#like she would’ve texted her that she’s going to be playing guitar at x cafe and invites her

[avatar-anna]

Assistant! Reader x Harry Styles Masterlist

April 2016

“Thank you for meeting me.”

Y/n settled into the seat across from Harry. Her hands curled tightly around her mug, apprehension seeping into her bones. “Of course.”

She had been surprised when Harry called her, asking to meet at the Beachwood Cafe. She hadn’t heard from him in months, not one call or text, not even an email. Not that Y/n really expected much when One Direction finally went on hiatus, but after zero communication, she wasn’t quite sure why he’d called her all these months later. 

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages,” Harry asked.

Y/n’s eyebrows raised a bit, but she answered him anyway after taking a sip of her coffee. “Fine, I guess. You?”

“Good!” Harry said excitedly. “Taking a break the last few months has been…I don’t know. Peaceful, but odd, you know? I’ve never had so much time to myself before.”

“Must be nice,” Y/n said, trying to hide the irritation in her voice.

“Yeah, but I realized that I kind of miss it,” he said. “I knew once we decided on the hiatus that I wanted to do my own thing, but I thought I would take a longer break, but I feel like I’m…itching to get back to work.”

That definitely seemed like Harry. Y/n had worked for him for years, and even when there were breaks between tours, he was hard at work—writing, going to Fashion Week, collaborating with other artists, vocal training, even trying new recipes in his state-of-the-art kitchen, which led to a phone call at one in the morning where Harry asked Y/n to come over and see if his macrons tasted "fluffy enough." It seemed only right that he rested for mere months before starting a new project. She could practically picture him at either of his homes in LA or London, scribbling in his leatherbound journal or playing new melodies on his guitar or piano (and the occasional late-night pastry party). As long as she’d known him, Harry had been a hard worker through and through. A little on the wild side when he had some tequila in him, but when it came down to his career, he was focused, determined. 

“Good for you,” Y/n said, meaning it. She always thought he was capable of more. “So what comes next for you? Have you recorded songs already?”

“Not quite. I’m planning a trip to Jamaica to write and record there. It’s remote, serene, a good place to get away. So we’ll have to start booking flights and places to stay and—”

“I’m sorry, ‘We?’” Y/n asked, her brow furrowing with confusion. 

Harry matched her look of confusion with one of his own. “Yeah, I mean—I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

The sentiment warmed Y/n’s heart for a moment, but his immediate assumption that she would drop everything just because he asked her to brought the irritation swarming back. “Mr. Sty—Harry, you know I don’t work for you anymore, right?”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about the hiatus? I just thought we could all use some time off, but…I guess I just thought—”

Harry didn’t finish his thought, but his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Y/n would’ve found it cute if he hadn’t been so dense. Resentment still circled around her like a fog, and she wouldn’t let it go so easily, she couldn’t. 

“I was employed by your management, Harry. To be an assistant to a member of One Direction,” Y/n explained. “I was let go. I had to quickly find another job doing something else.”

“Oh.”

Y/n supposed she should’ve anticipated being fired, but she didn’t. There was a lot of information that she was privy to that most people weren’t, secrets that were tightly bound by an NDA when she was first hired, but talks of the hiatus was very hushed. She knew to suspect that somewhere down the line the boys would finally take a break, but it came a lot sooner than she was prepared for, and she was left jobless before she had the chance to line something else up. Y/n thought that Harry would give her the courtesy of a warning, but he said nothing about it to her, didn’t offer much except a side hug after One Direction’s last performance.

So yeah, she was a little bitter.

“I’m—I’m really sorry, Y/n. I know it doesn’t make up for…all of this and everything you went through, but I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you.” 

Y/n believed him, believed that he was sorry for everything that went down, but it still hurt to know she wasn’t someone he was close enough to talk to about all of this at the time. She was Harry’s assistant, she knew that, but they’d been through a lot together. But he was ever the professional it seemed, and it was her job to remember that, not his.

When she realized her coffee was finished, Y/n stood up. “Well, it was good seeing you, Harry. Good luck on your next project. I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“Wait, but—you’re not—you‘re leaving?”

“I have to run a couple errands before work," Y/n explained. She rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “But really, no hard feelings. I wish you all the best.”

She left Harry at the table, heading for the front of the cafe and toward the busy street beyond. Her heart felt heavy as she walked away, but she tried to shake the feeling that she was walking away from more than just her boss. Former boss. Like her mother always reminded her, she couldn’t be a personal assistant forever.

“Wait!”

Y/n turned on instinct, eyes widening as Harry jogged after her, his little bun bouncing with each step. He skidded to a stop in front of her, green eyes wide and searching. For what, she wasn’t sure, but the heat of his gaze was enough to make butterflies stir in her stomach.

Putting on her best front, she raised her eyebrows, waiting for Harry to say whatever he needed to.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier. I need you, Y/n,” he said. “I—You’re the only one who really knows me, who I know will have my back no matter what. I need a familiar face in my corner.”

I need you, Y/n. Those words were her kryptonite. Year after year, Y/n heard Harry's voice over the phone as he roused her from sleep, read the text messages while she was getting her nails done or watched TV in her hotel room, or on the rare occasion she went on a date. But she had to hold strong. Y/n had been devastated by her sudden layoff, but now she had a life, and she didn't want to get sucked back into Harry's very alluring web of charming smiles, cheesy jokes, and endless adventure. That was his life, not hers.

“I have a job, Harry. I can’t just drop everything and quit because you suddenly want me to—”

“What are they paying you?”

Y/n’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Harry pushed on. “What are they paying you? I’ll double it.”

Scoffing in disbelief, she said, “It’s not about the money—”

“Triple,” he countered. Harry took her hand in his and squeezed it. He looks desperate, Y/n thought.

“I can’t just quit my job because you remembered I existed,” Y/n said quietly, pulling her hand out of his. She clung to her resolve, hoping Harry would make this easy and just let it go, let her go. “I—I deserve more.”

More of what, she wasn’t sure, but Y/n knew it was true. Harry only reached out because he needed something from her, and that hurt more than she cared to admit. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Harry said, looking down at his shoes. A pair of scuffed Chelsea boots he wore practically everywhere. Y/n had bought him a pair of Vans one year, an attempt to switch up his wardrobe, but he still chose the boots nine times out of ten. “Just—At least think about coming to Jamaica. Please?”

“Harry—”

“Not as my assistant. As a guest. A friend,” Harry amended. “We’re planning on staying at a huge villa, and I want to make up for being an idiot. Just—Just think about it. Please.”

Despite everything, Y/n found herself wanting to say yes. It was that magnetic pull she felt toward Harry that had kept her working for him for so long. He was an important person in her life, and up until he’d all but ghosted her after the hiatus, she thought she was important to him too. In spite of his misgivings, Y/n still wanted to believe that she was. 

It was so stupid, but it felt good to be wanted by him. She was an idiot, she knew that. But her friendship with Harry was legitimate, he'd just acted like a complete idiot. She'd known him long enough to know he was very capable of acting like an idiot. So even though she shouldn’t, even though she had carefully lined up her reasons not to in a little line, she started to cave. 

But she couldn’t make the decision now. Not when Harry was looking at her with pleading green eyes and his sad little puppy dog face, his cologne dizzyingly lovely. No, she owed it to herself to really think about what she wanted. If getting sucked back into that whirlwind was worth it. Worth getting her heart properly broken when she knew he would never feel the same about her.

"I'll show up at work, you know," Harry said. "I'm not above it. You might think I am, but I'm not."

Y/n had no doubt in her mind that he would. Along with being an idiot, Harry was very stubborn, and very persistent. She had years with him to know that. Did she really need Harry Styles showing up at her place of work?

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” she finally said, trying to pretend like her heart was screaming to just agree. But her heart was an impulsive little shit that was bound to get her in trouble.

Harry’s face broke out into a wide grin, one that displayed those famous dimples and lit up his entire face. It was hard to feel like he didn't think she was the only person on earth to exist when he looked like that, like he was convinced she’d already said yes. “I’ll take it.”

[allsortsofthingsactualtrash]

Framed Ch.1

Summary:  I’m no one and this is my story. I will tell you everything. Honestly, I don’t have time anymore and I can’t die not knowing that nobody will know. I live with this unceasing fear. When I turn my back, I get this growing feeling that they are there watching.

Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin

Genre: Smut, angst, mind fuck, thriller, first person

Rating: Explicit

Word: 3,225

Warning: This fan fiction contains blood (a lot of it), sex (Not always legal), sweat (’Cause they are running) and a lot of tears (angst). Please do not read if that bothers you or makes you feel uncomfortable. 

I’m no one and this is my story. I will tell you everything. Honestly, I don’t have time anymore and I can’t die not knowing that nobody will know. I live with this unceasing fear. When I turn my back, I get this growing feeling that they are there.

I run, I’m out of breath. I have this bitter taste in my throat. But they are there, ready to sanction. Ready to see me make the mistake that would inevitably lead to my death. Can they feel remorse? Remorse, for all the lives that went to shit because of them?

Did you ask yourself these questions before you enlisted me?

Did you ask yourself if I had a chance?

Or you just did like usual, you threw me and played with me? I don’t think it was your fault. I think you had your fun and you just got bored. But please, tell me Jimin, if it’s really the end. Will you cry for me? Will you regret those moments that were ours? Jimin, please, for this time, only for me, think of me as someone great.

  That morning I remember getting up with this desire to stay in bed. I was lying down, my cell phone was ringing, and I knew I had to go if I didn’t want to be late. But I wanted to stay. Sleep and spend my day laying around. I got up nevertheless. I had missed a lot class recently and my parents were starting to ask questions. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. I watched my reflection in the mirror. I was tired, I was always tired. I dressed myself and went downstairs. Nobody, as per usual. A note had been left on the refrigerator.

 We’re already at the restaurant. Please, don’t be late Yoongi-ah.

                                                                                                                  -mom

 I took my bag and managed my tired self towards my bike. The morning freshness awakened me slowly. Houses and apartments slowly blurred themselves to become office towers. I stopped near the school building and got off my bike. At this point, I was already used to making the rest on foot. It gave Hoseok some time to catch up to me so we could do the rest of the walk together.

Frankly, he was an ally during my last years in high school. Once we both enter university I’m certain that our friendship wasn’t going to last long, but for the time being, it had been pleasant. I saw him waving his arms frantically toward me as I approach the corner of the street.

 "Yoongi- Hyung! "

 I greeted him back with a less significant wave of my own. He seemed out of breath. Just like me, he had woken up late.

  "If only you knew the night I had. The girl... " by this point his eyes weren’t focused anymore. He was most certainly still playing the other evening in his head.

 “You know what I mean.”

 He smiled with all his teeth and I simply shrugged. He always liked to boast himself with his one night stand.

 "Don’t you want to know?”

 I shrugged yet again. He seemed disappointed. When I think about it today, I would’ve liked to hear his story or at least interest myself more in the bullshit he was able to tell me during this short route that separated us of the school ward. But, I never did.

 "I met a girl in the club last night. A friend of a friend, you know? "

 I nodded.

 "Well, I think you'd like her. She plays guitar. Isn't it cool? "

"I've been to those club before. Don’t you remember how it ended?”

 He smiled, embarrassed. This famous time, he introduced me to a girl with whom he left later that evening.

 “Look, you’ve got to be quicker. I can’t control myself, you know me.”

 The outline of the school building was visible in the distance. The last students who were in the ward were running, trying not to be late.

 ”That’s my stop. Hyung, think about it.”

”I will.”

 I watched him go quickly to his class. I locked my bike, grabbed my bag and walked towards my class.

The hours were long, much more than usual knowing that in a few months, I will be completely done with high school. The class ended in the same fashion that it had begun. The teacher distributed the cell phones.

While retrieving my phone I noticed, with surprise, a missed call and a text message from Hoseok.

 Hobi:

Come to the entrance of the building quick. Hurry, hyung.                                                                

                                                                                                                 15:33 AM                                    

 I left my things in the classroom. What was so important that he had taken the trouble to call me during the hour? How had he even been allowed to use his phone? Soon after, I went to the entrance and waited. The minutes passed. After trying repeatedly to join him, without answer, I returned to my desk. The classroom already voided of any students. It isn't surprising considering the workload they gave to seniors this year. Any sane students normally would hurry back to work after class.

I took my bag and found a brown kraft envelope laying beneath it. I opened it, without suspecting what it could contain. The photos I discovered inside  turn my stomach upside down. Releasing it suddenly, the content spread to the ground.

 "What the,"

 I picked it up and stifled a cry.

 The first photo was one of a girl sequestered. On the second one, a finger was cut. And finally, the last that shocked me the most, was of a man kneeling next to this woman now unconscious.

 This individual, who was flashing a glorious smile, was me. My face was in this picture and I had no idea how I could have been there at that moment. Everything was there. My shoes stained with paint close to the sole, my pants torn at the knees and my hoodie. I took the picture to analyze it more closely. Something was wrong. Of course, my presence of the latter was shocking, but it was this paint spot on the sole of my shoe that nag me. I helped paint my parent’s restaurant this weekend. We were Monday. The photo must have been taken Sunday night. How could this person have had access to these shoes? And besides, this girl was still alive. I had to notify the authorities as quickly as possible. I crouched down on the floor to put the rest of the evidence in the envelope.

Documents that I had not noticed before were pinned to one of the photographs. It was an impression of a text conversation.

Sept. 25

Did you send the pictures?                                                                       3: 00 am

Not yet                                                                                                       3: 06 am

Do it quick.                                                                                                3: 06 am

Yes                                                                                                             3:11 am

She will not last long. If we do it, it’s now.                                                 3: 11 am

I know                                                                                                        3: 19 am

 My doubts were confirmed. This event took place on Monday, in the wee hours. I had to hurry and hand the documents over to the police.

I stopped abruptly. The first number of the conversation had been erased, but the other one, who was responsible for handing the photos, was still there. I felt nauseous. It was my number. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked for the conversations that would have happened on the previous night. It was there, everyone could see it. How could I have not noticed this? It was there from the beginning. These individuals had access to my personal belongings and my phone. What else did they have?

I'm ashamed to admit it now, but at that moment I panicked. I know, I should have been calmer, but I did not. You will understand later on what prompted me to react in this way. And if, on the contrary, you’re still certain that I’m only an idiot, well be it.

In short, I picked up the entire contents of the envelope and hid it in the bottom of my bag. I took out my disinfectant bottle and washed the floor. I know, completely stupid, but I was so scared, you cannot even imagine. I then cleaned my hands, checked to make sure that I had left nothing behind and rushed to the exit.

 "There you are, what are you still doing here? " Hoseok said while dragging me back in the building by the forearms.

 I didn’t know if he could feel the dampness of my fear on his palms. His close proximity did not help in any way reducing the sweat dripping from my body.

I avoided his gaze.

 "I had some s-stuff to check with the teacher, but I'm going now."

"Stay! I have to clean the class and afterwards we can go out! "

"Not tonight, I don’t feel good. I'll just go home and... I should probably help tonight at the cafe as well. "

 I confess, I'm certainly not a born actor. I'm frank with people. Therefore, I'm not used to lie. I tried to faint a smile, and hoped that my excuse would dissuade him from insisting.

 "Don’t worry. We'll do it another day."

 He released me and I rushed down the corridor.

 "Hyung, you're looking pale as fuck you should rest." I heard him scream as I walked away. I nod my head even though that I knew he couldn't see me. Then, I went quickly to the exit to catch my bike.

What do you think you’re going to do when you are 19 years old and your bag is filled with evidences of a crime you did not commit? You panic, you freak out, you question.

No, but seriously. Why the fuck this happened to me? And then you think.

What do I do now?

On that day, I remember that I stopped in front of the police station. I recalled looking at the entrance for a long time, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. I remember the sweat that soaked my uniform. I also remember that heavy feeling deep inside me. What would happen if I couldn’t prove that it wasn’t me in this photograph? I scratched the bottom of my head, searching desperately for a solution. Nothing came to me and I panicked more and more. I finally decided not to say anything. An error that still haunts me. But you see, I cannot live by telling myself what if. What if I had told everything? What if they had believed me? What if this whole story would never have happened? Well, it did happen and nothing can change this fact.

I gathered the reason I had left and returned home. I entered the household without making any noise only to find that there was no one. Surely all busy at the restaurant, perfect. I climbed the stairs to my room, put my bag somewhere and opened the light to find another envelope.

 "For fuck’s sake!"

 Placed in the center of my bed, another seal document was there to taunt me. I didn’t want to have to do this anymore. I spread the contents over my bed. A USB stick, a small box and a fucking tissue stained with blood. I was disgusted. Was it the blood of this girl? Or had he even had access to my DNA? I put the Kleenex back inside the envelope and grabbed the black box. In appearance, it looked like any jewellery boxes. You know the one box that is seen in all the jewellery shops, velvety black and with a sober appearance. I opened it to discover with disgust a finger carefully cut off. The nail painted with a layer of black nail polish, the blood had not even completely dried. It was freshly done. I closed the box and placed it with the handkerchief. I took the key and inserted it into my computer. A single video document was there, named Crazy Suga :). What did that mean? I swallowed at the thought of what I was going to find there and clicked on the link. The quality was mediocre. The cameraman was laughing, making the camera unstable. A woman was seated, her mouth tightly sealed with a bandana. One of her arms was held at the table by a wooden press. The cameraman's hand slowly stroking the woman's cheek.

 "Today we’re having fun."

 My heart had stopped. The voice, in this clip, was mine. There was no doubt, anyone could identify it. The man handed the camera to a second.

 "Record me, I want a memory.”

 The face of the man who sported my voice was covered. He was wearing a disgusting rabbit mask. I hate rabbits.

 "You know what's waiting for you.” The man addressed the girl. Even under this mask, one could guess his repugnant smile.

 "You've been very bad.”

 My voice disgusted me. I wanted to vomit, shout, and break this computer. He grabbed the woman's hand on the table and squeezed it. The new cameraman seemed to shudder.

 "Yoongi, you're not going to do this now?”

 I stopped the video. I quickly understood the rest of the story and I had no desire to continue. The finger that was in this box belonged to this girl and it didn’t just appear there by magic. I picked up the USB key and put it back to its original location.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and thought. Let's recap. They know where I study. They got access to my shoes, which I currently wear. They have my face, they have my voice, and they have my cell phone. And now they have my address, possibly the key to go back at any time. At this point, I was annihilated. They were me. He was me. Me on these pictures. Me on this video. Just me. And that girl. Who was she? Where was she? Had he already killed her? Or should I say, had I already killed her?

At that moment, I doubted myself. I wasn’t a particularly violent person. I once had an altercation with the police, which I would surely tell you about later, but none of that compares. However, everything pointed to me. I was beginning to question myself. Maybe I was suffering from amnesia. Maybe I was crazy, and I didn’t realise it.

Then something came to my me, it was Hoseok who had texted me. He was the one who made me go look for him, so it was probably him who left the envelope on my desk. That asshole! This can surely only has been a very bad joke or whatever. I grabbed my cell phone to call him. I scrolled through my contact list and I understood my mistake. There were two Hoseok in my list. A new contact had been added, a second Hoseok. My friend had never contacted me, hence the reason why he never showed up. I took the second envelope and stuffed it like the first one at the bottom of my bag. I had to get rid of everything.

I quickly went downstairs. I opened the garage door where I had left my bike. I then straddled it and went down the street. I rode for several miles. The night was beginning to show its nose, the humid air of the day becoming a refreshing breeze. My uniform was drying slowly. I stopped at a park, far from the city, and I waited for the night.

My cell phone rang a few times. Probably my mother. If she’d asked me where I went, I would’ve told her that I spent the evening with Hoseok. I had planned everything. I will ask Hoseok to confirm my lie if anything happens. I'll tell him that I was with a girl. He will want to hear the details and everything will go in order. Everything was going to work out. The park emptied slowly. I looked at my phone, 23:36. I was alone now. I walked over to a distant trash bin and put the two envelopes in it. I pulled a lighter out of my bag. I stole it from my father this week at the same time as his pack of cigarettes. I had thought about my mother's rage if she had learned that I was smoking. Now that I was going to burn the evidence that probably binds me to a murder, I suppose smoking did not seem so serious anymore. I took the papers out of my agenda and threw them with the rest in the trash to start the fire. I sat down at a table to watch the progress. I lay my head against the cold wood. I thought to myself "This day will never end."

Then I felt a hand fall into my hair. I jumped. I never saw that man coming. From there, if my life had not already been completely fucked up, he sent it to hell.

 "You okay?” I stared at him, looked at the dumpster behind him. He noticed the anxiety on my face and let out a little laugh.

 "This isn’t the most illegal thing I've seen tonight, don’t worry. "

 I remained stiff, paralyzed. He sat himself beside me, fumbled in his bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

 "Want one?"I nodded and took it.

 "Come closer.”

 He lit it between my lips. I took a long breath and looked away. He was making me uncomfortable. "Park Jimin" he said.

 The smell of fire, wood and cigarettes were mixed. Little by little I calmed down and then turn to face him.

  "Min Yoongi.”

"So what's going on, Min Yoongi?”

"Nothing in particular, "

 We remained silent for a few moments. His blond hairs were dancing with the wind.

 "What do you burn in this dumpster?"

 "Nothing in particular.” He shrugged as if, basically, he didn’t care what I was doing. He crushed his cigarette and threw it away.

 "I should stop, it's a bad habit."

 I ignored him. He stood up, rubbed his shoulders and walk toward the trash. He leaned over to observe.

 "Your fire is practically dead. You should go back soon."

 He smiled at me. I didn’t know what he wanted, maybe company. I was fine at that time. I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me. We were only there waiting. It was definitely the most peaceful moment of the day. He looked up at the sky.

 "It's a shame, we don’t see the stars in town.”

 I nodded. I had nothing to say, but it didn’t bother him. I finish my cigarette and turn to the garbage. He was right. Almost everything was gone, I was relieved. He noticed it.

 "All right, everything seems to be working out.”

"Yes, I think.”

 I grabbed my bag on the bench and headed for my bicycle. I looked at the dumpster one last time, I had left nothing behind. It was gone. I didn’t know yet how I was going to get rid of these identity thieves, but for now the evidence was reduced to ashes and I needed to sleep more than anything. I began to walk away.

 "Your phone! "

 He handed me my phone. I smiled as form of thank you.

 "I have question before you go, Yoongi.” I looked up. The flames reflected on his face and distorted his features.

 "Is it easy to burn a finger?"