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writingsfromhome · 3 months

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Dos and Don’ts of H Styles

A/N: this story was literally born out of the wifi incident happening to me. It was a weird experience lol but of course it inspired me to write a story around it. Basically you used to work for Harry as a PA and your life was hell. You bump into him in the present but before it unfolds we need to know what happened in the past.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

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I watch as Winnie types into her phone the number of the guy who’d just hit on her.

“And that’s with a y?” She looks up at him with doe eyes.

“Yea,” he falls for it. He was cute, and she worked a lot I didn’t blame her for taking who she could get. His accent also helped. “What’re you doin’ now?”

“Well,” her eyes slide to me. “Hanging with my girlfriend here.”

He nods at me and I smile, holding up the almost empty glass. “We were just about done for the night though.”

“We were?” Winnie checks in with me.

“Mhm,” I give her an encouraging nod.

Both Winnie and I were employed by musician-turned-actor Oretta Smith. Winnie was her nanny—or childcare companion as she called it, and I worked as Oretta’s executive assistant. It was full-time and demanding as hell but ever since Oretta had her first child a couple months back I’d gotten a lot more breathing room as she minimized her public life and stayed close to home.

This long weekend Oretta was staying with her in-laws and asked us to take it off. I’d already requested the weekend off knowing we were in London but being off at the same time as Winnie was impossible so we’d gone out to celebrate and let loose—9pm and only 2 drinks in, both of us had already started talking about the comfort of our beds. Until flirty dude came up to Winnie.

“What do you say?” Winnie’s new date asks her.

“Aw shucks alright,” Winnie flashes her beautiful smile and hops off the stool. I don’t even see her drop the bills onto the table as she hugs me goodbye and leaves until it’s too late. She’d covered for both of us. Well I’d get her back next time.

I finish the rest of my drink, eyes flicking to the reruns of tonight’s soccer game. This wasn’t the fanciest bar—it was quite homely compared to the ones Winnie and I often found ourselves at. But it was one I used to go to when I worked in London just over a year ago. Being back in the city, despite all the awful memories, pulled me towards the nostalgic comfort of it.

I remember the many dates with my now-ex, the random nights I’d actually get off, and drown myself in drink to forget about my awful employer. Or the birthday and milestone celebrations—especially the ones I started to miss near the end.

I consider walking the few streets over to my old flat. Coincidentally the job I’d gotten wasn’t far from home. The upside was that it made dealing with “emergency” texts from my employer a lot quicker but the downside was it grouped all the traumas I experienced in this beautiful city to a few blocks. I didn’t miss it.

I cut my memory lane rabbit-hole short and decide it was time to order an Uber and get out of here; I had an early train to catch tomorrow.

The bars on my phone flicker up and down as I open the app and continue to refresh it over and over. But my signal remains unstable.

“Stupid phone,” I mutter. I had to update my provider while I was here asap.

“‘Scuse me?” I wave down someone serving drinks. “Have you got wifi here?”

“Yep we do!” She smiles. “Name’s The Violinist and the password’s capital p….”

Her voice grows far away as my blood runs cold and I stare at the list of available wifi networks. I feel myself nod a thank you when she stops talking and she leaves taking the password with her while I’m stuck staring.

My networks:

🔗H’s iPhone

I want to duck down and run away, not spend another second around anything to do with that era of my life. But I also want to hunt him down and show him how much better I was doing after him, despite.

The second instinct wins. Kind of.

I don’t hide away. I scan the dimly lit room and try to spot the familiar head of hair but it’s on the third try that I spot him. And it’s probably because his hair is barely an inch long.

He must’ve cut it recently, I’m surprised. Him without his hair was like Harry Potter without his scar.

The feelings are instantaneous though. The loathing and the need to cry. My heart continues to race as I burn a hole into the side of his head.

He was the devil incarnate and I had thought about him for a second too long just now. And now here he was. What the fuck was a guy like him doing here?

I remember the awful times; the casually cruelty and the late nights he would make me work. His constant criticism. The way my life fell apart because of him. The way I could wring his neck with very little incentive at any given moment.

He had turned my whole life upside down. He ruined me.

Harry Styles wasn’t the sweetheart everyone painted him out to be.

And yet, a flash of a feeling, a fleeting memory I try to keep locked away pushes to the front of my mind.

“Fuck no,” I tell myself. There was no room for fondness when it came to the devil.

About 2 years ago:

I straighten out the blazer, wondering if I should be chic and roll the sleeves up a bit or just keep them down. My reflection shows a nervous mousy girl that’s trying too hard. I throw my hair into a ponytail instead and feel a more like myself. Just as the elevator doors ding open.

I’m in the penthouse suite I would be working out of for the next however long; it was my first day on the job and I was still sorting out my nervous to excited ratio.

After looking for months, I’d landed a PA gig for up-and-coming rockstar Harry Styles. It was a dream come true and everyone was ecstatic for me, most of all my boyfriend who’d helped me land the role.

My boyfriend, Grayson, was a personal trainer to a lot of big names and he’d been keeping his ear to the ground for me. We met a few years ago at the gym of course, I’d still been a student and he worked part-time at the student gym. Back then he was still working to get a better client list.

We’d clicked pretty quickly and Grayson, who was anything but shy, asked me out. Soon after he was telling me he had feelings for me and I’d felt them echo back the same. He was my biggest supporter and when I told him I wanted to take this career path seriously he’d been the first to show me what steps to take to get there.

My true dream was to become a publicist and work with celebrities, but fresh out of post-grad everyone told me I’d need to dive head first and get my hands dirty. And I’d have to do that by finding a PA role for a publicist or an industry person.

“Y/n?” My name interrupts my thoughts. It comes from a disembodied head peeking out from a doorway. “You are y/n right?”

“Yes!” I hurry over. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yes. I’m Mr. Styles’ exec assistant, I’m only here for the next,” he looks down at his watch. “Half hour perhaps? So let’s get you sorted before I head out.”

“Oh okay. Sure,” my ears ring, I was going to be alone on my first day. I didn’t even know he had an executive assistant. What was the difference between him and me? What if I screw up and this guy was part of the fallout plan? Shit. “Is Mr. Styles in?”

“Not at the moment, he’ll be in before noon. He has a few appointments this morning. Typically you’d be going with him but he left before you arrived so…next time. Make sure you get any paperwork he received from the appointments and file them in here-“ he points to a room with a filing cabinet. Like an actual cabinet. This was a tight ship. “You sound American. Are you American?”

“Yep,” I debate whether to tell him I stayed after doing my degree here but decide to keep the yapping to a minimum.

I continue following the EA—who I should get the name of, as he points out rooms and overlaps it with info about Mr. Styles’ schedule and routines. A lot of info. My brain felt like it was barely holding on.

I think about the man I was now working for, the one who came into the interview for a brief 10 minutes. Surely that laid-back guy wasn’t the anal mystery man I was getting all these instructions for.

The interview itself had gone pretty smoothly apart from the fact that I nervous-laughed a few times too many. I had gone silent when The Harry Styles had walked into the office. He’d sat beside me at the round table, slouching slightly and flashing me a reassuring smile—I had felt my shoulders dip down immediately.

“So it’s y/n right? I’m pronouncing that correctly?” He’d said in his perfectly charming accent.

“Yes, it’s so nice to meet you officially.” I had to tamp down every urge to gush over him. I was a professional. I was zen.

“So y/n,” he says my name so casually and yet I feel myself lean closer to hear him say it again. “I’ve seen a couple of you come in here for the PA role. What makes you different then?”

Think think, just be calm and think!

“Well I’m a very passionate person so I put my all into everything I do. That would include this job, and in turn you’d benefit by getting peace of mind knowing I’m tackling whatever behind the scenes items that need to get done to get you where you need to go.”

“Well said,” he says with a smile that says he knew he was very good looking. “Now trust is a big factor in this relationship.”

As he talks I forget his manager is even in this room. I’m swept up in the hazy green of his eyes.

“We’ve done the background checks and all that—right?” He looks to his manager who was interviewing me and gets a nod. “But how can you reassure me. My staff gets approached by the media daily for any info on me. What’s to say you don’t sell out.”

“I would never,” I didn’t even think of that being an option. “Confidentiality and trust is the biggest pillar of this role and I take it very seriously. You’re like, the biggest celeb of the last year but I know you’re also a person and I wouldn’t betray that. On a person level.”

“So even if you had a really bad day, say I had gotten you to do some impossible tasks. And you’re heading out head full of steam and you get approached by a reporter. £5k for an exclusive.”

I shake my head. “As tempting as it would be, professional ethics reign over any of that.”

“I believe you y/n,” his eyes flicker down to my file. “Good references. We’ll be in touch.”

Now my eyes roam around the small room I’m meant to work out of. It’s the size of 1.5 supply closets with half the walls filled with shelves and cabinets. There’s a small desk but I wasn’t sure how often I’d be sitting at it. All the PAs I’d ever connected with always complained about the amount of time you spend on your feet. That’s why I’d opted to buy myself runners when I got the job.

“Any questions—mind you I have 1 minute for them before I’m off? There’s a suit I have to sort out.” The EA turns to me when we circle back to my office/supply closet.

“Oh,” a million race through my mind. Nothing that would fit in a minute. “I um, I guess I didn’t catch your name?”

He seems surprised at that, and then he laughs. “Oh you’re a doll. This place is gonna eat you alive. I’m Riley and tip for you—don’t be so eager to please. Do your job. Do it well. But you’re not here to be liked or make friends alright?”

He laughs again when he looks at my face. He hands me an iphone and tells me it’s programmed with everything and everyone I needed, then waves goodbye leaving me in a confused spot.

I wasn’t naïve, I knew what working in this industry was like but I was could swear I’d landed a good gig with Harry Styles. And meeting the man himself in the interview had confirmed it.

Maybe Riley was just jaded by too many long hours.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Grayson: good luck on your first day babe. let me know how it goes.

I only have time to heart it when I hear the elevator open in the foyer. I rush out just for Harry to brush past me and his manager following, chattering away about something.

I follow from behind and watch as he heads to the kitchen. Riley had shown me what he laid out on the island and how I should do it going forward. And like two magnets Harry reaches for the exact bottle Riley mentioned. He downs the smoothie and then collapses onto the barstool.

“But don’t forget what she was saying about the single needing to be global. Sure your fanbase would love it but would the people who hate you have to admit it’s good.”

“I make it for my fans not for the wankers that hate me,” Harry says and his voice is rich like caramel.

“You know what we mean.” His manager suddenly turns directly to me. “Can you contact the studio and let them know to push Harry’s 1pm to 3?”

“Oh,” I didn’t even know they knew I was here. They gave no acknowledgement until now. “Of course. Um, could I just get the paperwork from this morning too? The appoint-“

“Yep,” his manager unhauls the items in his hands. The whole time Harry stares out the window. I’m handed a stack of papers and I carry them to the office.

My hands are shaking when I put them down and I feel a lump in my throat. What was wrong with me? Why was I reacting this way?

I find the studio contact in the phone Riley gave me and let them know. They’re suspicious at first but accept the reschedule. I leave the paperwork for later, figuring I might be needed now.

But the rest of the morning I’m unacknowledged save by a few requests from Harry’s manager. I spend some time looking through the calender in the phone that’s pre-programmed with Harry’s entire life. It’s packed except for this Sunday. I wonder if it was actually free or just hidden from me since it was my one day off.

“You’ve got a passport haven’t you…?” It’s the first time Harry’s spoken to me. He’s changed into a hoodie and shorts, his manager is nowhere to be seen, and I’ve just bitten into a granola bar—the first thing I’d had since my morning coffee.

“Y/n.” I try to swallow the bite whole but at the last minute push it to the side to try to answer. “Erm yeah. I haven’t got it on me though.”

“Right. Y/n. Start carrying it. I’ll need you with me on Thursday I have a morning meeting in Léon and since Riley’s going to be sorting out something for my New York trip in a couple weeks he can’t make it.”

“Yes. I will. Do you need me to prepare anything else for the trip? I’m not sure if you’ve packed or-“

“It’s just a meeting.” He cuts me off. He pulls out his phone, dismissing me.

I swallow the knot in my throat once more.

I go with Harry to the studio since his manager is meeting us there. Alone in the car with him, the silence feels stuffy.

“I never got the opportunity to say thank you by the way,” I try to open up a conversation. All he was doing was looking out the window surely I wasn’t interrupting anything.

“What?” He stares right through me.

“Um, I’m just saying thank you. For the job.”

He nods.

I stay silent for the rest of the ride.

The studio is quiet, which makes sense when I think about it but upon entering an actual room I change my mind. The noise assaults my ears and I nearly jump at the volume but my hand gripping the doorknob keeps me in place.

People swarm around Harry.

“I need my tablet and my notebook,” Harry says amidst the small chaos.

What the fucks was he talking about. “Sorry?”

“My tablet and notebook,” His face darkens and so does my mood. Nobody told me! But maybe I should’ve asked oh my god.

“I don’t have it,” I say lamely.

“Any time I’m in the studio I need those two things. You need to get me my tablet and my notebook.” He speaks like a robot.

“I-I’ll head back,” I get my bag again. “Tablet and notebook, is there anything else?”

He looks angrier than I thought. He sticks his hands in his pocket, shuffles something in his hand before handing it over. “You may as well get lunch. Keep that card on you for business costs.”

I open my mouth to ask what he might want but he turns away as soon as I take the card and I’ve already fucked up royally so I decide to wing it.

In the car I consider googling what Harry Styles ate for lunch and instead will the ever living shit out of myself not to cry.

I scroll through the phone, debating if calling Riley for help would be a mistake. Going through every app for help I realize the countless notes in the app.

Morning Routines, says one. It lists things I should do when the mornings were spent at home, in studio, abroad, in a hotel, or if I walk into a “morning-after” morning. Jeez.

Another has checklists for what to do when travelling, how-to for routine appointments I should be booking, routine people I should be calling.

Why didn’t I look at this before. Right there is one called Studio Days and in bold it says what to bring.

I was an idiot. A big fat idiot.

I try my luck and search lunch. Sure enough a note with possible lunch places in cities across the world pops up.

It was a How-to guide for Mr. Styles.

Whoever put this shit together was an angel. I owed them my life.

I decide to be proactive, sorting lunch out to be delivered to the studio while the car drops me off. I run to the room Riley had said was the home studio. Sure enough I spot the tablet and a few notebooks, I grab all 3. I also grab the charger and ignore the bag of weed chilling on the arm of the chair.

What to do when he’s too drunk / What to do for Interview Days / What to do when he won’t answer the door or the phone / Day-off checklist / Social media checklist.

The dos and don’ts go on and on as I scroll through on the ride back. This was going to be my homework and by the end of the week I was gonna be a genius.

I swipe away and check if I had missed any folders containing precious info. Just the trash.

Out of curiosity I open it and there’s only 1 sitting inside: the donts of working for Harry Styles

I open it:

-don’t let one nice day fool you into forgetting he’s an arse and your employer

-don’t expect any gratitude from a narcissist

-don’t fall for his charm

-don’t shit where you sleep. no matter how tempting

-when he pisses you off which he will, don’t mouth off. what happens next is worse than being fired. which he won’t do because he’s the devil and he will want to keep you around after treating you like shite

-don’t think he’s chill. he’s anything but. follow the checklists and the rules.

-don’t have a life. actually this is a CAN’T. YOU CAN’T HAVE A LIFE WORKING FOR THE DEVIL. LEAVE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN UNLESS YOU HATE YOURSELF

I close the phone immediately, my heart thumping in my chest like a steady bass in the background of a song. What the hell did I get myself into.

***

It’s 8pm by the time I head back with Harry. The car is once again silent.

I had spent the day reviewing emails and the checklists, fielding calls and texts. His personal chef had texted to tell me dinner was prepared and in the oven to be re-heated so I figure that’s the last thing I’d do before I head home.

I’d eaten lunch standing while watching Harry sing background vocals to the album he was working on. It was hard to deny how intoxicating it was to see such a talented man work his magic. And it really was magical seeing how a song got put together.

That is until he’d sent me to get tea for the room and I’d nearly spilled half of it on myself getting enough back to the room. I was getting an electric kettle next.

I made a new note then: Reminders to do so you don’t get fired

The notes were my saving grace.

“My head is killing me,” Harry groans.

What to carry at all times: #4 paracetamol and #2 water

Checkmarked after going to the pharmacy while he was in the studio. I’d created an emergency makeup bag with essentials I could throw in my tote. I considered it a win today.

I hand the painkillers to him and he seems surprised. He replaces them with his phone.

“I don’t want to look at a screen for the rest of the night.”

“Okay.” I leave his phone beside me and try not to think of everything on it.

It vibrates a few minutes later and I leave it, not wanting to invade his privacy but he glances at me.

“Well?”

“Oh!” I lift it but it’s locked.

“1021.”

I type it in. “Um, Jeff wants to know if you’re still at the studio-“

“Reply to him.”

I do as I’m told.

“Um Mitch wants to know if you’re-“

“If it’s scheduling questions you can probably answer them without bothering me about it.”

I look up and he’s tipped his head back, eyes closed. Right. Of course I could.

I go through his schedule and find his studio time on Friday and relay it to Mitch. I respond to another text from someone asking if he was going to a gala in a couple months—his schedule said he was in LA so no. I wondered if I would also be in LA in a couple months. I wonder what Grayson would think.

Grayson, I’d had a short call with him a few hours ago and tried not to cry hearing his voice. It felt like home when the whole day felt so foreign.

I stare at the final text. The contact photo is the side profile of a gorgeous woman.

“Kimberly wants to know if you want um,” I feel my cheeks burn. “If you’re inviting her in tonight because she has a party she really wants you to go to.”

“I can’t be arsed for a party I feel like shite.” Harry says, eyes still closed. “Tell her to be at mine after 10.”

“Ok.” I type the words with a racing heart. I remember the morning-after checklist for this exact scenario. It wasn’t going to be weird soon I guess.

I heat up dinner for Harry while he showers and leave letting him know what time I’d be in tomorrow. He doesn’t even say goodbye.

I get home around the time I reckon Kimberly gets to Harry’s. The first thing I do when I see Grayson is shed a waterfall and he holds my exhausted body tight against him.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” He whispers to me in bed after a shower and sandwich—I couldn’t stomach anything more.

“I need this job Gray. It’s gotta get better.”

“I reckon but it’s a steep learning curve,” he says as he traces the curve of my nose.

“I know,” I snuggle closer to him and yawn. I don’t know what he says next as I tip into sleep.

***

If the notes app manual with the dos and donts of being Harry Styles’ PA was a physical thing, imagine me swallowing it.

Every spare second I had—which I didn’t get a lot of, I was reading that thing. My fingers searched tirelessly before every scheduled and unscheduled event. And yet, I’d fucked up so many times.

It was Saturday and I was looking forward to my day off.

He had been hot and cold all week but ever since getting back from Léon he’d been nicer and I’d actually been getting home before 8.

Maybe things were going well, despite the fact that the learning curve was like climbing mount everest.

“What’s my morning look like?” Harry asks. I was sitting at his kitchen table trying to book a dinner for him next week with a friend that was in town. A friend who also happened to be big back where I was from—I hoped to catch a glimpse of her myself.

I glance up and look back down just as quickly. After a week of seeing Harry in all sorts of undress I should be used to it, but my face still flushes. Today he stands at the table in running shorts.

“Pulling it up,” I say and scan his schedule even though I had it memorized. “You’ve got a meeting at the bank in about 40 minutes and lunch with Michael.”

“Can’t my accountant take the bank meeting?”

“She’ll be there. She’s meeting you downstairs to discuss the meeting on the ride over. You need to sign off on some stuff.”

“Stuff,” Harry repeats.

I look at him, careful to train my eyes on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at my lack of elaboration or just teasing me.

“Documents.” I correct, still unable to tell.

He look amused. “Great. Documents. I thought I’d be signing body parts.”

Was he joking? He was joking…I think.

“Right. No, we’re saving that for the tattoo shop booked for 6.”

He raises his brows, a slow smile spreading across his face and like the sun coasting over the horizon he looks brighter and prettier.

“That’s mad, that people would get a random man’s signature tattooed on them isn’t it?”

It’s inevitable really, my eyes skim over his torso brimming with tattoos. He notices and laughs. It’s a wonderful laugh.

“I meant they don’t really know me.”

“They admire you and it’s a piece of you,” I shrug. “At least it’s not a portrait of your face.”

“I’ve seen that floating around the internet actually.”

“Really?!” Now that was mad. I pull it up on the laptop and cover my mouth.

“I know.” He hangs his head and we laugh. God, things were finally getting better. This was the kind of relationship I thought Harry would have with his PA.

I scroll through comments and it’s impossible to wipe the smile off my face. I’ve considered myself a fan for a lot of artists but tattooing their face…that was another level of commitment I couldn’t do.

I look back to Harry who has grown quiet. His eyes are on me.

“What happened to your blazers?”

I’d decided to wear a skirt today, it was my lucky skirt—the one I had been wearing when I got the call that the job was mine. It being the last work day of the week I thought it might make me feel good.

I’d paired it with a tank top and a comfy cardigan. I’d finally felt like myself compared to all the button ups and blazers I’d been parading in. But apparently Harry had noticed the wardrobe difference. Shocker because he barely acknowledged me this week.

“I thought I’d dress for a Saturday?” It comes out meeker than I’d hoped. Ugh. “I hope that’s alright. If you want me more professional-“

“That’s alright,” his eyes roam down my body and I feel hot all over. Oh god, I shouldn’t have worn this. “It looks good.”

“Thanks,” I cross my cardigan over my body and try to get back to work but he doesn’t let it end there.

“Did you make that yourself?”

He continues to surprise me, “I did actually, is it obvious?”

“Yeah there’s a big hole down the back,” he teases. I know he is because his eyes are smiling, light.

“Damnit,” I relax a little. He was only interested in the sweater. “I’d finished it late it looked okay in the dark.”

“I have a friend, she made one of those for me. With the patches. Very comfortable.” He’s weirdly intense while looking at me and I feel like squirming again.

“It is. Very stretchy.” My vocabulary seems to shrink.

He leans over to touch the fabric and I feel like a cactus has been stabbed into my neck, I feel hot and prickly. Jeez, I had to chill out. My employer was just interested in my sweater. Super interested. Maybe I should just give him the damn thing. It would definitely fit him.

“Wool,” he smiles. He’s basically perched above me and I think I’m going to have a heart attack. I went from complaining about the fact that he acted like I wasn’t in any room he was in to not even being able to hold a conversation when he did.

I’m caught looking up into his unfairly gorgeous eyes and he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. Which I was in this instance, but still.

I’m saved by a loud voice coming out of the elevator.

“Harry you car is waiting downstairs.”

Like a book slammed shut, his expression retreats until all that’s left is the cover page with no summary. The friendly Harry from before is gone.

“Oi Harry! I had to come all the way upstairs because I’ve been sitting in that stupid car waiting! Do you not pick up your phone?”

“Lee,” Harry says as he walks across his living room. “If you can’t reach me you call my PA I’ve told you a million times.”

“And I’ve told you a million times not to keep me waiting. We have a lot to cover before we get to this meeting and I need every minute. God why are you shirtless go put on something appropriate!”

Harry miraculously does as he’s told—given I had already laid out an outfit for him. He’s ready in no time. His accountant, Lee? Simply smiles at me and goes back to typing on her phone while we wait.

“Why is that so wrinkled?” Lee judges Harry who walks out in a completely different outfit.

“I don’t have time to change again do I?” Harry bristles.

Lee looks over at me and I’m not sure if she’s accusing me of something or looking for support.

“Mr. Styles I did leave an outfit out for the m-“

“I don’t wear silk.” He cuts me off and walks out ahead. Lee shrugs my way and follows him. I trail behind, feeling worse than ever.

For a miserable hour and a half I sit in one of the most uncomfortable chairs of my life, organizing Harry’s life while I wait for his meeting to end. As hard as I try to concentrate, I keep agonizing over what I might have done wrong to flick his switch. I swear things were going better. And I know I’ve seen him in silk before. Why the hell else would it be in his closet? Why couldn’t I go a single day without screwing up?

I finally spot Harry walking out of the office and gather my things quickly to meet him. I trail behind as we walk down the hall into the lobby, Lee is nowhere to be seen.

A gasp catches my attention and suddenly a girl younger than me rushes up to Harry.

“Oh my…Harry Styles?”

Harry’s face morphs briefly into annoyance, his gaze flicking my way, before pasting on a smile for the girl.

What to do when a fan approaches H (in the wrong moment): be the bad guy, divert, get Harry to wherever he needs to go to and do it quick.

“Hi,” Harry smiles sweetly at her and the friendliness throws me off guard. But this was unexpected and I should get him away…I think.

“Oh my god could I get a picture? My mate is never going to believe this. She loves you so much, so do I-“

“We really have to be going.” I say and the girl looks at me, surprised to find me there. I look around and spot and older woman watching us. Must be her mum.

“Could I just get a picture?” She glances between us.

“I don’t think Mr-“

“It’s fine,” Harry hands me her phone. “Get a photo of us.”

Just another layer of humiliation to add to the rest of the day. The rest of the week. God was I just awful at reading cues?

I snap a couple and then we’re walking free.

He doesn’t say anything. The car ride to his lunch date is spent in awkward fucking silence and I hate myself more with every second I spend in it.

When the car stops at his destination he holds his hand up when I go to open the door for him.

“Listen -what's your name again?" He asks.

Shame and humiliation drip over me like blood on Carrie’s prom night. I repeat it for him. Just like I had daily since I was hired.

“Right. Y/n. You came highly recommended from a friend so I trust you know how to do this job. This job, is to keep my life organized and keep me on track. Make sure I'm not distracted or side tracked by anyone. Including you. It’s not to be my publicist or my fashion advisor or my personal security. Let's stick to the job description okay?"

His words land bitterly to my ears. Not personal. Just a job. Just a job. Just a fucking job. And yet it was starting to feel like my whole life.

“Yes of course.” I hear myself mumble. And like the big clown I had to be, I push open the door and get out so he can too. He walks to the restaurant without a goodbye and I crawl into the car, heading back to his place. Tears burn my eyes but I refuse to let them out. Refuse to admit just how badly this job hurt.

***

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” I hiss into the phone. “You know I’d be there right now if I could!”

“Babe I get it’s your job but you haven’t come to anything in over a month since you started your job!”

“That’s unfair,” I cup my hand over my mouth. “Gray c’mon I’m going to be there just late.”

“That’s what you said last weekend.”

Last weekend, one of our good friends invited a few friends for dinner in their new place and Greyson had had to go alone. Everyone had messaged me to say I was missed but Gray had been stony, pretended to be asleep when I got home and then given me the silent treatment until I wore him down the next day. It was exhausting begging for affection.

“It’s my job Grey I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Me neither, you know my parents want us over for weekend roast some time but I’ve been avoiding giving them a date because I don’t want you to stand them up.”

“I-“ a shadow shifts in the corner of my eyes and I look up. Harry stands in the doorway. “I have to go we’ll talk later.”

“Whatever y/n,” Grey hangs up and my chest squeezes with all the hurt I was causing. But he saw the state I’d been in since I started this job a month ago and he knows this is just my life right now. Why was he suddenly acting like it was brand new information?

“Are you done your personal call?” Harry asks. He hovers in the doorway, I’d never actually seen him in this little office space. Then again, if he did step in there wouldn’t be much room for either of us to walk around each other.

“Sorry,” I hate myself for apologizing. Here and everywhere else in my life. But I have no other choice. “Can I do anything for you?”

“When are you heading out tonight?” He asks. His eyes glued to my face. I know my eyes are teary and I try to blink it away.

“Um, soon. In an hour or so,” blink blink blink. “Did you need anything from me before then?”

“Yes, I have a friend coming over tonight. Can you order us something for dinner. Something light. And get a bottle to chill for us—champagne. And can you push Monday’s cleaning service to tomorrow afternoon?”

“Consider it done.” I tell him, hoping he would just leave me alone in the dark here.

“Do you have evening plans?” He continues. Why did he never ignore me when I wanted him to!?

“Kind of yeah,” I try to keep it short. “A birthday.”

It was Grayson’s sister’s birthday. She had invited us to a local fave called The Violinist and of course I would only make it to the dessert course if I was lucky. These days, making it to dinner at all was a luxury. I lived off of sparkling water, leftovers, and coffee.

“Well best to finish up what you’re doing so you can head out.”

He leaves and I’m annoyed. Why couldn’t he be nice and just tell me to leave after doing what he asked. But here I sit folding fucking pamphlets for some idiotic pledge he had signed on for. Fuck me.

I’m miserable by the time I leave. I’d managed to finish everything in a half hour so I’d touched up my makeup and changed into a simple dress I had kept in the office closet on Riley’s suggestion.

“A simple black number that could be used for any last minute event.” He’d said. Unfortunately that now counted for personal events too.

“G’night Mr. Styles.” I call out as I walk to the foyer, just so he knows I was going out earlier than I said.

“G’night,” he answers surprisingly. He always ignored me but tonight he sits on the couch. He rises to see me off but I notice him pause and take in my outfit. “Fun night?”

“I hope so.” I unfold the blazer in my hand, suddenly wanting to disappear with his gaze on me.

His long legs walk to me and he takes the blazer I’m fidgeting with from my hands. He actually holds it open and if I wasn’t this exhausted my jaw would definitely be on the floor.

“Oh. Thank you,” I slip it on and turn to face him. As if helping me put it on wasn’t surprising enough, he proceeds to untuck my hair from the blazer.

“That’s alright,” he says in a low seductive tone. “You look nice. Are you dressed up for someone?”

The question is dangerous, toeing a line I’m not sure I want to erase. I try to ease things with a joke. “The birthday girl I guess.”

“A friend?”

“My fiancé’s younger sister.”

Was it just me, or does he bristle when I mentioned my fiancé?

“I didn’t know you were engaged,” he mumbles, glancing down at my hand. I wore a number of rings and I guess the small diamond Grayson had proposed with back when it was the most he could afford, blended in.

“Yeah, nearly a year now.”

“Wow,” he crosses his arms. “Have a date set?”

“Not exactly,” I smooth my hair behind my ears. “We’re thinking next year but we’ve just been so busy with out schedules-“

“What does he do?”

“He’s a personal trainer,” I say proudly.

“Oh,” Harry tilts his head back. “Oh. Now I understand. Now I get the connection. My mate Liam put in a good word for you when I needed a new PA, he said he knew you through his personal trainer. He never mentioned how.”

“I see,” I’d have to thank Liam next time I saw him. He’d been one of Grayson’s first big clients and had become a close friend to us. I’d have to thank him with dinner. If I got any nights off, that is.

“That’s who you were talking to on your personal call?” He asks, his hand tracing my shoulder seam down to my elbow. My heart races from the ghost of his touch.

“Erm yeah, sorry again. I had to take it since it was time sensitive.”

“Best to get going then.”

I take a step backwards and then rush to the elevator all at once. Once I’m on and the doors start to close I turn and catch a glimpse of his handsome face watching me go.

I let out a breath. That was weirdly heavy. And kind of intimate. But weird. That was weird.

I wonder briefly who he was having over tonight. If it was Kimberly, who I’d had the misfortune of meeting in her panties one morning. Or his other “friend” some brunette named Maya or Amaya something. I’d had the misfortune of meeting her when I dropped off a late package to Harry one evening. All were awkward encounters.

I shake away the thoughts and am grateful when Harry’s driver waves me down on the sidewalk. I guess Harry had told him to take me to where I needed to go. My heart is warmed ever so slightly, although I do accidentally nap on the 15 minute drive over.

I make it for the end of dinner and Gray looks relieved to see me even though his eyes hold a hint of something unspoken. I try to ignore it tonight.

“Oh you look beautiful!” I hug the birthday girl, and we sway from side to side. I used to see her a lot before she moved away for uni. “When did you stop being a baby, Josie Duran let me get a look at you.”

“Josefina tell her what you did for your 21st.” Gray says.

“Can you let it go!?” Josie scowls.

“What?” I whisper.

“Mom will kill you,” Gray warns.

“That’s why she doesn’t have to know,” Josie bites.

“Hey,” I put my hands up between the two. “No fighting with the birthday girl. Anyway. Josie, you look beautiful, I’m so sorry I’m late but it’s so good to be here.”

“Aw no don’t worry about it,” she goes in for another quick hug. “I’m just happy you got to come. Gray said the bloke you work for is a nightmare. Tell us do we know him?”

“Ah,” I wasn’t really supposed to talk about him according to my nda. “I dunno if you would. Anyway I’m going to try to steal some of Gray’s leftovers until dessert comes.”

I sit beside Gray where the seat had been left empty and smile up at him, hoping for forgiveness. He sighs and kisses my forehead, pushing his plate towards me.

“Go ahead, have you eaten?”

I had a banana and a yoghurt for lunch but I don’t tell him, just making a vague answer for yes and scarfing down what’s left.

“She got a tattoo,” he says in my ear later as the restaurant finishes singing happy birthday and a cake with sparklers is set down. He’d gotten tipsy and I can tell because he wants to talk about his upsets.

“She’s a grown woman Gray,” I know he was protective and a little traditional—that’s where half of their sibling fights originated, but I always told him he had to let loose a little. “She’s allowed to get it. If I remember you have some tattoos of your own.”

“It’s different y/n.”

“She’s getting older faster than we can keep up with huh?” I lean my head against Gray’s shoulder and let out a big sigh. It feels good, sitting with him here surrounded by friends. It had been a while.

Gray leans his head against mine and doesn’t answer. We watch her friends take pictures like proud parents, watching her cut and then distribute the cake. I should help, but I just could not lift a finger.

“Hey y/n, is that your phone going off?” Josie’s friend beside me points to my facedown phone.

“Is it?” I sit up, my heart doing a number in my chest.

I pick it up, 2 missed calls from Harry and 3 texts. Fuck.

“Leave it,” Gray must be looking over my shoulder. “You’ve gone home now just screw him.”

“I can’t,” I didn’t want Gray getting mad—I know he was kinda drunk and he could make a scene like this. I didn’t want to ruin Josie’s celebration. But I couldn’t ignore this. This is the first time Harry’s messaged me after I’ve gone home. “I’ll take it outside.”

On my way to the door I open the messages. A picture of a bucket filled with ice. A row of question marks. And then: call me

What? What was so urgent about a bucket of-

Oh.

Fuck.

I thought I did everything but I hadn’t. I’d filled the bucket with ice and meant to ask the Italian restaurant around the corner to deliver a bottle like they usually did for Harry but I hadn’t gotten to that part.

I feel like I’m going to vomit any dinner I just had.

I crouch down. Do I call him? Do I pretend I didn’t see this until too late? No. I had to face up. I fucked up.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

I call with shaking hands but it rings and rings and goes straight to voicemail. I try again.

I had to get back, get him the champagne. Fix my mistake.

“Y/N,” Grayson’s suddenly outside. “Aren’t you coming back in?”

“I can’t. I…” how do I explain this to my fiancé without it sounding minor as hell. “I forgot to mail some important documents and I need to get back-“

“It’s Saturday fucking night.”

“Yeah but-“

“And guess what?! Tomorrow’s Sunday! The mail’s going nowhere! Fuck that wanker and come back in.”

Gray holds out his arms and I want to go back in but I need to fix this mistake.

I grasp his hand and he smiles, misunderstanding why I held it, “Gray I have to go-“

He pulls his hand away, a sneer on his face. It hurts when he looks at me that way, like I betrayed him.

“I showed up! I celebrated, I got here Gray I just have to-“

“You were barely here! Do you know how upset she was when I said you couldn’t make it?”

“Well why did you say that!?” I demand. “I told you I was only going to be late!”

“I can’t trust that!” He shouts and I try to pull his arm so he quiets but he doesn’t seem to care there are people around. “Your time is all his, every single fucking second! And when you’re not there your brain is going a million bajillion times over about him and his life. Even when you’re with me! What the fuck! What’s up with that!?”

“Gray I’m sorry look I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I swear. I’ll make it up to your sister I-“

“I don’t care y/n,” Gray slips his arm out of my grasp. “Do whatever you want. Nothing I say matters anymore anyway right?”

“Gray,” tears streak my face as I watch the man I love go back inside without another look my way.

Fuck Harry.

I try to call him again but voicemail. Again. Fuck!

What to do when you make a mistake: admit to it—Harry appreciates accountability. FIX IT! As much as you can. FIX YOUR MISTAKES OR FACE CONSEQUENCES.

An alert that my uber was here pings my phone—I take the ride to the restaurant and grab an already chilled bottle. I book it to Harry’s building and ride the elevator up, every floor causing a further dip in my stomach.

The doors open to a dimly lit space. There’s music playing, something jazzy, and it smells like…vanilla? Vanilla roses?

“Hol-hold on,” I hear Harry chuckle. A head pops up from the other side of the sofa.

“Y/n?” He looks as confused as I am.

Oh my god, I realize as a giggle comes from the floor. They were on the fucking floor of the living room? They were on the floor of the living room f…what the fuck did I walk into?

“Just back with this,” I squeak, holding up the bottle.

“Harry did you invite someone else?” The voice asks from below with another laugh. He sighs, disappearing again. I hear a very distinct wet noise before he pops back up again, I look at the doors of the elevator trying even harder not to give in to the panic attack that was looking more and more tempting.

“What are you doing here?” Harry approaches me with a softened voice. Wearing a robe. A silk robe. I knew he wore silk.

“You called—the bottle I’m sorry it totally slipped my mind I-“

“I told you to call me?”

“I did, you didn’t pick up! I thought I should swing by-“

“I thought you had a party?” His forehead scrunches.

“I…” the pieces come together. Did I take this too seriously because Harry didn’t even look angry? Great. I was an idiot and proving to Harry I had no life. “It ended. Early. I…I wanted to fix my mistake and bring the bottle.”

He takes it from my hand, still confused. “Y/N.”

I wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. And lord, in this climate with him in just a robe hearing my name on his lips is not okay. I was going to pass out.

“I’ll leave.” I go back to the elevator but he starts talking again.

“I asked you to call me so I could ask-“ he stops when I turn back around to listen. He closes the gap between us again with a sigh, and I don’t realize my face was still streaked with tears. It was probably more noticeable in the elevator light. He takes his finger and swipes across my cheek, his brows furrowing.

“Sorry,” I swipe my cheek to remove the remaining evidence. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Thank you for coming back.”

I nod.

“If you’re going to leave early next time, make sure you finish everything I’ve asked you to do. Don’t skip out like this again.”

“Yes yeah of course,” I stutter, relieved to fit back into our usual roles. For a second there, I thought Harry was going to be kind. And that would have been way worse.

“Good night Y/N. See you Monday.”

“Good night Mr. Styles.”

Gray’s not home by the time I get back. I wake the next morning to his side untouched.

So I do the only thing that felt good these days, I curl up into a ball and cry.

***

Taglist - leave me a message if you’d like to join it :)

#harry styles fic #writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #asks #harry styles angst #harry styles series #musician!harry #dos and donts #ahhh #i didn’t edit this too much it all kind of came out at once #so ignore any errors #hope this is fun to read #it was fun to write

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veryinnovative · 5 months

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@jegulus-microfic | january 2, prompt: fire | word count: 1.575 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger intern james potter

“A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries? What does that even fucking mean?!” James shouts into the receiver as he winds through the busy masses of bodies crossing the roads, the traffic light across blinking for him to hurry. “Can’t I pick up something for him from Burger King or something? You know, like a normal human being?”

On the other end of the line, Barty snorts a derisive sound. “Yeah, you try feeding him cheap chain franchise slob and see how that plays out for you. The fucker thinks Versace is a low-class brand, James. He probably doesn’t even know what the inside of a Burger King looks like. Besides, that place is fire. They have good shit.”

Groaning, James picks up the speed and sets out for a sprint, having missed the bus to Howick and resorted to the most reliable way of transport—his two sets of healthy, always moderately trained legs.

“Are you running? You better not be fucking running, Potter. You’re going to come back all sweaty and with creases in your cheap-ass button-up and then I’m going to be the one getting shit for not driving you and ruining the image of Regulus Black’s executive assistant—”

“Suck a dick, Barty,” James bites back after barely evading a car, its tires screeching at him in warning. He throws the driver an apologetic smile.

“I’m serious. You meal-prepped, Potter! Asked where the fucking office microwave is, are you out of your mind? Lunch is on company credit, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got an image to uphold now you’re working for Black Enterprises!”

“The cafeteria is too rich for my taste. Besides, I like meal-prepping. It’s calming.”

“Your fucking tuna stinks up the place.”

“Maybe that’s just your big bullshitting mouth.”

“Listen here, you piece of—”

“Oops, entering a tunnel, hear that?” James cups a hand over the receiver and makes a low, grating sound—mimicking the static rasp of a bad cellular connection. “See you!”

He tucks away the phone before entering Beauxbatons, the restaurant Barty had told him to go to because Regulus was craving his guilty snack, which, to James, sounded like an item right off a witch’s menu. Then again, he was a poor twenty-three-year-old who had just had a gap year fresh out of university, lived in a run-down apartment tucked in Southern London, and knew nothing of the expensive tastes a man like Regulus Black possessed. Thirty-something years old and not a single skin blemish. Must be all the fucking truffle and caviar and whatever Boiron guava puree he eats.

“Welcome,” one of the employees asks. Of course, all of the staff are also wearing pristine clothes and have perfectly sleeked-back hair.

“Hi,” James answers, now all too conscious of the developing sweat marks below his armpits and the dampness cooling on his back. “I’m, uh, here to pick up lunch? Sorry, I forgot my order so let me have a peek at my messages…”

The employee blinks like James has grown a second head. “Take-away? Sir, this is a dine-in restaurant.”

Good thing James has come prepared. He shuffles through the contents of his bag, phone in the other hand and tip of his tongue peeking out in full concentration. “Oh, that’s alright. I brought something to carry it with me. I also got some Tupperware if you don’t mind rinsing it beforehand.”

“No, sir, it’s not a matter of containers,” the employee starts, her lips pursed into a tight line. “We don’t do takeaways.”

James stops and frowns, bag half slung over his shoulder. “Isn’t this Beauxbatons?”

“It is.”

“My boss sometimes has people pick up his lunch here.”

“You must be mistaken… We do not lend any type of service like that.”

James sighs. Great. Amazing. Just what he needed. “Right. Do you mind if I make a call? I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake then.”

The employee, undoubtedly taking pity on him and his disorderly state that suggests he’s been running the past ten minutes, nods. “Of course.”

Heaving a sigh, James scrolls through his contact list and taps on ‘Regulus’, never mind that he has been firmly instructed to only call him during emergencies. But considering the sort of day he’s been having, he considers this one.

Regulus picks up after the third ring. “Potter?”

It’s been two weeks and he still won’t fucking call him by his name, going off on tangents about formal office conduct and etiquette. Potter this, Potter that, bridling when he’s called by his first name for a change in an environment that would kiss the soles of his feet if he’d ask. “Hi, I’m at the place you sent me the address of but they don’t do takeaways so I wanted to know what you want to eat. You cool with Wagamama?”

There’s a pregnant pause—all too telling of how Regulus is probably taking a deep breath and doing the thing where he either pinches the bridge of his nose or rubs his eyebrows. “Have you mentioned the takeaway is for me?”

“No, I haven’t.” What difference would it make, James wants to ask. But in a world where Regulus Black is pretty much revered, he is confident it would make a little difference at least.

“Do that, Potter.”

James rolls his eyes before returning his attention to the employee. “He wants you to know his name is Regulus, by the way.”

Her eyes widen. “Reg—Do you mean Mr. Black?”

James clicks his tongue. “That the one.” The employee doesn’t look convinced and James holds up his hand just above his chest. “About this tall? Curly black hair? Probably in one of today’s morning tabloids, not hard to miss. I could put him on speaker if you’d like?”

There’s the frantic wave of her hands, head shaking vigorously. “Oh! You should have told me from the start, Sir. Please, what would Mr. Black like to eat for lunch? I—I’m sorry. We are very exclusive in our service and are most honored Mr. Black has once again chosen our humble establishment—”

“Just,” James sighs, skimming over the menu laminated standing on an easel by the entrance, not possessing the energy to listen to someone go off on tangents about his boss again. Not like he does so internally at night, anyway. Absolutely not. “A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries.”

“Not fries, a salad—” Regulus reminds him over the phone, but James has decided that he will just about eat whatever James decides on.

“Potter—” Regulus tries again and James flat-out hushes him. To his surprise, Regulus actually shuts up.

The employee nods, over-excited. “Oh, of course, an excellent choice. How would Mr. Black like it to be cooked?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know, on a grill?”

There’s a faint garbled noise coming from Regulus that James will definitely tuck away in his memory.

But the employee is too thrilled to be serving someone as pompous as Regulus to notice the lack of culinary terminology James possesses. “Oh, I meant the cook of the meat!”

“The cook of the meat?” James repeats. “I don’t know, whoever is on shift? Regulus, who do you want to cook your burger?”

The employee makes a high-pitched sound at the same Regulus sighs in a very exaggerated, exhausted manner. “Just tell them medium rare.”

“Medium? What is this, a video game difficulty?”

“Medium rare!” the employee chirps, her smile wry. Strands of hair stick out of the previously perfectly pulled-back bun like the situation has created plenty of static to dishevel her updo. “One medium rare wagyu—”

“Don’t forget the fries,” James adds, unable to fight off the grin cleaving his face. This, he loves most—fucking with rich people. ‘Who do you want to cook your meat?’ he’s a genius for that one, an absolute innovative mastermind. Make him head of corporate next at this rate.

“You had to call me for this?” Regulus asks him as James watches the poor girl scurry off to the back, undoubtedly to ring in the order and gush about the perfect, rich, hot-looking Regulus Black on the phone by the restaurant’s hallway.

“It was an emergency. I get you the wrong order and you, I dunno, bite off my head like Miranda Priestly.”

“I don’t know a Miranda Priestly.”

“No? Shame. Would’ve loved her, a real feisty woman that one. She works in the fashion industry, though.”

“Potter.”

James tries not to bark out a laugh. He can’t help it, Regulus is just too easy. “Yeah, I’ll get you your overtly expensive A3-grade cut of meat that could pay for my weekly rent. Didn’t take you for the type of man to get burgers, by the way.”

“That’s why I’m asking employees of a lower tax bracket to pick them up for me.”

Okay, that’s kind of funny. Regulus Black can be fucking funny if he wants to, he just rarely chooses to. James barely masks his snort at it. “Got me there, boss.”

“Get a cab back to the office. And stop calling me boss.”

“My bad, Sir,” James drawls, knowing that Regulus reacts particularly well to this specific formality.

A second of silence that stretches on for a little too long. James clears his throat, wondering if the line cut off. “Regu—”

“See you soon, Potter,” Regulus speaks, faster than usual, almost like he’s flustered, and with a strange pitch to his words before he hangs up.

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #marauders #marauders au #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #this one is for mil bc she plotted this w me so extensively #and also for cass <3 bc they synced w my brain today #ino microfic tag!

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srbachchan · 11 days

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DAY 5946

Jalsa, Mumbai May 29/30, 2024 Wed/Thu 1:53 AM

🪔 ,

May 30 .. birthday greetings to Ef Mahmud Chowdhury from London 🇬🇧 .. and Ef Heena Bhambhani .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️

work done for the cause of the general .. for the hopeful understanding of why it is being done .. of the desire to be assured that it may make some sense in the execution of some of the pointers spelt out ..

and then some more .. more ideas that have not been covered and not been drawn in the creative ..

I work for the campaign on Road Safety .. to be able to personally share some of my experiences on how this should be designed and brought to the people in general that have the right and privilege to use roadways , vehicles and the discipline and understanding that road safety in its execution may bring about a better discipline ..

It can never be a statement .. it must contain the psychological temperament of the viewer and the listener .. when you command for understanding it is often taken in the wrong spirit .. a lot needs to be put into the reason for the Campaign and the essential pointers that all motorists and pedestrians must believe and understand for a better temperament and safety on our roads ..

it shall be a long drawn battle .. but like all else, when the cause is understandable .. when the cause is right , then all else falls into place ..

It needs a continuous rendering ..

Talking about it in a formality and then forgetting it as 'job done' is the worst status of its bearing .. you have to persist , persevere , and determine a will that eventually shall work for the benefit of the reason it was done ..

So yes .. I commit myself to the fruition of the campaign .. and shall persist to the best for its victory ..

hand on heart to set the nature for the purity of the mission ..

salutations for them that support and volunteer to assist in the need ..

.. and have the great pleasure of my cute sweet colleague in front of the camera .. tresses and all .. 🤣

yes the moments in pictures are repeated .. for little girls be the sweetest of all ..

and the thoughts go back to that masterpiece of a film GIGI .. and the song

'Thank Heaven for little girls'

the song sung in its most inimitable rendition, by the great Maurice Chevalier .. and starring the most handsome man of the times Louis Jourdan !!

Ah .. those were the days my friends .. sadly lost in the speedometer of modernity and time ..

and my gratitude to the enviable Avinash Gowarikar for his photographic senses and the ability to capture you and make you look grand .. despite the flaws of age !!

I leave my liege

liege

"Since modern populations often ignore aristocracy (except in the case of tabloid coverage), many words once used for royalty are now unusual and obscure. Such is the case with liege. If you refer to someone as "my liege" you are probably playing a game.

Ah, the Medieval era, where we find the word liege as we know it, a term used by underlings for the lord of their land. The word was probably of Germanic origin, derived from the Medieval Latin laeticus. In an interesting etymological twist, the word at one time meant a leader of a band of free men — pretty much the opposite of its eventual meaning as a feudal lord. The word is not used much today, except in jest (see Python, Monty)."

Amitabh Bachchan

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

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Gala (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, just lots of thirst and suggestiveness Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

Author's Note: Requested by and dedicated to @queenofmean14 Bit cracky and intended to be humorous 😜 Also credit to @broooookiecrisp from whom I pilfered the job details of her modern Anthony.

“He’s here.” Security announced in your earpiece. Not that you needed them to. You knew the Jaguar as it pulled up. So did the line of paparazzi who started to jostle for the clearest shot. But when he stepped out, you didn’t even know your own name. Anthony Bridgerton, CEO of Bridgerton House Enterprises and your boss, was going to make tonight even more difficult for you.

He had talked to you about his planned outfit beforehand, but you hadn’t gotten a preview and hadn’t envisioned it like this. A perfectly tailored velvet tux jacket accented with a diamond bee brooch. Smart shoes, an effortlessly coiffed wave of hair and most arresting of all, a pair of sleek shades that he slid on as he exited the car even though it was long past sundown. An errant corner of your brain replayed some 80’s song lyrics, but you couldn’t deny that the entire look worked. It worked entirely too well for you as your body flushed with heat and breathing suddenly became a task. The man could wear the hell out of a tux.

Granted, he always looked mouthwatering no matter how he was dressed, and as his executive assistant for the span of eight months you had seen the spectrum of his wardrobe. Everything hung so perfectly on his muscled frame, exuding old money power with a currently fashionable touch. Clothes made the man, but you suspected Anthony Bridgerton could elevate a bin bag. It was a visual challenge you had adapted to in your job, over time finding it easier and easier to speak to him without choking on your tongue first. His arrogant playfulness had helped with that and the two of you had built a deep mutual trust, a friendship even. You had bonded in the trenches of corporate crises enough to sling endearing insults at each other and always be blatantly honest. Except about one thing. You could obviously never reveal to him how desperately you wanted to jump his bones. How your blood simmered when his voice dropped to a certain pitch. How you broke into gooseflesh whenever he shook your hand and met you with something caring in his deep umber eyes. The light flirtation you both fell into from time to time certainly didn’t help either. And now with him in black tie, you began to wonder if this job was hazardous to your health.

Tonight was the company’s annual charity gala. A star-studded event at one of London’s best hotels where celebrities and socialites donated funds for the hospitals partnered with BHE. Anthony would give the closing speech and as planned, was the last to arrive on the red carpet so that he would get unencumbered press focus. You had spent the entire day on site making sure everything was prepped to perfection and now you stood at the top of the entry stairs with the other staff, ready to welcome the MVP of the evening. Given the high profile of the event, you had dressed for the occasion too. You would be seated at his table and weren’t going to be photographed looking like an intern. You had found a dress you loved, a shimmering number that showed off your best assets, and splurged on a hair and makeup artist. Maybe your position made you more akin to the prince’s valet but if this was how you got into the ball, you were going to make the most of it.

You watched Anthony pausing for photos, realizing this was one of the rare times you could observe him from afar. He moved with such confidence, back straight and head held high. He would run his fingers through his greying temples or brush a thumb over his stubbled chin while flashing that killer smile and your legs wanted to give out. He knew how to work a camera. It was one of the many awful, wonderful things about him. But if the attention helped raise money for charitable causes it was all worth it. You supposed your undergarments could suffer for the greater good.

As he moved along, you noticed he was licking his lips. A peek of his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he faced your direction. He was probably hot under all the camera flashes. But that small gesture was infecting you with heat too. He really needed to stop or you were liable to tumble down the steps and really make a headline. It took all your strength not to fan yourself with the tablet you were holding until at last he ascended and gave you a dazzling smile, falling into step beside you as you moved indoors.

You hovered in his orbit as he was greeted by the first throng of attendees at the bar and you called for a flute of champagne. When he was alone at last for a moment, you pulled him into a quiet corner and offered him the drink.

“Thirsty?”

“Sorry?” He moved closer, inclining his head. He was curiously still wearing his sunglasses indoors. You could smell his cologne. Amber and smoke and spice and it made you want to sink your teeth into his neck.

“Are you thirsty?” You said louder, shoving the glass into his hand as he chuckled.

“Why do you ask?” He took a sip.

What a stupid question. Couldn’t you just offer him some refreshment? Didn’t humans need to hydrate? Now you had to answer him.

“I um…” You wavered. “I saw you. You were…licking your lips out there so I just figured…”

His brows show up over his frames and he grinned. “You’re very attentive.”

Something shot down your spine. His voice was getting close to that register. “It’s my job to take care of your needs.” You reminded him, though you laid on a heavy layer of sarcasm.

“And you are so very good at it.” He rumbled, reaching the danger pitch. Oh god, he was going to assault you both visually and aurally at the same time, wasn’t he? He was going to flirt with you while daring to look like that. He was cruel, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

He confirmed it by stepping even closer, turning so the front of his velvet jacket brushed your bare arm and he leaned down to murmur directly in your ear. “You look incredible by the way.”

You swallowed hard, instructing yourself to inhale and exhale. But that wasn’t really helping because his intoxicating scent was making things worse. You had to keep your head. You had to spar with him or else you were going to melt into the carpet. “So do you.” You pursed your lips and gave him an exaggerated once over as if you were only mildly impressed. “The glasses were a good choice.”

He smiled and you detected something genuine, like he was actually eager for your praise. He tapped the frames lightly. “Useful too. I don’t have to give anyone my undivided attention if I don’t want to. I could be talking to them while scanning the crowd and they would be none the wiser.”

This sounded like the setup for a joke. Something about not listening to you as you conducted him through his schedule for the evening. You were beginning to resent those glasses and you would let him know if he tried to get sassy with you.

“So what are you looking at?” You smirked, waiting for the punchline.

He took another sip of champagne, facing you but now you couldn’t be sure if he wasn’t staring directly over your head. “A beautiful woman who is driving me to distraction.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. The man lived at the office and didn’t really have time for a social or romantic life. He would have to double up and treat a work event as an opportunity for a hookup. Especially at an event as glamorous as this, with so many swanlike women floating around and everyone dressed in their finest, you understood, despite the envy it flared in you.

“Ah, I see. Is there someone I should invite over to your table?”

He shook his head, downed the last of the champagne and set it aside with a decisive clink. “Unnecessary. You’re already at my table.”

He said it so matter-of-factly it took your brain several seconds to even comprehend its meaning. You must have been going mad. Your heart started to pound, fueled equally by embarrassed confusion and ridiculous hope. There was no way. Absolutely no way on earth he could have said what you thought he said. And even if he had, he was just toying with you, right?

“I’m not…” You stuttered, hoping he couldn’t see the blush you felt creeping up your neck. “You weren’t…you weren't looking at me.”

Then your breath caught in your throat as he rounded on you, standing directly before you so your back was pressed against the wall and all you could see was him. He loomed, black velvet and chestnut hair and perfect stubble. That scent was making you feral and now you could feel his hot breath across your skin. You could see yourself in the reflection of his dark lenses, peering up at him like trapped prey. This was how you died. Or lost your job. You were sure of it.

“How would you know?” He smiled wolfishly and tapped the glasses again. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”

You were hit by lightning. The gooseflesh rippled across your skin. Your underwear soaked. All you could do was stand there and tremble as he ran a finger idly up and down your arm. You were surprised sparks weren’t erupting out of your skin where he touched you.

“Why do you think I was licking my lips?” He asked in a low voice, finally removing the shades to pierce through you with his dilated, chocolate eyes. “I’m afraid even with the champagne, I’m still thirsty.” Then he did it again, flicking that weapon of mass destruction across his luscious bottom lip and staring at you pointedly.

Your brain functioned enough to realize that he was breathing just as heavy as you were. And that he was opening a door, giving you an option. The option you had been fantasizing about since the day you met him. It seemed too good to be true. You were half convinced you were dreaming in a coma after faceplanting down the steps outside thanks to his appearance. But the prickle of your electrified nerves and the river between your thighs felt real enough to persuade you that you were indeed still in your own body. You were not going to pass this up, whatever it might lead to. Really, you wanted to scream aloud like you had won the lottery.

But instead you whispered, “There’s water in the green room.”

He grinned broadly, creasing that dimple in his left cheek that you wanted to lick right off his face. “Excellent idea. I think we’ll need an emergency private conference to…go over my notes.”

His hand found the small of your back and you prayed that your legs would carry you that far. This was really going to throw off the itinerary but you were good at your job, you could adjust. You smiled back at him. “Whatever you say, sir. I’m here to take care of your needs.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #female reader #modern au #thirst #met gala #jonathan bailey

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thedeviltohisangel · 1 month

Note

omg maybe some soft angst bcs evelyn overworks herself and callum is so worried

For A Fortnight There We Were:

A LITTLE ONE SHOT SINCE YOU ALL SEEM FERAL FOR THEM AND I LOVE IT AND ENCOURAGE IT

tw: mentions of drug use/addiction

"Hi everyone, I'm Evelyn Shaw, and I'm so happy to finally be introducing you to the new Dior Addict Lip Glow Oil." She held the tube to her lips and pressed a cheeky kiss to the side. "It's infused with cherry oil which nourishes my lips after long days on set and even longer nights on the romantic streets of Paris."

"Cut! Let's reset and run again." Evelyn yawned as the camera turned off then looked up as her makeup artist approached with an eye pencil.

"Do I look as shitty as I feel?" Now in London, she had been in Paris this morning, finishing fittings for fashion week, The Hague three days ago for an engagement on behalf of the United Nations Women's Conference and she was due back on set for House of the Dragon by the end of the week.

"No. You look glossy and juicy," Nicole teased.

"Let me get some spray on the fly aways." Ev closed her eyes as her hair stylist spritzed a toothbrush and brushed it over her hair.

"Have we heard anything from Callum yet?" She was headed straight to a meet and greet at the Dior store in Mayfair after this before she had just enough time to change for the launch dinner she was hosting as the newly minted Global Ambassador for Dior Beauty.

"Mark was on the phone finalizing your filming schedule for next week so it didn't conflict with your brother's graduation so I'll flag him when he gets back," Nicole offered.

She hadn't seen Callum in almost a week. There were unanswered texts and calls and a red circle on her FaceTime app.

Evelyn felt awful about it but her first trip for work since the pandemic was proving to have more of a strain on her relationship than she thought it would. She was used to using work to distract herself from her ex-husband and saying yes to everything so she didn't have to be at home. Now, with Callum, that was all she wanted to do. And she knew it was perfectly in her control to change it but she couldn't find the right way to convince her brain this man was different.

"Alright, Evelyn, let's do more sultry than cute this time." She shook the fog from her mind and stared down the camera.

"Hi everyone, I'm Evelyn Shaw, and I'm going to let you on my secret for endlessly kissable lips..."

----

She kept her sunglasses on as she stepped out of the car and let the screams and camera clicks wash over her. She blew kisses and waved as her security ushered her into the store and the door closed behind her with a sigh. Evelyn made an extra effort to shake the hand of all the staff that were in the store and hugged the handful of Dior executives that she had gotten to know during the process of launching the lip oil.

"Ev, let's get some candids of you looking at the new collection over here." Bleary eyed, she slowly rifled through the racks as her stylist took a few photos.

"Hey, Mark?" she called for her assistant as everyone made final preparations before opening the doors. "Do we have any..." she brushed her finger over the tip of her nose, asking for a hit.

"I do, but you were going to stop now that you got out of that relationship, right?"

"Yeah but I'm about to fall over and just need to get through tonight and I'll be fine." They had done this song and dance with her and cocaine before. The habit stopped and started in fits. "A pinky nail. That's all I'm asking for."

"Not here, Ev. Go to the dressing room and I'll bring it back." She kissed his cheek and headed to the back, reapplying her lipstick and fluffing her hair before pacing around the room for a few laps. Finally, there was a knock at the door.

"Fucking finally, Mark, I'm-" She opened the door and it wasn't Mark. "Cal."

"It's been a minute, Ev. You pick up on old habits while you were gone?" He wasn't sure if she had read his message or listened to his voicemails since she'd left. They had gotten increasingly desperate so he hoped she hadn't. But if she was using again, it was no wonder she wasn't responsive.

"No." Her lip quivered. "I'm just exhausted, Callum." Hiding away with him wasn't an option anymore. The safety of his bed wasn't an option anymore.

"There's other ways for us to fix that. Ways that don't involve you pushing me away and letting those vultures back into your life." She fell into a chair and dropped her head into her hands.

"Everyone wants a piece of me and I don't have enough to go around." There were legal battles over dividing assets. Magazines and podcasts that spent their time speculating on the true reason behind her failed marriage and spending hours and pages devoted to convincing someone, anyone, that Callum was a controlling manipulator who had tricked her into cheating with him for status. Photographers who lined every street she walked and yelled obscenities and tried to snag a shard of her broken soul. "You're my drug, Callum. You make the voices stop when I'm with you. But I can't always be with you."

"But that's why we learn how we communicate best. We call or we text or send each other dumb photos to make it feel like we are always with each other." He sat down on the floor in front of her and put her hands on his cheeks. "I'm right here, Ev. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm not him."

"I'm sorry I didn't call. I wanted to. I just didn't know what to say." For all the benefits quarantining together had offered for their relationship, it had also introduced certain complexities. Introduced reliance and dependencies and they hadn't learned how to be apart. Let alone how to be successful at it. "I'm still getting used to things being normal. To having you as part of my normal."

"I'm sorry I didn't come find you sooner."

"Promise you'll always find me? Even when I'm just lost in my own head?" He kissed her forehead.

"Especially then, Evvie."

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner x oc #callum turner fanfiction #answered #evelyn

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empressdede · 2 months

Text

Disrespectful.

Chapter four

𝒯𝓌𝑜 𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒽𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇

This shit’s so good, should be illegal

Need round 2, I need the sequel

Hit the backboard like a free throw

You next level, you a cheat code

Can I by kehlani was playing in her office at a bit louder than softly. She told her assistant Jada that she was in a meeting virtually so she didn’t want to blast the music and raise any suspicions.

The music was to help her get lost in her thoughts, drown out the stress she had to carry on her shoulders for the day.

A sigh of content left her lips and she let her eyes roll to the back of her head, almost losing herself before Jada knocked on the door before slightly opening the door to peak her head in.

London’s head slowly rose up to look at the girl before bending her head to look at the paper scattered across her desk. “Something I can help you with Jada?” She softly asked.

“Just wanted to let you know that Mr. Monroe will not be able to attend to this year’s banquet but he will be sending his executive assistant in his place instead. Should we bring him in next week so that he is properly informed about our plans?”

London nodded her head but never lifted her head, “Whatever you think works. A-and make sure that you let everyone know that I’m not available for the next hour.”

Jada nodded her head and was quick to close the door behind her so she wouldn’t feel her boss’s wrath, if London wanted to be alone then she would leave her alone.

But in reality London didn’t know how long she could’ve played nonchalant before a moan slipped through her lips. Her eyes rolled back again, but this time her hand slipped under her desk to grip onto Roman’s hair as he continued to suck on her clit.

“She could’ve heard me.” She breathed out but Roman didn’t even look remorseful. His eyes watching her expressions as he devoured her. Wrecking the image she fought so hard to create. To everyone else, she was a boss woman but this is who she really was, a slut who was willing to ruin the reputation she fought hard to build all just she couldn’t keep her legs closed for him.

“I think you want them to hear.” Roman whispered huskily back to her, sliding the hand that was holding her thighs back to her pussy, index finger running along the slit before he slowly pushed against her entrance. “You want them to know how good I make you feel huh?”

He didn’t care for her response because his lips closed around her clit again, sucking and thrusting his fingers until the tip of his fingers touched the spongey spot that had her legs shaking.

“Fuck… baby wait-“ she tried but it was to no avail. He’s been playing nice long enough. He slipped a second finger into his and let his tongue lap at her leaking pussy.

Tears were pooling at the rim of her eyes, the feeling was something she could never get tired of. Roman always made her cum, always. And she knew this time wouldn’t be any different but damn was he prolonging it to prove his point: that he could make her cum anywhere and anytime. And anytime he wanted he could get her to happily open her legs to let him.

He was fucking right because here she was, even with her damn assistant in the room, he was hidden under that damn desk eating her out. At the revelation she could ask herself if she had any shame but the blissful feeling of the pleasure rippling through her body made her forget anything.

“I can feel it, go head baby. Cum for me, cum for Daddy.” He cooed out to her.

The churning in her stomach was intensifying and she knew she was going to cum for him. London didn’t really consider it a lost though because this feeling was too delicious, she’d probably lose every single argument on purpose if this was the outcome of it.

The tears that were pooling from her eyes fell as she felt herself get lost in her orgasm. But Roman didn’t stop there, he had lifted himself from between her legs and placed his mouth on hers swirling his tongue around hers so she could taste the flavor of her juices.

His fingers stayed in the same place, slowly thrusting to help her ride it but continuing. He wanted another. London whimpered, her hand sliding down to grasp onto his wrist but his pace stayed the same. “Gimme another one.” He muttered against her lips.

The pace of his fingers started picking up again, both fingertips pressing deliciously against her spot. His mouth never left hers, swallowing all of her moans as he devoured her.

The kiss was sloppy but London loved it. Roman was always so put together, very calculated, she liked that he would get so messy with her. Almost as if he couldn’t control himself when it came to her and that turned her on.

“Roman.” She softly moaned out trying to warn him but her climax came quicker and harder than she expected. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as a loud moan slipped through her lips. Her head fell back, chest pressing into his as her back arched against her office chair and her legs trembled.

The rouse of trying to keep quiet was over, but how could she be quiet anyway when he made her feel like this. His voice rumbling softly in her ear as he talked her through it.

“There you go baby. That’s it. You did so good cumming for me like that, that’s all you needed huh? Wanted Daddy to get rid of all that stress huh?” He cooed and London nodded her head, slumping against the chair.

“I’m not done with you yet baby, we’ve only got an hour.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Friday night caught London at Sienna’s house for a girls night. Nora, London and Sienna all sat in the living room with a half cup filled with wine and they were catching each other up on their lives.

Covered in satin pajamas and soft jazz playing in the background to help them unwind from their week.

“I barely sat down in the chair to get my hair done, some random girl ran up on my hairdresser. Can you fuckin imagine?” Sienna recalls her encounter at Milan’s salon two days prior.

Nora huffed out a short laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “I keep telling you to stop visiting these random salons because you can’t let everybody play with your hair but you never wanna listen to me.”

The girls talking became kind of like background noise when London’s phone buzzed in her hand again to let her know she got another text notification.

Roman: Would you rather Italian or French?

London: For what?

Roman: Dinner. Me and you. Next week, Wednesday night.

Roman had the tendency to invite her out. And before she would decline every outing but recently, she found herself agreeing to go out sometimes.

It wasn’t always, because James was starting to question why she was always going out but, on the days where she really missed him after not seeing him for a couple weeks cause of his job, she found herself wanting to be around him.

London bit her lip as she thought about it; the last time she seen Roman was two days ago when he ate her out in her office till she begged and cried for him to stop, fucked her for good measure and then left to fly out to whatever city he had to be in for work.

They had both agreed that would be their last intimate session. London expressed she couldn’t keep doing it, and Roman respected her decision. What was a harmless dinner between two friends?

“I know that’s not James blowing ya phone up on girls night.” Sienna’s voice brought her back to reality, lifting her head up to find both Nora and Sienna watching her like a hawk. Her phone buzzed again.

Roman: I won’t touch you, I promise. Just miss having meals with you as a friend ❤️

“Damn; can I have my face back?” London retorted, raising an eyebrow at the two.

Nora rolled her eyes, “Girl please. She ain’t tell you she’s been fucking Roman?”

Both Sienna’s and London’s eyes widen in shock. London’s because her sister ran her mouth and Sienna’s at the news.

“Nora!” London exasperated

“WHAT!” Sienna yelped out at the same time, raising her hand for a moment. “Hol’ up. You mean to tell me I helped you sneak off with that man at his wife’s birthday party and you couldn’t tell me you actually fucked the man!?”

London let out a quiet groan, her head falling back for a moment. It wasn’t something she was proud to announce… she’s cheating on her husband with another married man, how the fuck was she supposed to tell her that?

When She lifted her head back up, Sienna huffed again as she waited for London to explain herself.

“First of all, I’m not fuckin him anymore. And second of all, Nora you’re the one who told me to go sleep with him in the first place!”

“London, you made out with him at his wife’s-“ Nora starts but London was quick to cut her off.

“I know what happened bitch, you don’t have to keep repeating it!” London snapped

“So stop acting confused. I only told you to finish what the fuck you started, don’t put the blame on me. You damn near gave him the pussy the first time anyways, you should be thanking me. You’re welcome.” Nora winked as she took a sip of her wine.

Before London could reply back to her sister, Sienna inserted herself into the conversation.

“UM HELLO? Anyone wanna talking about how you’re ACTUALLY FUCKING ROMAN!?” Sienna shouted, the shock feeling has not left her at all. Her eyes almost wild and searching as she waited for London to explain.

“I’m not fucking him anymore.” London corrects. Nora scoffs at her but doesn’t say a word.

“After the party” London starts, ignoring her sister. “I ignored him because I just knew if I seen him, I would’ve remembered that night and just fuck him, not caring about my marriage-“

“Which you’ve managed to do anyway, but continue.” Nora quickly added before giving London the floor again.

“I went to Nora about it because I didn’t know what else to do but she kept telling me to grow up and talk to him and I decided I wouldn’t. James is a good man, he didn’t deserve that you know?” London continued to explain, sighing at the end.

“Okay. I’m hearing a whole lotta nothing.” Sienna huffed out, placing her cup down to focus on the conversation. “Spare me the lame details bitch cause I can really do without.”

London raised an eyebrow at her friend. “You wanna hear the story or not?” After a moment of silence she continued to unfold the moment of events. “I didn’t want to; but Roman wasn’t going to have me ignoring him for any longer so he came to my job to confront me.”

Her skin became littered with goosebumps as she relieved the story on how this all started just two months ago.

“It didn’t help how a couple nights before, Nora kept telling me to just get it out my system. Just Fuck him and get it over with. So when he asked me if I…. desired him the same way he desired me I thought… why not.”

The silence in the room was driving her crazy. Sienna just sat there listening to her friend admit that she committed adultery.

“You… nasty bitch.”

London groaned again, leaning back against the sofa. “I know. And the worst part is… I don’t regret it. He fucked the shit outta me Sienna. He made me cum four fuckin times in my office.”

“IN YOUR OFF- BITCH!?” Sienna shrieked in surprise. London was very proud of the reputation she gave herself at work, especially after taking over her father’s business and to hear that she let herself go on those same grounds left her shook. But then she let the sentence repeat in her mind on more time.

“Hol up, he made you what?” She asked, hoping she heard her friend clearly.

“Cum four time, that’s why her ass kept running back to him. Fucked her so good she forgot where her real home was at.” Nora replied with a laugh.

“Four times, back to back?” Sienna asked curiously

“Girl I tapped out at round one, he fucked my shit up.” London confessed. “I went to see him again later that night because we promised to talk, I didn’t even give him a chance, I fucked him right at his driveway. And we kept fucking that entire weekend: in the pool, the kitchen, in the shower, on the balcony.” She listed off, reminiscing with a soft sigh.

“It was supposed to a weekend thing and then we’d be done with it but… It’s been two months now.”

“Two…. Two months!? You’ve been…” Sienna just couldn’t believe it; she was at a loss for words. “Bitch I’ve been at your house at least four times these past two months. You kept me out the loop for sixty days!?”

Nora busted out laughing while London rolled her eyes.

“How was I supposed to just say I was cheating on my husband? That ain’t something you proudly say Sienna.”

“Oh Bitch don’t give me that sob story. You wasn’t proud to tell me but you’ve been bustin them legs wide open with no shame huh?”

London didn’t even know what to say. She was getting read for filth because Sienna was right. She wasn’t shameful enough to stop fucking Roman… until now.

“Okay. Y’all need to relax on me. Let’s not forget you two encouraged this. You two demons ain’t no better than me, putting bugs in my fuckin ear. Wasn’t it you who told me to go enjoy myself at the party, while you steady bringing it up.”

“London you are 34 years old. Get the fuck over yourself; ain’t nobody put a gun to yo’ head and tell you to fuck that man. Be a woman about it and just say you like fucking him. He beat it up better than James do and that’s why you keep running back, stop blaming everybody else.” Nora stated seriously at her sister.

“Yeah girl, I mean… okay so we pushed you. But these lil two months? Baby that was all you. I’m just upset cause why the fuck am I the last to know?” Sienna pouted, folding her arms across her chest.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. But, now there’s nothing to tell. James is a good man and he doesn’t deserve that. So I told Roman we had to cut it off.” London explained before her phone buzzed again.

Roman: ?

“So since you cut it off, is that James?” Nora asked smartly with a small smirk on her face as she pointed towards the phone.

The pregnant pause gave the girls the answer they were looking for. Sienna busted out laughing.

“Cut it off my ass.”

“It’s not like that, he just wanna go out to eat.” London tries to explain

Nora snorts, yeah fuckin right. “If you wanna play stupid, we can to ya know?”

“It’s not like that, I promise guys. Whatever Roman and I had is over.”

And even though London announced it with upmost confidence, not a single person in that room believed a word that came out of her mouth.

London: French. Pick me up at 8.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Roman wanted to be true to his words. He would not touch London tonight. Plus, she was right. He needed to shift all that sexual tension to his wife, not her.

He sent a driver over to pick London up and now he was waiting. He’d already order them champagne and was seated waiting for her to arrive.

It was fifteen minutes after 8, so he was still waiting. His mind running a million miles a minute, she wouldn’t stand him up right? They could still be friends even after everything has transpired between them, he couldn’t see why not. Before anything happened between them he’s had the upmost respect for her and it didn’t dwindle because they both gave in to their sexual feelings for each other.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A soft voice spoke to him, breaking him out of his daze as he turned his head to where the voice came from.

His eyes scanned her from her head to her feet, her legs displaying beautifully in her dress. If there’s one thing that Roman couldn’t deny, it’s how beautiful she is.

“Nothing crazy.” He replied, standing up from his seat to walk up to her and giving her a tight hug.

Her perfume was intoxicating, overclouding his senses as he wrapped his arms around her lower waist and London’s arms wrapped around his neck.

They rocked back and forth in a friendly manner but the hug lasted longer than it should have. His arms tightened around her waist and flashes of him holding her against the wall with him holding her up by her thighs as he thrusted in and out of her ran through his mind.

Get it together Roman. He scolds himself, London wasn’t a piece of meat, she’s his friend.

London’s arms tightened around him too, almost as if she was trying to remember this feeling of him in her arms before she let go.

When they finally let go of each other, he held out her seat for her to take a seat.

“You look good. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your efforts were for me.” He stated teasingly, a small smirk on his face.

“Luckily you know better Mr. Reigns, I dress like this on the regular for myself.”

This was a fact; London loved to dress to impress and majority of the time the person she was looking to impress was herself.

A smile broke out on Roman’s face as the familiarity of the tone of conversation. This was the London he’d met.

The two fell into their old dynamic easier than they thought, London telling Roman about work and her upcoming work trip that she has coming up that she was dreading.

Roman filled her in on whatever was running through his head at the time, whether it was whatever scheme he had planned next for him and the twins to execute or whatever Paul suggested was the best thing to do for the business.

They chatted it up like two friends would have the entire time and before they knew it; two and a half hours had gone by. Roman called for the check and London bit her lip in thought.

You’ve been doing good for a week London, don’t do anything to fuck it up. She thought to herself when he paid and walked her to the driver he had set out for her.

The two walked close, arms brushing against each other as they took slow steps to the car. And even though she shouldn’t have, a small part of her was hoping that he would push her up against the car and ravish her in a way she’s become accustomed to in these past two months.

But instead, Roman gave her another long hug. His scent overpowering her own, she knows it’ll linger in her clothes on her way home. She was tempted, just turn your head and press your lips against his she had thought. But it was a passing thought that she didn’t execute because he had pulled away from their embrace and bid her a goodnight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roman came home in search of his wife and jumped on her the second he found her. He pulled her into a hot searing kiss, Tiara was took by surprise but she let herself get lost in the kiss.

It’s been a while since her husband has come back from work and has been in the mood so she was going to jump at the opportunity, she’d missed her husband. And as they teared each other’s clothes off each other she could feel how much her husband had missed her.

Gripping on her skin to press it impossibly closer to his own. Ravishing her skin with his lips like he’s never done before. And when he put her in position, he flipped her onto her stomach, Face down ass up.

“Fuck… wait Roman it’s-“ Tiara cut herself off with a moan as Roman thrusts himself mercilessly into her. Skin clapping against the other and moaning were filling the room as Tiara called out her husband’s name in pleasure.

Unbeknownst to her, Roman’s mind was elsewhere thinking of the woman he had just left. London’s moans were playing loud in his head, he almost couldn’t hear anything else. His hands tightened on Tiara’s hips, in the morning will probably be marked as he continued to slam his hips into hers.

London made him promise that he’d shift all his sexual desires away from her and back to his wife. But if he thought of her the whole time, it wouldn’t have been anybody’s business but his own.

Meanwhile, London laid in her bed naked with her legs open and fingers running up and down her slit.

Roman’s scent was still inked on her skin, it was almost as if he was here in the room with her. She couldn’t help herself, she tore her clothes off as soon as she got home and couldn’t get him off her mind.

When she finally pushed her fingers through her entrance her eyes rolled shut. One hand tweaked at her breast and the other thrusting inside of herself. She could almost feel him.

His hands pressed down against her back to keep her in position as he thrust inside of her at a face pace, “You runnin’ from me London? I thought this was big girl pussy, where you going?” He taunts as he pulls her closer to him. The tip of his dick just kissing her cervix causing her to wince a little in pain but the pleasure felt so good.

Her fingers had picked up speed as she reminisced about one of her sessions with Roman. The squelching noises from her fingers filled the room along with her moans.

How many times was Roman going to make her feel like a horny teenager?

Thats how she felt as her fingers pressed against her spot, bucking against her own hand at the feeling. “Roman.” She moaned out as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“C’mon baby, I know you can handle it, throw it back for me.” He encouraged, letting his grip on her waist go to watch her throw her ass back to him. The sounds of her skin clapping against his as she fucked him back filled the room, he had no doubt that whoever was near his locker room could hear them.

“Fuck Daddy, you feel so good.”

“So good, you gon cum for me baby?” He whispered to her

“Yes. M’gonna cum for you Daddy.” She moaned aloud, repeating her previous words to him as she continued to finger herself to ecstasy. A loud moan echoed throughout her room as her back arched from the bed as she came to the memory of her and Roman.

As her eyes rolled back into place and she panted while trying to catch her breath, only one thought cross her mind: how long was she going to be able to get over these sexual desires for Roman?

And halfway across the city, as he watched his wife succumb into slumber Roman wondered the same thing.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Personally I like this chapter WAAYY more than chapter 3. I can’t wait to give you guys chapter five😭🫶🏾

Please comment and show some loveeee🤍

Tagging the lovelies: @whatdoeseverybodywant @theninthwonder @christinabae @2-muchsauce @alichesmi @pitlissa22 @sassginawanmills @harmshake @po3ticb3auty @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @dershalover89 @serena004 @reci1996 @scarlettnoir01 @venusesworld @kill-the-artiste @southerngirl41 @badbitchcentralinc @reignsboy19 @mzv11 @cyberdejos2 @msniaimani @skyesthebomb @bebesobrielo @katymae12344 @alyyaanna

#empressdede #empresswriting #wwe #black reader #disrespectful #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x black reader

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peterpparkrr · 1 year

Text

Banter (ch. 1)

Series: Banter

Pairing: Roy Kent x f!Reader

Summary: You and Roy Kent do not get along. But your mysterious Bantr match on the other hand…

A/N: SEASON 3! SEASON 3! Ted Lasso is the only thing holding my sanity together so I figured I might as well write for it. Enjoy!

(Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4) (Ch. 5)

series masterlist

Shutterbug: Do you ever feel like no one really knows you?

SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes. Most of the people I interact with are fucking idiots.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Has something prompted this existential crisis?

Shutterbug: My friends. And work. Everything.

SirSwears-a-Lot: It's hard to be vulnerable with people.

SirSwears-a-Lot: In the effort to respond to honesty with honesty, I’ve recently been struggling with the question: What the hell am I doing?

Shutterbug: I’m about to start a new job and I’m questioning every decision I’ve ever made.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Same.

You were trying to navigate your way through the AFC Richmond building when you spotted a familiar blonde ponytail down the hallway.

“Keeley!”

Keeley squealed your name when she turned around to see you.

“EEEEEE! I’m so excited that you’re here!” She shouted as she ran toward you at full speed before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck tightly as you spin her in a little circle.

To this day you weren’t sure how you’d ended up being best friends with Keeley Jones.

You’d met on a commercial set when you were an assistant to the photographer and Keeley as the talent for the shoot had charmed your pants off.

Not literally. You two didn’t have that kind of relationship. No matter how often Keeley joked about wanting to shag you.

But Keeley’s uncanny ability to befriend anyone and everyone she met had worked on you. Despite being the model-slash-acress-social media star at the center of the commercial she took the time to ask you your name, understand what your job was, and pepper you with personal and ranndom questions.

And as an unmoored creative professional in London, you’d latched onto Keeley as a familiar face in the circles you both ran in (Well, circles that Keeley ran in and you sort of loitered on the outskirts of with your camera).

And when the two of you’d walked in on her boyfriend at the time shagging the executive for the brand you two were working on the shoot for, she’d slapped him clear across the face (the boyfriend, not the executive, you both wanted to continue working). And you’d let her move in with you until she could figure out what she was going to do next.

It had bonded you together for life.

Which is how she’d managed to rope you into taking AFC Richmond’s promo photos despite your strong anti-sport stance.

You were easily swayed by the Keeley Jones pout. And the promise of a well-paying job.

“Ted! Roy! This is my friend-slash-photographer-extraordinaire,” Keeley called out to two men in Richmond jackets that made their way over to you, introducing you all to each other. They both looked a little too old to be players so you assumed they were coaches. “She’s going to be the photographer for the promo shoot tomorrow.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m excited to work with the team,” You tell them as you reach out to shake their hands.

“Pleasure to meet an old pal of Keeley’s,” The one with the mustache, Ted, replies as he shakes your hand eagerly.

“Oh! You’re American!” You exclaim in surprise.

“Yes, we are,” Ted replies with a small chuckle. “But I promise we have nothing but the utmost respect for the game y’all call football.”

“I’m not really a football fan to be honest,” You admit with a shrug.

You don’t necessarily have anything against the game itself. But the fact that the world pours billions of dollars into an industry built around boys kicking balls around seems silly to you. Especially considering the way some fans of the game react – hooliganism, riots, bar fights, increased rates of domestic violence after matches – it all seems like a waste.

“Roy! this is the photographer for the shoot tomorrow,” Keeley tells a man with a head of dark curls and a deep frown etched into his stubble.

You can’t help but give him the once over. It’s part of the artistic nature of your work, you’re always scanning people for their best angles, natural beauty, etcetera, that you might want to work with when you’re shooting.

And he’s pretty. In that gruff, grumpy mountain man kind of way.

“Nice to meet you,” You greet him with a smile as you hold out your hand to him. “Are you a player?”

“Do I look like I’m a fucking player?” He grumbles at you before he pushed between you and Keeley and walks into the locker room.

“Excuse me?!” You shout after him, completely taken aback by the rudeness you’d just been faced with.

“You’ll have to excuse Roy,” Keeley tells you with an apologetic smile. “He wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, well, every morning.”

“Right,” You reply with a glance over your shoulder in the direction he stalked off to.

“Since he’s not a player at least I don’t have to work with him,” You add with a halfhearted smile. Trying to play the optimist for the sake of your professionality.

Keeley’s eyes widen slightly when you say that and what smile you had managed drops off your face completely.

“Um…” She mutters.

“What?” You groan.

“He’s one of the other coaches,” Keeley tells you apologetically as she purses her lips at you.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” You grumble.

“Fucking dick,” You mutter under your breath as Keeley leads you down the hallway, explaining what the team owner, Rebecca Welton, is looking for brand-wise from these promotional photos.

Shutterbug: Why are men such assholes?

SirSwears-a-Lot: I feel like you’re expecting me to defend my gender but I honestly can’t.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Men are pricks.

Shutterbug: Agreed. This guy I met for part of my new job was a complete and total dick to me today for absolutely no reason. If I didn’t like getting paid I would have gone full psycho bitch on his ass. See how he liked that.

SirSwears-a-Lot: I would pay good money to see that.

Shutterbug: I did meet another guy at this job today who was actually a really nice guy, like unnaturally nice.

Shutterbug: And you’re nice.

Shutterbug: So I guess #NotAllMen.

SirSwears-a-Lot: I’m not nice.

Shutterbug: Yeah, you are.

Shutterbug: You let your niece help you come up with your dating app profile.

Shutterbug: And if you weren’t a nice guy you wouldn’t let me complain to you all the time.

SirSwears-a-Lot: I complain back to you so it’s really an even exchange. Plus most of your stories are hilarious.

Shutterbug: Well, I do usually like my work.

Shutterbug: But my pro tip of the day: don’t work with athletes.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Noted.

“Hiya,” Ted greets you as you stand in the middle of the locker room on your phone.

You’re so engrossed in your text argument with Bantr boy about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza that you jump slightly at the sudden noise.

“Ope, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” Ted apologizes.

“Oh, it’s fine, I just got wrapped up in a text conversation,” You tell him with a shrug as you tuck your phone back into your pocket and smile back at Ted.

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Ted asks curiously.

“Just a guy,” You tell him.

Ted nods for you to continue. Something you’ve almost never had someone, especially not a guy do to you in a professional context.

“Well, I’m on Keeley’s app. I figure at least one of us deserves to have success. Even if it’s professional and not personal.”

“You’re a good friend,” Ted interjects.

“And I have been flirting with one guy who’s actually funny. And intelligent. It probably won’t go anywhere but it’s fun to have someone to chat with who doesn’t know who I am.”

“I can’t say I understand the appeal of that sort of anonymity, what if you’re chatting with a serial killer? Or a homophobe? Or someone who hates pizza?” Ted replies. “But then again, I’m not young and hip.”

“It’s a valid perspective,” You reply with a nod. “I’m honestly not even sure if he would like me. If we ever met, I mean, I don’t know if I’m his type.”

“Well, you’re an absolute delight, I can’t imagine a single guy who wouldn’t like you, unless he hates, I don’t know, happiness and joy,” Ted tells you.

“Thanks, Ted,” You reply.

“Anything else I can help ya with?” Ted asks as he slaps his hands down on his thighs. “Got any of those big heavy lights you need moved around?”

“The lights actually aren’t that heavy,” You tell him with a burst of laughter. “I think I’m just about set up here. Just waiting on your team and then we can get started.”

Shutterbug: What’s your type?

SirSwears-a-Lot: Why do you ask?

Shutterbug: Maybe I’m getting plastic surgery so that I can look like it.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Whatever you look like, you’re my type.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Unless you’re actually my boss catfishing me.

SirSwears-a-Lot: In which case, fuck you.

Shutterbug: Damn. You’ve caught me!

You couldn’t wait for this job to be over.

The team was actually easy. Other than a few players who tried to tell you about their best angles (Jamie Tartt had insisted that you needed to only shoot him from the left and seemed unable to not smolder during the shoot which was… an interesting choice), the solo shots of the players had been a breeze.

But these coaches were a whole different beast.

Ted was happy, almost eager to take your direction.

But the other three?

Coach Beard hardly spoke during the entire interaction and refused to smile but his pictures came out fairly decent.

Nathan Shelley was so nervous and fidgety it took you ages to take the photos because he kept breaking the poses to ask you if he was doing alright.

Roy Kent was impossible.

“You have to stay in the pose,” You grumbled as you pushed past your lighting rig to re-adjust Roy for what felt like the hundredth time this afternoon to.

“I feel fucking stupid in the pose,” Roy grumbled in response.

“Well, you look stupid when you don’t do it,” You shot back.

“Just listen to the nice lady, Roy,” Ted called out, causing a few of the others to chuckle.

Something of a crowd had formed to watch the entire process. Some of the players who were done with training and the rest of the coaches were standing around watching now that their photos were over and you could tell that Roy hated having an audience.

“Shut up!” Roy shouted at them.

You groaned as he broke the angle again.

“Alright, everyone out!” You shout once you’ve finally lost your patience. You shoo at the men. “Everyone!”

Once it was just you and Roy in the room you turned back to him.

“The sooner you do what I tell you to do. The sooner this is all over,” You tell him. “You’re handsome, I don’t understand why you hate getting your photo taken so much.”

Roy didn’t reply with words, he simply grunted at you as you stepped towards him and lifted your hand to gently tilt his face back to the direction you wanted him to face before stepping away.

“There,” You said a minute later once you’d gotten all the shots you would need. “That wasn’t so painful, now was it?”

“Yeah,” Roy grunted again as he pushed through your set-up and disappeared back into the coaches' office.

You watched him leave with a puff of mild annoyance before you realized that meant that today’s shoot was over and hurried to back up your things.

Shutterbug: Would you ever want to meet up?

You’d gotten to the restaurant too early. After you’d sent that message you’d thrown your phone across the room and tried not to panic.

When you’d finally built up the courage to retrieve your phone you saw that he’d already messaged you back,

SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes.

SirSwears-a-Lot: Friday night? Bacco’s, 7 pm?

You grinned at your phone for a moment before typing your response.

Shutterbug: See you then :)

And you’d been riding on cloud nine for the last few days. You hadn’t told anyone about the date. Not even Keeley. No matter how hopeful you were about this working out, you hated the thought of getting someone else's hopes up so you decided to keep it a secret.

Just until after the date.

But it also meant that you’d finished up the day’s shoot, gone home to get ready, and somehow ended up at the restaurant thirty minutes before your reservation. So you were standing in the waiting area, trying not to look too pathetic while you scrolled through Instagram.

Every time you heard the door open your eyes would flicker up only to be met with the view of a sweet elderly couple or a group of business partners making their way through the door.

Until you heard to door open and looked up to lock eyes with Roy Kent.

Your eyes widened before you offered him a sarcastic smile.

“I’m waiting for someone,” You tell him in lieu of a greeting.

“Me too,” He replies gruffly.

“Good for you,” You reply with a furrow of your brows.

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes and look back down at your phone, tapping out a quick message to let him know you’re here. You hit send just as your phone pings with a similar text from him.

You look up to scan the room again just as Roy’s phone buzzes and your eyes lock as you realize that you’re the only two people in the waiting area.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” You groan.

“Fuck,” Roy mutters.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #roy kent #roy kent fanfic #roy kent x reader #roy kent drabble #roy kent reader insert #ted lasso reader insert #ted lasso series #roy kent series #keeley jones

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