

“My programming is flawless,” the AI spoke up.“My creators were very meticulous.”

READ THE REST OF THE CHAPTER HERE

[hyperionswrath-a]

@darckcarnival​ | prompted

𝐒𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐐𝐬 ⤷ 11. what would your muse consider their worst failing?

Ah yes, failing.  That's actually such a complex topic with him for a multitude of reasons, and I love rambling about it - let's just hope I can put this in ways that makes sense, ahah.

Well first and foremost, Seifer Almasy doesn't do failure.  In his book, he is a victim of circumstance (and even the word victim is something he'd never put in his own mouth), and it's always other people fucking things up for him, and him getting blamed for it. His ego can fill an entire room and he is pretty much the embodiment of the "I have never done anything wrong, in my life, ever" meme.

Now that being said, his perception of getting blamed for things that he shouldn't be blamed for is not entirely wrong in my opinion. Yes, he is headstrong, yes, he had huge problems with authority figures of any kind, and yes, he is known for his rash decisions - BUT. It's not like the way he thinks or acts is wrong, per se - especially when he is still enrolled in B Garden. However, he does not blindly follow orders without questioning if they make sense, or if there are better ways and strategies to approach a problem with. And that is something a SeeD (read: soldier, read: child-soldier) should not be doing. It's, in my opinion, also why Squall is being held by such high standards all around, but that is a whole other can of worms.

Seifer always does what he thinks is best, and being a very strategically apt person, there is a lot of sense to be found in how he behaves throughout the game, provided you take circumstance into consideration. Of course, throughout the game and towards the end, things start to take a toll on him and he begins to falter and not be as focused anymore for understandable reasons, but the bottom line is - he refused to fit into a mold and that got him into a lot of trouble, marking him as the "trouble maker" of Balamb Garden and pretty much ruining many chances for him.

This is also his biggest flaw - doing what he thinks is best, and somehow it always ends up making things worse. His ego gets in the way during the final SeeD field test, and again when he goes after Squall, Selphie, and Zell when they are dispatched to Timber to kidnap the Galbadian president. He is so sure of his own skills, of himself, and that he is the only one who knows how to do things right (since he doesn't just blindly follow orders), that it, in fact, blinds him to the dangers he exposes himself to. Storming a live TV station and holding the president at gun(blade) point is not a good idea, but he thought he'd get away with it so long as no one knew who he was exactly, and who sent him (which Zell "ruins" by blurting out information about Balamb Garden).

Seifer of course would never allow himself to seem weak outwardly, therefore admitting to failures is something he doesn't do, or only after a long build-up toward it. But the way I portray him, he is very aware of his flaws and failures regardless. They eat away at him, hurt his ego, and made him even more into what people initially saw him as, almost in a self-fulfilling prophecy kind of way.

As such, it's difficult to pin down one specific failure he considers the worst, as they seem to build up on another. Failing his SeeD tests (multiple times), running from Garden, injecting himself into the SeeD mission he helped get to Balamb Garden in the first place, leaving him with no other choice but to join Edea/Ultimicia in the aftermath if he didn't want to be executed, falling under the Sorceresses' thrall who twisted his dream into a nightmare and getting so tangled up in it there was no way out for him.  If I'd want to be dramatic about it, you could say most of his life was one big failure as nothing really worked out the way he planned it to, but the most important thing to take away from it is ... he still kept going. No matter how bad things looked, he was (and is) too stubborn to just lay down and give up. And in a way, as misguided as he was during it all, it's also admirable.

[ducknotinarow]

2k7 Raph Ariel - #

| send me “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including

"Al'ight Al'ight let's get 'his over with I guess, sooner ya snoop the sooner I get my phone back. Not 'hat I need it back right away jus' don' want ya all over my business."

- what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone      

"Guppie"

" 've called her guppie since she was a just a little 'hing. Don an' I always took the girls to the beach and she jus' loved to splash around. She really takes to it 'ike a fish. An' Guppies are lil fish 'ight? So she's always been Guppi to me. Still call her that too she never seemed to have an issue with it. Course I don' think I would stop if she did?"  

- what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone                              

[image description ] Little baby Ariel on side of the crib that clearly is Summer from the bit of her hockey stuff bear that can be seen. She covered in the blanket Raphael made for her when they learned about the pregnancy. She Got it all bundled around her clearly one half of the photo to focus on Ariel as you can clearly see another little hand in frame and some blonde hair.

"Eh they were real cute when they were jus' babes, before 'hey could crawl an' walk. Should'a known they be nothin' but trouble afta 'hat. I know Ari and Sum are grown now but eh I jus' can' bring myself to change 'his photo. Was actually the first night Case an' I had both the girl afta' gettin' Summer. These two jus' caught on 'ike a house fire when they met. An' well I know how important it is ta have a best friend so knowin' these two were close from the start? 'm glad they always got each other. I know being a mutant aint easy so havin' someone a lil crazy who won't care I hope Ariel knows how rare that is. She ain't my kid but don' mean I don' worry 'bout the guppie. She small and 'his world ain't always kind or nice especially if ya green. So one place of peace goes a long way."

- what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone                              

Brighter by Patent Pending

Let our eyes show the fire in our hearts tonight Yeah, our eyes show the fire in our hearts tonight Let our eyes show the fire in our hearts tonight Cause you can't stop the fire You can't stop the fire

"Ari' really reminds me of Don it's kind of funny to be honest how much she 'ike my brother. Sure she got some of Von in her too but sometimes it's 'ike being around my brother again. I kinda always thought 'bout Don with 'his song so maybe it makes sense that Ari also fits it to me. I jus' know that see get's ;hat same bright eyed stare when she find somethin' she really 'ikes and she gets the same way Don does when he get into 'hat builder mindset to make somethin' I know poor kids been through shit...I know better 'han most how low ya can feel when ya take it out on ya self too. But I don' think even 'hat will put out her flames."

Fun little fact I actually went looking for a song on my Donnie playlist just for this cause it seem right for a song that raph thinks fit don would for her too ;3;

- my muse’s last text to your muse

[text] Guppie i know Summers with you tell her either i'm comin' for her or she best start walkin

---

[text] lay low from the beach humans seem to be cleaning it up today.

--

[text] I had extra yarn an' figured since ya stick by the shore it's real cold so I hand off some staff for ya dad

[text] just wear 'em to keep warm okay? getting colder in winter

[text] I may have added to them, found a mermaid charm thing you might like it

---

[text] how ya feelin' today Guppie?

----

[text] i'm heading to the docks if ya wanna hang out with ya old uncle?

[lawfvlhunter]

It was funny if he really did think she wasn't already eating him alive, taking her pound of flesh piece by tiny piece. He would be empty before he ever felt the pain. Betraying the organization was one thing, betraying her was another. "You're not thinking, Asher," she warned, "we've trained you better than that. Everything that you are was made within OEA principles, and if you think you are really out, that you're free? I'd ask you to consider this: how many people are in the room? Whose gun can you take? How would you clear the room if they came at you? You know." She didn't figure he would take to her commentary on his father any more than she liked his whole show of being no longer part of the organization. "Hunters and killers are different things. A killer is a vampire who slurps from the neck of a mom who just wants to go home to her kids, who was murdered so someone else could eat or some twisted pleasure. A hunter makes the world a little safer for the innocent. It's not a pretty job, but imagine the alternative: a world without us, where evil can reign unchecked. Teenagers slaughtered, torn from their innocence. Look at the survivor from the gala, cursed with an immortality she didn't want. Immortality is still death, it's just not yours. We are merciful. That's what I'm telling you to appreciate about your father. Jordyn got what she deserved, a fitting punishment for a traitor."

She watched him, though her gaze nothing away. He would be wise to doubt the intentions of anything set in front of him, but he also would know he'd have to take it. His act as important as her own, each moving a chess piece across the board. She gave no strategy away, her moves seemingly uncoordinated, so he'd never know what was coming.

"You'll see," she mused, motioning for another round. "This conversation is strictly need-to-know, since after all, you're not part of the OEA anymore." She wasn't delusional to think she could talk him back in, but that didn't mean he wouldn't prove useful. "Everleigh and I have spoken, and she knows how I feel about the stunt. We have an understanding." As much as she loved her sister(in-law), they didn't see eye-to-eye on everything, but she had given Laine some things to consider. "Asking you to return? Promise you a seat?" Her fingers tapped along the cover as she listened to him describe everything as their new drinks were set down before them. "Oh, I know she died. It's why I kept this," she revealed, opening it to one of the pages depicting what Laine believed to be Asher's tricky little friend. "I know who she is too. But what if I told you the experiments didn't fail?" From her bag, she pulled out some pictures and handed them over. "I tested her the other night, and she works beautifully. Which is good news for you because it means should I have intent to kill you, I would have to move very quickly. I want my banshee back, and you're going to convince her husband to let me have her. They'd do anything for you, wouldn't they? To save your life?"

The smugness behind her expression was making Asher shift uncomfortably, although he had to remind himself to maintain a certain level of forced composure for the facade; otherwise, this bitch would eat him alive. He sat himself forwards, his head shaking as he countered “I left, Laine. If you want to kill me for that, go ahead – but i’m not OEA. I’m out.” Oh, those words really weren’t going to sit well with her. His jaw tightened as she proceeded to speak of his father, his features becoming more fraught with each word “he turned his own kids into killers and then tried to kill one of them too" a humourless chuckle carried between them "but that still wasn't enough. Not a punishment fitting of the crime, so he sacrificed her instead." There was a smile on his lips, but his features were devoid of any kind of emotion "and you, you're sitting here and telling me that I should be thanking him for that? -- Fuck you, Delainey.”

Asher watched intently as the drinks were placed between them and despite her display, he still couldn't be certain that his didn't contain a nasty surprise, but that was a risk he had to take. The shift in focus of conversation caused for Asher to shrug, “if I survive the conversation, i’ll be sure to pass on your congratulations.” He returned to silence as Delainey spoke, the cogs in his own mind turning over as he fought to anticipate whatever angle she was coming at him with. He did pause to shot the content of his own drink, his eyes never leaving her as if to say that he wasn't scared of her, before setting the empty glass back onto the counter.

His eyes watched her carefully, although he was discreet to ensure that her guards remained within his attention too – just in case. “You got what you wanted – you have New Orleans, so now what? What do you intend to do with it?” Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than what his father had done; although a part of him feared that perhaps it could. There was one complication that he did find himself intrigued about and he couldn’t help but state “and what about you and Everleigh? I know that she’s back. I can’t imagine that there’s much trust left between you two after the stunt she pulled.” He was grasping at straws again – planting those pesky little seeds of doubt, “she’s already reached out to me, did she tell you that?” His momentary reprieve didn’t last long and as Delainey redirected the subject to the experiments, he could feel tension threatening to surge through his frame. Shifting as she placed the book between them and he could feel his throat becoming tighter as he cleared it. “I wasn’t – on those experiments" his stomach twisted. “All I know is that most of them died" he hesitated before continuing "– and one escaped. Never found the body but the department were satisfied that she had died too.” He felt like he was betraying Briggs by even speaking about this, "they closed it as a failed experiment. Why?"

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

hear me out: Harry x fem!reader x Cedric…

Like Harry let’s it slip he has a little crush on cedric and you mention the possibility of a threesome and they’re totally down (watching Cedric fuck Harry … omfg)

pairing(s): reader x harry potter x cedric diggory

word count: 1.7k

warning(s): 18+, mmf, threesome, anal sex, oral (female receiving)

“So, I have a surprise for you,” you told Harry as you slowly approached your bedroom.

You could feel the nerves fluttering in your chest as you looked up at him. What if he hated the idea? What if he was embarrassed? What if he never forgave you?

But you knew your boyfriend well and you could only hope that he gave you the reaction you anticipated when you formed this little plan. It was no secret that Harry was bisexual, and a few weeks ago he had finally spilled that he had always harbored a small crush on one of your best friends, Cedric Diggory, all throughout school and into adulthood. You couldn’t deny that Cedric was handsome, so you had called in a small favor. That favor was currently waiting for the two of you behind the door.

When Harry gave you a nudge to continue, you took a deep breath and pressed on.

“Remember a few weeks ago when you told me you had a crush on Cedric? And that you’d like to have him in bed?” You asked, having no other way to broach the subject.

“Yeah?” Harry replied, still clearly confused as to why you were both still standing outside of your bedroom door having this conversation.

“Well, and you can totally say no if you want, but I told him and he would also very much like that. He’s in there right now. I can tell him to go home if you don’t want to though,” you half explained, half rambled.

Throughout the entire spiel, Harry grew redder and redder. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or arousal until he looked at you. His green eyes were already dark with lust at the thought.

“You’re serious?” He asked, still a bit baffled that this was actually happening.

“Very. Now would you like to go inside, or…?” You trailed off, purposefully leaving it open ended so Harry had an out if he wanted to.

But no, your brave little Gryffindor immediately opened the door and strode inside. You followed a step behind him, anticipation swirling in your gut at what was about to happen. You stumbled upon the two most important men in your life seemingly having a conversation with just their eyes, assessing each other openly.

It didn’t take long until Cedric stood up from the bed and crashed his lips onto Harry’s, the pair of them moaning at the contact as you watched on. You had never considered yourself a voyeur, but watching the pair of them locked together like that, their hands roaming the others body, was making you incredibly wet.

When they finally broke apart, Cedric looked at Harry for a long moment before asking, “Has anyone ever fucked you, Harry?”

Despite the blush forming on his cheeks, Harry shot you a quick glance before answering. “Not by another man.”

Upon receiving that answer, Cedric shot you a satisfactory look that went directly towards your clit. “I see,” he said slowly, holding your gaze before turning back to Harry. “Would you like me to?” He asked, his hands never once leaving Harry’s fit build.

“Y-yes,” Harry stuttered out, and you could see him growing harder in his trousers by the second.

“Strip and get on the bed for me, alright?”

When Harry gave a shaky nod and got to work, Cedric made his way over to you.

“He’s delightfully responsive. You didn’t tell me that,” Cedric said, just low enough that Harry would have to strain to hear from where he was across the room.

“Figured I’d give you a nice surprise to make this worth your while,” you grinned at him, the both of you casting predatory glances at Harry as he continued to strip.

“This is more than worth it, trust me,” Cedric mused, his gaze slowly turning back to you. “And where would you like to be in all of this?”

“I’ve been content to watch, but I wouldn’t oppose whatever you have in mind,” you replied coyly, already knowing your best friend had a plan brewing.

“Well then, you should strip too,” he said with a wink before walking back over to Harry who was lying on his stomach on the bed.

You stripped dutifully, your core aching as you watched Cedric tease your boyfriend as he got him into the position he wanted him - on his knees with his arse perched deliciously in the air, completely exposed to both of your gazes.

“Fuck, he’s beautiful,” Cedric said to you, but his eyes didn’t leave Harry’s body once.

You watched as Harry started to squirm, unsure what to do when so openly exposed like this. You rarely left your boyfriend guessing in the bedroom, so you jumped into his rescue.

“Don’t ignore him, Ced,” you chided playfully, but by the way Cedric immediately put his hands on Harry’s waist, you knew he knew you were serious.

Once you were just as bare as your boyfriend, you climbed on the bed in front of him. You spread your legs so they were bracketing his body, exposing your dripping cunt to both men in the process. They let out twin groans as they watched you, Harry’s cock twitching between his legs.

Without a second thought, you ran your fingers through Harry’s hair until you had a handful and tugged his face towards your core, an obvious demand. He shot you a grin before diving towards you, his tongue readily running up your slit and teasing your clit.

“Go slow. I don’t want to cum until you do,” you told him, your hand leisurely running through his hair as he slowed his pace.

Once Cedric knew the both of you were situated, he made quick work of opening Harry up for him with his fingers. Every moan that spilled out of Harry vibrated through your core, making you dripping wet by the time Cedric took his cock out. Harry’s shiver of anticipation when he felt Cedric at his entrance was unmistakable, and you knew none of you would last long once Cedric started to fuck him.

“Do you want him to fuck you or are you happy with his mouth?” Cedric asked, his voice an octave lower since the last time he spoke, every move he made now driven by lust.

“He’s doing wonders with his mouth,” you said, stroking Harry’s again. “Besides, I think the both of us at once would be too much for him this time.”

Harry was so wrapped up in pleasuring you and shamelessly rocking his arse back against Cedric that he missed your subtle hint that this would not be the only time Cedric would make an appearance in your bedroom. But your best friend looked at you with a twinkle in his eye as he started pushing into Harry that he liked your idea just fine.

You watched as Cedric took Harry. Your boyfriend had to pull away from you for a moment as he adjusted, moans and whimpers spilling out of his mouth as Cedric worked every inch of himself inside of Harry’s tight hole. When you looked down at him, he looked the most fucked out he had ever been and then some, his whole body high strung as Cedric started rolling his hips in slow increments.

“Better not leave the lady waiting,” Cedric said as he bent down to talk lowly in Harry’s ear, shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

Once Harry got his mouth back on you, his movements were not what you had expected. In the heat of the moment you had anticipated him to be sloppy, slow, subdued. You had not anticipated him to be purposefully breaking you apart piece by piece as you watched him get beautifully fucked by your best friend.

The pair of them moved in perfect harmony as you all climbed closer and closer to the edge, a cacophony of moans engulfing the room.

“Fuck, I can feel how close you are, Harry,” Cedric moaned, his pace only growing harder and harder as time went on. “Cum for us.”

You watched as your boyfriend shook and collapsed after one, two, three more steady thrusts from Cedric before meeting his release, rope after rope of cum falling onto the bed as Cedric fucked him through it. Despite Harry’s now unsteady tongue, you fell over the edge just watching him, your own series of moans falling from your lips as you stared transfixed at the sight before you. Cedric came with a groan, buried deep inside of Harry as he released. Harry shuddered at the feeling, blissed out beyond belief between your two bodies.

You settled yourself on the bed as you watched them recover. Cedric was first, and he easily moved Harry up the bed and into your arms, Harry’s head laid on your chest. Hesitantly, Cedric laid down on the other side of Harry and curled his body around your boyfriends, the three of you content to lay in silence for the time being.

“How was that?” You finally asked, breaking the silence with your direct question to Harry. You had been stroking his hair and face, soothing him and waiting for his breathing to even out in the aftermath of his climax.

Harry pulled back slightly to look at you and you were almost ready to go again just at the sight of him. His skin was still flushed and everything about him screamed ‘fucked out’.

“It was incredible,” he said softly, almost hesitantly.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” You asked with a small smile, already knowing exactly what he wanted.

“Well, I just,” he paused and slowly turned his head to look at Cedric. “Are you staying tonight?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Please,” Harry answered, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink at how desperate he was being.

But both you and Cedric gave him a fond smile and snuggled closer towards him. Harry responded with his own smile, and finally content in between your bodies, his breathing started to deepen as he drifted off to sleep. Over his head, you and Cedric shared a meaningful glace, one full of promise and anticipation for future nights spent just like this.

[soulmate-game]

Not related to the other two Bio!mom Harley AUs that I did. Just... similar. I wrote this instead of sleeping, as per the usual.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I need your help.”

No accent, no threats of violence, no beating around the bush (figurative or otherwise). No fighting or unconscious bodies.

Just Harley Quinn with her hair down, no makeup, and completely serious, in the center of the Bat Cave. Even though her usual exaggerated Brooklynn accent (circa 1950s) had become a pretty inseparable part of her personality over the years, every now and then she forcibly stuffed it down and used her mostly unaccented voice. The one reminiscent of days with less colors on her face, a high bun, and a pristine white lab coat.

Every single one of the Bats and Birds present, fresh from an interrupted patrol thanks to her, could count the number of times they had seen Harley like this on one hand. Bruce would have the most recollections, but everyone else would have plenty of fingers left on said hand. So they all knew, especially when Bruce willingly pulled down his cowl so he could look Harley in the eye, that this was the start of something they were not likely to forget. And maybe their chances of survival were slim too.

“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was still gruff, seeing as he was still mostly Batman at the moment, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe you should tell us what you need help with first. And sit down. You look exhausted.”

Sure enough, there were dark circles under Harley’s eyes. She let Bruce-man lead her over to one of their debriefing tables and sit her down. She let out a huge sigh, her fingers tangling in her loose blond locks.

“I have a confession, and it isn’t gonna leave this cave, capiche?” The slight return of her accent relieved a little of the tension, but not much. Taking this as their cue, the rest of the bats spread out into their usual seats at the table. Bruce stayed near Harley, keeping a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Harley didn’t continue talking until he gave her a solemn nod in agreement. She gulped— an action that immediately returned the tension.

“... fifteen years ago, back when I was still with Joker, I disappeared off the Gotham scene for a few months. I’m sure a few of you remember,” she looked up, and a couple of the older vigilantes nodded. Really, Jason has still been Robin back then. But the memory stuck out in his head now that he was thinking about it.

“Yeah, you were breaking away from him a little bit, which was weird at the time,” Red Hood mused aloud, arms crossed. “I think you helped us out a couple times and did some of your first team ups with Ivy before you vanished. Then a few months go by and you were back in action with Joker, so we mostly ignored it as you just being you.”

Harley nodded. “Ah, my Ivy’s a lifesaver, even back then. She helped cover up the timeline by keeping me in action for longer than I should’a been without putting me at too much risk.”

“Timeline…” Red Robin spoke up, eyes huge even behind his mask. “You don’t mean—“

“Harley,” Bruce breathed, having also caught on. “You were pregnant?”

The air went still. Harley sniffed, eyes watering even as she smiled.

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t have been possible, ya know? Me ‘n Joker being dumped in that damn acid should have made us both more sterile than an operatin’ room. But I knew I couldn’t raise a kid, so after she was born—“

“You kept her?” Damian interrupted, earning a gentle cuff over the head from Dick. Harley just snorted.

“Yeah. Not gonna lie, I thought about abortion. But the baby didn’t do nothin’ wrong, and I was still in love with Joker back then so I was ecstatic that I was able to make something new with part ‘a him in it. Still, I knew a baby didn’t deserve to be raised in Gotham. Especially not my baby, not with my enemies and history. Not with who her father was. I knew he’d never want her, never let me keep her. So I spent the last five months of my pregnancy lookin’ around for the best possible family to take her in. And I found them in Paris, France. A sweet couple, both of them bakers. Sabine, she’s both adorably sweet and super kickass. Comes from a Chinese family that is crazy about teachin’ their women martial arts. But nothing shady about it, I triple checked. Just bonding through kicking people in the face. Which is perfect, I wanted my baby to know how to defend herself. I knew she’d need those skills eventually. And Tom, that’s Sabine’s wife, he’s a gentle giant. Same size as Bane, but as harmless as a puppy and makes the best croissants ever. Seriously, the best.”

“Harley,” Bruce gently prodded, but there was a tiny grin on his face. Seeing her behaving so… so normally, so proud and reminiscent, was a rare treat. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of how far the woman had come. How she had freed herself and become a better person, mostly on her own.

“Right, right. The point,” Harley took a breath, rubbing her forehead. “I came clean to Tom and Sabine, but apparently they knew who I was the whole time. They just didn’t care— did I mention they are perfect? Anyway, once I explained everything, they agreed immediately to adopting my baby. They’d been wanting kids, but it would’a been too risky for Sabine’s health. That’s how I found them anyway, they were in the market to adopt. We named her Marinette. She took Tom and Sabine’s last names, hyphenated. We decided Quinn would be her middle name. And after that, I came back to Gotham and told myself that she was in good hands and I needed to forget about her. Cuz I was no good for her. I knew that. I went back to my old tricks. And then…” Harley chuckled, but it was self-depreciating.

“Then a few years passed, and I started breaking away from Joker for real. Then we broke up, I blew up Ace Chemicals while you guys were outta town doing Justice League and Young Justice shit. I started dating Ivy. And—“ she smiled softly at the table, clearly seeing something the rest of them couldn’t. “Then Ivy convinced me to go see her. Visit my baby, see how she’s been. And I did. Marinette was seven years old, but damn it to hell she was gorgeous. And say whatever you want about me and Joker— most of it will even be true— but neither of us are stupid. And she inherited all of our intelligence. All of it. She got my blue eyes. But she got his hair, which meant Sabine teased me relentlessly about ‘are you sure she isn’t that Wayne’s kid?’ And don’t make that face Bruce, you’d be lucky to have a kid half as beautiful as my Mari-pie. No offense, Damian. Anyway. Anyway, this is the important part. Or part of it.

“She sat there and listened to everything I had to say. Everything. A little seven year old, who could barely understand English at the time, and she listened without interrupting once. She never threw a fit, she wasn’t angry or confused. I told her about the things I’d done in the past— well, G rated versions— and she didn’t care. She called me Momma Harley right away, said she wanted to meet Aunt Ivy sometime soon, and started telling me everything about her that I’d missed. From that day on, she became my sunshine. The light of my life, and I still call her at least once a week every week. When I disappear for a few days out of the city? I’m visiting her—“

“You’re banned from international travel, Harley,” Dick scolded, but he sounded way too amused for it to work. He knew she had her ways, anyway. Nobody could actually stop Harley damn Quinn from doing whatever she wanted.

“—Ugh, she tells me the same thing every time! Disappointed glare and everything. I don’t know how I gave birth to such a goodie goodie, but somehow I did. Not important though! The important thing is, I’m always the first to hear when something new happens in her life. And we had decided that she wouldn’t visit me in Gotham until she was at least eighteen, but apparently she disobeyed me— which I should have expected honestly— and entered you guys’ WE international scholastic competition.”

“Oh no,” Bruce pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The contest winner?” He finally pulled out a chair and sat down. “The winner gets an all-expense paid trip to Gotham for them and their whole class.”

“Exactly!” Harley threw up her hands. “Mari told me last week, and I’ve been trying to talk her out of coming ever since. But she’s inherited both of our stubbornness too, and she isn’t budgin’ a bit. ‘Momma Harley, I wanna see you and Auntie Ivy though!’ And ‘Momma, Gotham’s nothing I can’t handle,’ or my favorite, ‘Maybe you’ll finally get to see me dropkick someone three times my size then, and I’ll prove it.’”

“So that’s what you meant by you need our help,” Tim said as he leaned forward over the table. “Joker just broke out of Arkham yesterday. You want us to protect her.”

“I’d prefer if one of you was with her outside of the mask too, as often as possible,” Harley confirmed. “I can’t stop her from coming here anymore, but I also don’t trust Joker for a second. As soon as he sees her, I’m afraid he’ll make the connection.”

“She looks like him?” Damian asked, scrunching up his nose at the ugly mental image of Joker as a teenage girl. Harley shook her head, solemn.

“She looks like a dark-haired mini-me,” she corrected. “She even keeps her hair in pigtails as her way of showing support for me. And I know Marinette can kick ass, Sabine’s trained her well. But Marinette inherited more than I’d like from me,” Harley ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t notice it until she was thirteen. She got a crush on a classmate, and it was almost like watching videos of me back during the early days of— well, of Harley Quinn. Just without the crime and insanity. She didn’t even realize that she was almost stalking the poor kid until I pointed it out, and luckily I was able to put my doctorate to good use and we nipped that right in the bud ASAP. She never meant it that way, anyway. As soon as I explained things to her, she was horrified and immediately asked me to help her learn how to have a healthy relationship. That was a fun discussion,” Harley grimaced. “But she still gets attached to people really, really easily. Once she grew out of her crush on that boy, she adopted him as her unofficial brother. She already calls Selina “Auntie,” even though I’ve barely mentioned her to Marinette. She gets attached fast, and deeply. And I’m afraid that even after all the warning I’ve done, all the stories I’ve told her—“

“You’re afraid she’ll get attached to Joker just like you did,” Bruce finished for her, closing his eyes. “Because she knows he’s her father.”

“Yes,” Tears were slowly dripping down her face already, her hands curled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “You know how he is. If he finds out she’s his biological daughter, he’ll immediately try to take advantage of that. And he’s far too good with his words for people like me and Mari. I’m worried outta my mind. Please. Help keep my baby safe from him.”

“We will,” Jason no longer had his helmet on, or the domino mask that he usually wore underneath it. All of them knew masks were merely formality with Harley nowadays. And he needed to look her directly in the eye so she could see how serious he was. “I can sign up as a bodyguard for the class. It won’t be weird, seeing as they’re tourists and this is Gotham. They also have several rich kids in their group if I remember right.”

Bruce nodded, agreeing with Jason. “That’s a good idea. I can lead the class on their tours of WE personally. That’ll serve the purpose of keeping an eye on her and shutting up the investors that keep begging me to make more public appearances for the sake of the company. Marinette’s name is already released to the news as the winner of the contest, so we can’t keep her out of the spotlight long. Tim, you’ll have to keep an eye on any and all pictures of the class. Try to erase or doctor the images with her in it well enough that connections between her and Harley can’t be easily made. Dick, you and Damian will be in charge of keeping an eye out for any activity from Joker. The slightest hint, and you notify all of us. We’ll decide on a case-by-case basis who is necessary to stick with the class and who goes after the clown.”

“She’s gonna sneak out of her hotel to stay with me and Ivy,” Harley admitted, bringing the (now slightly judgemental) attention back to her. She raised her hands up in surrender. “She didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t approve or suggest it! I just know my baby too well to not realize that that’s her plan. Could ya provide an escort?”

Bruce sighed. “This is gonna be an eventful month.”

[littlemisslipbalm]

“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?

or

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