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sushirrrry · 2 months

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protective bodyguard harry blurb with smut please?

order a harry styles one-shot smut blurb; 4.5k words cw: oral sex, dom/sub, control kink, & strong language

The grasp on her arm was tight as he pulled her back away in the small room off to the side; she tried to get out of it before she huffed in his face. He let go for a moment, looking at her before the scowl on his face mirrored hers.

The room full of curtains, all the way up to the ceiling as they coated in the majestical way that the royal setting of the palace provided. The bright colors and the warmth of the light in the room seemed to be opposite to the behavior of which they stood.

As the door shut behind them; they were now alone, awaiting the orders of her officiates before the engagement that they were to be involved. Her royal highness was to be on the grounds today with her father, his royal majesty, to offer a showing of their efforts towards their charity gala that they would showcase that evening.

But her prior, childish behavior had sent her security into a tailwind of nervousness. In the nervousness, sat a deeper feeling that he couldn’t seem to overcome as he stared at the way that the black dress hugged the curves of her shape—the inline of her waist were held tightly with the expensive fabric, the sweet white ribbon held her hair back in a half-up ponytail as the rest wisped against the edges of her shoulders.

Harry couldn’t stand the way she flaunted around in such a manner; he couldn’t stand the way his hands ached to touch her, even if for a rough moment of punishment.

But maybe that was the issue.

“What was that for?” Harry snarled at her, “You think it’s funny to put yourself into those kinds of situations?”

She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked back at him with disgust.

“What do you mean? I was only offering a photo—”

“You cannot send yourself into the crowd like that, especially in the public engagements. He could have grabbed you, or worse. You know the protocol, and you know that you can’t do that. When will you learn?”

His breath was heated as he stared at her, practically backed into the corner as her sweet smiles from before now only replaced with the scathing frown.

“Nothing was going to happen to me,” She explained, “All he did was put his arm around me. It was possibly just out of habit—and you embarrassed me, pulling me away like that.”

Sure, yes, Harry knew that he may have been a bit overprotective in the sense of how he handled the situation, but he wasn’t going to let anyone touch her in a way that was past the protocoled handshake.

The way that her breath inflated had his eyes settled on her chest for a moment; his eyes lifted just slightly at the way that her stealth mirrored him. She wasn’t going to back down this time, and he could see the flames hidden in her hazel eyes.

“Your highness, I will not apologize for putting your safety at my highest concern.” He told her sternly, pushing his feet forward just a bit as he watched her take a step back. “You know that you’re not allowed to step into the crowds, nor are you allowed to insert yourself into them unprovoked, without proper authority to do so,” His hands sat in fists next to the trousers that had started to feel a tightness that he only wished would subside. “That’s an order.”

A sudden hint of a snap hit her below the stomach, like an overturned eighteen-wheeler. Her breath settled on the tip of her tongue as her eyes fluttered at the way that he spoke to her.

The way that his black trousers settled on his hips with the delicate tuck of the white button down that she had seen him wear every day, without fail. She watched the way that his lower arm flexed as his fist clenched and the rolled-up sleeves became tight.

The silence of the room didn’t deafen her, but the annihilation of the thumping of her heartrate could have, easily.

“Do you have any idea how angry it makes me when you don’t listen to me?” He further pushed, but the tone was lowered, almost like he just wanted her to understand that every part of him wanted her to listen—to succumb to the realization that there was security in knowing that she could trust him.

She settled her lips together, nodding a few beats before her chin nodded.

She did understand how angry it made him—she watched the way that his eyes sharpened whenever her hand would linger in the crowds for too long, or when someone would reach out and grab at her. With decorum, she would nicely try to retreat. She was a nice girl, after all, and she would never want to put the royal name in any distress.

But Harry watched her—felt her, knew her intentions were to have him watch her every move. It was almost impossible to ignore the way that his eyes flickered and stayed on her as he tried his best to keep her safe.

With keeping her safe meant having her all to himself. That was the only way that he knew she would be safe—if they were in a room, completely on their lonesome without another being around to possibly put a lingering hand on her.

When his being pushed her against the wall, the twenty-foot ceilings with wall-to-wall wallpaper that had been installed by her family hundreds of years prior, he felt the electricity of her

“You like playing these games because you,” His breath hitched as he watched her eyes focus on the way that his mouth moved around, playing with the words on the tip of his tongue, “You like being punished. Don’t you?”

She gasped as his hand firmly placed itself next to her ear against the wall, almost like he had demanded an answer, without giving her a moment to think. Her eyes were glazed over, as if knowing what was to come, but already knowing the feeling that his hands would have on her in a way that she craved.

She had always craved.

“Tell me.” He moved his face further into her realm, pushing her—coaxing her to do as he told. Somewhere in the line of his need for control lie her need to submit to him; it was a merriment of the two that urged his fingers to pull her to look up at him with a darkness that she ached for.

“I want you to tell me how much you need me under that tight, little dress,” His eyes referenced the dark material that hugged her in the most sensual way, but it was classic and modern and gave her the edge that the modern royals had needed, and what he had so desperately salivated over since he had been told that he was to watch over her.

Her breath came in sharp as he she tried to feel a separation from him, but couldn’t as his foot stood between her legs, his knee nudging her knees to stay apart. She tried to close her thighs but couldn’t. The smirk on his face was apparent as he knew she needed relief and wouldn’t be able to find any.

“I would never wear a dress like this,” She practically stuttered out; a pathetic line, as he knew that she was becoming putty in his hands just at the way her eyes were glass, “Unless I knew someone else would want to take it off, Mr. Styles.”

Harry’s lips parted at the words, watching as she practically fell directly into his trap—placing herself into his atmosphere as he ached for her need, her greediness to be seen.

He knew that they didn’t have much time. Someone would be looking for them, surely. But he didn’t care enough to process what would happen if they were caught in this. His attention firmly stayed on her, and he knew that if he didn’t address now, she would never listen to him again.

He couldn’t have that—he couldn’t have her disobey him. That was pure blasphemy, and he would never allow it.

“Am I to trust that you can watch the door?” The hint of a smirk the only emotion he could muster as he strained to explode in the confines of her gaze, “Can you do at least one thing correctly?”

She cocked her jaw out to the side as she raised a brow at his snarky comment.

“Am I to trust that you will actually be able to make me cum?”

Harry pushes his hips against hers, causing her brows to narrow as a slight reaction. The words that floated off her tongue were filthy, but he knew that he could clean her up in a matter of moments.

“I could make you cum just by my words, love,” His voice like venom, “Making you wait for my cock is just the punishment you need. Always getting what you want—you love playing this game because I’m making you beg for it. And I’ll play along because,” A humorless laugh leaves his lips, “Because you’re going to be a good girl for me now, aren’t you?”

“You,” She swallowed back her bite as she tried her best to study him. “Work for me.”

Harry brushed some of the hair from her face that he knew had fallen from the pretty ribbon that held her hair back in its place.

“Alright,” A broken smile placed on his face as he knew the game she was playing—a good game, at that.

“Walk away, then. Since you’re such a good little Princess, all proper and innocent,” He stared at the way that her lips part as he had moved away just a bit. “But I know that you want my tongue nestled between your thighs so bad, and you’d never give up the opportunity if it were to present itself to you. Trust me,” He said, “I will work for you.”

He watched as she thought for a moment; the tough exterior trying to remain but failing over and over again as her eyes lowered for a moment just at the thought of him moving away. She couldn’t help but think of the scorching hot heat of his tongue pressed into her, lapping up every ounce of wetness she had.

A subtle whimper left her lips as she struggled with the thought, backing against the wall enough that had his knee pressed directly into his cunt—just like he knew she wanted. The smirk that followed stated it all. She riled underneath him, pressing upwards a bit to try to get away from the feeling that elicit her, but knowing that she couldn’t fight it.

Even though she tried to push it away, she needed him in a way that felt almost animalistic. So, she surrendered to his pushback, letting her hands move up to rest on his shoulders as he felt the subtle pull towards her.

“That’s what I thought.” He said, a cocky tone milked from his throat as he won her convictions.

She tilted her head back as she could; the feeling of his hands running down the length of her body was all that she could have asked for in the moment. It was almost like heaven’s gate opened as she pulled her hips towards and into him. Harry’s eyes watched the length of her throat as she arched towards him just a bit.

His lips firmly attached to the skin, letting the softness underneath him feel scathing and almost unattainable. As he kissed down towards her collarbone, he made sure to nuzzle underneath the family heirloom pearls that rested against her skin.

Without another warning, he was on his knees before her—as if a metaphor for the way that he had been begging for this moment for the last three-hundred days that he had been notified he was to care for her; to watch her, to keep her safety as his priority.

All he had ever wanted was to be on his knees in front of her; kissing her, eating her in a way that craved every single moment that his eyes devoured her.

His fingers nudged the black fabric up her thighs, watching as it stretched over the subtly curves and dips of her hips. His knees settled on the ground as he allowed his eyes to stare up at her, watching as she arched against the wall, almost pushing her hips towards him to feel what he had been teasing.

“How long has it been?” His voice was hot on a whisper as he kissed the inside of her thigh, watching her reaction to him practically explode at the heat of his lips.

She swallowed back, “You would know,” She muttered, “You haven’t left my side in a year.”

At her words, he smirked with a knowingness; he knew that she hadn’t left his side. Their tension and weight of this had only been stewing for so long, and he was finally getting the opportunity to show her the way that he had always wanted her.

“You’re going to be fucking tight around my fingers, won’t you?” He spoke, his tongue feeling tingly as he asked the dirty words.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know what gave you the illusion that I was a prim and proper Princess,” She urged, “Surprised you never heard me moaning your name when my bedroom door was closed.”

It was his turn to whimper, just thinking of all the times he had traveled with her, knowing that she was safe behind the shut doors. He had wondered if her time alone was peaceful; knowing that no one else was around to bother her, as her public job was practically a lifestyle.

But now he knew that she thought of him as she fucked herself into oblivion on the cream, silk sheets—spread and open as if telepathically waiting for him to check on her. So fucking prim and so fucking proper.

“Got a mouth on you, hm?” He commented, a roughness to his tone as he held his hands against the skin of her thighs as his own mouth practically watered at the touch, “What would the commonwealth think of their dainty, little Princess with a mouth like that?”

“It’s a fun little act,” She huffed out, a smile on her lips as she bit on her lip at the way that the man’s eyes plead with certainty of need, “Even more fun sneaking around like this, don’t you think?”

“Hm,” Harry hummed, his eyes moving up to catch hers as he shakes his head a little bit, “’S a gift to me.”

His hands caress her thighs, moving the black dress up until he’s reached the periwinkle lace, accented with a baby pink bow right at the top. His eyes guide up to her as he feels the strong connection of their electrical magnetism forcing himself as close as he can; his lips attached to the skin right underneath the slim line where the dress is pushed up.

But, right above the pink bow.

“Even your dripping pussy has a bow for me,” His heated breath was hot on her skin as she whimpers at the feeling of his merciful pout on her delicate skin, “A gift all for me.”

She felt the way her knees wanted to bend inward at the way he made her feel; a horrific shuttering of need coursing through her, watching as his head moved its way further down, attaching itself to the outside lace. As if, to only get a small taste of her. He had been holding himself back to help control his appetite for what was underneath. A teasing approach that left her shuttering out a breath.

But he was starving for the contact in one way or another.

“Watch the fucking door,” He stated, pulling away for a minute. “Don’t you dare let us get fucking caught. You’re going to have an orgasm so fucking strong you aren’t going to know what hit you.”

“Yes—yes, sir.” She blinked a few times; hands wrapped around the longer curls that practically melted between her fingertips as he sat on his knees in front of her.

His eyes moved back up to her as he watched knees as they shook in a height of adrenaline and anticipation.

“So sweet. Such a good girl for me. Doing as I say.” He commented, one of the soft remarks he made as he kissed at her inner thigh knowing that she needed a bit of kindness to overlay with the tough punishment he was going to put her through.

His fingers interlaced with the waistband of the lace panties, the waistband on them laying around his fingertips as he pulled them down with a swoop. He couldn’t believe the way that his eyes attached to the dripping cunt that practically swelled with anticipation for him—watching her writhe as there was now no friction made his cock strain underneath the trousers.

“Touch yourself,” He whispered, “Show me where you need me.”

His head felt dizzy with the starvation of her as he watched her succumb to his order. Her fingers daintily placed along on the swollen bud of her clit, pressing softly as she moaned at the touch she craved for. His eyes dark with a blackness for what occurred in front of his eyes, knowing she rewarded him with every single move.

She wriggled underneath his stare, as he used his own to gently gather the wetness that lie between her thighs. The slickness of her desire coating his fingertips as he gathered them along the length of her swollen cunt, pressing upwards just a bit as he looked up to gauge her reaction to the feeling.

Her mouth opened slightly, a hitched gasp as she practically folded in half; her back arched enough to wanting his touch so bad she couldn’t hardly stand it any longer.

“C’mon, show me more,” He urged, tapping at her leg softly, “Here—put it up here.”

On his knees, he was situated between her legs as he helped her foot urgently rest against his shoulder. He wanted the most access; the most visual for his own selfishness, as he felt his mouth water at the way she opened for him.

“Christ,” He muttered under his breath as his fingers came back up to directly press against her clit, watching as she held onto him for balance now. The soft pump of her heel dug into his shoulder, but he knew the pain was causing the adrenaline to shoot through his body. “Gonna’ fucking devour you.”

It doesn’t take any longer for his tongue to press against the center of her; the way that she falls into his touch only makes sense. The dirty tongue that had been speaking nonsensical words of affection was now tasting her in a way that felt obliged and dutiful.

“Fuck—fuck,” She whined, pulling at the hair to practically push his tongue further into her depths as he lapped up the wetness collecting around her.

“Knew you’d taste like a fucking dream,” He pushed against her thighs to keep her spread for him, his hair falling into his face as he sucked gently on her swollen clit, which led to her shuttering in practical defeat. “Fuck, Princess.”

The small play of a nickname sent her stomach into a fit, letting her hips lead her into the grasp of his tongue as she pulled at the curls that rested in the curls of his hair. She pulled it when she felt the way that he inserts his middle finger, lapping around the entrance as he buried his nose to nudge against her clit.

The small amount of penetration leads her body to need—to swell around him, as he pulls back just a bit as if the sensitivity had gotten the best of her. His tongue lapped at her entrance, spitting directly where she needed him most—as if it wasn’t wet enough; he loved knowing that she could writhe against him and soak him like this.

“I want you to—”

Notably, the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood of the chamber floors seemed to catch their attention. It’s enough that both of their fantasies push away in a moment, almost like their bubbles had burst with knowing that being caught wasn’t an option.

Harry pulls away from her thighs as she fumbles with pulling the black dress down her thighs, down to the knees where the proper length was prior to Harry’s fingers pushing it upwards. Her eyes dash to the ground before kicking the periwinkle lace underneath the sofa that sat directly in front of her.

Harry had managed to pull himself together, throwing a hand through his hair as he used the back of his palm along his mouth, as if finishing the best meal of his life. He had thrown himself down on the sofa, adjusting his belt so that his straining erection would be hidden.

She stayed standing behind the sofa, hands on her hips as she tried to pretend as if the conversation, they were having was routine; like they had planned to be alone for the past few moments, while the door opened to reveal her mother and a few aided members of the house to push past the door then.

“It’s absolutely preposterous—” Her mother stated to the dignitaries that followed in her path, before her eyes fell to her daughter—the Princess—with almost a look of relief, “There you are.”

The Princess reacted, but Harry could see as he sat in front of her with his legs crossed and his arms covering across his chest. He looked up at the woman in the dark green floor length gown, and others who had come in her wake.

“Sorry, I just came to, uh,” She couldn’t wrap her brain around any words that made sense as the slickness between her thighs came back into his thoughts, the way her thighs moved against one another made her entirely too aware of the whiplash that just occurred.

“She was having a bit of a panic. A prick grabbed her out in the garden welcome ceremony, and wouldn’t let go, so we just came to cool off.” Harry stated, looking up at Her Majesty, who happened to be the mother of the woman he had just furiously been giving a pleasureful tongue towards.

The knowingness of it made his heartbeat race; knowing what had happened before the doors of this room should have been felt just by the energy, but the two of them were keeping their lips shut as they tried to remain orderly.

“Oh,” The older woman nodded a few times, looking between Harry and her daughter before she pursed her lips, “Very well, then. Are you feeling a bit better?” She asked.

The girl nodded, giving a tight smile before she came around the other side of the sofa—Harry looked at her now, noticing that her hands were white knuckled as she held them behind her back. He bit the inside of his cheek before rubbing his hands down the thighs of his pants, drying the sweat from his palms.

“Yes, yes, I am, thank you,” She answered, before giving a subtle nod; her eyes made their way back to Harry. Their eye contact clicked immediately before she took in a breath and cleared her throat. The girl looked back to her mother after a moment, “Let’s go back, then. I will meet you there.”

Her Majesty gave a curt nod before she turned back towards the large doors and made her way out of them, back down towards where the gala was being held.

Harry let out a breath as he shut his eyes, almost feeling the weight coming outwardly from his chest.

“That was close.” He muttered.

He stood in his place, pushing off of the sofa before the girl tightened the ribbon on the back of her hair. He noticed that she may have not been able to see it clearly, watching her move towards the large mirror that hung against the wall. Her head tilted to be able to see behind her.

Harry moved to where she stood, his hands placing themselves on top of hers as he fixed the ribbon on the top of her head to let the strands hand down along the length of her hair—the tie now tight to keep her hair in place; the girl smiled at him in the mirror before he noticed the hazel draw of her eyes, aligning with the smirk that she sports now.

A silence fell over them, but it was almost as if they had to just go back to the duties of their dignified jobs, knowing that getting caught in the act wasn’t an option they were both able to handle. Harry grabbed the jacket from the edge of the sofa; readjusting his sleeves to normal down the throw of his arm before moving to follow the girl out of the room.

Her legs move towards the door that had been opened, Harry following hot on her lead as he found the strength of his voice, muttering a few words back at her as they trudged through the palace halls; notable faces in large paintings being the only ones to hear the filth to slide off of his tongue.

“Just know that I’m not finished,” he told her roughly, as she walked in front of him; his voice gathering right behind her as they fled out of the room and towards the main gardens that would hold the charity lunch that had been ignored prior. His hand slipped along the flat of her back as he felt the urge to hold her against him; this time in a much different way, “I want to see you tonight, back in the west wing.”

She held her shoulders back; continuing to feel his lips pressed against the inner thighs that felt bare, but obscenely voracious at the same time. “Is that an order?”

His smirk pressed against his lips as he stayed behind her; knowing that her lead was made to make him feel that she was in charge again. He knew deep down that was surely not the case.

“That is an order.”

Without her smirk seen, she nodded a few times, turning her head just a bit as the smirk wiped away from her face so he didn’t get the satisfaction of knowing he caused it.

“Very well.” She agreed, nodding softly before he stopped to look at her; noticing the way that her eyes fell towards his lips. They stood in the hall for a moment, her back towards him as he stood behind her in protective line as he had been arranged to do.

And in that moment, he urged the scent of her wildflower perfume to push through his equilibrium as he breathed out a subtle word of agreement to hers: “Very well.”

The sound of her heels echoed through his mind as he thought of the next time he’d be able to have her once again. On his terms, nonetheless.

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1d1195 · 9 months

Text

Protection

She hates her security detail and everything it stands for. So if she’s going to be miserable she’s going to take everyone responsible for her safety down with her.

But then she meets the newest agent in charge of her protection: Harry. Harry has one job and that’s to protect her; it should be easy enough. How much trouble can a 24-year old student get up to?

Fan art by @tiredinwinter inspired by Part IV 🥹💕

Miss Wildflower and Harry’s ideal home

@harrysonlylover sent me this quote from Miss Wildflower

Head Above Water by Avril Lavigne (esp during Extra I)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Extra I

Extra II

Extra III

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watchmegetobsessed · 1 year

Text

BULLETPROOF

A/N: *screams in excitement* its here!!! its finally here!!! im so happy i finally got to finish a longer fic without hitting rockbottom with it. this one was very easy to write, i think i was heavily inspired by the night agent series on netflix lol now im very excited for yall to read it!!

WORD COUNT: 12.5k

WARNING: gun use, getting shot, blood, stalking, bullying

SUMMARY: Being Eroda's first daughter is not all sunshine and rainbows. It's tough out there when people are so fast to judge you and turn their back on you. But there is one person who's been there for you all along. Your bodyguard, Harry.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The wine is nice. The salad is tragic, probably the worst you’ve ever had. You wonder how dessert will turn out to be, could be good or poisonous at this point.

The company?

Well, at least he is not staring at your breasts.

Going out with Jaiden sounded a lot more fun when he asked you out in the library, but now that you’ve been listening to him speak for the past thirty-two minutes, you’re counting it, he appears to be just another douche who wants to brag about you at the next frat party. He probably thinks he is doing well and he might get lucky once you leave the restaurant, but there are two reasons why that won’t happen.

One, you spotted some tomato sauce on his left hand before he left to the restroom and when he came back it was still there, he did not wash his hands and then touched the garlic bread. You’ve pushed the basket out of your view discreetly after that. It’s already a very strong point, but the second one is the real deal.

There is absolutely no way the three agents, one by the door, one by the window and one at two tables from you would be okay with assisting to your hookup. Well, it’s not that they would have a choice, if you think of it. But think about it: even if he weren’t a pig, this is how it would go.

Arriving to Jaiden’s building you would be told to wait outside with Morrison, while Jackson and Styles go up and check out Jaiden’s place. Then they would come down to get you. If the mood weren’t dead by this point, you’d have to go up and start the action with one agent down in front of the building, one by the front door and then the worst, you just know Styles would stand by the bedroom door like a statue, listening closely to everything happening inside.

Then when it would be over you’d have to leave with the three men around you and return to your place. Madness. Pure comedy.

“What do you think?”

Jaiden’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts about the ridiculous daydream of tonight and you realize you have no idea what he’s been talking about in the last seven minutes.

“Um, sorry?” you clear your throat, reaching for the wine.

“I was asking you about how…”

You look over his shoulder and spot Styles through the glass door, zoning out of the conversation in record time.

He is wearing civil clothes, all three of the agents are, that was the deal when you’re out somewhere, with friends or on a date which happen once in a leap year, to be honest. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with a black bomber jacket over, simple, dark jeans and trainers. You wonder if this is actually his style, if this is how he dresses when he is not on duty, when he is running errands or meeting up with his friends for drinks. You only see him when he is responsible for protecting you at all cost, he’s been head of your security team for the past two years and it’s been a rollercoaster of a ride.

He was a real pain in the ass at the beginning, he would jump at every possible noise, he dragged you out of class once because someone’s pen clicked louder than the usual. Fuck, you lost count of the times you screamed at him, asking what was his problem, if he lost his mind and every time he just stood there, like a fucking rock and then just nodded at the end and carried on with his nonsense.

It took some time and lots of communication to find balance. You realized he would never listen to you when you’re screaming from the top of your lungs and you had to accept that he is just doing his job. So you sat down with him and your father, the president of Eroda to talk about boundaries.

Things have been better since then and the two of you actually work well together. Most of the times.

He was next to you at every major event, ups and downs, he drove you home after you confronted your last serious boyfriend about how he cheated on you with three different girls, you sobbed like a baby and couldn’t even open the lock on your front door. He took the keys gently from your hand and did it for you. When you woke up in the morning the fridge was stocked with your favorites. You never asked, but you know he did it.

He has attended concerts and parties with you, shadowing you even when you had to get tampons in the middle of the night. You bet he knows what brand and size you use too at this point. As much as he’d gotten on your nerves millions of times… you like the guy. He is straight forward, always speaks his mind if asked, he sees things in a very rational way. He’s ambitious and hard-working and most of all, trustworthy.

He might actually be your best friend.

How tragic, you consider your head of security to be your best friend! This must be the end here…

“You’re really not listening, are you?” Jaiden laughs, but it’s dry, he looks pissed when you look back at him.

“Sorry, it’s been… a long week. And honestly, I kind of lost interest when you started talking about football, since I know nothing about it.”

“Wow, okay, so what were you expecting? Brainstorming about possible ways to stop the climate change?” he scoffs and you actually think about just standing up and leaving.

“No, but on a date you usually talk about things you both like. I guess we have nothing in common, then. So why don’t we—“

“You really know how to make people feel stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows shoot up, this is getting interesting.

“Just because daddy runs the country, doesn’t mean you’re above us all. Don’t have to be such a snob.”

“Oh, it wasn’t even me being a snob,” you retort with a forced smile as you grab your bag from the table and from the corner of your eyes you already see the agents moving. “It’s been a lovely evening, but I think we’re better as… I would say friends, but it wouldn’t be true. Bye, Jaiden.”

You stand and plan to march past him to meet Morrison and Jackson to head out, but Jaiden is not done, it seems. He jumps to his feet and his hand grabs your upper arm, pulling you back. He barely just opens his mouth when Hell breaks loose.

Morrison is first to get his hands on him, yanking him away from you while Jackson tears his hand off you, then it gets twisted behind him and Styles arrives, smacking your date up against the wall.

The whole restaurant is staring at you and you just want the ground to open beneath you.

You stop at your front door out of instinct, already knowing they have to sweep through the place before you could enter. Styles stands beside you and waits for Morrison and Jackson to return. When it’s confirmed you walk in, a blank look on your face.

“Have a nice night, guys. Thank you for tonight,” you tell them in a robotic voice. Morrison and Jackson says good night and you hear the door closing, but you know you’re not alone.

Styles stands by the door and you can feel him watching your every move as you put your heels away and take your earrings out.

“Are you gonna give me a lecture about choosing guys more wisely?” you ask, finally facing him. He’s standing with his hands clasped together at the front, his usual pose, but it’s a bit odd without his usual suit.

“No,” he answers shortly and you wait for him to say whatever is on his mind. “Just wanted to ask if you’re alright.”

“My arm is fine, you don’t ha—“

“I wasn’t asking about your arm.”

You stare back at him in silence, everything just dawns on you all at once and your chest feels like burning.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe out, but then a tear rolls down your face.

You see the change in him instantly. His eyes soften as he walks over to you, his gaze frantically searching your face, probably trying to figure out what to do. They don’t tell agents how to deal with young, crying women who feel like they are going to die alone.

“I’m fine, really,” you say again and he pulls out a tissue from his pocket, handing it over to you.

“He was a douche. Don’t take it too seriously.”

“How many disastrous dates have I been on in the past year?” you ask with a shaking voice. He doesn’t answer, just clenches his jaw. “You know damn well that it was my eleventh. You were there at all of them. I can’t help but start to think that something must be wrong with me and not with them.”

“Nothing is wrong with you. They were… weird guys. They were the problem, not you.”

“So then it’s just my taste that’s trash, right?” you let out a bitter laugh, hoping that making fun of yourself would help, but it doesn’t. It never does.

“Finding the right person is hard. You have to give it time.”

“I’m impatient, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have. The first day I met you.”

There it is.

That teeny tiny smile that barely just curls up the corners of his mouth but it drives you insane. Because it’s so rare, it’s so intimate and every time you see it the urge to kiss it gets harder and harder.

Yes, it’s such a cliché, but you do have a crush on your bodyguard. You fought it, you really did, but one day you had to realize there’s nothing you can do about it. Now you’re just trying to live with it but moments like this make it really hard not to overstep certain boundaries. For one, you really shouldn’t have feelings for someone whose job is to protect your life at all cost. Your father would have a heart attack if he found out you’re hooking up with an agent. And two… he might be nice to you, a real friend, but you feel like there’s no way he would ever feel the same way about you. Hell, sometimes, on your worse days you even question his friendship. What if it’s all just the job for him? To take care of your fragile little soul?

You’re awfully lonely.

“Get some rest, you have an 8 am class in the morning.”

He steps back and the smile is gone just like that.

“Yes sir!” you salute him, to which you just get a bored look before he takes one last look around and walks out to check in with the night shift agents outside your door.

You’d rather spend this Saturday evening locked up in your bedroom, watching Criminal Minds and eating popcorn, but tonight is one of those occasions where you have to make an official appearance as the president’s daughter.

You’ve definitely woken up on the wrong side of the bed, nothing went as you planned so far and you even had a fight with Styles because he ended your morning run earlier when a group of obnoxious fratboys appeared on the football field next to the running track and they accidentally threw a ball in your way.

You have not talked to him since, haven’t even seen him, but you know for a fact he will be coming with you tonight. He is there at every official event, never missing one.

There’s a soft knock on the front door just when you’ve finished getting dressed. You shuffle over to the door and opening you find yourself facing Styles in his usual suit, a change from the workout clothes he wore in the morning.

Fuck, you want to act grumpy still, but he looks especially good with slightly more tamed than usually and he is freshly shaven.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Not yet. Come and help me, please,” you say as you turn around, but you notice he is not following you. “Come on, I won’t bite your head off.”

With a tiny frown he finally moves and follows you into your bedroom where you grab the diamond necklace you want to wear tonight.

“Can you put it on, please?”

He takes the necklace, holding it so gently, you have never seen him handle something with so much care.

Maybe only you.

You turn around and hold your hair up as he reaches around your neck and you bit back a moan when his fingers brush against your collarbone. He fidgets with the clasp for a few moments before taking a step back once it’s done.

“Do you think I can make an early Irish exit tonight?” you ask, stepping into your heels and he offers you a hand that you gladly take to help the process. Once you’re done you head out, Styles following you right behind.

“Don’t think the president would appreciate it.”

“Oh, I know him well, I think I can have a pass from him.”

It’s another event where you feel absolutely useless, you’re just there so your father could show off.

“…And this is my daughter, Y/N. She is studying law!... She is top of her class, yes… Isn’t she a lovely young woman?...”

The smile on your face starts to hurt when you decide to take a break from all the guests that you know nothing about but they all seem to be very familiar with you.

“I’m gonna go out for a bit,” you tell Styles who’s been your shadow all night, three other agents watching your every step as well from different points of the room.

“Let me che—“

“I think there’s no danger out on the balcony, everyone has been thoroughly checked here, I’ll be fine for five minutes.”

You have a staring match for a minute where he weighs in on your words before finally nodding.

“Five minutes,” he says, opening the door for you.

“Start the fucking clock,” you mumble under your breath.

As you stand by the railing, staring out into the night you feel more deflated than ever. Like you’ve lost every ounce of energy and the urge to just scream is quite tempting. This is not the life you dreamed of, but it is what your father always wanted and you sometimes feel like a terrible daughter for being so displeased. You do have privileges others would never get to experience, but you’ve never felt lonelier and more out of place. The way here showed you how shallow your friendships have been, now only have about three people you consider your friend and one is your bodyguard, one is studying in Switzerland and the third is… Wait, there’s no third. That’s it, you have two friends.

You hear Styles stepping closer and you already know what he is about to say.

“I know my time is up, but if you dare to remind me, I’m pushing you off this balcony.”

Turning around you face him, ready to fight him for some more time, but you’re surprised to see him with that tiny smile on his face.

“You’re really moody today,” he states, but it’s not one of those smartass comments he usually makes, he is teasing you.

“Surprising?”

“A little bit. Are you… Are you still upset about your date?” His face turns serious.

“I was never upset about the date specifically. I was upset because… Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Stop being so fucking polite,” you groan.

“I can’t be rude to you, I would lose my job.”

“You’ve been rude to me on several occasions! Especially at the beginning!” you accuse him.

“I was never rude. I was honest.”

“Jesus, you are so annoying,” you roll your eyes that earns a smirk from him.

“That’s not my job, but I tend to be that often.”

“I might be moody, but you’re awfully cheeky tonight. What’s gotten into you?”

You head back inside, Styles following you.

“Don’t know, guess I’m just in a good mood.”

“Alright, then I’ll need a drink to put up with this new side of yours.”

And that’s what you did, but you didn’t stop at one drink. You didn’t plan to, but you successfully got so drunk Styles had to rescue you out of the venue before your father saw you. After all, you did make an Irish exit.

In the car you can tell Harry is not in the same good mood, he looks rather pissed as he drives you back home, constantly checking the mirrors to see if Morrison and Jackson are behind you.

“Aw, did I make your job harder?” you pout, but then start laughing as you look at his hard stare. His profile looks annoyingly beautiful and you just want to draw the slope of his nose with your finger.

“No, but it would have been nice if I didn’t have to bring you out through the back door on my shoulder, because you kept running away.”

You start laughing as he recites what happened just about fifteen minutes ago when he was trying to chase you down to get you into the car and away from anyone that could ruin your father’s political career if they saw his daughter running around drunk.

“Don’t be so pissed, your eyebrows will glue together one day, you pull the together way too much,” you snort out a laugh as you slide lower in your seat.

It’s an hour long drive and of course, you fall asleep soon. When you open your eyes next, you see that you’re already in the garage of your building.

“Come on, you need to get to bed.” Styles opens the car door, but you’re still half drunk and half asleep, so you just mumble something and close your eyes back. “Y/N, you can’t spend the night in the car.”

“Says who?” you breathe out.

For a few seconds nothing happens and you start drifting back to sleep when you feel an arm behind your back and one under your knees. You faintly realize that you’re being carried up to your apartment and when you force yourself to open your eyes, you realize that it’s Styles.

“Mm, is this also in your job description?” you groggily tease him, barely able to keep your eyes open. “Mr. Styles. Harry. Can I… call you that?”

“Call me whatever you want,” he answers and then waits in front of the apartment while it’s checked out. With the last bits of your energy you study his face that’s now dangerously up close. He is carrying you like you weigh nothing, his strong hold keeping you safe.

“Oh, don’t tell me stuff like that,” you chuckle, your eyes closing as you push down a yawn. You hear the agents coming out of your apartment, saying it’s clear before Harry starts walking again and a few moments later you’re laid down on your bed.

“You have to change, Y/N,” he tells you, pulling your heels off your sore feet. Groaning, you sit up and he helps you up to a standing position before turning around to walk out, but you stop him, pulling him back by his hand.

“I can’t get this off alone,” you say, nodding down at your dress. You catch the hesitation in his eyes as he weighs in the situation and steps back at last.

You turn around and move your hair so he can access the zipper. He doesn’t move instantly and you’re almost about to turn around when you finally feel his touch on your back. He places one hand to your shoulder blade, holding the dress in place while he pulls the zipper down with the other.

Slowly.

So slowly, it’s almost like foreplay.

Especially since you have no bra underneath, so the lower he gets the more skin he is able to see. The silky dress loosens around your body and you know he is looking at your bare back. With one hand you keep the dress to your chest, but the other one lets go of your hair as you turn back around to face him.

The alcohol is working eagerly in your system and you’re feeling blunt and risky as you hold your chin high with a half smirk.

“Where did your cheekiness go, Harry?”

“I’m gonna go now.” He gulps hard as he backs away towards the door, but you follow him.

“Am I that scary? That you’re running away?”

“Y/N, stop.” He looks into your eyes as he finally stops and his green irises appear dangerously dark as he stares back at you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrug innocently as you keep walking towards him until you’re just inches away from his chest. “Have you never thought of me like that?”

He doesn’t answer, but you don’t see disgust on his face and it’s enough for you to keep pushing.

“Because I have. Several times. On nights when I knew you were outside and then other times when I didn’t know where you were but I was hoping you were thinking of me.”

He is still completely silent, though his eyes are throwing fireworks your way when one of the straps of your dress slips down your shoulder.

“I want you and I want you to want me too, Harry,” you whisper as you move even closer, your hand that’s holding your dress pushing to his chest while the other moves up to the base of his neck. His skin is burning and you’re desperate to feel it underneath his crispy dress shirt too.

But before you could close the gap, he pulls back and it’s like a slap across your face.

“Go to bed, Y/N. You need to sleep.”

“But think about it, you could brag about fucking the president’s daughter, wouldn’t you want that? You’d be the man, Harry.”

Your words are like venom as you look at him, your chest heaving, your heart hammering under your hand.

“Stop talking before you say something you might regret,” he warns you.

“So you’re not man enough to fuck me? How should I trust you with my life then if you can’t even make me come?” you call after him when he is already out of the bedroom.

He freezes and the words sink in as you stare at the back of his head. You expect him to turn around and lecture you, to tell you how cheap you sounded, but instead he just walks out of the apartment and leaves you to your spiraling, drunk thoughts.

You realize you never actually knew panic and terror until you wake up the next morning, realizing what you did last night. That you have to face Harry after you almost begged him to fuck you and then said he is not man enough to be your guard because he didn’t have sex with you.

You have an afternoon yoga class on Sunday that you very much consider canceling on just so you don’t have to face Harry, but you can’t hide in your apartment forever, you’d have to meet him again sooner or later. So when it’s time for you to leave and you hear the knock on your door you open it with shaking hands, relief washing over you instantly when you find DeLuca standing in front of you, no trace of Harry.

That means you have some more time to figure out how to deal with the situation you got yourself into. Yoga actually helps you find some peace of mind, but only until you leave and catch on Jackson’s radio before getting into the car, Harry’s voice asking for a report.

He is working and he’ll be at your apartment, meaning that you have to go through the most awkward situation ever in about fifteen minutes.

It all happens as if you were in a movie. Arriving at the garage Jackson opens the door for you, DeLuca rounds the car and right at that moment the doors to the elevator swing open and Harry walks out with two other agents. Your mouth goes dry and you’re getting ready to fake your death, but things take a turn then.

“DeLuca, take her to the second floor, it’s been cleared. Jackson, Morrow, come with us.” Harry instructs the agents and you realize something is wrong.

“What? What’s happening?”

There’s an apartment on the second floor for the agents, like their own little headquarter and it’s usually the safe place they take you to whenever something looks suspicious. Harry looks at you, worry etched onto his face as he places a hand to your back and leads you over to DeLuca.

“There’s been a security alert while you were away, we need to check the whole building.”

“Alert? What kind?”

“Someone tried to get into your place,” is all he says before he passes you over to DeLuca and disappears with the other agents.

The time you spend on the second floor feels like forever, but it’s actually only twelve minutes. They sweep through the whole building and check the system, trying to find out what happened, but the cameras only caught a man in a black hoodie who stopped at your door, fidgeted with the lock for a while but couldn’t get in so he left. When it’s safe for you to return to your own place you’re walked back by two agents, but the tension is still thick.

You hear Harry doubling the agents for the rest of the day and night and he checks your apartment one last time himself again when his phone rings and you know it’s your dad calling from the tone he answers the call.

“Yes, sir. Passing the phone over,” Harry says after the briefing of the situation and then holds the phone out to you.

“Dad?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I wasn’t here.”

“Alright. We’ll have some extra agents around you for a while. I know you don’t like the guardedam, but we have to do it until we find out who it was.”

“Okay.”

You talk a little more and then you give the phone back to Harry, because your dad wants to have a few words with him. He listens carefully for a while and then walks out of the apartment, leaving you wondering what else there could be, but your dad could be a little too overprotective, so you’re sure he is just fussing about the situation.

You’ve just finished making yourself a cup of tea when Harry returns. He would never admit it, but you can tell this incident is stressing him out.

“Everything alright with my dad? He didn’t tell you off or anything, right?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “But you won’t like what I’m going to say. You need to have an agent in here with you until we get to the bottom of this situation.”

“Will it be you?” The question rolls off your tongue before you could even think about it.

“If you want me, yes.”

“I feel the safest with you.”

It’s the truth. Even though the things you told him, screamed at him, don’t agree, he is still the one you trust the most around here to have in your apartment with you.

“Okay,” he nods. “I have to talk to the team, so–”

“Wait!” you stop him from leaving, knowing well you need to have this conversation. Swallowing hard you leave the tea on the kitchen counter and round the island to get closer to him, but still keep some distance. “I want to… I want to apologize for last night. My behavior was… Unforgivable.”

“No need to apologize.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” you give him a hard look. “I had too much to drink, I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. So… I’m sorry.”

He stares back at you for seconds that feel like forever before he finally nods and you know it’s not just a meaningless reaction to get you out of his hair.

“Okay.”

“We’re… we’re good?”

“Yes. But I really need to go now.”

“Alright,” you clear your throat as you watch him walk towards the door, but he turns back one last time. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

And with that, he is off to do his job.

You spend the rest of Sunday studying and you get so focused on your textbooks and notes that you totally forget about Harry’s return and you don’t even notice it. So when you wander out of your bedroom after your brain has been fried from everything you studied, you almost scream when you see Harry standing in the living room by the window.

“Holy shit!” you snap a hand to your chest to calm your racing heart.

“What happened?” He moves fast like a cat, instantly checking the room for possible dangers.

“Nothing happened, I just… forgot you’d be here,” you admit with a soft chuckle as you head out to the kitchen. “It’s kind of creepy how you’re just standing there.”

“I can see the street from here as well,” he answers, as if it was such an obvious thing to say.

As you move around the kitchen, heating some leftovers up you catch him looking at you, or to be more precise, your legs that are almost completely bare thanks to the cotton shorts you’re wearing.

Last night was a disaster, but now that the shame has settled in you, something else has been lingering in the back of your mind. The sense of hesitation you experienced when you were trying to seduce him embarrassing yourself has been on your mind. How he didn’t move away instantly, how it looked like he was fighting himself, so it gives you the idea that a tiny part of him does look at you the same way you look at him.

The way he is looking you up is another boost to the theory.

“Any news about the intruder?” you casually ask, ignoring his stare that quickly slips away from you when you speak up.

“Not yet. But we’re working on it.”

“Do you think… it’s something serious? Like someone is after me?” Leaning onto the kitchen island you play with the spoon in your hand as you look at him, waiting for his response.

“I wouldn’t go into guessing. I’m more of a–”

“Of a fan of factual planning, I know,” you finish his sentence with a smile. You’ve heard it from him several times, word by word.

Grabbing the bowl you round the island and stop a few feet away from him.

“I really do trust you, Harry. With my life.”

You feel like you had to let him know again after last night. The way you questioned his ability to protect you was not fair, he gave you no reason to believe he is not the best person for the job. There’s a reason why he is head of the team.

“Thank you,” is all he says. He is back to his distant self that only focuses on work. You know in times like this it’s better to play by the rules and retreat.

“I’m gonna head to bed soon. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

Everything falls back to a somewhat normal routine. Following the incident your team almost doubles, but nothing actually happens and the building’s security system gets an update so three weeks later you’re back to your usual with only slight changes.

Like how there’s an agent in your living room during the night.

There was a discussion about positioning someone inside your apartment and they explained to you why it’s better to have someone with you during the night. You understood and agreed to do it under one condition: you have to approve of the agents that can take the position. There are three of them and of course, Harry is in that team.

He’s been taking up the inside position as much as he can. He never asked you, but maybe he figured you know him the best and feel the most comfortable with him inside.

Most of the time he hangs out in the living room. He doesn’t stand by the window all the time, you’ve caught him sitting in the armchair, walking around, stretching his limbs. To make it less miserable for him you spend a lot of time in front of the TV, mostly to hopefully entertain him at least a bit now that he’s stuck with you more than ever. For days, he didn’t even look at the screen, but lately you’ve caught him following the show several times, so you’re religiously keeping this habit up.

The awkwardness has faded, but it definitely taught you a lesson. You better not get drunk when Harry is around and that’s like… all the time.

Everything seems to be back to it’s extraordinary normal that you’ve been used to for the past few years.

Today is a special day, however. You’ve been part of a case study competition, your criminal law professor suggested you enter and you’ve worked insanely hard on your case for the past three months that earned you first place. They are holding a little award ceremony today and it will finally be your moment. You will be in the spotlight because of something you worked hard for and not because your father is the leader of the country.

He promised to be there and watch you accept your well-deserved award and you’re excited to make him proud.

You started the day early and channeled your excitement into a long morning run before spending the noon at a salon to get your hair and nails done for the occasion. You might be the president’s daughter, but you’re a woman after all and you love a good pampering before an event.

Now you’re sitting in you closet, trying to figure out what to wear, all the outfits you’ve tried on but decided against are lying on the floor around you in piles. You start to think you should have gone shopping, but then you find the perfect dress, a simple, but elegant black dress with a deeper back cut. You pair them with a pair of designer heels and some statement earrings to bring some light into this quite dark set and you’re all done.

When you walk out of the bedroom Harry is standing by the window in his usual black suit white shirt attire. His eyes snap over to you and this time he can’t hide how he checks you out from head to toe. You can feel the heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks and ears.

“What do you think?” you ask, giving him a twirl.

“You look… very professional,” he answers. It’s not what you expected, but you know he meant it in the best possible way.

“Has my dad’s plane landed?”

“I haven’t gotten any news from his team yet, but I’m sure he’ll be there on time. Shall we leave?”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling out of breath. An unsettling feeling sinks into your gut, but you brush it off as Harry helps you put on your coat and you leave the apartment in the ring of agents.

Because of your attendance, the event’s security has been obviously raised and a group of agents have been at the venue long before your arrival, checking every corner so when you’re finally there you can walk in without having to wait in the car.

The competition had several different fields so there will be more students awarded today, the room is full of winners, their proud professors and parents as well. You take your assigned seat and nervously look around, searching for any sign of your father, but there’s none, so you’re left with just waiting.

It’s killing you, so you text him but you get no response. He should have landed by now to make it in time, his silence is raising concern in you now.

“Harry? Can you please reach my father’s security team?” you ask and nodding he takes a few steps back as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Something is off, you can feel it in your guts and you fucking hate it. It takes forever for Harry to turn back to you, right when everyone starts clapping, because the dean has entered the stage to start the ceremony, but you’re only looking at Harry.

“What did they say?”

“Y/N, he is… He is not coming.”

“What?” It feels like a punch in your stomach and you wish Harry would say it’s just a joke, that he is about to walk in any moment, but the look on his face tells you it’s the truth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you whisper as you turn back to face the stage, your throat closing up while you fight your tears.

It was the first thing you asked from him in so long. You’ve been there for him every step of the way and today you just needed your father to be here and be proud of you, but he ditched you. There’s been an ongoing joke on the internet that it will always be the country before you for your dad and you even laughed about it before, but now it’s your cruel reality.

You watch the winners get called on the stage one by one and the willingness to do the same dies in you with every passing moment.

“Y/N?” Harry taps your shoulder and you snap out of your thoughts only to realize your name has been called.

“Fuck,” you mumble as you stand from your seat, three agents moving with you, taking their places as you walk up to the stage and shake hands with the dean. Every first place winner has said a few words, so now it’s your turn at the microphone, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how to talk. Looking around you see the sea of faces, everyone is waiting for you to finally say something. Your eyes land on Harry and he gives you a tiny nod and somehow you find your voice.

You manage to say a few sentences about the importance of your study and thank the school for the opportunity before you walk off the stage. You’re expected to return to your seat, but instead, you’re heading to the restroom.

The dam breaks and tears start rolling down your face. You completely ignore the protocol, that an agent has to check the room before you enter and a hand pulls you back before you could rush into the ladies room.

“Y/N, I need to–”

“I don’t want to have the fucking toilet checked, I want to have some fucking privacy!” you snap at him, tears rolling down your face and you’re very close to start sobbing like a child. Harry looks back at you with shock on his face, this time he can’t even mask it, probably because he has never seen you like this.

“Okay, but–”

You don’t wait for him to finish, just push your way inside and don’t stop until you reach a sink that you can lean onto, the sobs finally erupting from your chest.

Betrayal, disappointment and helplessness wash over you, pulling you right into a possible emotional breakdown, though you’re still fighting it as you open the tap and splash some cold water into your face.

You didn’t realize Harry followed you inside, so when you feel a hand on your back you almost get a heart attack.

“Hey, it’s just me, it’s okay,” Harry holds his palms up when you jump back, gasping for air because of the panic and crying at the same time.

“I s-said I-I wanted p-privacy!” you sob shaking your head.

“I can’t just let you walk in here alone when you can barely breathe!”

“I don’t want to do this! I don’t fucking want to do this!” you cry, leaning your back against the cold, tiled wall as you let yourself fall apart for the first time in forever. You’ve been trying to be calm and collected as much as possible, but so much has piled up on you that your father not showing up was the last straw, the cherry on top.

“Y/N, calm down, take a deep breath, okay?” Harry tries to calm you down, but you just keep shaking your head and sobbing.

“He didn’t come! It was the only thing… I asked from him!”

“I’m sure he has a reason to–”

“I don’t fucking care! He doesn’t care about me! No one fucking does! I’m just… I have no one left! No one!”

“Don’t say that, Y/N. There are people who care about you.”

“Who? Who cares about me!” you scream at him, finally looking into his eyes and his gaze pierces into yours as he answers.

“Me. I care about you.”

“It’s your fucking job to protect me, it’s not the same!”

Your chest is heaving and you must look like a complete mess, but at this moment nothing really matters. Harry looks back at you like you just seriously hurt his feelings, like what you said was just as disappointing as your father not showing up. Long moments pass by without him saying anything and you start to think he’ll just walk out like he did that night you got drunk, but then he steps closer, definitely crossing the line of comfortable distance.

“If you think you’re just a job to me, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you beg in a whisper.

“Don’t call me a fucking liar,” he snaps back and it’s the first time you hear him swear. His pupils have swallowed his irises and his breathing is almost as wild as yours as he stares at you, practically burning a hole into your face.

“You left me that night. Without a word. I told you I wanted you and you walked out. That does give me a certain message.”

“You were drunk out of your mind, telling me to fuck you. I would have never forgiven myself if I touched you. I had no reason to believe you wouldn’t regret it in the morning and ask to never see me again. That would have been the end of my career and the end of… me.”

Though your cheeks are still soaked from your tears, his words have stopped your crying and now you can’t even tell what you’re feeling. You have no idea what to do or say, how to react and you can’t believe how this situation is turning out to be.

“I still want you the same,” you whisper, your mouth deciding on what to say because your brain is in complete shock.

Harry exhales sharply through his nose, his eyes fall closed and you can tell he is fighting himself, so you want to push him over the edge. Reaching up you cup his cheek in your hand, he doesn’t move at first, but then he leans into your touch and that’s when you push yourself away from the wall to get closer to him, but he pulls away.

There’s a second of devastation, but when he reaches to his earpiece you realize someone is talking to him.

“Copy. We’re in the restroom, give me the fastest route out.” He talks into his wrist before his eyes snap up to you.

“What happened?” you breathe out, feeling like your heart cannot take another shock at this moment, but you’ll have to deal with it anyway. He listens to the answer they give him through his com before talking to you.

“We need to get out. The guy who was at your apartment was spotted in the building.”

“What? Is he armed?” Harry takes your hand in his firm hold and gently, but confidently pulls you towards the door.

“We don’t know, he ran away, DeLuca and Jackson are after him, but we need to get you out of here.”

Your pulse is higher than ever, you feel dizzy and your brain is definitely shutting down, too much has happened in just minutes, you’re on survival mode. Harry must have noticed your state, because before he could open the door he turns to you, taking your face in his hands.

“It’s gonna be alright. I’m right here.”

“Okay,” you nod, blindly believing anything he says.

He then opens the door, steps out first to check what’s happening and returns to get you and you’re on your way to flee the building.

Circled by agents you follow Harry through hallways you’ve never been to until you somehow get to a back entrance. Your car is already there, waiting for you and you get in the back, lying down onto the seat, remembering that’s what Harry asked from you the last time you had to be rescued out of somewhere. You catch his face before he shuts the car door and he gives you a small nod.

You don’t experience much of what goes down at the venue, they take you to a safe spot and you wait there with three agents while the rest of your team is either in the venue or at your apartment, making sure there’s no one there.

Almost an hour goes by when Harry returns and you look at him, feeling on the edge to finally know something.

“We lost him. Your apartment is cleared, let’s get you home.”

You can tell he is beating himself up for letting the guy slip away and you already know he will put his walls back up.

He does one more check in the apartment himself before letting you inside.

“We are doubling the security for tonight and then we’ll talk about the changes tomorrow,” he lets you know, following you inside.

“Okay. Are you gonna stay in here?”

“Most likely,” he nods.

“Are you blaming yourself for tonight?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes talk for him.

“You couldn’t have spotted the guy anyway, you would have been with me either way.” You walk closer to him, but keep some distance, sensing his distress.

“I wasn’t focusing fully,” he hisses through his teeth.

“Nothing happened, you–”

“Y/N,” he stops you from talking. “I’m responsible for your safety. Today I put that responsibility behind my feelings and that cannot happen again.”

“Is this your way of saying… you don’t want me the way I want you?” Now you’re moving closer, you need to reduce the distance between the two of you, it’s like something is pulling you towards him, a force that you’re not strong enough to fight.

He stares at you for long seconds, taking a deep breath before he speaks up slowly in a calm manner.

“What I want does not matter when your safety is at risk. Let me… Let me do my job, let me do what I have to do to keep you safe. Please.”

It’s like he’s begging you, pleading for you to understand and… let go of him. And as much as you want it all to be different, you can’t go against his will and intentionally hurt him, there’s nothing you can do other than live with the pain. Like you always do.

“Okay,” you whisper and try your best to swallow back your tears, you’ve cried enough today.

Harry exhales, like he’s relieved you’re not putting up a fight and to your surprise he cradles the back of your head and pulls you closer so he can place a kiss to your forehead.

“I have to take care of a few things, Morrison will be in here until then, but I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod weakly. His hand falls from the back of your head and you watch him turn around and walk out of the apartment.

You’re on autopilot. Have been for weeks.

Following the award ceremony things turned upside down once again. On one hand everyone has been on edge, because they couldn’t track the guy down, so your security has been doubled since then. Agents follow you everywhere, making it impossible to have a normal human interaction, not that you had plenty of friends to hang out with before. But still.

Your dad called that night and gave you some grand story about why he couldn’t make it to the ceremony, you told him it was fine, because you had no energy to lash out on him and you haven’t had a decent conversation with him since then. You can’t say it bothers you, it’s like there was a switch inside you that now allows you to give zero fucks about what your father does. You’ve canceled two events you were supposed to attend by his side, using the mystery intruder as an excuse, saying that you don’t feel safe out in public. You could tell he was annoyed, but didn’t question it.

And then there is the Harry situation. Or the lack of it, if you’d like. It’s been hurting like hell, but there’s nothing you can do other than keep your promise of letting go of him. It’s just really hard when you spend so much time with him and have him in your apartment almost every night.

You don’t watch TV anymore. You can’t bear being in the same room with him with no one else around. It’s hard enough to know he is on the other side of your bedroom door. You go back to coexisting, you silently follow his orders and not give him a headache when you know he already has a lot on his plate, he does his job in peace and everyone is happy.

Or not, but it doesn’t matter.

The school semester is nearing its end and you’re already planning to ask to stay here for the summer. You know your dad will flip, but you’ll at least try to make a deal with him to attend events in the summer if it means you don’t have to move back home that doesn’t even feel home anymore.

With your finals coming up you spend most of your time in the library. Surrounded by heavy books, hundreds of pages of notes, you’re working your ass off, because this is the only thing that could make you forget about your misery for a while.

It’s a Friday afternoon, almost evening and you’re still very much working on a paper in the almost entirely empty library. It’s a great time, because most students avoid the building on Fridays, more interested in parties than books, so it’s a lot more peaceful. It’s your way of distraction from the fact that you have to make an appearance tomorrow for your dad and you can’t bail out of it this time.

There are three agents near you and two more at the entrance, but Harry is not working now. He will probably take another night shift, not that you keep track of when he works…

You’re too focused to notice the group of people that come in, but when you spot a figure approaching you and the agents around you move instantly, you finally lift your head up from the book in front of you. You’re surprised to see Jaiden coming in your way, stopped by the agents.

“Jaiden?”

“Um, I just want to talk to her,” he says to the agents and you nod your head to let him through.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to give you something, thought you might be interested,” he shrugs as he passes you over a paper and with that he is already on his way, leaving you puzzled.

It’s a QR code so you grab your phone and read it and a website starts loading on your screen. When it finally loads, you feel all the blood rushing out of your head.

It’s a site basically dedicated to you, where people can send in anonymous comments and stories about you for everyone to read them. There are quite a few, a big chunk of them obviously from guys you’ve gone on dates with, dragging you through mud, a lot of them stating things that never even happened.

You just scroll and keep reading them in total disbelief and then you hear laughter. You look up and see Jaiden with a group of fratboys, having a blast seeing you go through the site before they hoard out of the library.

Your head is spinning and you feel like throwing up as you pack up your stuff as quickly as possible. It’s a struggle not to start sobbing on your way home, neither of the agents ask what’s wrong, because they are not your friend, they are there to keep you safe, but not from assholes, apparently. When you arrive to your apartment you see Harry already waiting by the door, but you avoid looking him in the eyes as you rush inside, wanting to lock yourself up in your room preferably forever.

The tears start rolling down your cheeks when you hear someone coming after you and you know it’s Harry.

“Y/N, is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, keeping your back facing him so he can’t see your face.

“Then look at me, please.”

You don’t move, just stand there, silently crying and there’s no way of fooling him, he knows you better than anyone and your shoulders are shaking as well. Slowly, you turn around for him to see your face.

“What happened?” he asks, stepping closer, but he still keeps some distance between the two of you.

“Nothing, I said I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine, Y/N, don’t… don’t bullshit me, okay? Tell me what happened!”

He won’t give up, he won’t leave you alone until you say something so you pull your phone out of your pocket, open the website and hand it over to you. You watch him scroll for a minute before he looks up at you.

“We’re taking this down and we’ll find whoever did this,” he firmly says and before you could react he is already giving orders through his com. “They are on it. we’ll find them, don’t worry.” “Okay,” you breathe out and you turn around to lock yourself up in your bedroom, but he stops you.

“Y/N, wait!”

You look back at him, not even trying to mask how tired, defeated and hopeless you’re feeling. You must look like just a shadow of the person you used to be and the sight of you is probably just as depressing as you feel because it breaks the professional boundary that’s been between you and Harry.

He moves across the room and pulls you into his arms and you just start crying and sobbing uncontrollably while he holds you tight, gently rocking you from side to side to soothe you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair and you just bury your face deeper into his neck, probably totally ruining his shirt, but neither of you cares about that right now.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you sob, melting into his embrace, because it feels like the only safe place for you.

“I know. I wish I could help you. Tell me what I can do for you.”

“Just please don’t leave me, not tonight, please!” you beg and fully expect him to pull the wall back up, but instead he just holds you even tighter.

“I would never leave you, Y/N.”

The amount of times you had to fake laugh tonight is ridiculously over the roof. It’s another evening where you’re just a tool, something your father can brag about but you hold no influence or whatsoever.

You’re sipping on some champagne, but you’re careful with the alcohol consumption this time. Though you’re not sure how another situation like that last time would turn out now. Especially after that night after the website fiasco.

After soaking his shirt with your tears the two of you sat on the couch, you remained in Harry’s embrace and he talked you through it, until you momentarily forgot about what happened and somehow you ended up falling asleep. When you woke up you had a blanket over you and Harry was standing in his usual spot by the window, like a hound, watching out for danger. When he realized you woke up he walked you into your bedroom, tucked you in and sat beside you until you wófell back asleep.

The website was down by the morning and the school was informed about it as well, taking matters into their hands to punish those who created it. You didn’t want to know the names, you just wanted to forget about the whole thing.

That night changed things between you and Harry. You didn’t feel that wall between the two of you though there was still some distance, but it felt like you could overstep it easily. It’s like you’ve been dancing on a fence, still not sure which side you want to land on. You’re not planning to pressure him to choose, having him this close is already more than you had before so you’re happy to prolong it for as long as possible.

You have no idea where the conversation is heading around you, you’ve zoned out of it long minutes ago. It’s not that you don’t understand what politicians, influential people tend to talk about at events like this. It’s more about how you recognize some of them know nothing about the field they work at and still hold the power.

And you lost interest too.

Holding your champagne flute your eyes wander over the room until they settle on Harry. He is by the window, what a shocker, examining the sea of guests around you, watching out like a hawk until his gaze meets yours and his expression softens.

“Bored,” you mouth to him and you catch the smirk he tries hard to cover up.

“You got this,” he mouths back to which you frown, making him laugh.

His laugh.

You’ve been gifted with it more in the past few days than in the time you’ve known him and it’s definitely one of your favorite things in the entire world.

“Break?” you mouth once again and he just nods, moving instantly.

Five minutes later you’re out on the balcony with him, two guards standing by the door inside.

“This should be considered torture,” you sigh.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he teases you.

“I’m not, I hate it here. Look around.” You stand beside him, staring inside at the sea of guests. “What am I doing here?”

“Supporting your dad.”

“I think he is fine without me,” you shrug, nodding towards him, he is standing in a circle of men, all of them pretending to be having a marvelous time, but you know for a fact at least two of those men would backstab him the first given chance. It’s all so pretentious and you’re tired of trying to be part of it for him.

“What would you like to do?” Harry asks.

“What do you mean?”

“If you could do anything, any job, anywhere, what would it be?”

You’ve never really thought of that before. A life that’s entirely what you want it to be is so far out of your reach that you never let yourself daydream about it. So now you take some time to think it through before sharing it with Harry.

“I would probably have a riding school,” is what you tell him at last. He looks at you surprised.

“Like… horses?”

“Yeah,” you smile softly, keeping your eyes ahead, staring at the people inside. “I used to ride a lot when I was smaller and I loved it a lot.”

“But you never do it anymore, why?”

“I wasn’t exceptional in it, never won any competitions so my dad thought I shouldn’t keep doing it. He talked me into quitting and I started learning French instead.”

“You speak French?” he asks in shock.

“No,” you chuckle, finally looking at him. “I was mad at him for making me quit horse riding so I never put any effort into my French classes, I can barely introduce myself.”

“Wow, such a rebel,” he chuckles quietly.

“What about you?”

“I don’t speak French.”

“I know that,” you roll your eyes. “I meant, what would you want to do if you could do anything?”

He curls his lips into his mouth as he thinks about it, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I think I would be living on a farm.”

“A farm?”

“Yeah. You know, growing stuff and keeping animals. I love the thought of growing everything I need.”

“That sounds lovely,” you smile at him. “I hope you get to do that one day.”

“I do too,” he nods and the two of you just stand there, watching the mingling and dancing guests.

It’s a moment you want to last longer, you feel close to him, like you’ve finally jumped off that fence and you’re running away. Together.

So at last you decide to give him a little push.

“I wish we could be dancing there too.”

Your voice is quiet, barely audible through the noises coming from inside and when he doesn’t say anything for a while you start to think he didn’t even hear it, or that he is ignoring your words because he doesn’t want to deal with them.

But then his hand gently takes yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I would… love that.”

Your chest feels like bursting and you wish you could just jump into his arms, but you know you can’t. So instead, you just stand there, enjoying this tiny, hidden moment that’s burning into your memories forever.

It was hard to focus on your conversations before, but now, after you’ve shared that special moment with Harry it’s kind of impossible.

You’re making your rounds around, chit-chatting and smiling as pleasantly as possible, but in your mind you’re still out on the balcony, holding hands with Harry.

Talking about him, you haven’t seen him in a little while. You look around, searching for him once again, probably for the millionth time in the past ten minutes, but you see no sign of him.

“Morrison, where’s Styles?” you ask the agent beside you.

“Your father asked to see him, Miss,” he informs you.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, Miss, I’m sorry.”

You try not to think much of it, but when you finally spot him in the crowd your stomach drops, because his expression is anxious and angry at the same time, though he is trying hard to mask it. But you know him too well.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, instantly ignoring the conversation you’ve been in before.

“Can’t talk right now, but we better leave.”

You don’t question him, just follow, though the way he is acting now is freaking you out. He is right next to you as you make your way out of the room, getting farther and farther from the rest of the guests.

“What happened?” you finally ask when you’re walking down the hallway that leads to the entrance.

“I don’t want to turn you against your father,” he answers, but now you’re just even more keen on knowing what’s going on.

“Harry, tell me!” you demand, stopping abruptly.

Not too willingly, but he comes to a halt as well, turning to face you as he leans closer.

“Your father kept it a secret that they got a letter yesterday in which someone threatened to hurt you today. He kept it from us, because he knew you wouldn’t come tonight if you found out.”

“What?” All the blood rushes out of your face as his words process.

“He strengthened security for your sake and thought it would be alright, but I don’t want to risk it, we need to get you somewhere safe until we get to the bottom of this whole thing.”

“Okay,” you nod, a shiver running down your spine at just the thought of that letter your father hid from you.

You’re nearing the exit when your father’s voice beams through the hallway, just when you’re already seeing your car outside.

“Y/N! Where are you going?!”

He is rushing towards you with his own security team circling him and you can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“I’m leaving!”

“And you didn’t think of at least saying goodbye?”

“I’m not doing anything for you anymore. Not when you’ve intentionally put me in risk just so you could use me at another event!”

The look he gives Harry says it all. He is pissed that Harry told you about the threat, that someone went against his will.

“It’s not that serious, Honey. We have everything under control.”

“Is that so? Then who sent the letter?”

“We don’t know it yet, but—”

“What if it’s the same guy that’s been stalking me? What if it really is something serious?” You’re finally lashing out on him, something you probably should have done a lot earlier, but you didn’t have the balls. You’re done being the obedient, supportive daughter to a father that’s not returning it at all.

“We doubled security and I have people working on it! No need to–”

“Don’t tell me what I need and don’t need to do! I don’t feel safe anywhere anymore! You knew I would panic if I found out about it but you chose to hide it so you could use me tonight to show people how great of a family we are when in reality, you give no fucks about me!”

“Y/N, that is not true. I didn’t want to stress you out, that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Lie. That is such a big fucking lie.

“I’m done. I’m done with you. Call me when you’re ready to be my father.”

Turning around you’re on your way out to the car, you hear your dad calling after you, but Harry stops him and it’s the first time you hear him talk so harshly to your father.

And then all hell breaks loose. But it’s not because of Harry’s way of talking to the president.

You’re approaching the car confidently, eager to get away from your dad and the madness that surrounds him, Harry is following you right behind and as you keep your gaze on the car suddenly you realize.

It’s not yours.

Everything happens so fast, but at the same time it’s like it’s in slow motion.

A guy jumps out of the car and points a gun right at you. The agents around you launch forward, but he is several feet away, so they don’t reach him before he pulls the trigger and shoots at you. In that moment you believe you’re about to die. Gasping in surprise you completely freeze, but then get pushed to the side with so much force you smash against the wall, pain jolting through your left arm instantly as the shot of the gun rings in your ear.

You fall to the floor the same time the agents tackle the shooter. From the corner of your eyes you see how your ad is being dragged away from the scene before he could get hurt as well, even though he is shouting your name, it’s protocol to rescue him and take him to a safe place right away.

As you look to your right you see another person on the floor and your heart skips a beat when you realize that it’s Harry, and a pool of blood is underneath you, growing rapidly each second.

He took the shot that was meant for you.

The rest is a blur. You start screaming and try to reach him while two agents pull you up from the floor to take you away from the scene as well, your arm hurts like hell, but you just keep screaming for Harry.

At last you catch his face, you see him gasping for air, pure panic and fear all over his face, he looks at you one last time and you see a tear rolling down his face before you’re dragged away.

The constant beeping. It just keeps going and going and it’s driving him crazy.

Crazy enough to finally open his eyes.

Harry is more than confused about his surroundings, the hospital room looks sterile, but nice, very nice if you ask him, so he knows he is at some kind of private facility. It takes a couple of moments for the pain to set in but when it does, it comes with all the memories as well.

He was shot in his chest when he pushed you out of the way, he remembers the pain he felt then which was a lot worse and more intense than the dull, pressure like feeling in his chest right now. He remembers lying on the floor and looking at you as two agents pulled you away and he knows he said his goodbye in that moment, because he was convinced he would die.

He didn’t.

Now he is lying in a hospital bed, the machines hooked onto him keep beeping and tracking his vitals and when he turns his head slightly to the left the beeping intensifies because he sees you sleeping in an armchair next to his bed.

You look awfully uncomfortable, but still breathtakingly beautiful, your left arm is in a cast and you’re cradling it to your chest. As if you could sense his wandering gaze, you start moving around and you blink your eyes open at last, seeing that Harry is finally awake.

“Hey,” he breathes out, barely finding the energy to speak, but you burst into tears right away as you fall forward, one hand coming to the side of his head, the other one holding his hand on the mattress.

“You’re awake, oh my God, I really thought I lost you!” You sob and try to take in the sight of him conscious and talking, something you didn’t think you’d ever see again when you saw him lying on the floor three days ago.

“I’m okay, I’m right here,” he exhales as his other hand comes to take your hand by his face. “How are you? Are you okay?”

“Harry, you were literally shot and you’re asking if I’m okay?” you laugh through your tears, finally cracking a smile from him as well.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not worried about you.”

“I’m fine, just broke my hand, but it’s okay. How are you feeling? Does it hurt?”

“Kind of. But it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? The bullet missed your heart by one millimeter. Doctors said it’s a miracle you survived.”

“Well, at least I know I’m not bulletproof,” he tries to joke and it makes you laugh and that was his only intention.

You’ve stopped crying, but you wouldn’t move from beside him. You’ve been in this room since they brought him out of surgery and refused to leave since then. He reaches over and wipes your tears off your cheeks before cradling your face in his palm. You gladly lean into his touch and then turn your head to kiss into his hand without hesitation.

You fill him in on what happened. Tell him about how he was rushed to hospital and the guy was caught and it was confirmed he sent the letter and he was the one stalking you at your apartment and award ceremony as well. You were afraid it was someone you knew, but apparently he was just some psycho who wanted to hurt your dad by hurting you.

It was a wakeup call to your father. One that he desperately needed after the stunts he has pulled lately, so you had a long talk outside of Harry’s room when he found out you were here with him. He apologized for everything and promised to be better. You told him his words mean nothing, you need to see the change in his actions.

He has visited every day since then and you discussed the future as well. A future that will bring lots of change.

“You saved my life,” you quietly say, still kind of in shock about what happened.

“I would do it again,” he replies.

“You won’t be able to work again because of it,” you tell him. The bullet grazed his lung as well and the doctors said he might never be able to reach the same physical limits like before.

“It doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t lose you and that’s what matters.”

His words sink in and you have to fight your tears again as you rest you lean closer, until your faces are just inches away.

“I don’t want to feel again the way I did when I thought you died. I don’t want to keep my distance, I… I love you and I want to be with you.”

Harry exhales heavily, his eyes fall closed and when they open again you get lost in them.

“I love you too. And I want to be with you too, always have.”

You let out a laugh that’s mixed with relief, happiness, pain and so much anticipation before you push closer and finally press your lips to his.

Years of built up tension and passion is set free as you kiss him and he returns it just as eagerly. It’s not at all how you imagined your first kiss, not with a cast on your arm or Harry lying in a hospital bed after being shot, but none of it matters in this moment, only him. There’s no more playing around, pushing each other away, this is end game and you both know it.

“So…” you mumble against his lips, “Will you move to a farm with me?”

“Moving? Aren’t we rushing a little ahead?” he chuckles, brushing some loose strands of hair out of your face before pecking your lips shortly.

“No. I don’t want to waste any more time. Let’s do what we always wanted to do.”

“What about your life? Your dad?”

“I already told him I’m stepping back from my first daughter duties. He is okay with it.”

“Really?”

“I mean, he doesn’t have much saying in what I do after almost getting me killed,” you joke, though you both know how serious the matter was.

“And you’re sure you want to move on… with me?”

You smile at him softly, it’s so typical he is questioning your decision even after everything that happened. He surely needs some time to adjust to this new version of you and him where there’s no wall between the two of you, just love.

Leaning down you kiss his lips softly.

“There’s no one else I would do it with, Harry.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

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lxnababy · 2 months

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I. PRINCESS

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I. PRINCESS

Charlotte’s eyes fluttered shut, eyeshadow being painted on her tired lids in the makeup chair. Her head felt heavy from the rollers tucked in her hair, her body lulling itself back to sleep from having to keep her eyes closed. “Oh, darling, you’re looking beautiful!” Her makeup artist, an older lady with purple highlights, gushed loudly, her clap piercing the thick morning air.

She opened her eyes to plaster a fake smile on her lips, laughing gently at her artist’s reaction. “Thank you,” she said softly, puckering her lips so the gloss slid on easier.

Despite her eyes being closed, she felt a pair of eyes glaring at her from across the room—she always felt that, though it was much more prominent this morning. She had a theory it was because he overslept a little; hair and makeup started at six, and Harry hadn’t reported down in the lobby until 5:58. Not that Charlotte cared; she knew it must be extremely annoying to keep tabs on her every day, but Harry was always punctual.

The shoot was only a few minutes away, and had much less clothing than she knew when she signed up for it. It made her extremely uncomfortable and her hands sweat, but she knew her manager would kill her if she backed out now.

So, here Charlotte was, the dawn of the morning climbing up the horizon, sitting in a white puffy robe with a full face of makeup. Her nerves were skyrocketing—the studio was packed with people she’d never seen before, all waiting and watching her every move. She was sure there was a plethora of paparazzi outside and it had her breaking out in a cold sweat.

Harry, her bodyguard, closed in to sit beside her as people began coming up to her, running over concepts, asking for signatures, touching up her makeup and hair. She knew he got iffy when anyone got too close, and she couldn’t call him a stickler—the reason he was hired was because of a fan that seemed to know her every location, found her number, and began sending questionable letters to her.

It was one person in particular, though, that had Harry tensing up. “Well, this is a topless shoot, so you can keep your robe on when you’re just walking through the studio. Jean here has to contour your chest, though. Would you like to do it in private?”

Charlotte’s head whipped over to Harry. She thought this was a lingerie shoot, not a topless shoot. “Harry?” Her voice cracked slightly. His jaw ticked.

“Did you know this?” His voice was hard—it was always intimidating, but now even she was scared. She shook her head slightly.

“Did you?” She asked, dreading the answer. From his reaction, she assumed he didn’t know this either, but she knew he was close with her manager. And this, for sure, is something her manager would pull. “Um, is it possible to maybe… not be topless?” Charlotte ripped her eyes away from Harry and back to the man in front of her, though she knew Harry’s intimidating glare hadn’t shifted from her figure.

The man stifled a laugh as he shook his head. “We paid for a topless shoot, honey,” he replied, not giving Charlotte a chance to respond before walking away. Her eyes widened, a frown falling onto her lips. Topless? She knew the world had seen a lot of her; from runways with belts as shirts to photoshoots with men in compromising positions, they’d seen everything.

But never something so intimate. She would show the world if she wanted to show the world, but after years of ridicule and vicious attacks, her body was not something she was very comfortable in. It made her sick to think about—giving the world something to laugh at her about.

She turned to her bodyguard, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked at her, his usual stony expression cracking slightly to show pure hopelessness in his eyes. “He’ll fire me,” Harry said quietly. Charlotte knew it was true; if Harry helped her escape this shoot, she’d never see him again.

Charlotte nodded slightly. “Can you… maybe not look, though? If that’s okay. You’ll probably see the shoot anyway, it’s just…” she huffed in frustration at being unable to spit out the words plaguing her mind.

“Of course. I’ll be right here if you need me,” Harry agreed. He was never known for being the softest—his friends would laugh at him if they heard his tone of voice when speaking to Charlotte, but he didn’t care. The sweet girl was under his care, trusting him fully with her safety, and he had now failed her with a dumb photoshoot she definitely did not need.

He watched as she pranced through the studio, standing still as people tugged curlers out of her long hair, holding onto the edge of her bathrobe as she took directions from the director of the shoot, chewing on her plump, pink lip.

Every few minutes, he’d tear his eyes from her figure to survey the room around her. Anger spiked when he caught people’s eyes lingering on her like he had been; he hated that he couldn’t cover her up in his jacket and usher her out of the shitty establishment before she caught the attention of every person here.

Right as she was tugging on the belt of her robe, her eyes met Harry’s. He quickly turned away, focusing on the exit door as his skin prickled and his fingers curled into a fist. She was standing behind him, the only garment on her body a tiny pair of panties, looking like his fucking wet dream and he couldn’t turn to look.

Obviously, he’d rather not see her like that in this setting. He wanted her to want it, wanted her to climb into his bed down the hall from hers and whisper dirty secrets as he took care of her in all aspects. He wanted to protect her from every outside source, every devilish activity in this world.

And he wasn’t. Right now, she was doing something that made her sick and uncomfortable, and he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t doing his job—he was hired to protect her, right? And she didn’t seem very protected, did she?

Harry’s jaw locked. What if he shut the shoot down? Would she be angry at him? The ‘E’ on the exit sign was flickering red and blank, staring him down almost as if it was taunting him. He wanted to grab her and carry her out of that door and away from the creeps that designed this shoot; he was sure they would make millions from this and give Charlotte the smallest sliver.

His head was spinning, filling his ears with the sound of ocean water so loud he couldn’t feel his nails digging into his palm until trickles of blood streamed down his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, shivering softly. He needed to get a grip—this was his client, and he was a professional.

“Harry?” The voice behind him had him whipping around, crazy eyes quickly assessing her for any injuries despite her being gone for less than fifteen minutes. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She laughed softly, tugging her robe tighter around her petite frame. “There’s sandwiches in the break room, so I brought you one.”

Harry’s eyes softened as his body deflated. “Thanks, Charlotte,” he said quietly, taking the sandwich. “Is it as horrible as you thought?” He didn’t really want to know the answer, and judging by her expression, he already knew it.

“Worse,” she said simply.

—

The ride home was quiet. She was silent, staring out the window as Harry gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Charlotte felt like a child being chastised, and sunk deeper into her seat to avoid accidentally looking at his disappointed face.

Sometimes having Harry around felt like she was constantly disappointing him. He never spoke much, and never disapproved outwardly of Charlotte’s antics, but he also never tried to engage with her. It was like he saw her as a paycheck.

Except that one night. That one night where she swore Harry thought of her as more. She had been leaving an event early in hopes of escaping the nagging paparazzi, but it wasn’t the case. Harry was close behind her, dressed in a black suit with his hand guiding her towards the car waiting.

But then the hand got closer, or her body was drawn towards it, and it eventually fell to her hip. He gripped the skin tightly, almost possessively, and glared at any paparazzi who would mention the action. And when he helped her into the car, he leaned close to her with a soft ask of, “do you need help?”

Charlotte thought she imagined that night. Harry never touched her since, never looked at her with the same fondness. She reduced his actions down to pity. He pitied her, seeing how she was practically an act in a circus, constantly being looked at. That was why he was so kind—not because he thought she was attractive. And Charlotte didn’t care about this night because she definitely did not think he was attractive.

Her eyes wandered from the tattoos snaking up his arms to the chain wrapped loosely around his neck to his face, which was hardened and stony. “Are you angry with me?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows. It didn’t seem plausible, but it would explain his behavior.

Harry looked over at her. “No,” is all he responded. She nodded, but stayed silent.

—

She woke up the next morning to complete silence, like usual, with the only presence being Harry holed up in his room. Last night she vaguely remembered Harry talking angrily on the phone with someone when she passed his door on her way to the bathroom, which might have explained his curt attitude.

Trotting down the stairs in the cotton pajama set of shorts and a tank with a large knitted cardigan, she tied her hair back loosely and started the coffee maker. Her apartment overlooked the city, a view she was sure people would kill for, but it just made her feel small. Down below, there would be paparazzi waiting there for her, drooling at the thought of making a profit off of unflattering photos of her.

She was sure there was not a single soul on Earth that wanted her for nothing more than her presence. Harry wanted her money, paparazzi wanted her fame, her manager wanted her image. Charlotte couldn’t even remember the last time she went on a date where he didn’t mention her list of accomplishments or her net worth.

“Charlotte,”

The voice startled her, her eyes widening as she whipped around. “Harry, oh my God,” she laughed softly, hand covering her heart as her eyes crinkled in a smile. “Good morning.”

Harry tilted his head at her. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t know that was the photoshoot,” he started walking towards her, frown prominent on his face. His hair was a bit more unruly than usual, like he had been tugging at the strands and making them frizz. His eyes had a red ring around them, his lips chapped and bitten.

Charlotte frowned. “It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” She offered kindly. “I agreed to it,”

Harry scoffed. “Your manager agreed to it,” he corrected. “I was looking into canceling it. I know the pictures are already taken, but I was thinking I could convince them not to release it.” His eye contact was so intimidating Charlotte had to look away, blinking down at the tile on the floor of her kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s impossible, anyway,” she laughed humorlessly.

Harry slid into the barstool on the other side of the island. “Yeah, that’s what they told me.” He grabbed a cup of coffee Charlotte offered, thanking her quietly.

If Charlotte thought hard enough, it felt domestic. He lived with her, spent meals with her, drove her everywhere. Of course, it was only because he was paid to, but sometimes she thought that was the closest she’d ever get to a long-term partner. She rarely got into conversations with him that didn’t involve her safety or her agenda for the week, but his presence was always there, and it seemed to calm her.

Harry watched as she hesitantly peered out the window at the crowd below them, then opened the cabinet to read the nutrition label on the granola bar she pulled out. He furrowed his eyebrows—she always did that, and he always caught her frowning at her appearance in the mirror, like she hated what stared back. It made him angry; millions of people saw how beautiful she was—he saw how beautiful she was, why couldn’t she see it?

She didn’t know, but he noticed all of her quirks. He noticed how she always tied a bow in her hair before an interview (he swore she thought it was good luck), how she hated smoothies but always drank them when one of her pilates friends would drag her to the health bar, how her favorite perfumes were always flowery with a pink tint. He even knew that her favorite flowers were white tulips, even though he’d never seen anyone buy her any.

He watched in soft yearning as she huffed at the calories written on the bar before tossing the empty wrapper in the trash and disappearing into the hallway. She was getting more frustrated and upset by the day, he noticed. She needed help.

—

That night, Charlotte was ready to rip her hair out. Her eyes were so heavy she swore she fell asleep on the elevator up to her apartment, her heels squishing her feet into inhuman shapes. Harry was permitted to leave early since they had dinner with her manager, and she was almost certain he was in bed by now despite the early hour—Harry was a man of routine.

She pushed open the door, sighing softly in relief when she kicked off her shoes and pulled her hair from its tight ponytail. When she wandered into the kitchen, though, something caught her eye.

A wicker basket filled to the brim with candy, a bouquet of white and pink tulips sitting just beside it. Her eyes widened and her heart plummeted. What if it was her stalker? What if he had found her apartment?

It was only until she noticed the crude scrawl of Harry’s handwriting that her fear subsided and a new, overpowering feeling collapsed in her chest. The note attached to the tulips read;

Hi Charlotte,

Hope you like these flowers, they smell like your perfume. I know this week was tough, maybe these tulips and candies will help. I’m always here for you.

Love,

Her lip wobbled as her eyes filled with tears, her thumbs digging into the thin paper as she read the note over and over again, memorizing each dip of his pen and mistakes in his penmanship.

Harry was quiet, never revealing his feelings towards her. This could be anything from a professional helping hand to a jaded spill of his feelings. She had no clue, but she knew the note accomplished what it intended to do—she didn’t feel alone anymore.

Harry was here. Harry noticed her. Harry wanted to help.

Tears spilled from her eyes and created wet spots on the note, forcing Charlotte to look away and peer into the basket. She wrinkled her nose at the sheer amount of junk food, piled to the brim of a large basket intended for fruits. Letting her curiosity overcome her, she picked up a chocolate bar and flipped it over.

Only to find that the nutrition label had been blacked out by Sharpie, run over multiple times to make the marker opaque. Her heart lurched as she quickly grabbed a bag of gummy worms, flipping it over to find the same fate.

Harry had blacked out every single nutrition label on the gifts he had given her.

Charlotte let her tears flow freely now, knowing Harry will hear her burst of emotion and most likely regret ever extending an olive branch, but she couldn’t seem to care. With shaky hands and teary eyes, she placed the tulips in a vase and placed it on the windowsill, kneeling down in front of it to admire each flower against the backdrop of a dark city.

“Got my gifts?” Harry was leaning against the doorway of the living room, hands shoved in the pockets of his red plaid pajama pants, curls tucked behind his ears.

Charlotte whipped around, sniffling softly. “That was so sweet, Harry. I love everything,” she gushed, eyes watering once more at the reminder that this boy in front of her cared enough to reach out to her. “I don’t want them to ever die.” She laughed, looking back at the bundle of tulips tucked against her window.

Harry swore his cheeks began to heat despite never blushing before. “You know I have your back, right? Not just because it’s my job,” Harry’s voice was quiet; he said it was because he never spoke and had a hard time projecting his voice, but he knew it was because he was nervous.

Charlotte turned back to him, rising back to her feet. “You don’t have to lie,” she said softly. “I know it’s part of your job. I’m happy either way,”

Harry frowned. What didn’t she understand? He was obsessed with her, he needed her to know. “Sending you flowers isn’t in my job description, Charlotte.” He prompted, taking his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms in front of him. The usual stony expression crossed his features as he stared down at her, his posture straightening to tower over the small girl.

“Then why else would you?” Charlotte was confused. She paid him—that was why he stayed. Every smile and jive between them was simply for a paycheck to her.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Sleep on it and figure it out, princess.” He turned back towards the hallway, not looking back once as he closed the door to the bedroom behind him.

Charlotte groaned, leaning back against the window and closing her eyes for a moment. Princess. It wasn’t the first time he’d called her that nickname—she assumed it was because she was prissy and under constant surveillance, but she never asked Harry the origin. She was afraid of the answer she’d receive if she asked.

But his tone of voice sent shivers down her spin. Figure it out, princess. He seemed just as frustrated as her; they never communicated like normal people, but they’d never had a problem with their limited conversations until now.

Had he noticed all those times she would watch him do push-ups in the living room? Had he finally read through her gestures of gripping his hand when he guided her through crowds of people? She was embarrassed if he had—although she’d disguised every touch and excuse to stay near him as a way to feel safe, she knew it was much more than that.

Her dream that night left her covered in sweat, waking up at one with the sheets tangled around her feet. She ripped off the hoodie that was now drenched and laid in her tank, staring at the ceiling.

She barely slept for two hours, her mind running with every possible meaning behind Harry’s. And the obvious seemed the most plausible—he was into her. She wasn’t stupid, she knew it was a possibility, it just seemed so far-fetched. Sure, she’d never seen Harry with a girl since he moved in a few months ago, but she thought he was maybe in a dry spell. It’s not like she had been with a guy, though she blamed it on the fact she only seemed to attract assholes—not on the fact that she was crazy attracted to the boy a few doors down.

Nerves flowed through her steadily as she rose to her feet, the cold hardwood stinging her toes as she quietly peered down the hallway. Harry’s light wasn’t on, she was sure he was sleeping. But she needed to talk to him; the delirium from the lack of sleep was kicking in, and she was confident enough to make stupid decisions at this moment.

The knock on his door was so loud it made her cringe. It was loud enough to wake Harry, who groggily sprinted towards the door while grabbing his gun from his nightstand. His shoulders dropped when he opened the door just to see his small girl chewing nervously on her lips. “Oh my fuck, Charlotte, I thought you were in danger.” He groaned groggily, dropping his gun down on the top of the wardrobe and opened the door wider for her.

“I’m sorry,” her eyes were impossibly large, like the motion startled her into a more clear headspace. “I just… had a thought.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, watching as she struggled to rip her eyes away from his shirtless, tattoo-covered chest. He always slept shirtless, hating the way the fabric would twist and turn around him when he slept, though with the way Charlotte was staring at him like he was a ghost, he figured he should dress himself.

“Wait! You don’t have to—” she cut herself off, cheeks flaming bright red as Harry paused from grabbing a t-shirt from the floor of his room. “I mean, I’m not bothered by it, but if you’re more comfortable.”

He let out a soft laugh. He knew why she was here. “What’s your thought, Charlotte? It’s late,” he prompted her gently, dropping back onto his bed and leaning back until he was halfway propped up on his pillows.

Charlotte blushed, her tongue suddenly tied. The confidence seemed to be draining her like a dam that had broken, and she was now felt as small as she looked. Squeezing her fingers together and rocking back and forth on her feet, she forced out the question plaguing her mind. “Are you into me?” She blurted out, the sentence coming out choppy and uncharacteristically loud.

He cracked a smile—had she ever seen him smile before? “What do you think?” He asked.

She wanted to kill him and his stupid smile.

“Harry,” she groaned. “Just answer,” she squinted at him in complete annoyance, crossing her arms and staring at him with a glare so powerful Harry felt a laser boring into his face.

“Yeah, princess. I’ve watched you get less than you deserve for so long, I just… it’s not fair. You deserve everything,” he sighed, finally admitting what had been weighing heavily on his mind from the first time he met her.

Charlotte hesitantly lowered herself so she was perched on the very edge of his bed. “I’m pretty sure the entirety of the world disagrees with you.” She said with a soft frown, holding onto her stubbornness so she wouldn’t have to confront her own feelings.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t care. It’s me and you against the world, anyway,” he sat up, his presence suffocating her as he leaned in the slightest bit. “Look, Charlotte, if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay. But I want to show you that you don’t have to hold onto this scared thought that everyone is against you. I’m not,”

Her lip wobbled once more as she tore her eyes away from Harry’s and settled them on the white fluff of his bedding. His tattooed hand was inches from where her knees were folded though didn’t dare touch her.

Surprisingly, it was Charlotte who made the first move. She slid her hand into his, like she’d done hundreds of times, and pulled it into her lap. He wordlessly rubbed the softest circles against the back of her hand, his eyes trained on hers despite her head being fully faced downward.

“Can I sleep here?” She finally asked. “Because I think I’m into you, but I need a trial run.” She teased playfully, meeting his eyes and squeezing his hand as tight as possible before releasing it playfully.

Harry rolled his eyes, but opened the covers for her to dip into. “Making sure the mattress doesn’t have a pea hiding under it, princess?” He teased, watching as she kicked off her fuzzy cream-colored slippers and slipped under the sheets, her legs bumping his.

She pouted. “Why do you call me that? Is it a mean nickname?” She asked, laying on her back with her hair fanning out into a crown, Harry’s elbow which was propping himself up just inches from her temple.

“No, it’s just… you’re a princess. It’s a good thing,” he explained with a soft shrug. “Royalty,” he added like it was an afterthought.

Charlotte blushed, reaching up to trace soft circles over the tattoo painted across his chest. “Princess,” she reciprocated thoughtfully. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

Harry’s eyes traced her figure, drinking in every detail of her silhouette. “I know all your favorite things. Peanut butter ice cream, coffee with vanilla, a really dark color of blue—”

She cut him off with a kiss. A long, passionate kiss she tried to pour everything she couldn’t say into. He noticed her, even when she thought she was hiding herself. And he didn’t use it against her; he used it for her. She nudged her nose against his, shivering when he climbed over her, transferring his weight to both elbows so he hovered over her.

He was everywhere—his hair falling into her face, his scent enveloping her senses, his belly pressed against hers. “—how you haven’t kissed anyone since that stupid photoshoot in Rome.” He finished, pulling away with the softest smirk.

Charlotte tucked his curls behind his ear. “Guess I have to make up for lost time,” she answered cheekily. “I thought you left that photoshoot early, though.” She pouted, finding it hard to focus when her eyes kept drifting back to his lips, now slightly swollen and a shade darker than previously.

Harry shook his head. “Had to go break something,” he answered before rolling off of her. “He was getting too touchy.”

Charlotte let him lay beside her, his hand traveling down to hold onto her thigh. He was touchy, she noticed. Not that she minded; it gave her peace of mind knowing Harry was right there, knowing she was safe with him. “Yeah, he was,” she agreed softly. “I love those flowers. And the candy,”

Harry smiled. “I’m glad,” he replied.

—

She woke up warm, a heavy arm thrown across her stomach, a steady presence pressed against her back. She couldn’t stop smiling, her hand touching the thick one on her belly, the back of her thighs pressed against the front of his.

He was breathing heavily, a soft snore emitting every few seconds. She thought it was cute, though. Somehow, he looked intimidating even in his sleep—not to her, though. He looked like her protector even in his sleep.

When she shifted slightly to grab her phone off the nightstand, his grip tightened and his breathing pattern became interrupted. “Not yet,” he mumbled sleepily, pulling her back into his chest. His voice was raspy, his eyes still closed.

Charlotte swore her face would split in half if she smiled any bigger. “Harry, I’m hot,” she whined softly. “Let me go.” She giggled, elbowing him gently. Harry groaned louder, his hands tightening around her waist.

Huffing in annoyance, she flipped over in his arms and faced him, reaching up to tap his lips with her pointer finger. After the sixth or seventh tap, Harry finally opened his eyes. “Let me sleep, princess.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it into his chest, his eyes fluttering shut once more.

“Can I still kiss you today?” Charlotte asked, biting back a laugh when his eyes flew open and he nodded vigorously. “That means you have to wake up, though,” she reasoned, pulling her hand from his loose grip.

“I’m awake,” he answered, eyes widening as he tried to blink the sleep away. She granted him with a soft peck, though his dissatisfied groan had her deepening the kiss, their tongues tangling together in a hasty rage of trying to get closer.

Her mind was spinning and blank all at once, thoughts filled with different shades of Harry. His hands tugged at her cotton tank, falling to the hem of her matching shorts, then back to the strap of her shirt. He moved from her lips to her jaw, down her neck, then to her shoulder, all the while leaving a trail of sloppy kisses.

She gasped, letting him push her onto her back as he worshiped her skin, finding every nook that made her twitch or let out a breathy moan. When he dipped down to her collarbone, she arched her back. “What? You want more?” He teased, his large hand fanning out across her stomach, dangerously close to her peaked nipple.

She nodded excessively. “Please, Harry,” she whispered, then paused, backing up slightly. He froze too, eyes snapping to hers.

“What’s up?” He asked, her fingers digging into his shoulders where she was grabbing him.

“I wish you were the only one to see me like this,” she groaned, head falling back on the pillow with her eyes closing in embarrassment.

Anger flashed in Harry’s eyes. “I never looked, you know,” he said quietly. “Felt disrespectful. And I’ve been trying to cancel the release. They’re being bitches, though.” He added, climbing up her body so their eyes were level.

“You’re perfect,” she said quietly. “Like, really perfect.”

Harry laughed. “Charlotte, I punched a door because some random dude kissed you for a shoot.” He rolled his eyes. Charlotte instantly missed his warmth when he rolled away from her.

“I think that’s hot,” she stated, sitting up and running her fingers through her tangled hair. Harry laid on his back, hands folded over his sternum. “And… if you’ve never looked…”

His head shot up when he felt her climb into his lap, ass resting dangerously close to his crotch as she tugged on his wrists. He couldn’t seem to form words when he saw her play with the hem of her tank top, pulling it up just enough to show a sliver of her belly. “Charlotte…” he warned, eyes locked on every inch of skin that was slowly becoming more exposed.

“What?” She asked innocently, tugging the fabric up the rest of the way and leaving her top bare, the chill pebbling her nipples. He let out a strangled groan, eyes fluttering closed before opening once more, like he was addicted to her.

He pulled himself up, hands grabbing at her hips as he smashed his lips onto hers once more. It was all passion and heavy breaths, her hands shaking as she arched herself into him, craning her neck to meet his kisses.

Morning light filtered through the windows as he dipped down to continue his trail of kisses until he found her breasts, kissing sloppily against the flesh as she leaned back to give him more room. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, laying her back and palming her breasts as he trailed hot kisses down her stomach.

She was starting to get restless, bending her legs at the knees as they opened just wide enough for Harry to push himself between them. “How long has it been, princess?” He asked, thumb resting just barely over the wet spot in her shorts.

She bucked her hips against it for any semblance of relief. “I-I don’t remember,” she stuttered, pupils blown out as she waited with a tense stomach for Harry’s next move.

“Been that long, sweetheart? Must be aching for me, then, yeah?” He teased, watching as she unashamedly nodded, her head bobbing and falling back as he pressed his thumb against her clit, hard enough it had her moaning out.

“Aching, yeah,” she repeated mindlessly. “Can you take my shorts off? Please, please?” Charlotte asked, Harry groaning softly at her willingness to comply. She was dirtier than he thought, and it made him harder than a rock. He swore he’d never been so turned on in his life.

He slid the cotton down her legs, pushing the white cotton of her undies back. She was dripping wet, her body practically singing for him as she wiggled her hips in a sorry attempt to gain non-existent friction.

“Want my tongue, Char?” He asked, voice deep and pained as he stared at her heat, fingers digging into her thigh so hard he was sure he’d leave bruises. Bruises he made, bruises everyone would see and wonder. But they would know.

“Please,” she slid her fingers through his curls, tugging at them and sending a shiver down his spine. “I’ve h-had dreams about you—a-about this,” she gasped when he dove into her, tongue thrashing through her slit and sucking on her clit.

He took his time, finding what made her legs shake and how to make her breath hitch. “Dreams about me? I’m flattered, princess,” he pulled away, her wetness dripping down his chin, his pupils dilated and his finger haphazardly finding her clit and rubbing in brutal circles as he caught his breath.

The rhythm had her legs twitching uncontrollably, a breathy laugh falling from her lips. “Y-yeah, oh my God, Harry, can I have a kiss?” She removed her hands from his hair and back down to his shoulders, hips bucking against his fingers as he moved back up her body to kiss her hard. Hard enough his lips would be bruised and sore.

The second he dipped his fingers inside her and curled them against her walls, she pulled away and slid her nails down his chest. “Gonna cum,” she whispered, her voice already fucked-out as he kept up the mindbending pace, lips attaching to her jaw.

The noise that escaped her throat as her body contracted and tensed around him had him thinking he died and went to heaven. Her warmth flooded over his hand as she shook and whimpered softly, sloppily meeting his lips with her eyes closed. “Holy shit, I need to be inside you or I think I’ll die.” He groaned, hands shaking and eyes shutting as he shuddered when Charlotte’s greedy hands tugged at the hem of his sweats, pulling them down his thighs.

“Please, H,” she whispered.

There was only a split second when their bodies were pulled apart so Harry could situate them, but it felt like forever. “Gonna be good? I don’t wanna hurt you,” Harry asked, hands climbing to the underside of her ass and tugging her against him.

The view was sinful—her petite, flawless body pressed against his dark swirls of ink and scars—and only made it hotter for Harry. “So good,” she promised, hair now a frizzy mess around her head.

He pushed himself in slowly, pausing as her features pinched up in pain. “Wait, wait,” she whispered gently, letting him fold himself over her body to kiss her forehead. “You’re so big, oh my fuck.” She gasped as he moved forward another inch.

She was so tight and hot, his entire body was on edge. He couldn’t come now, that’d be horribly embarrassing, but he swore it was almost inevitable as she gripped him impossibly tighter. “Princess, relax,” he said gently. “Let me in, baby, it’s okay.”

Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck, frowning in a soft pout. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—”

“You’re okay, silly girl. Just need you to relax a bit, hm?” He asked softly, tapping her hip as he pushed further. Her muscles relaxed—finally, Harry thought he was going to suffocate—and he slid all the way in, breathing hard through his nose as he struggled to regulate his breathing. “Fuck, Char, you’re incredible,” he groaned, giving her a testing thrust and watching as her mouth dropped open, her eyebrows furrowing.

It took him a minute to find her sweet spot. He was concentrating, moving her legs at different angles and watching how she reacted. When she spasmed and whimpered, her arms flailing out to grab onto his wrists on her hips, he knew he found it. “What is that—” she gasped out in shock, throwing her head back as Harry pounded into that spot over and over, his hands tightening and his eyes closing.

“No one’s ever fucked you like I have, yeah? Can’t find your sweet spot like I can?” He taunted, watching as she squirmed beneath him, pushing back on his thrusts as her body jolted forward. “Can you feel me in your tummy, baby?”

Charlotte whimpered, opening her eyes to show a hazy sheen, her head lulling to the side. But she complied with his request, one of her hands sliding down her belly to touch just below her belly button.

It was subtle, but she felt a soft thud every time Harry pushed into her—and it had her drenched. “Oh my God, H, feel,” she grabbed one of his hands and put it beneath hers. He pressed his hand deeper against her belly, meeting his cock beneath her stomach.

“Princess, I’m not gonna—fuck, Char, can’t squeeze me like that,” Harry shut his eyes tight once more, dropping his head to her shoulder as she giggled playfully. “You’re so perfect,” he mumbled so quiet it was almost like she wasn’t supposed to hear his confession.

Charlotte gasped, a knot tugging against her belly as Harry’s thrusts got sloppier, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing uncoordinated circles. “Please, I’m gonna cum, H, please, please,” she chanted, though was sure her words were just a jumbled mess of vowels at this point.

Her body felt like jelly as she came around him, his fingers making her immediately over sensitive as bursts of flowers bloomed around her eyes. “Oh my God, Charlotte, fuck,” she vaguely heard Harry’s grunts as he spilled into her, buried so deeply inside she could feel the contents of him slide through her.

She was twitching with aftershocks as he collapsed on top of her, hips bucking in sensitivity as he rested his head on the pillow beside her. “Jesus Christ,” he finally spoke, picking his head up to meet her eyes.

She smiled lazily. “I feel so good right now,” she giggled softly, reaching up to play with his curls. He slid out of her only to lay so close he might as well have kept himself tucked up inside her warmth, letting Charlotte play with his hair as if time was nothing more than a distant concept.

“I like that name. H,” Harry hummed, squeezing her hip. “Gonna keep calling me that, princess?”

Charlotte blushed, turning on her side to face him. “Only when you deserve it, Harry,”

—

Harry grabbed her hand, tugging her behind him as she used his body as a shield against the cameras. She was leaving an event early, an idea she asked Harry to execute for her. She had one too many vodka crans and her vision was hazy, and if she stayed any longer she knew she’d accidentally flash someone with the tiny dress her manager made her wear.

“Watch your step, princess,” Harry warned, eyes widening in shock as she tripped over her heels trying to climb into the car. She huffed in annoyance, looking back at his stony face (a face she’d grown to hate once she saw what his smile looked like) and turned pink in embarrassment. “Up you go.” He said teasingly, grabbing her waist and lifting her into the car.

Before she could chastise him, he had the door shut and was on his way to the other side. “Got tipsy,” she grinned at him as he started the car.

It had been three days since that morning, and they didn’t seem to speak about it, but things had changed. They were so busy they barely had time to speak about business, let alone pleasure. She slept in her room, but she never slept as well as that night she spent in Harry’s. Sometimes, late at night, she debated sneaking into his room again, but she always chickened out.

“Am I gonna have to hold your hair while you puke tonight, Your Majesty?” Harry teased, sliding his hand to her thigh comfortably and squeezing the flesh there playfully.

“No, lady’s don’t puke, silly goose.” She swatted at his hand as she looked out the window. “But tomorrow morning’s meeting is going to be rough.” She giggled gently, her eyes widening at the thought of showing up hungover to the weekly talk with her manager.

They fell into a serene silence, but Charlotte’s mind was whirring. Harry hadn’t made any sort of move to touch her again after that—sure, he’d hold her thigh when he was driving or her hand when he was navigating her through crowds, but it wasn’t the same. She wanted to repeat that morning over and over until she was satisfied. Which would never happen, but she wouldn’t admit that to Harry yet.

The city roads were strangely empty, and she found herself watching Harry’s hand as it turned the wheel smoothly, lifting up to rub his chin or run it through his hair when they were stopped. It made her stomach flip and her fingers shake.

“Why are you avoiding me?” She blurted out—and immediately blamed the outburst on alcohol.

Harry turned toward her for a moment. “Char,” he said softly, sighing. “You’re technically my boss.”

She frowned. “I didn’t hire you,” she reasoned. “My manager did.”

Harry groaned, dropping his head to the seat rest at a red light. “It’s not that I’ll get fired for seeing you, it’s that your manager will probably kill me.” He said finally, his jaw clicking. “He’s been trying to set up some relationship between you and actual royalty in England, princess. I can’t keep you,”

Her eyes began to water, her jaw dropping. She knew Harry had meetings without her, but she never thought about what they could be talking about. But dating a prince was not something she thought could be a topic of discussion.

Until it all clicked. Princess.

Bile rose in her throat.

“Oh,” she managed to choke out, a few tears slipping down her cheeks, her thigh beginning to burn where Harry was touching her. He quickly removed his hand, deciding to grip the gear shift instead. Her mouth opened a few times, but when nothing came out, she abandoned her attempts.

“I just want the best for you,” he said quietly. “And if it’s safe in some prissy kingdom with a prince that has better security than me, then I want that for you.” Harry pulled into the parking garage of her apartment, the silence in the car becoming suffocating.

Charlotte didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. She fell into a fitful sleep and woke up with a nasty headache, dreading the moment Harry would emerge from his room and she’d have to see his handsome face; the face she had only once.

Her tulips were wilted and drooping, the water in the vase almost completely evaporated, but she made no attempt to refill the glass. As a future princess, she was sure she’d get many more flowers, she couldn’t be arsed to take care of them as if they were priceless.

#harry styles #dom!harry #charlotte #bodyguard!harry #princess #princess!y/n #white tulips

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 2 years

Note

5!!!

Y/N was quite fed up. She knew that occasionally her husband would turn a blind eye to shady things in their business and would underreport things here and there, but now this seemed to be the new normal.

For months they had been receiving threats and menacing phone calls from people she would never get to identify. She was starting to question everything about him, everything about her marriage. She wanted out, but he would assure her that he was working on getting them protection, that everything would be OK soon. But she was afraid, she was afraid that because he was a greedy son a bitch she would end up dead with her brains splattered who knows where just to prove a point to him.

That is why she was refusing to get ready for the summertime fundraiser ball his company always participated in. This year they were fundraising for new medical technology at the children's hospital. It was a wonderful cause. But she had received dead animals in boxes with hateful notes, cryptic letters with threats, phone calls, and endured some vandalism to their home. She didn't feel safe anywhere, much less out in the open where she would hardly be near her husband all night.

"Please, Y/N! You'll be perfectly safe, I've taken care of it."

"That doesn't give me any solace, Joe. How have you taken care of it?" she asked for what felt like the fifteenth time.

"We have a security team now, alright?!" he seethed.

"Why couldn't you just say that from the start!"

"Because they're supposed to blend in with everyone when we're not at home and if you gravitate towards them or make them stand out then whoever is doing this to us will know who to target, alright?! So now you know and that's all you get."

"Absolutely not! Who is in charge of keeping me safe? I want to know that I can trust them!" she said and Joe groaned.

"That's not possible."

"Joe, I want to meet the people who are looking after me or I'm not going and that's final." she said and he sighed.

"Fine. Fucking fine... but get ready. They were supposed to be there already when we arrived, I'll have your security guard brought over. Deal?"

"Yeah." she said and he sighed and left the room.

Y/N was not messing around with her life. Whatever Joe had gotten himself into, she wanted no part in it. She loved that he was driven and tenacious, but the moment that he became a millionaire she encouraged him to slow down. They had more than enough to live their lives more than comfortably. But he wanted more and more and more. Their intimate relationship was hardly existent now as he was always traveling and doing other things for the business. Even with their new found fortune, Y/N continued embracing her lifestyle, she didn't become one of those ladies who now needed everything to be expensive and high end just to show she could have it. But Joe was morphing into something else and it unsettled her.

She was thinking through all of these things as she finished her make up. She just needed to get into her lingerie and her dress. She was just about to step into her dress when there were some knocks on the bedroom door.

"Come in! I'm already in the closet!" she called from inside as she slipped into her pink silky robe quickly and loosely. Their housekeep had seen her in her underwear plenty of times and also helped her get into these ball gown as well so she didn't feel the need to fasten the robe up if she was just going to get out of it.

Just then an unfamiliar and handsome face appeared behind the housekeeper, Ada. His hair was set perfectly and he was already in his tuxedo. Y/N's eyes widened and so did Harry's as he caught a glimpse of her body in her matching set of lingerie. She quickly pulled the robe closed with some embarrassment, but then giggled. And his eyes met hers in a soft and timid smile before he looked down at his shoes.

"A little warning would've been nice." she said to Ada with a grin.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry! Mr. Hastings said you were already expecting him." Ada disclosed, "Your security guard. Mr. Hastings said to give you a couple minutes to get acquainted? Ask your questions and whatnot." she reminded.

"Oh! Oh right, I was so caught up with getting ready that I completely forgot!" she said to Ada and then she glanced up to the man behind her. He was tall and slim, but he had the most chiseled features and an intense gaze, "I'm sorry, I'm Y/N or Mrs. Hastings, whichever you prefer." she approached him and extended a hand, which then made her robe part again and she retracted her hand immediately to properly tie up the robe and he chuckled softly as she shook her head with a giggle.

"I can come back in a few minutes if you prefer?" his voice was deep and the accent...she felt her whole body tingle as his eyes met hers.

"Please, that would be great!" she laughed nervously.

"Of course, I'll just wait outside." he confirmed before seeing his way out.

"Oh my god..." Y/N giggled to Ada who nodded. Her face was completely pink, which made Y/N smirk, "You think he's hot!" She teased Ada who then rolled her eyes.

"Like you don't see what I'm seeing..." Ada said with a grin. Around others they maintained this more "formal" exchange, but behind closed doors Ada was Y/N's confidante. She had been there for her when she was afraid or concerned and listened to her, she didn't brush her off like Joe did often. So her calling out Y/N was not taken offensively.

"Yes, but I'm married! You're not, I'm sure he'll be around so you'll have plenty of chances to sweep him off his feet."

"I have a fiance who I am very much in love with!" Ada reminded.

"Not married..." Y/N sang as she got out of the robe and Ada helped her into the dress she would be wearing for the evening. It had a zipper, but then it had these little buttons to cover up the look of the zipper and she couldn't do that on her own. The gown was dark red with puffed off the shoulder sleeves and it accentuated her figure well.

"You look so hot." Ada said with a sigh.

"I feel so hot." Y/N hummed as she looked herself over, "Wow." she hummed, she hadn't felt so confident about herself in a while.

"Well, now that you're dressed should I send in the body guard?" Ada asked and Y/N nodded, "Lovely, I'll see you later." she grinned before slipping out. She heard her invite him in and Harry once again entered the room. This wasn't the master bedroom, it seemed to be a guest room turned closet/vanity place. But he did notice that there was a bed in here and several items that indicated that someone was sleeping here. He continued looking around a bit more, not noticing that Y/N was just watching him through the vanity's mirror. She just let him go on until his eyes finally met hers and he cleared his throat.

"Sorry, just looking around, Mrs. Hastings." he said lowly.

"S'alright. It's nice to formally meet you..."

"I'm Harry Styles. And I'll be your security detail." he said, extending his hand this time and she approached and took it. They shook hands firmly before letting go, "I understand you might have some questions for me?"

"Yes. How long have you been doing this?"

"Almost ten years." he responded.

"And how do you plan to keep me safe?"

"Well, from what briefing I've received I understand that your husband travels a lot and you've been receiving some rather fear-inducing threats and vandalism. I will be in charge of the safety plan for your home. First thing Monday I will inspect and make any upgrades needed to your home security, including to those stationed at the entryway. From here on out all packages and letters will be screened by one of my teammates, you should't have to see the awful things you've been seeing." he said and she nodded, "All phone calls coming to the landline will be ready with a trap and trace to help us figure out where and who is making the threatening calls. And in terms of your personal security well, I'm trained in several martial arts and hand to hand combat styles. I do cary weapons on my person-"

"Weapons? As in plural?"

"Yes, m'am. A stun gun, a knife, and a firearm." he said.

"Anything else?"

"Well other tools of the trade I guess. Zip ties-"

"In case you catch someone?" she asked and he nodded.

"An earpiece to communicate with my team, lock pickers, and extra ammo." he said.

"OK... how many people will be on your team?"

"There are five of us total, your husband's security detail, Roger and I, are the most experienced on this team. When he travels Roger will travel with him, leaving me and three others to watch over you and the home."

"What if I get attacked while you're not around?"

"Someone will always be around." he assured her.

"Well what if for some bizarre reason they aren't?" she asked with raised eye brows and a grin and he sighed and shrugged, wearing a grin as well.

"Not possible, but if you'd like I can teach you how to defend yourself as well. Some basic self-defense principles can go a long way in helping you feel capable and safe." he said and she nodded.

"Yeah, alright. So, if someone points a gun at me and pulls the trigger-"

"Impossible, I would've probably pulled my trigger first." he said again and she grinned. This was almost like a game, she parted her lips to raise her hypothetical question but he grinned, "But if for some bizarre reason," he quoted her previous question's phrasing, "I hadn't neutralized the threat first and they took the shot first then I dive to take the shot instead." he said far too casually and she frowned.

"You'd do that? For a completely stranger?" she asked and he shrugged.

"Of course. It's my job to keep you safe, Mrs. Hastings." he said and Y/N felt her entire body get covered in goosebumps. Joe wouldn't even chance sniffing a milk carton for her to detect if it had gone bad and this complete stranger would take a bullet for her...wow.

"Well I'll tell you this. Considering you would be jumping in front of a bullet’s path to keep me alive I think we should be on a first name basis." she said and he nodded.

"Yeah, alright." he agreed.

"Also, this has everything to do with the fact that you called me m'am." She said and he chuckled, "And I will let you know now, Harry I am quick to anger and slow to forgive, so it'll be at least two days before I get over the whole "m'am" thing." she said and he smiled.

"Noted."

"Last question before you go." she said and he nodded, urging her to go on.

"Who do you work for?" she asked and he hummed.

"That I can't tell you. S'classified." he said and she narrowed her eyes, "Strike 2?" he asked and she cocked her head to the side as if saying 'obviously', "I would tell you if I could, though." he assured her and she sighed.

"Yeah, fine. It was lovely to meet you, Harry. I guess I'll be seeing you around." she said as she walked him to the bedroom door and he stepped out and turned to look at her.

"It was lovely to meet you as well, m'am." he grinned and shot her a wink which made her roll her eyes.

"Ughh, go away." she giggled and he chuckled as she closed the door on him. She pressed her back into it and bit her lip to suppress her smile. Joe really fucked up with this one...

Read Part 2 (requested)

#wrting #picture prompt challenge #harry styles #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #0nlythrowharrybeaux #bodyguard!au #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #bodyguard!Harry styles #body guard! Harry #bodyguard!harry #harry styles fic

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moonchildstyles · 8 months

Text

élan

élan part one: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

wordcount: 18.5k+

cw: her dad is really mean tbh!! pls skip parts w him if you are senstive to that kind of thing!

—————

(Y/N) fought to keep her eyes focused in the dark of her father's office. The longer she sat there, listening to the shout of his voice, the easier it was to block it out as she waited for it to be over. She stopped listening when he went off on his tangent about how terrible she was (he loved to use the word selfish and anything he could think of to diminish her intelligence). He wasn't very creative anymore, these berating sessions feeling like a necessary task as opposed to a hurtful punishment these days.

At least the interior designer he brought in last month had moved everything around, leaving his bookshelf behind his desk. This way, she could look over his shoulder and read the titles of his books. She was almost certain he hadn't read a single volume though he most likely told everyone that followed him in, that he had paged through each book more than once.

"Are you even listening, (Y/N)?"

Perking up at the sound of her name, she nodded on instinct. "Mhm," she hummed absently.

"What did I just say?" He was unimpressed—disbelieving.

(Y/N) stayed silent.

A heavy sigh fell from her father's lips. His eyes dimmed fro the angry fire she'd spotted before, leveling to disappointed embers the longer he looked at her.

"This is what I mean, (Y/N)," he continued, harshly spitting out her name, "You don't care. Never have you thought about the consequences to your actions. You're too selfish to think of anyone but yourself!" The blaze sparked up once more as he flicked his gaze to the glossy tabloid splayed across his desk. "Can you even comprehend what this"—he gritted out the word, tapping his finger against the photo—"means for me? My investors are going to have my ass only Monday because you don't know how to control yourself for five minutes."

She squirmed in her spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the tabloid cover. She was pictured with bitter features, her brows twisted in anger and eyes were ablaze. Her hand was outstretched as she dumped a full glass of rosé on Damien Moore's perfect, blonde head. Several angles were posted, documenting her gaped lips as she spat out venomous words while Damien looked on with seemingly innocent, wide blue eyes. The last in the series showed her walking out with the wine dripping down his features as he looked on in shock. A bold headline said: "Whore-mones or Another Drunken Rage?"

(Y/N) swallowed as she took the scene in.

Perfectly manicured nails clashed in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull from the restless ministrations.

"Do you want me to fail?" her father prodded, unsatisfied with her silence.

"It's not what it looks like—," she floundered, unable to keep her feelings out of it after looking at those photos, "He—Damien—"

"It does not matter what happened, (Y/N)! This is what it looks like and that is what people are going to believe and what they are going to care about!" He seethed as he looked at her, (Y/N) unsurprised. "You're going to make us lose everything if you keep this up, do you understand that? Your apartment, everything you have in Paris, your stupid shopping sprees—you'll actually have to work if you want any of that. Did you think of any of that?"

His harsh words slipped around her, filling every breath of air she pulled into her lungs. Any fight she had, any want to defend herself or give any kind of explanation, left her in an instant. "No," she answered, resigned.

"I didn't fucking think so. You never think, anyway."

(Y/N) just looked over his shoulder. Her gaze didn't shift even as his voice continued on, droning with insults and degrading remarks.

She hadn't even known she was being photographed that day. There wasn't a single flash or shutter of a camera. The restaurant had even gone out of their way to assure them that no one would be able to slip inside without a reservation or loiter along the sidewalk in wait.

But, inside sources and photographers always found a way, she supposed. Especially since it wasn't just her, it was her and Damien Moore on something that looked like it could have been a date. Of course paparazzi were going to find a way to get a photo of them together—anything to help fuel the rumors filling gossip pages and social media.

This particularly source even went so far as to claim they were close enough to overhear the argument that sparked the thrown wine. Supposedly, (Y/N) had been seeing someone behind Damien's back (something that was impossible given the fact she had Damien weren't even talking like that, let alone in an exclusive relationship), and when he confronted her she blew up. She was so hopped up on her "whore-mones" as the headline so eloquently put it, and the obviously unfinished glass of wine, that she just had to throw the drink in his face.

Because of course it was (Y/N)'s fault. Never could it have anything to do with Damien. He was the sterling Yale grad that came from the perfect family, while she was the "party girl" with divorced parents and a wild past. It was always going to be her fault, because that was more interesting than checking your sources.

At least, that's what the "journalists" and "sources" said.

It came with the territory, her dad had told her when she was freshly sixteen and photographers started waiting outside her private school. If you wanted to make the kind of money he made and be important in this world, there was going to be consequences, that's what he'd said when he saw the first photos of her and her friends having lunch on the quad. She was a pretty girl, anyway, of course there were going to be photos taken of her. She might as well take advantage of it instead of whining.

She became a tabloid bunny before she had even turned eighteen, with every misstep documented on the internet and whatever publication bought the photos as exclusives. Because of that, this lashing was nothing to her. She'd "poorly reflected the family image" enough time to let her dad's words roll off of her.

Her father was going to probably send her to the home in Malibu or whatever vacation rental was farthest from New York until he could stomach seeing her again. She'd happily take whatever location; it wasn't like she wanted to see him either.

"(Y/N), we can't keep doing this." Finally focusing her gaze, she saw her father sitting with his eyes sealed closed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't keep doing this."

As much as she was numb to moments like these, it was when his anger melted away and she was left with a disappointed father that she felt cracks appear in her walls. The little girl inside still ached to see her daddy so upset with her; so disappointed he couldn't even look at her.

"I'm sorry," she offered, something genuine lying beneath the deadpan tone.

"I'm sure you are," he sighed, "But, that's not enough anymore."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, lipgloss smearing across her pout, she stayed quiet.

"At this point, it's like you need a babysitter again. You can't be left by yourself and expected to behave."

Not this again, she wanted to grumble. Her last "babysitter" was nothing more than an uppity handler that cared more about PR rather than her actual well being.

Beginning to shake her head, (Y/N) tried to politely decline before he steamrolled over her.

"I'm going to have to hire someone, whether you want it or not. A bodyguard, a handler, or something, just to follow you around and keep you out of trouble."

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened at his plan. Her last handler didn't do more than text her throughout the day and meet with her once a week. He wanted someone on her back all the time?

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?"

He still wouldn't look at her as he spoke, "Since you keep acting like a child, that's how I'm going to have to treat you."

A slight panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't have her freedom, then what was any of this for? None of this—putting up with her father, allowing him to jerk her around, take his berating—was fucking worth it, then.

"Dad, seriously," she tried again, her hands beginning to shake, "Those pictures aren't what it looks like, I promise."

"And the others?" he asked sharply, whipping his gaze to match hers intently, "The one with you and Francesca sneaking out of a club at three in the morning when you were nineteen? The one of you screaming at Terra at her birthday party? Or, of course, the clips of you showing off your underwear while getting out of some random man's car?"

(Y/N) shut down at the mention of her most famous and well photographed mistakes. He never bothered to get her side of the story to those photos either, he just liked to bring them up to taunt her. He'd rather believe an "insider" over his daughter. It didn't matter that she was his family. It only mattered what his investors thought, or the men at the country club, or whoever he was trying to cozy up to for his benefit. Every attempt to clear her name was thrown out; not even when she showed him that one of these insiders had found her home address and started sending her letters. Not even when she told him she was beginning to get scared did he even pretend to care.

"That's what I thought," her father continued after she left them in silence, "Now, I'm going to have to hire someone to ensure you don't keep causing trouble, and you are going to respect them. If you want any chance of me letting this go, you're going to respect them more than you apparently respect me."

She stayed quiet. There wasn't anything she could add to this.

"Is there anything you want to say?" he pressed. A faux offer of debate.

(Y/N) only shook her head.

"Fine," he spat out, "Then go to bed. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

She was up and out of her seat immediately, not wasting a single second before her Dior heels were rapidly clacking over the cherrywood floors of her father's office. Her eyes were on the ground, watching the transition between the wood to the sparkling marble throughout the rest of the flawless Upstate mansion. Everything was high-end and fine, perfect and unburdened. It was full of everything her dad wanted her to be but she could never manage to be as well behaved as a lamp or as quiet as a Persian rug.

Trailing through the labyrinth of staircases and sealed doors, (Y/N) beelined to her childhood room. It was left exactly how it had been when she moved out at nineteen. It had way too much gold and hidden compartments her friends made to hide liquor for their slumber parties. Her bed was too big with a mattress that was too stiff and sheets too starchy from disuse.

Her dad never bothered to clear it out or even change a single piece of furniture—not because he cared or wanted her to have a space in his life, but because he didn't think of her enough to even remember this was here.

Shedding her Chanel sweater and dropping her skirt to puddle at her feet, (Y/N) dressed down to her undergarments before stealing an oversized shirt from a film festival she and Francesca had been invited to at seventeen. The fabric was soft and worn as it fell to the middle of her thighs, the fit slouching and stretched just like it was all those years ago.

That was all the comfort she could find as she slipped into bed, the sheets dragging across her bare legs. With her head cushioned by an overstuffed pillow, (Y/N) shuttered her eyes as she laid of on her back. Taking in deep breaths, she did her best to keep herself from shedding any tears.

There wasn't a single reason she should cry over her father. There was nothing there for her to be upset over; none of his words sliced the way he thought they did, that father-daughter bond having been severed when she was way too young. Her efforts were better utilized trying to figure out how to get out of this whole thing.

Aside from the fact she didn't want a handler—or whatever this babysitter's official title would be—following her around, she needed her freedom. Having the space away from her father's world was the only thing keeping her sane, even if she was barely hanging on.

She'd been suffocated enough of her life, she needed to find a way to get this pair of strangling hands off of her neck sooner rather than later.

—————

"He literally arranged a flight for me to meet him in Greece, but he only ever messages me after ten like I'm a booty call or something."

Francesca's babbling complaints were some of her favorite things. It was fun hearing what the biggest problems in her life were, as if it was really such a bad thing to have a billionaire entertaining a romance with you. Even if it only occurred after ten p.m.

"Isn't there a time difference between here and Greece?" (Y/N) asked, the Prada and Dior bags in the crook of her elbow brushing against each other as she raised her hand to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. Summer was beginning to fall over the city, that much she could tell from the humid breeze twirling around them.

"I mean sure, but that's not the point," Fran argued, breathing out a frustrated sigh, "It's like he doesn't think I'll ghost him if he starts annoying me. He's not the only one with a yacht, you know."

"I know, bu—"

(Y/N) was cut off by the sound of her phone vibrating in her bag, the device rattling against her lipgloss tube. Francesca paused her story, watching as (Y/N) pulled her phone out of her bag. Clocking the name on the screen, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. There had already been a photographer taking photos of them through the windows of Prada and she wasn't sure if they'd followed, but a picture of her rolling her eyes before answering the phone would surely be spun into something sensational.

"Hold on, it's my dad," she mumbled before pressing the phone to her ear.

Without waiting for a greeting, her father brightened through the receiver with a call of her name. "(Y/N)! Are you still out with Francesca?" She could hear his smile through the phone. The investor meeting must have gone better than he thought.

"Yeah," she answered absently, "We just finished lunch and shopping. I think we're going to go back to my apartment before we go out tonight. Why?"

"Would you be able to come home this afternoon, instead? There's someone I want you to meet."

The lax in her muscles evaporated at his words. Though it was posed as a question, she knew there was only one answer he would accept. It was never a good thing when he wanted her to meet someone, but it was a required thing she'd learned. More often than not, he wanted her to meet an investor's son, or some man he drank too much with at the country club.

Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?"

"It's a surprise," he beamed over the phone, "Drop off your things and I'll have one of the drivers come to pick you up."

"I mean, I think Franny actually made reservations at—"

This time around, her father's voice had a curt edge underneath the faux sweetness he started the call with. "I think you're going to have to tell Francesca that you need to reschedule, sweetie," he said, voice too pleasant, "I need you to come home tonight."

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) resigned herself to the change in the day's plans. "Okay, dad," she muttered.

"See you soon, honey! Love you!"

(Y/N) didn't bother to reciprocate his performance, instead just hanging up. He wouldn't shout at her over the dropped call if someone else was present anyway, might as well take advantage she decided.

Beside him, Francesca looked at her with a matching pout. "You have to go home, huh?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathed, dropping her phone back into her purse as they crossed the busy intersection, "My dad wants me to meet one of his friends or something."

Francesca affectionately bumped against Y/N's shoulder as the car taking them back to her apartment came into view. "Well, if you don't like this one, send me his number and I'll take him off your hands. Just make sure he also has a yacht in Greece."

Though her features stretched into a smile with a bubbling laugh, (Y/N) wasn't too impressed with Francesca's comment. While she was the best friend (Y/N) had ever had, the only person that knew much about what happened at home and why she would do next to anything to avoid her father, Francesca didn't get it. She supported (Y/N) and didn't mind being the listening ear and the shoulder to lean on, but she never really understood why certain things bothered (Y/N). Everything was very light-hearted in Franny's eyes—there was never a reason not to be receptive if a rich man wanted to buy her a drink or a company wanted to use her likeness without permission. Everything was an opportunity, not a crossed boundary.

"I doubt he will," (Y/N) played along, setting her shopping bags at her feet after climbing into the black car, "But I'll make sure to put in a good word for you in case he has one in Florence."

Francesca's laugh filled the cab of the car though (Y/N) was already back home with her father, trying to navigate her way out of whatever he planned.

—————

"Thank you, Sully," (Y/N) chirped as her driver helped her step out of the car.

"My pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he offered, waiting for her to steady herself over the gravel of her father's long driveway, "Also, I wanted to say thank you again for the clothing you passed on to my daughter. She loved her prom dress and is already asking her mom if she can get it preserved so she can keep it forever. Thank you for taking the time and picking some things out for her—it made her night."

"Of course," she bubbled, allowing Sully to escort her to the front door of the mansion, "I'm so happy she liked any of it! Let me know if she needs anything else for graduation or anything at all."

The smile on his face made it especially worth it to let go of her favorite vintage Dior gown.

Waving goodbye to Sully, (Y/N) stepped over the threshold of the front door, already regretting not fighting harder to get out of this. Goosebumps touched her skin as the temperature dropped. She shut the warmth outside behind her, the lock ensuring nothing comforting could follow her into the lion's den.

Despite the place being her childhood home, there was nothing left for her here, she knew that. It barely even resembled the same place she used to celebrate holidays and share tense family dinners in. Her dad's favorite interior designer had the pleasure of redecorating the place every few years, erasing anything that made it not look like a catalogue.

Her heels clicked over the floors as she made her way up to his office. She wanted to take her time, but she was sure her father already knew she was there. It was better to refrain from keeping him waiting.

Scaling the stairs, she heard a pair of voices and distant laughter. She didn't need to see the space to know her dad had probably cracked open the decanter of whiskey he had on display on one of his shelves, crystal glasses filled for the both of them. It wasn't hard to imagine the kinds of lines her dad would offer in an attempt to schmooze with whoever was waiting for her. She'd heard it all dozens of times at this point.

The other voice, though, took her by surprise. This one was too deep and mature to be any kind of investor's son, and too sober and untainted by years of smoking cigars to be one of the men at the country club. Her steps slowed some. Her expectations shifted as she trailed down the hallway in the direction of the office, heels muffled by the long rug under her feet.

With the heavy door to his office in front of her, (Y/N) carefully knocked on the panel, listening as the voices inside stilled at her disruption. Typically, her father would just grunt a permission of entrance or already be raging when she stepped over the threshold, but she knew he was committed to whatever show he was putting on when he opened the door for her himself.

"(Y/N), sweetie," he greeted her, toothy smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming so quickly; I know you were busy with Francesca, but I'm happy you're here."

If that wasn't enough, the hug he pulled her into was more than alarming. The last time he hugged her when cameras weren't present was the day her parents told her they were divorcing. She didn't even know how to reciprocate.

Before she had a chance to screw her head on right, he pulled away and began leading her inside his office.

"Of course," she chirped, falling into her designated role for this scene. She kept her gaze high as she followed him in, feigning confidence in the midst of whoever it was that was awaiting her.

"I have someone special for you to meet," he continued, pitching his voice louder as to catch the attention of the one other in the room.

Around his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted a head of brown hair, black clothing stretched around broad shoulders and tan skin on the back of their neck. They faced forward despite the obvious way her father was trying to catch their attention. Pacing her breathing, (Y/N) fell into the loving daughter character, willing to do anything for her doting father.

Welcome to the show. She just hoped it would be a short viewing.

Approaching the pair of chairs positioned before the cherry-stained desk, her father held out a sweeping hand. "Harry," he said, looking to his guest, "This is my daughter, (Y/N)."

At the sound of his name, the guest—Harry—stood from where he was sitting, moving with calculated grace as he turned to face the both of them. He stepped away from the cushioned seats, a stoic expression on his features as he looked towards her.

He wore all black down to his shoes, standing taller than her father's height. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, tan skin and tattoos littering the space. He had beetles and mermaids, hearts and roses inked across, some sketches more faded than others. A cross had even been needed into his hand. The chain of a necklace glimmered in the lowlight though any pendant that may be attached were hidden under the neckline of his top. Moving up the column of his throat, his face was made of hard planes and sharp angles. His nose was strong and straight. Stubble shown blonde in the light across the bottom half of his face, a mole off to the side of his mouth. Everything softened as she matched his eye contact, mossy jade with sparkles of sunlight flecked through. Long curling lashes framed his gaze.

He was gorgeous, that's for sure. Not the usual kind of person her father associated with. He must be some kind of new money millionaire, easily fooled by her father's charms.

The man took her in as well, his gaze observant as if there was a notepad he had in his head to take down every detail of her. It didn't feel like the affectionate gaze she'd felt before tracing down her body. Especially with the way his practiced expression stayed level, a wall hidden behind his eyes.

Nonetheless, she kept her facade up and ready, a beaming smile on her face. She reached out her delicately manicured hand, palm smelling of the Miss Dior cream she'd rubbed over her hands on the car ride over.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she greeted, a mild smile on her face.

His grip was strong as he grabbed her hand, palm to palm with callouses matching the soft parts of her own. "Likewise."

(Y/N) couldn't help but to recoil some as she retracted her hand. It wasn't a new reaction, especially some people who met her after reading too much into the tabloid stories and anonymous blogs. Half the time strangers waited for her to drunkenly blow up on them. Though it wasn't a typical reaction from those who requested to meet her.

Her father didn't seem to pay any mind to the chilled interaction, rounding the width of his desk to take his throne on the other side, leaving (Y/N) and Harry to settle beside each other across from him.

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?"

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now.

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now.

Harry was her new cage.

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away.

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbow propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for. He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."

Bodyguard.

Her personal bodyguard.

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler.

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story.

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out.

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them.

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months.

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed intact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!"

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted.

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge."

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind her back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning.

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused on her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later.

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie.

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act.

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room.

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar.

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her.

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—"

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you."

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier.

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy."

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room.

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach.

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack.

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll whose only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that.

Harry wasn't there to protect her, she knew that. He was a hired hand to put her back in her place every time her father wasn't there to do it himself. He was another body to crowd her into a corner and suffocate her as long as she kept smiling. Harry was another reminder that nothing was allowed to be hers; her thoughts, her time, her space was to be shared just like the rest of herself.

Besides, Harry might be the kind of person willing to sell stories to tabloids. Who better than someone tasked with observing her every mood to be an "insider"? It wouldn't be the first time a Secrets Edition came out about her.

With her eyes fixed to a knot swirling in the marble flooring, (Y/N) tried to unlatch the phantom hands wrapped around her neck.

What was going to be left of her if she was constantly going to be performing?

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) fisted her hands in her lap, the hem of her Dior minidress caught in the fray. She needed to calm down.

No matter what, she was still luckier than most people in this world. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to keep her head on straight. She was going to figure this out, and she was going to be okay even if a tiny bit cracked at the edges.

Curling up on her dusty bed, she leveled her breathing as much as she could despite the shuddering of her lungs. Every spiraling thought had to be neatly rolled up and put away.

A breakdown was probably on the list of banned surprises her father had in mind, anyway.

—————

Poking at her dry salad, (Y/N) watched the drops of condensation river down her glass of lemon water. Across from her, her father tore at his too-scorched steak, a side of hearty potatoes and glass of whiskey to compliment the meat.

He hadn't said a word to her since she sat down, instead opting to focus on his tailored dinner while she was left with her pre-arranged salad. It was more lady-like, he'd told her once before, to eat like a rabbit. Leave the big things to men—they needed it after running the world, she'd heard him joke though she's sure it wasn't a joke to him.

As heavy as the silence was weighing on her, she wasn't going to be the first one to speak either. He was the one that requested she spend dinner with him, he was going to have to lead the conversation. That left only the clicking of utensils against the fine china plates.

Suddenly piping up, (Y/N) lifted her gaze to her father's as he spoke, "You're going to have to start being nice to Harry, you know. He's not going away until I say, and I could tell you were being fake today. If you're going to lie, at least try harder."

As if her father wasn't the king of phony facades and fake personality traits. He was the one that shattered that illusion the second he couldn't hide his temper with her earlier. It didn't take much to notice he didn't actually care about her.

Those hours in her room left her exhausted, though. She'd cried off and on until she finally convinced herself everything was fine and none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things; that her discomfort and fear was something minuscule enough to be pushed to the side and forgotten. She didn't have it in her to debate with him.

"Yeah," she dejectedly agreed, running her fork through the leafy greens on her plate, "Sorry about that."

Apparently, that was the worst thing she could have uttered with the way her father dropped his fork to clatter against his plate with his grip tightening on the handle of his steak knife. His jaw tensed, lips pinched.

"I don't care how you feel about this, (Y/N)," he gritted out, "Don't think I don't mean that. You are going to show him some respect, listen to everything he says, and behave accordingly. Otherwise, he has full permission to correct you as he sees fit. And, he will tell me every time he has to correct you, so keep in mind that any kind of punishment he gives—mine will be ten times worse."

She didn't doubt a word he said. If this was the kind of conversation he and Harry had after she left the room, there was no telling what kind of person her new security had to be to agree to a job with terms like these. She lacked faith in just how fairly he would "correct" her if his thoughts aligned with her father's.

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, all the fight in her gone for the day.

Her father sighed, disappointed as per usual. "This is going to be good for you," he told her, condescension tainting his tone, "I know you don't understand that now, but it will be. I just want you to settle down and stop giving people something to talk about. There's no reason to act like that if you want attention. You're pretty enough, people are already looking—there's no reason to be a bitch, too." Picking up his fork, he steadied his steak as he sliced off another too-tough bite. "Your life could be so much different—Damien might even take you back if you just apologized."

The ice cubes in her drink slid against one another, melting in her water. "Okay."

Chewing down his bite, her father took a long pull from his whiskey.

"He starts with you on Friday. I told him to take a look at your apartment and make sure there isn't anything or anyone that isn't supposed to be there." His pointed gaze landed on her over the rim of his glass. "I will hear about everything, please remember that."

His thinly veiled threat swept over her with nothing more than a meaningless brush. She kept her eyes on the drip of water traveling down the side of her glass. A melting ice cube clinked against the side.

"Okay."

—————

Phone pressed to her ear, (Y/N) flipped through her mail while Francesca bubbled in her ear. No matter how hard she tried to condition herself to be the same, Fran was always a much better morning person than she.

"When do you see him again? Do you know yet, or is that a mystery, too?" Francesca was a little too excited to hear how inexpressive Harry had been in her father's office. His stoic coldness translated to mysterious heat to her.

"My dad said he was supposed to start today, but I'm not sure. I woke up early and made an extra smoothie just in case, but he still hasn't shown."

The envelopes in front of her were nothing but junk so far, her attention waning.

"Ooh!" Francesca sang over the phone, "I'm so excited to meet him! We're still on for brunch this Sunday, right?"

(Y/N) faltered where she stood, hands pausing on the collection of mail. "I don't know, Fran," she muttered, shifting her weight over the tiles of her kitchen, "I just—... He'd have to come with me."

"I know, that's the point!" she bubbled, "You said he was cute and young, I want to meet him."

"I know, but I wanted to talk about stuff, you know," (Y/N) pointed out.

"And we will! You remember Barry from when we were in school, right? I promise you, your guy isn't going to care about anything going on as long as you aren't in danger," Francesca continued, referencing her security form when they were young.

Sighing, (Y/N) wanted to correct Franny. Harry wasn't going to be eyeing out any suspects or worst case scenario moments, not if he was following her father's directions. He would be listening in and watching her for any and all infractions she could commit, including any topic of discussion that might be considered unbecoming.

Francesca must have picked up on her lingering reluctance through the phone. "(Y/N), please," she pouted, "I know you're stressed and all about everything, but I don't want this to take you away from me. You can still live your life, you'll just have an extra shadow. That's all."

A beat passed before she felt herself resign. "Okay, but if today is weird with him, I might be calling and cancelling."

"Okay!" she squealed out, feeling as if this was her win no matter what, "Just keep an open mind today, and have fun!"

"I'm sure I will," (Y/N) laughed, "Love you."

"Love you, too! Bye!"

With that, the call went dead leaving (Y/N)'s previous scroll through instagram lighting up her screen. Locking her phone, she took a breath to take a sip of her purple smoothie, hoping the addition of matcha and cherry juice this time would tap into some of her stress points and calm her.

She kept up with her chosen routine for the morning, rifling through the remains of her pile of mail. Under a few more loose pieces of mail and catalogues was a navy blue envelope, stamped with silver starts and sparkling script spelling out her name. A faux wax seal laid the flap shut but gave away easily under a slight pick against the edge. Inside was an invitation to the annual 132 Gala—a benefit for the art gallery of the same name—she'd attended for the last couple of years, the dress code detailed out along with an RSVP request. Honestly, as much as she and her stylist had been anticipating the event, she almost forgot about it in the midst of all the variables entering her life. She was going to have to touch base with Dom to ensure he still had an idea in mind for her gown before she made any commitment.

With the invitation being stowed away for later, a few more pieces of mail were thrown in the trash until she reached the final slip in the stack. She sighed when she spotted the familiar computerized script on the front. It was crumpled and creamy as opposed to a clean white. She was sure that if she had picked it up earlier in the week it would have still had that distinct woodsy scent as opposed to smelling like the inside of her mailbox.

(Y/N) didn't need to peel open the flap to know that inside there would be a stack of glossy photos of her along with a typed letter. She knew there would be photos of her this week entering her apartment, going out with Francesca, driving to her father's, and the infamous event with Damien. Some of those photos would no doubt end up in a publication or posted along with a too-long article analyzing her outfit or body language. They always did.

Without opening the envelope to verify her suspicions, (Y/N) bent to lay this letter with the rest in a drawer filled with junk and things she wanted to ignore. After pushing the drawer closed, she wiped every thought about her "admirer" from her thoughts. They weren't allowed to occupy her brain when there were much more pressing things to worry about.

Flicking her gaze to the time blinking on her stove, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. While she wasn't much of a morning person, she couldn't believe her dad would allow someone to start a work day—no matter how informal—after nine a.m. With the time blinking well past ten in the morning and the sleep officially having been wiped from her eyes, she was growing unimpressed with the fact she was still waiting.

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) centered herself, leaning back against the lip of the counter. She knew there was no reason to be upset with Harry, it wasn't like she had any say in his schedule nor was this lag truly disrupting anything for her. Her anxiety was beginning to manifest in ways she wasn't proud of and weren't helpful in any way.

She thought some early morning yoga and a string of meditative poses would help settle her, work out that energy, but obviously none of that had the desired effect. Every time she tried to picture even what this Sunday's outing was going to be like, she wanted nothing more than to hide away and keep from encountering anyone or anything. It would be easier that way, she figured. That way she wouldn't have to explain who Harry was or why she needed any kind of security.

Francesca was right, though. She knew that. Staying holed up and avoiding the world wouldn't do anything to get her father off her back. If it went on too long, eventually her father would begin picking out events for her to attend, and that was always a much worse outcome than just leaving her house on her own.

Breathing the way her therapist from her teenage years taught her, (Y/N) centered herself as best she could with her bare feet on the cool tile of her kitchen. The chilled glass with her smoothie was slick against her palm, condensation dripping down the crystal.

Everything was going to be fine.

A buzz coming over the intercom knocked (Y/N) out of her head, her eyes flying open with her hand almost letting go of her smoothie. A stunted breath exhaled from her lungs as the moment she'd been waiting for laced together.

She knew that was Harry waiting to be buzzed up to meet her for the second time.

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) fell easily into her role of bubbly socialite. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, it wasn't as if he was going to find anything her father would be ashamed of. She wasn't even his top priority, she reminded herself, her father and his company were Harry's clients, not (Y/N).

Pressing the small button on the stainless steel panel beside her front door, she dipped close to the microphone. "Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked as if she didn't already know what the answer would be.

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," answered the doorman from the lobby, the usual quiet settling in the background as he spoke, "I have a Mr. Harry Styles waiting down here for you. He said he's a part of your security team."

"You can send him up, please," she replied, forcing a chirp to her voice. "Thank you, Claudio!"

"Of course, Ms. (Y/N)," was all she heard back before the static went dead. Claudio was always a bit cold to her, but he never let any of the lurkers into the lobby so she'd take what she could get.

The waiting game started again after the brief intermission, leaving (Y/N) in the silence of her apartment. She was suddenly too aware of the silk of her pajamas brushing her skin, the intricate threading on the hem of her shorts too heavy now.

Lucky enough for her, it wasn't too long before she heard a knock reverberating through the door. It was firm and short, matching the man on the other side.

A shot went through her system, a moment of static hitting her brain. She'd gone through worse bouts of anxiety and stressful situations, there was no reason to get worked up over something—someone—like this.

With her mask on, complete with a reserved smile and detached gaze, (Y/N) opened her front door. The hinges glided like butter, welcoming Harry in where he stood in the hallway.

Dressed in all black as she was starting to figure was his signature, he was waiting with an observant gaze being cast through the corridor. This was one of the few penthouse floors in the building leaving a bare space between where the elevator was stationed before leading to her front door.

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly, "Come in."

With a flourish, she stepped to the side with a space cleared for him to step into her apartment.

"Good morning," he said, a slight smile on his features that appeared for a flash before he was back to his stoic state, "Thank you."

Harry stepped in, acting as a dark spot with his fitted black t-shirt and trousers of the same shade against the understated hues of her home. (Y/N) locked the door behind him before turning to face him once more, a pleasant smile on her face.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice even and warm despite how detached she felt.

"Good, thank you," was his abrupt response, no followup about her own well being for the morning. He cast his gaze around her apartment, taking every corner and curve. She wasn't even sure he had properly looked at her at all since coming here.

"Good," she said, trailing off awkwardly into the space around them. What kind of small talk do you make with a member of your security team? Especially one that didn't seem too keen on knowing their client.

Leaning against her front door, she waited as he observed everything. He looked at her couch the same way he had looked at her days prior, as if he was compiling a list of all its attributes and deciding whether it not it had anything of value within.

It was an odd feeling; she typically wasn't so blatantly compared to furniture to her face, that was usually left to the tabloids and internet trolls.

Seeming to remember that she was still there, Harry stopped his game of finding everything in the room. He settled his eyes on her, a pointed look with a small pinch to his brows.

Taking him in for that moment, she was reminded of just how pretty he was. He didn't look like the kind of man that would be guarding the models and gorgeous people, he should be one of the YSL or Gucci models that needed protecting from the crowds of people trying to get a closer look at him. Off-duty model, she figured would be the name of the article that Vogue would write about him, full of street style photos of him.

With the green of his eyes meeting her own, he didn't waver where he stood. "Jus' go about your day like normal," he instructed her, arms crossed over his chest, "I want to learn your habits and your space first, but if you need to do anything out of the norm, let me know."

"Okay," she sounded, voice quiet to her own ears.

As much as she was sure she was meant to completely ignore him, she still felt odd crossing through her place towards her kitchen. She finished her smoothie and had left her blender and other supplies in the sink, so she could at least do the dishes maybe? At least that way her hands would be busy without plucking at her manicure.

Filling the sink with water, she did her best to treat Harry as nothing more than a shadow. To be fair, it wasn't that hard given the fact he barely made any noise as he traipsed around. It brought back memories of the way Barry used to hover around she and Franny when they were teenagers; it was easy to not pay too much attention to the extra body in the room, but her muscles never fully relaxed.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him poking his head up the stairs to where her bedroom was, casting his gaze towards her ceiling, catching a view out her various windows as he went around. He was a perfect shadow dressed in black, but he seemed a bit too unimpressed for a neutral being.

Harry stepped into her kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes silent over the sparkling white granite flooring. "Do you have any kind of security system set up here? Cameras or anything like that?" he probed.

Humming, (Y/N) picked up the rag she placed out for drying. "The building has some of those alarms installed with the codes and everything and there's the guys downstairs, but I don't have cameras set up in here or anything."

Perpetually unimpressed, Harry only let out a, "Hm."

She fixed her eyes onto her pink onyx countertops, tracing the swirling white lines in the faint pink of the stone. Why did he even care, she wanted to ask. What good would cameras in her home do when she was a nuisance outside of these walls?

Watching as he headed down towards her guest rooms, she felt her tongue moving before her brain allowed it. "What are you looking for?" she poked, her question simple as he kept drying her dishes before placing them in cabinets.

It wasn't like she was hiding any of the drugs or alcohol her dad surely warned him about, telling him to seek out and destroy before truly starting his job. If that was what he was toeing around her home for, he was going to be disappointed.

He didn't even turn to face her as he called back down the hallway to her, "Nothing in particular. Jus' noting things as I go; vantage points and the complete lack of any useful security around here."

Propping her hip against the lip of the counter, she let out a small sigh. Her hands twirled the rag she had used to dry her dishes, gaze following after her new security detail.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she started, saving them both some trouble by starting the conversation, "I know my dad didn't hire you to protect me or anything. He wants you protect the public, and his business from me."

His ghosting footsteps came to a stop where stood down the hallway. He was in complete control as he turned to face her, that usual placid look molding his features. "Last I checked, you were my client. Not the public or your father's company."

"But he's the one that's paying you," she countered, unwavering from the point she was trying to make, "I just don't want you to waste your time pretending to find something to protect me from."

That deadpan look never changed from Harry's face. "'M not pretending, 'm doing my job." He paused only for a moment, his gaze bored and heavy on her skin. "Let me know if y'decide to go anywhere."

That was the end of the conversation as far as (Y/N) was aware, Harry turning and leaving her as he went about doing whatever it was he considered to be his job. She didn't try to stop him again. If he wanted to waste his time, he could do just that. Not her problem, anymore.

Draining her sink, (Y/N) crept through her apartment to settle upon her plush couch. Clicking her television awake, she fumbled through streaming services until finally tuning into a rerun of a cooking show she was fond of. Though she couldn't quite sink into the cushions or yell to the T.V. as the contestants didn't see the obvious win she did, at least he wasn't right behind her.

—————

"No, dad, I didn't give him any trouble yesterday."

(Y/N) could practically hear the eyeball through the phone. "You know he's going to tell me, right? Lying won't change anything."

It was her turn to give a petulant reaction, lashes fluttering as she almost got her eyes stuck in the back of her head. "I'm being serious. I'm not hiding anything, and I haven't even gone out or anything. There's been nothing to get upset over, dad."

The trademark sigh of disappointment fluttered through the speaker. "What's the point of having a bodyguard if all you're going to do is stay home, (Y/N)?"

"I'm going to brunch tomorrow with Fran and the girls," she countered, feeling her blood pressure rise over his argument. She was damned if she went out and was seen, damned if she stayed home and out of the public eye. She couldn't win.

"Good," her father said, sounding all too pleased as if these plans were his doing, "I want him to see how you act in public, then we'll be able to start working on your problems."

There was no argument she was going to give after that. She wasn't going to reward him or validate his claim that she is the problem. Because of course she was; it was never the photographers hounding her the second she turned sixteen, never the men around her that treated her like a tabloid bunny there for poking and prodding, and never him who didn't think to be a father for longer than it took for a flash of a camera to capture the moment.

Dead air settled between them, (Y/N) pressing her phone to her ear with the help of her shoulder as she began to collect ingredients for her dinner. Her way of ignoring him came in redirection, instead focusing back on Harry, his new favorite person.

"Harry thinks I should get a security system at my apartment," she offered, hoping the mention of his name was enough to get her father's head turning elsewhere.

The beat that passed after her words showed she garnered the opposite reaction. "Did you tell him about those letters, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice hard as stone.

Her lips thinned. "No."

"Good. Don't." It didn't take much for (Y/N) to picture the way he was surely hanging his head over his dinner, perpetually disappointed in his only child. "Do not waste his time over those. Plenty of people take pictures with you, and if I find out you're having him worry about the one person that's actually a fan of you..." he trailed off as if she didn't know exactly what threat was about to leave his mouth, "I'm going to send you to stay with your mother."

"Right. I won't."

His worst punishment was always to push her off on others. The nannies she bonded with growing up, different boarding schools and summer programs, anyone that was willing to glance at her for longer than five seconds was in the running to take her off his hands. Her mother was always his favorite to threaten her with as if he knew where she was.

(Y/N) didn't bother to listen to him anymore when it came to these moments. While she knew he'd never—could never—follow through with this particular threat, it was more than a little disheartening that he'd consider her calling for help as something that deserved a punishment.

"Well," he started, speaking around his mouthful of whatever his chef had prepared for the night, "if I don't hear from Harry, I'll be calling you to see how tomorrow goes. Don't embarrass yourself, (Y/N). It's not worth it."

"I know," she answered absently, her voice bored, "Goodnight, dad."

"Night."

Pulling her phone from her ear, (Y/N) focused on preparing the zucchini for the pasta primavera she'd been craving. Her thoughts turned methodical now that she had something structured to give her attention to. It was much easier to think when she wasn't firmly planted in her stubbornness and trying to ward off the kind of anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager.

Harry had gone home late into the afternoon yesterday, and didn't return today. He didn't tell her anything other than he'd see her on Sunday morning for brunch, but she had figured he'd have paid her another visit in the meantime anyway. It was an odd arrangement anyway, as far as she could tell.

Stretching her memory back, Francesca's security was always there. Even when (Y/N) would spend the night or go away on trips with family, Barry was a constant shadow. The pool house in their backyard was his, an extra room for every rental or new vacation house taken into account so Francesca was never without her bodyguard. While she hadn't really wanted this, she figured Harry would be the same way—his services a button away in case of any kind of moment in need from her.

He hadn't even taken her number down when he was over.

It had only been a suspicion before, but perhaps her dad really had been honest with Harry: there was no real danger surrounding (Y/N), just her as the problem that needed fixing before interacting any with the public. There would be no reason for him to watch over her as she slept or be available to any emergency that might appear in his absence.

Whatever, she figured, sliding the half-moons of her zucchini into a bowl. At least she cleaned out her guest room, something she'd been meaning to do.

(Y/N) was going to take her time alone as if it were gold. She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be rough enough without a bad night's sleep.

—————

Swimming to the surface of sleep, (Y/N) was half aware of the sound of the static buzzing coming through her apartment. It was far enough away, the buzz panel situated by the door, that she could ignore it easily as she shifted between her sheets with her eyes cinched closed. Brunch wasn't for a few hours anyway, she knew that, and if any of the girls needed her they would have called prior.

Soon enough the buzzing ceased, allowing her brain to fuzzy further and to retrace her steps back to her dreamland. Whatever that was, wasn't an emergency, then.

Until the banging knocks started.

These, she wasn't able to ignore. Forcing her eyes open, she reached for her phone on her night stand. No missed calls or texts filled her notifications, but the time of seven a.m. reflected at her. There was only one person who could be giving her this wakeup call, but there was no reason for him to be here already.

With no contact to reach out to see if it was Harry waiting for her, she just had to trust that the doormen downstairs wouldn't send anyone up that they didn't recognize or who wasn't on the list to be cleared for her penthouse elevator.

Her hair was a mess on the top of her head, tangled and falling out of the braid she had twisted for the night, eyes crusted with sleep in the corners, and limbs shaking from the abrupt pull from her sleep. The only clear thought she had was that she was goin to have to give him the access code to her apartment or a key after this; early morning wakeups like this were something she was ever going to be happy about.

Swinging the door open for him during a pause in his banging, (Y/N) barely looked at Harry before she was trying to usher him in with a sweep of her hand.

"Morning," she grumbled, voice sticky in her throat.

"Morning," Harry reciprocated, "Are you ready?"

"What?" she asked over the click of her lock going back into place.

"I thought you had plans to go out with your friends this morning." His voice was bored as if he couldn't believe he was having to remind her of her own agenda.

"Yeah, for brunch," she added, "We don't have to leave for a while."

"Hm," was all he had to offer in response. Unimpressed.

(Y/N) didn't have it in her to care whether or not he liked brunch or thought she was silly for whatever reason. She was too tired, and her bed was too soft.

"I'm going back to bed," she told him, edging towards the staircase to her bedroom, "You can do whatever you want."

A beat passed before Harry offered an acknowledgement in the form of a hum. He was much more interested in investigating more of her home, she figured with the way his eyes traipsed through the space.

The second her head hit the pillow in her bedroom, (Y/N) happily relaxed into the mattress.

While there was a part of her that felt odd knowing that there was someone else in her home, settling in while she was elsewhere, there were other parts of her that didn't mind it all that much. She'd never felt lonely before, but she also never had known what it was like to have someone else around like this.

Even if he was being paid to, it was nice to her soft, sleep-molded brain that he'd care if something happened while she slept.

That thought made it a little bit easier to fall asleep again.

—————

Standing before her bathroom mirror, (Y/N) sharpened her features and pouted her lips at her reflection. With her hair pinned back and a silky robe draped over her body, she looked every bit the dreamy socialite she pictured herself as in her teens. Except for the wreck that was her makeup so far.

Breaking her pose, she let out an annoyed grumble as she took a closer look at the section of eyeshadow that just wouldn't blend out. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum the way she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and throw her makeup brush and eyeshadow palette away.

Everything had been going perfect until she decided to daringly dip into a slightly deeper shade than she was used to on her eyes, and now she was stuck with a semi-sweet chocolate blob on the outer corner of her eye when she was hoping for a milk chocolate fade. And, she didn't have time to redo anything.

Life could be so unfair sometimes.

From down the hallway, she heard footsteps glancing over the flooring towards the bathroom. Moments later, Harry appeared in the mirror behind her, something a little more urgent than she was used to in his gaze but just as serious and uninviting as she remembered from this morning.

When he didn't say anything, only tracing his eyes over her bathroom, (Y/N) piped up, "Is everything okay?" He hadn't come to see her once since she woke up.

Catching her gaze in the glass, he said, "I heard you."

"Sorry," she started, dropping her eyes to her palette of neutral powders, "I'm just annoyed right now. My makeup looks dumb, and I don't have time to redo it."

Harry relaxed some where he stood, his arms dropping from across his chest as he leant against the doorjamb. The observations never stopped, even as she resumed trying to blend out her makeup.

"I thought you had people to do that for you," he said, brows furrowing just a pinch.

(Y/N) shrugged, fluffing a creamy shade over the deep mass in hopes of lightening the whole thing up enough to go out for a morning. "Sometimes; usually for really important things. Otherwise, I just like to do it myself."

When the makeup cooperated, anyway. What she wouldn't give to have the hand of a makeup artist here to fix her mistake.

"Oh," Harry sounded behind her, silence settling between them.

Expecting him to leave then, (Y/N) refocused on her eye makeup only for Harry to linger in the doorway. He stood there in his too-pretty glory, watching her as she worked. She felt as if each of her moves were being dissected, analyzed and broken down as if there was a chance he would have to step in. She guessed that technically was his job, though she could argue there might be much better things for him to do rather than watch her blend eyeshadow and bobby pin her hair to perfection.

Once she had her face applied, extra blush and fluffy lashes added in hopes of distracting from her most disastrous shadow look to date (at least that's how she felt in the moment, but she was sure there were photos off er teen years that would love to beg to differ) and hair styled down to the single strand, she was left with her short robe on and her outfit picked out in her closet. Harry's eyes had documented each of her moves, grazing along her skin and observing every stretch.

Finding that gaze in the mirror, she looked at him with a mild expression. "I just need to get dressed then we can go."

Harry blinked at her. "Okay."

That was all he had to say before she was left to head to her room.

—————

Stepping through the lobby of her complex, (Y/N) couldn't help but to scope out the street as much as she could through the tinted glass doors of the entrance. Waiting on the curb was the all black SUV she called with pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks and recklessly stepping onto the street. All she was looking for was anyone lingering a little too close to the building with too nice of cameras to be normal.

She'd always been a little cautious leaving her building once the address to her complex had been leaked, paparazzi having camped out for a week afterwards in hopes of catching her off guard, though now that Harry was going to be stepping out with her another layer was added. She could already imagine the headlines and blog posts that would be made when others caught wind of the fact she was seen with a member of the opposite sex.

Some of her favorites loved to recount her "relationship timeline" as well as call into question her "body count" and how long this new "beau" will last. She was dreading reading those words again; it was bad enough when she actually liked one of those people in those photos with her, but Harry's new job required his presence around her. He couldn't even leave this narrative if he wanted to.

Staying focused, (Y/N) gave a wave to the doormen standing behind the front desk though their stony faces didn't sway. Harry was quiet at her side, allowing her to take the lead as she took them out onto the street, a blast of air hitting them once the seal of the doors was pushed open. Outside, no one paid her any mind, her driver being the only person that acknowledged her with a grin on his face.

"Morning!" she chirped, feeling more relaxed now that he was nearby.

"Morning, (Y/N)," he greeted, opening the backseat door with a flourish for her. His gaze only shifted for a moment to her companion, but she knew he was much too polite to ask for details about any of her guests.

Setting one foot inside, (Y/N) hesitated as she looked around the SUV door to Sully. "Sully, this is Harry," she started, tossing her hand in Harry's direction, "He's my new bodyguard"—her tongue felt odd around the word—"Harry, this is Sully. He's my primary driver."

Sully gave her a momentary look the second he heard the word bodyguard. Out of most people in her life, he knew her almost better than Francesca, so he knew just as well as she did that a security detail wasn't something (Y/N) was in need of. Nonetheless, he kept his polite smile on his face when addressing Harry.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, offering a gentle hand out to shake.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said with a gruff anchor to his voice.

That was all that was shared before (Y/N) stepped into the car, Harry following behind her. Though she was sure Sully felt the same way she did about the situation, he didn't let any of it show when he took his spot in the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror.

"The new place still, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, please," she answered, a soft smile on her face.

As they started the drive through the city, skyscrapers towering on either side of the street and too many people on the sidewalks, (Y/N) pulled out her phone. Though she was aware of Harry's presence on the bench seat beside her only inches away, she ignored him in favor of pulling up Francesca's text thread in her messages.

Fran🫧

are u bringing your bodyguard?????

jk ofc you are he has to come w u everywhere lol is he still cute today tho or was the other day just bc you saw him for the first time????

As much as she loved Franny like a sister, she didn't really want to talk about Harry at the moment. She knew much of brunch was going to be spent talking about her new security or talking around him as all of the girls were going to be varying levels of nosy about it all. (Y/N) didn't have a lot of interest in starting that trend any earlier than needed.

Instead, she began scrolling through her Instagram explore page full of photos of nail art and cooking videos she planned on looking up the recipes for later. Ever-polite, Sully was the one to break the silence that filled the cab of his vehicle.

"How long will you be joining us, Harry?" he asked, kind blue eyes shining in the rearview mirror.

Uninterested as ever, Harry didn't break his gaze from where he was observing through the window. "As long as it takes for her father to be convinced that she's finally grown up."

It was a callous remark, but one (Y/N) had heard before just in a different voice. It was an interesting thing to hear those biting words lack the familiarity of her father's tone. She'd never heard them like that before.

Flicking her gaze up from her phone, she spotted Sully in the mirror through the fan of her lashes. He gave her one of those soft smiles he'd also seen him give his daughter before. It made it a bit easier to let that remark slide off her back when she knew he was on her side.

"Won't be very long then," Sully continued, tipping his chin up in confidence, "It doesn't take very long to see how kind and responsible Ms. (Y/N) is, despite what all those silly magazines like to say."

(Y/N) directed a quiet smile down at her phone. She hoped Sully knew just how much she appreciated him.

—————

"I'll be back around noon, okay?" Sully said, offering a helping hand to (Y/N) as she stepped out of the SUV and onto the grey concrete sidewalk, "Let me know if you need me sooner or want to stay longer."

Nodding her head, she gave him a bubbly smile with soft lips and warm cheeks. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," he answered, squeezing her hand in his as she steadied herself on the concrete.

With Harry at her side, Sully was sent off with a wave from her manicured fingers.

Though it wasn't new to feel eyes on her at time when she was out, it was different to have someone following along with her. His job was to watch her, and he made it known with the way she could feel his gaze stitched to her. He only drifted when he made a point to take in their surroundings.

Was he even supposed to sit with them? Was he going to eat beside her? What was his job when it came to events like this?

(Y/N) tried to think back to what Francesca's bodyguard would do, but she couldn't remember him ever joining them for a meal in public. Barry was typically meant to watch over Fran when no one else was around, leaving those group settings without him. Was Harry to do the same? Was he going to sit elsewhere or guard their table like a circling vulture?

Her head hurt just thinking about it. Harry would do whatever he decided to do, she settled on. This wasn't his first security job, so hopefully he would do whatever he was used to with Camila and Monroe.

Harry pushed the entrance door open for her, taking her by surprise as she stepped into the trendiest brunch spot in the city at the moment. Everything was sleek and warm, glass with golden hinges, wood pieces with uniform swirls and knots. Inauthentic authenticity. Falling into character, a bright smile landed on (Y/N)'s lips, her phone clutched in one hand with her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. The clack of her heels was drowned out by the sound of chattering patrons and a busy kitchen.

"Hello, how are you?" The young man stationed at the host stand greeted her, a dark denim uniform adorning his form. (Y/N) almost cringed for him; she couldn't imagine how hot it must be to work all day in a heavy outfit like that.

"Hi, I'm good thank you," she greeted, feeling Harry just behind her as if he were breathing down her neck. How would he analyze this conversation? "I'm here to meet a few friends—there should be a reservation under—"

Cutting her off, the boy piped up with, "Francesca, right? She and a few others just got here."

Now that she wasn't so distracted by his outfit, she could see recognition in his gaze. He knew who she was and was definitely peeking over her shoulder to see who her companion was.

"That's them," (Y/N) chirped, canting her head as the boy tapped away at the computer in front of him.

"Perfect," he beamed, glancing up nonchalantly at them, "And will he be taking the sixth seat at the table?"

A clear attempt to fish, but not one (Y/N) was going to be able to ignore. "Yes, please."

The way the boy's eyes brightened had (Y/N) already dreading the articles that she would be tagged in across every social media platform, the headlines teasing about her new "mystery man" with all of the sources being an anonymous instagram account known for spreading gossip. Because that's journalism.

"Follow me," he said, waving his hand as he stepped out from behind the podium.

Harry was a ghost behind her as (Y/N) made small talk with the host, answering with polite chatter about the weather while being led through the restaurant. Through the crowded tables, Francesca and the three other girls they frequently went out with came into view. Glasses of bubbling mimosas and an appetizer of cheese and crackers adorned the table, matching that of the rest of the patrons indulging in the brunch rush.

Francesca was the first to spot them once the host dropped them off with a quiet wish for she and Harry to enjoy their food before he was off again. Fran's eyes lit up when she saw her, only for them to widen that much more when Harry came into view behind her.

"(Y/N)," she cheered, gaining the attention of the other girls who broke their absent chatter to turn to face them. Fran no doubt had told them that (Y/N) would be bringing a guest.

"Hi," she smiled, maneuvering around the table to the two empty seats between Emma and Rita, "Sorry I'm late. My makeup was not doing its job this morning."

Emma piped up then, "No worries, honey! We're just happy you could make it. We already ordered a mimosa for you and some appetizers and all."

Despite the girls seemingly talking to her, their eyes continuously drifted to her companion that ghosted behind her. Pulling out her chair, (Y/N) dropped her purse on the table before looking across from her to where Francesca was sat. Even she was pretending as if she wasn't bubbling in anticipation over Harry.

"Thanks, guys," she said, taking her seat with Harry doing the same beside her, "Everyone, this is Harry. I bet Fran already told you a little bit, but he's going to be my personal security for the next few months or so. We're still trying to figure out how this all works for it, so thanks for letting him tag along today."

"Of course," Kita giggled, leaning with her elbow on the table, "Fran did tell us that you were bringing someone special today."

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, feeling slightly exposed despite the fact none of the girls were even looking at her. "I promised him we'd be on our best behavior today, so don't ruin this for me."

The laughter that bubbled around the table was just a touch too melodious, too airy and light. Francesca even made eyes at (Y/N); she approved of him, that much was obvious.

"I'm sure we'll still have fun with him," Toriana said, her spot right across from Harry making it easy for her to reach across and offer her hand up in greeting, "I'm Toriana, but the girls just call me Ana."

"Nice to meet you," Harry answered, taking her hand into his in that same firm grip (Y/N) remembered.

A domino effect started then, each of the girls taking the time to personally introduce themselves. Toriana and Kita were more than a little interested in him, asking questions right off the bat that (Y/N) wished they would keep to themselves. Franny and Emma seemed to prefer to watch, piping in at moments with their own bubbly comments or peals of laughter. Harry, reserved as ever, barely interacted.

(Y/N) didn't know why she liked that as much as she did. Maybe it was just nice knowing she wasn't the only person he was cold with. Even if he did still end up talking to the girls more than he had all weekend with her.

Soon enough—long enough still that (Y/N) sipped through a glass and a half of water, the cheese plate had dissipated to crumbs, and breakfast orders had been placed—the shine of Harry had finally been lost on the girls. The shorter his answers became the clearer the message that he wasn't interested in sharing became. Though Kita didn't pull too far away from him and Fran had eyes on him every few moments, there wasn't much fun in talking to a wall.

The gossip shifted around the table, new topics being introduced as wait staff appeared to refill drained mimosa glasses. (Y/N) was seventy percent sure she saw one of the denim-clad employees pull her phone out and snap a shot of the table while clearing their small appetizer plates. No one seemed to notice the girl other than she and Harry, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the camera tilted in their direction. She wouldn't be surprised if the photo captured Harry's harsh gaze.

Ignoring the snooping employee, (Y/N) tried to tune into the story Emma was sharing that had the rest of the table enraptured. As funny and kind as Emma was, she loved to gossip; she loved knowing things, even if the information had nothing to do with her. More often than not (Y/N) preferred to check out of her particularly scandalous stories, just because she knew what it was like to be the name coming off of other's lips in a spit. Francesca was the same, preferring to stay out of it all.

But, this story caught both of their attention for all the wrong reasons.

"Then, I heard that Christal's parents are separating, because her dad also cheated with one of Christal's friends that got an internship at his company," Emma chattered, dipping her chin as if she was actually trying to keep this information a secret for only the table to hear.

Toriana gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with wide eyes. Leaning over the table, she conspired with Emma in a hushed tone that was far from being any level of quiet, "I heard they were separating because her mom was paying off her doctor to write prescriptions for, like, everything. Her dad is so over it, so he's supposed to be filing officially next week."

The mention of prescriptions and doctors who didn't care to help anymore stung at (Y/N) behind her walls. It was bad enough speaking about Christal and her family dynamics when they barely knew her outside of nights partying in the Upper West Side, but those kinds of rumors weren't something (Y/N) could ever imagine repeating. Drug use and the breaking up of a marriage—no matter the reason—were things none of them should be discussing when they had no idea what was truly going on.

It made (Y/N) think of her own parents and the years of swirling tabloids trying to figure out just how long her parents were on the rocks and what exactly had gone wrong. It was more than invasive.

(Y/N)'s nails quietly tapped on the table as the attention was placed on her, her voice piping up once Emma finally paused for a breath, "We probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff, guys."

Emma was the first to turn to her with a slighted look on her face, surprised to have anyone stopping her in the middle of her speculations. The remaining pairs of eyes turned to her, Francesca the only one that seemed to match her protesting while Kita and Toriana were just as taken aback as Emma.

Saved by the bell, their waitress chose then to appear with trays of their food in her arms. Bowls of salads and plates of eggs were distributed amongst the girls, Harry's order being of avocado toast though she couldn't imagine him picking off more than a couple of bites with the way he was so focused on the scene around him. The women had settled while they were being waited on, beaming smiles and assurances that everything was perfect, they would love a refill, and whatever chattering small talk was started by the waitress in the meantime.

It wasn't until everything had been cleared away, a plate of eggs Benedict with a kale apple salad off to the side in front of (Y/N), that Emma turned to face her once more.

Now she was less shocked and more bewildered that (Y/N) had tried to end her conversation. "Don't you want to know what happened though, (Y/N)?" she asked, incredulous, "Her parents always seemed so obsessed with each other, doesn't that make you want to know even more?"

"Sure," (Y/N) started, "But, it's a little too personal, don't you think? Especially if any of this is true, it's all probably really hard on Christal. I don't think it's fair to talk about it when we don't know anything about it, and she's not even here."

That expression of furrowed brows and parted lips didn't leave Emma's face as (Y/N) spoke. "I mean I guess, but—"

Before she could get much further, (Y/N) couldn't help but to step in. "Honestly, I'd rather hear about you and your fashion designer," (Y/N) started, leaning towards Emma with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "You haven't brought him up at all, even though you've posted him on your story at least five times now."

Watching her friends' features light up told her just how effective her new topic was. There was nothing—not even hot gossip—Emma loved talking about more than herself.

"You mean Stavros? What could you ever want to know about him?" Emma bubbled, acting coy with a lift of her shoulder and flutter of her lashes.

"Stavros?! You never told me that was his name!" Kita chimed in, filling in where (Y/N) had left off.

All it took was Emma starting with a Well... to get the table submitting again to conversation full of bubbling giggles and blushing cheeks, teases of Stavros's name and Emma's story telling about their time together so far. Even Francesca, after shooting (Y/N) a small smile, became invested in the chronicle of Emma's love life.

Falling into silence, satisfied at the reroute of the conversation, (Y/N) finally tried the food in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry observing her with calculating eyes, a pinch in his brow.

Suddenly, she felt more exposed than when dozens of cameras were posed in her direction. Was she not supposed to interfere like that? Was this new topic somehow equal to the one Emma had initially embarked on?

Honestly, (Y/N) had almost forgotten about Harry's presence when she stepped in and redirected Emma into safer territory, but now she was wondering if she would have benefited more from keeping her mouth shut. Who knew what he would report back to her father with; how he would spin these events.

"(Y/N), don't you know his cousin? That Ferrill girl we met in Milan?" Francesca's voice chirping out her name had (Y/N) dropping back into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from what she was overthinking in her mind.

"Oh, yeah, Ferrill! She's Stavros's cousin?..."

—————

"You really have to go home?"

Kita's over-pouted lips and pleading pulled a laugh out of (Y/N) as she pulled her into a hug.

"I know, I'm sorry," she started, reciprocating her friend's hold, "You know I'd love to go with you guys if I could, but I already promised I'd call my stylist later today."

"I know," Kita whined, pulling away with her hug still around (Y/N)'s middle, "I just feel like you barely talked this morning, and I miss you."

Despite being around them and having spent the better part of two hours with these girls, (Y/N) missed them too. Kita wasn't wrong in that she barely talked for the morning, Harry being a constant, extra fine sifter that filtered her thoughts before she even had them ready to go. It was hard to talk as freely when she knew he was analyzing every single syllable on her lips.

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) pouted, playing along, "But, I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And, if you want, you can FaceTime me later so I can see what you got."

Kita seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling (Y/N) in for another hug before joining the rest of the women who were beckoning to join them as they started down the sidewalk. Hugs and goodbyes had already been shared amongst the rest of them, Francesca promising to text her before she even had a chance to make it home.

With a final wave from the three of them and calls of "Bye, Harry!", (Y/N) was left by Sully's car with an extra shadow.

The truth was, she couldn't imagine trekking down Fifth Ave with Harry following behind her. It was uncomfortable enough to have him sit and eat with her, even more so thinking about him watching as she chattered with her friends and tried on different pieces of clothing.

"Ready to head home?" Sully asked, hand poised on the handle of the back passenger seat for her.

"Yes, please," she sighed, eagerly stepping in when he pulled open the door for her.

Following behind her, Harry settled in beside her in the back seat, the faux-leather soft under their weight. Sully smoothly integrated himself within the New York traffic, maneuvering around in ways that made (Y/N) that much more grateful that she wasn't the one in charge.

Decompressing, her eyes fluttered closed with her shoulders untensing. It wasn't until now that she realized just how tightly she had been wound during the meal. No wonder she could feel the beginning band of an ache forming in her head.

Breaking the static silence in the cab, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?"

"Like what?" (Y/N) pressed, brows knitting together in the middle though her eyelids didn't flutter.

She could hear the sound of him shifting against the leather. "Like, everything going on at once?"

"A little," (Y/N) admitted, the words leaving on a breathing laugh, "This was on the tamer side. Usually, Toriana will try to debate everyone into agreeing to get a mimosa tower for the table—that's when things start happening all at once."

A beat passed, (Y/N) assuming he was fine with the stopping point of the conversation until he spoke again.

"Y'didn't drink today."

Though it was less of a question and more of a statement, she still answered with, "No."

"Why not?"

Shrugging, her clothing shuffled against the faux-leather. "I don't really like drinking this early—it makes me too tired, so I don't usually do it."

Despite the fact she didn't hear his voice again, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her through the remaining drive to her apartment.

—————

Laid flat on her back on her bed, (Y/N) raised her hand to look at the time on her phone once more. The closer the clock numbers to ten a.m., the more she wanted to curl up in her sheets.

Dressed in her pastel pink workout set with her hair braided back and tennis shoes on her feet, (Y/N) was more than ready to head to her pilates class. She wanted to luxuriate in her poses and breathing, get a smoothie afterwards as her cooldown, and live her normal routine. The only problem was Harry.

Though she loathed to admit it, she knew he was supposed to accompany her. Even if he wasn't policing her at home, she knew there were no exceptions to the rule of him going with her throughout her day should she chose to go out and about. That was the whole point of his job.

She wanted to do as Francesca had told her—that she still needed to live her life even if it was with an extra shadow—, but, even with the fact that the Sunday brunch had gone well enough, taking Harry to her pilates class was completely different. She lacked friends in her class anyway, and this wouldn't make it any better. Most of the women already judged her enough, adding Harry into the mix wasn't going to help her case in not looking as pretentious and spoiled like they thought.

Maybe, she could get away with only sending him a text? It wasn't as if she were going to an event or a high-profile dinner. Maybe her dad wouldn't care, leaving Harry to not care either. There wasn't much trouble she could get into while controlling her breathing and wiping sweat off the back of her neck, anyway.

Looking at the time once more, she saw the minutes click that much closer to the start time for her usual session. Her chest rose as she pulled in a deep breath.

If she wanted to get there on time and get a good spot, she was going to have to text Harry and move on. Sully was on the way anyway, she had to make her choice now before she had to cancel the car and instead curl up in bed just like she had been for three days since brunch.

The sound of (Y/N)'s nails tapping at her phone screen filled her room as she made to sit up amongst the folds in her duvet.

morning, harry! just wanted to let you know that im headed to my pilates class right now. it should end around 11 and i'll probably grab a smoothie after, so i'll be on my way back to my apartment after that. lmk if you need anything like to get into my apartment or anything like that before im home !

As soon as she pressed send with the blue bubble inflating against the dark background, she locked her phone. She couldn't overthink this whole thing anymore. She had plans she needed to stick to if she wanted to stay normal.

The notification that Sully was downstairs waiting for her couldn't have come soon enough, not when she finished packing her things much too quickly.

"No Harry?" Sully asked once she was secure in the back seat, the morning sun shining on the grimy streets of the city.

Avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror, (Y/N) shook her head. "Not today."

—————

Buzz-buzz.

(Y/N) cinched her eyes closed tighter at the sound of a phone vibrating deep in someone's bag. her breathing came in even waves, chest rising and falling in even measures.

Buzz-buzz.

One of the other students faltered on their breathing, the teacher pausing just a second too long in-between instructions as everyone heard the incessant noise.

"Now, take a breath and stretch into your high plank," the morning's instructor directed, voice calm in the middle of the studio, "Keep the height to your comfort, no reason to strain past a slight burn."

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened with her hands planted solidly on the mat under her. Her back stretched slowly, legs keeping her steady as she fell back into the rhythm of the session.

Until another round of buzzing started, this string clearly from a phone call that was going to be ignored.

The strength in her core faltered with her eyes cinched to a tight close at the sound.

(Y/N) knew good and well that it was her phone that was going crazy at the bottom of her bag, but there was no way she was going to make that obvious to anyone else in the class. She was sure a good chunk of them already assumed it was her anyway, but that didn't mean she had to admit to it.

Instead, she kept up with the poses and the directions given, ignoring the device as best as she could. She was going to enjoy this class as much as she could before she would be forced to renter her reality.

She already knew what kind of notifications were waiting for her, anyway. Either Francesca and the girls randomly decided to start up another group chat, or Harry wasn't pleased with her decision to head out for the day with nothing more than a text sent his way. Either way, (Y/N) didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but would the owner of the phone that keeps going off, please, either silence or turn off your phone for the remainder of the class? I'm sure the class would appreciate the chance to keep their focus without any more interruptions."

Despite her tone of voice being respectful and calm as ever, (Y/N) knew the instructor was pissed. No matter how well-paying her clients were, there was no way she could keep standing for disruptions like this. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the rest of the class on the same level as their instructor: just as annoyed but feigning calmness as if the last half hour hadn't been spent ignoring phone call after phone call with text messages in between.

She couldn't get up now, (Y/N) thought. Not when everyone was waiting to see who the culprit was so they could shoot daggers with their gaze. She could only imagine what the post-class powwow of complaints would sound like.

(Y/N) cringed when her phone went off once more, the device rattling against a tube of lipgloss to make it that much lounger.

Fuck. This was worse than waking up and seeing drunken photos of her posted. At least then she didn't have a dozen other people staring at her in the process.

When her phone went off once more in what she hoped was a reminder notification and not another set of messages coming through, (Y/N) couldn't take it anymore. She had to fix this if she wanted to at least be welcomed back.

Just as she went to break her pose, a clatter could be heard on the other side of the door. Muffled voices broke through the curated tranquility of the studio, sounding more and more aggravated as they drew closer to the room she was in. The doorknob twisted, resistance found on the other side when a clear "Sir!" was called through.

A beat later, that resistance was broken, Harry barreling through the door. With a furrow pinching his brow and a blaze in his eyes, he looked just as bitter and grumpy as a stereotypical bouncer and not the seasoned security detail he was. His usual uniform of all black was crumpled and creased with his hair a mess on the top of his head.

"Sir, there is a class in session!" A voice (Y/N) recognized from the front desk of the studio burst in behind him. Harry didn't flinch back for even a second.

The second his gaze landed on her, his jaw hardened. "(Y/N)," he gritted out her name, "Come here, now."

Having crumbled from her pose to sit with her legs folded underneath her, (Y/N) felt stuck where she sat. She could practically spot steam coming from the top of Harry's head. Her skin heated when she felt others' eyes land on her.

This was definitely much, much worse than if she had just answered her phone.

"Harry," she started, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but feeling as if she needed to say something anyway.

His nose flared. "Sully is waiting outside. Let's go."

There was a finality in her tone that had her scrambling to collect her things as soon as possible. The room was silent as she messily rolled her mat and clumsily stepped into her shoes.

A mumbled thank you was offered to the silent instructor as she passed, a matching apology being told to the class though she was sure both sentiments fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) was definitely going to have to switch studios again.

She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the studio having fallen in line, patrons and classes quiet and paused after the ruckus caused on her behalf. (Y/N) could only imagine the photos others snapped of her following after Harry like a puppy with her tail between her legs. She already knew what this was going to look like—the loud scene as well as following after Harry the way she was.

Sully didn't say anything when (Y/N) quickly slipped into the backseat, Harry coming after with a loud slam of the door behind.

The interior was almost humid with the way Harry fumed beside her, his arms a tight cross over his chest and his jaw anchored closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see the way his fingers were curled into fists under the shelter of his arms.

(Y/N) felt silly to be sitting there with her cardigan and leggings, hands in her lap like a reprimanded child.

The silence stretched on as Sully pulled away from the curb, routing directly back to her apartment without question.

It wasn't until there was a stop in the traffic that any of them dared to speak a single word. Of course, it was Harry.

"I don't know what you were thinking this morning," he started, voice deceptively calm, "But, you almost cost me my job with that stunt."

Staying quiet, she didn't know what to say. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it like that when she left without him this morning. She had only been considering the pit in her stomach and how much she hadn't wanted to disrupt her own life. She acted just as selfish as she was sure Harry thought her to be at her core.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry's gaze on her profile sharpened. She kept her eyes on her hands.

"I thought we had a good understanding after this weekend, but I think I need to make a few things especially clear for you," he started, (Y/N) finally chancing a look at him. Harry's gaze steeled when she matched him. "When I was given this job, I was told to go with you everywhere, and 'm sure you were told the same thing. I don't care if you think your fathers's company, or the 'public' or whoever you think is my client, because that is not the truth. You are my client, and if you make trouble like this again, I will lose my job. Because of you."

(Y/N) had never been reprimanded like this before, not as fat as she could remember. Her father's scoldings had never been this effective, even when she was young enough to still care what he had to say.

Her throat was dry as she piped up, hoping to explain herself, "It was just my pilates class. I didn't think it would be a big deal."

That seemed to be the very worst thing she could have said with the way Harry's shoulders tensed with hot air with his jaw quirked. His eye contact was unwavering as he glared at her.

"I knew I was going to have to babysit you, but I didn't think it would be this much of a problem. Going forward, I do not care where you are going, I am going with you. I know you don't want me here, so the quicker you follow this and get over whatever princess complex you have after getting everything handed to you, the quicker we'll both be free of this contract. Please keep that in mind the next time you decide to go off with just a text."

Harry's tone was harsh and grating, flaming hot underneath the calm facade he was just well-versed with as her own bubbly princess role. He could rival her father in just how much disdain he held for her.

She couldn't blame his perception of her, really. With the way both her father and the media spoke of her, she could only imagine the kind of person she looked to be in his eyes.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) could still feel that sting of hurt.

But, he was right. Now, she knew where they stood. Now, she could try harder to get over her princess complex and show her father she didn't need a ghost and everything could go back to normal.

If she tried hard enough, she could hopefully still make it to spend the winter in Francesca's family's Swiss cabin free of an extra shadow. That was a goal she could work towards this summer.

"I understand," she told him, checking out of the conversation now that she had her own plan working in the background, her own terms to follow, "I'm sorry I put you in that position. I didn't mean anything by it, I just didn't think it was the kind of thing to bother you over."

Deflating some, Harry blinked, his gaze falling down her features. "Okay," he settled, golden flecks swimming in his irises, "Now, we're both on the same page."

(Y/N) quietly agreed with a small nod.

The rest of the car ride was silent.

—————

Without a second thought, (Y/N) stowed the newest heavy, photo-laden envelope into her drawer of the others. She already knew what kind of pictures would be inside and the kind of story her admirer had spun in her honor. It would be the same photos that had been distributed by the same anonymous Instagram blog that always posted them along with the same story that all the tabloids picked up the next day.

According to the internet as well as a few gullible publications, (Y/N) had shown up drunk to her class and Harry had come to collect her. Harry was also no longer her mystery man, and now her affair partner that she had cheated on Damien Moore with. Damien was also reportedly very hurt to be seeing her with Harry after everything that had gone down. Broken-hearted by the ice queen, one publication had been so bold to claim. Blurry photos accompanied the articles and tweets, with her looking to Harry with watery eyes ("alcohol-glazed") like a reprimanded child as she followed him out.

Her admirer had no doubt clung to the claims that she was in a romantic relationship, their own version of events meandering around it all to erase the legitimacy of the claims along with photos of her back at her apartment without him to solidify their theory. While they would be right this time, that she and Harry were not linked in any way but professional, it still didn't make her feel very safe knowing they had gone to the length they did to verify as much as well as send a letter to prove it all.

It'd been days since the incident and one day since the news hit the circuits, and (Y/N) was more than comfortable hiding out at her apartment to ensure she wouldn't have to deal with anyone, including Harry, until her nail appointment on Thursday. The whole thing was more than stupid, full of baseless claims and low-quality photos. It didn't deserve her attention.

The only thing that had truly caught her off guard, was the lack of phone calls from her father. A full day had passed with the story being tweeted and mocked, and yet there was no scathing text message or berating call sent to her phone. This was just the type of story that would have him up in arms and fuming all throughout the mansion. The longer it didn't come, the more she felt on edge.

Her father was built on being predictable, so when he deviated from the norm she couldn't help but to fear the worst.

Ignoring it all for the time being, (Y/N) returned to her kitchen eager to take her mind off things in the form of trying out one of her stored up recipes.

While she didn't usually have the chance to share it with others, cooking was one of (Y/N)'s favorite pastimes—a therapeutic hobby. She liked putting flavors together and the technique that went into making everything just the way she liked it. There was structure to it all—even the bendable rules gave her guidelines.

Especially when she was attending her private school and spending her time in dorms and weekends alone at her parents' home, food was the one thing she could control that gave her a routine. She liked making cute meals and lunches for her friends at school and taking advantage of the illustrious pantry and fridge she had at home. It was easy to nurture her love for it when there was no other outlet open for her feelings.

While there was nothing special she could imagine herself doing with her passion like she was sure that her father would have wanted, it didn't cheapen the love for her at all. It was the easiest way to fill herself with love even when she felt as if everything around her was hateful.

Turning her phone to silent, (Y/N) happily turned on a rerun of her favorite cooking competition show, and started on her own meal.

—————

élan is a French word that describes the sense of a movement coming; the grace with which time moves towards the next chapter

eeeek! thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if theres any fun ideas or thoughts you have!

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goldustwomun · 9 months

Text

will we talk? (j.p.)

pairing: bodyguard! james potter x baker! reader

summary: it was only meant to be a one night stand-- a pretty fucking amazing one night stand, but one night nevertheless. so when your dad informs you of a bounty on your head and beloved bakery, you expect just about anyone in the world but james to show up as your newly appointed bodyguard. he doesn’t even fit in with the decor!

warnings: allusions to sex (minors dni!!!), swearing, mentions of a sketchy job (drugs, arms, trafficking etc. u kno the drill w/ obscure mafia stuff), very very hot james xoxo

wc: 2.9k+

note: guess who’s back! (back back) back again! (again, again). anyway, hey :) i had random lines written for this for over a year & tbfh first yr of uni was great and then shit and then really shit so i had no desire to write, but i want to try!!! i really do!!! please, <3 comment & reblog <3 it means the world to me & literally every writer out there! excited for u all to read this :)

Some might say it’s obscene to be sat at a bar, three vodka cokes down, when it was only just past 7 o’clock. The sun still stared pointedly down outside the window, streets bustling with people only just starting their commute home. And sure, any other young adult might have used this opportunity to meet some friends, have a quiet night in, maybe text that one guy on Tinder they’d been putting off meeting– something, anything to fill the awkward lull in time that wouldn’t be too much of a regret the next day.

Some might say it’s obscene, but you like to think it’s just another Tuesday.

The problem with Tuesdays is that more often than not, Wednesdays tend to follow. And it was at noon on the dot that you’d have to make your forty-minute bus ride downtown (a mistake in itself when all anyone could smell was weed, piss and something else indistinguishably rancid), into the one office building that seemed to substantially out-tower the others like some sort of architectural pissing contest, only to sit in front of your Dad and his ever-overpowering bluntness.

And it’s not like you despised him with every molecule in your body– rather, a few molecules here and there. He loved you, that you were certain of, but owing anyone money, your own father especially, made relationships uncomfortable in a sticky, sweaty, clammy-hands kind-of-way. He had always been an immovable figure, suspiciously mafia-esque, even, but of course, you’d never dare broach the subject.

So, Dad, Pa, Father dearest– are the rumours true? Do you really run an underground boxing ring? Or is it arms? Drugs, maybe? As long as it’s not human trafficking, I’ll still love you!

Some things are better left untouched. If ignorance was bliss, you were determined to remain in whatever liminal state of unknowing you’d been in your entire life.

And while he kept to himself and you did to, the last Wednesday of every month, noon on the dot, was not to be messed with. You’d learned that the hard way when you’d missed one during a particularly harrowing cold. It’d been like a SWAT team smashing through your apartment windows when you’d forced her eyes open.

So instead, you gulped down another glass of scathing liquid, all but gagging near the end at the acidic taste of un-mixed liquor swirling around the bottom of your glass.

It was Tuesday, after all, and you hoped if you drank enough, there would be a chance you’d be able to zone out tomorrow– a sweet spot you’d yet to master (somewhere between mildly hungover but still coherent enough to please him).

“What is that– your fourth? Fifth?” A voice questioned alongside a scratch of the bar stool to your left. It was deep, curious, deliciously rough– enough so that your mouth quirked behind your glass, bracing yourself for the face attached to such an addictive timbre.

“Third, actually–” you turned, finally taking in the tousled, black hair, crooked nose with rounded glasses perched on top of them, “--have you been counting?”

He had a kind of all-consuming appearance. Dark yet boyish when you noticed how his smile leaned one way, and a slight chip in his front tooth. An athlete, maybe? You were going to thank whatever misguided angel, deity or God herself had brought him to you.

You didn’t make a habit out of chatting up posh-looking lads with egos that rivalled even that of Icarus and his melting wings, but maybe just this once you’d give in– actually take what’s being offered.

“Huh– dunno why you’re sounding so smug, love. Three drinks and it’s not even dinner time. Some might call that a problem.” Almost immediately that smile of his morphed into an all-knowing smirk, a teasing gleam swimming about in those swampy hazel eyes of his.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Who? Eighteen year olds having a taste of their first legal drink? Not sure three drinks add up to literal alcoholism, love,” you threw back, defensive, accompanied by that kind of uppity tone in your voice you despised hearing in others’.

His irrefutable bemusement only sharpened the knife poking away between your ribs. Your frown deepened, and so did his grin, but still, his hands flew up in mock-defence as if your words could bite back (and boy, did you wish they could).

“My bad, sweetheart, only teasing,” he assured, nodding at the bartender and then your now-empty drink. Another one, his practised movements seemed to say,

“Do you make a habit out of calling girls alcoholics and then buying them a drink?” you asked, curiosity taking over your irritation.

He shrugged and you couldn’t help but follow the movement, watching as his broad shoulders seemed to invade your space with such careless effort. “So far, just you. It’s something new I’m trying out. What do ya’ think, is it working?” Again with that boyish charm– some sort of arrogance and humility all at once.

Your head shook in an immediate no, but more so to hide the smile that had unwillingly crept onto your face. You knew, with the way things were going, that you’d give into just about anything the man offered (of which he’d not even hinted at yet, but you were just so mesmerised and maybe a little tipsy so you didn’t quite care enough to think of how desperate you may be coming off).

“‘M James, by the way,” he offered as a white flag, a surrender, if you will. You accepted by returning the formality and raising your new drink to his own– a half-empty glass of clear liquid and ice.

“What is that?” you motioned to the beverage in question, “like– 10 shots of straight vodka at once?”

He snorted, a little ugly yet somehow endearingly attractive. Fuck. “Even better, actually– water.”

“And is that new as well, to go with the accusations and drinks?”

“Oh, yeah– I’m really trying to commit to this new year, new me thing,” he bounced back effortlessly.

“It’s November,” you deadpanned, brow arched.

“So I’m either a month and a bit early, or eleven late,” he quipped. You were stunned by the easy rhythm of your back and forth, wondering in what world someone like him could exist– a paragon of a man or whatever the scholars called it. “And while that’d be a fun little story if it were the truth, ‘m actually starting a job tomorrow. Big one, as well. Figured some self-restraint was in order.”

And it was only then that you’d noticed just how little space there was between the both of you, having somehow drifted closer, closer, closer like galaxies hurtling towards each other.

You all but swallowed, staring at his drink held between you, a last barrier that seemed both momentous and insignificant. He’d got you caged in as well, an arm lazing on your backrest, near enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin, blood, maybe even his desire. And his legs, in a somewhat similar position, only a whisper away from knocking into your own.

You considered giving in right then and there, urging his mouth to yours, maybe leading him to the restroom in a grungy stall you wouldn’t otherwise go near on even your worst, most wasted nights.

“Self-restraint with the drinks only, right?” you questioned, tearing your gaze from his glass to his eyes, only to find them already fixated to you. His mouth was perched open, a glide of his tongue against his bottom lip, and the action draws you closer to that chip in his tooth you’d noticed earlier– the one that begged you closer. For inspection, a taste– whatever.

“Oh, but of course. It’s my undoing really, my Achilles Heel, my Hubris,” he seemed to murmur, his words a secret between the two of you. You felt bold then, a rush of heat pouring through your veins as your palm came to rest on the thigh closest to you.

His eyes flickered down for a moment, as if making sure it was real — that touch — before they returned to you. Waiting, watching, with bated breath.

“What is?” you asked, questioning if you’d missed a part of his sentence or if he really was striking you speechless and a little stupid with his words.

“Pretty girls with drinking problems,” and you couldn’t help the surprised laugh that burst from you. He grinned and it was pure majesty.

“Yeah?” you mumbled, inching forward.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, sealing his mouth to yours.

It was bright, too bright in his office– like the ceiling lamps worked part-time in interrogation rooms on the weekends. As much as you needed to be alert, comprehensive, at least mildly sober– it just wasn’t going to happen.

Last night had been something else entirely– the kind of mind-blowing fuck you could only ever dream about, when nights were lonely and the left side of the bed cold for too long. Your memory was somewhat hazy, tinged red with lipstick and lovebites and kicking the duvet out of the way to reach more skin. It was scathing yet sweet and a kind of ruination you welcomed with open arms.

But it also ended abruptly when your eyes flickered open the next morning (a few hours later, more like) and he was already gone. You knew it was for the best– you barely had time for yourself, your family and friends, let alone a stranger with a quick (and skilled, in many ways) tongue and wit.

So there you were, jarred by the empty feeling seeping into your bones. And the lights (had you mentioned the lights?).

“Now, how have things been going this past month?” your Father asked in that all-business, no-nonsense way of his. You think he knows you’re hungover but like all things in your relationship, the two of you choose to ignore it.

“There haven’t been as many customers as I would have liked. The school down the road has been half empty since most of everyone is on study leave, but I–”

“I didn’t ask for excuses, only how it’s going,” he interrupted swiftly. A stabbing pain seemed to appear at the base of your skull as you conjured the remaining energy inside of you to not roll your eyes at your own Father, as well as the man you quite literally owed thousands of pounds to.

“Of course, my bad,” you bit out, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The shop wasn’t as successful as previous months but I’ve got the money here anyway so I’ll still be on track.”

He nodded, accepting your answer and the envelope you placed on his otherwise scarce desk in front of him, before he slid the money, unchecked, into his top drawer.

You sighed, hurrying your words and rushing to gather your things and be out of that dreary office, “Well, if that’s all, I’ve got some errands to run and–”

“--Actually, there’s more I need to discuss with you.” For the second time that day, he cut you off and you fell, defeated, back into the cold leather of the chair. You tilted your head in some sort of half-nod that said, go on.

With his hands clasped in front of him, a stern front if there ever was one, he continued. “As you know, my work is complicated–” (you frowned) “--complicated and expensive. And when one is dealing with the amount of money this company makes, things can get… messy.”

To say you were confused would be an understatement. An actual conversation, albeit clouded with obscurity, about his job? “And when things are messy, one tends to make enemies.”

You couldn’t help how your frown deepened, but you held back any concerns before they could make their way past the tip of your tongue. Your Dad wasn’t one to be interrupted, even if he was particularly talented at doing it to others.

“Essentially, there’s someone who’s not very happy with me–” your mouth opens finally to prod at his statement but he continues anyway, “--and despite every precaution I have taken in order to keep you safe and separate from my work, it’s unfortunately backfired this time around. And so, for your safety, I’ve hired a bodyguard to watch over you for at least the next few months.”

He finished and then there was a resolute silence hanging over you as you took in his words.

You couldn’t help it– you burst out laughing.

“Dad, you’re not– I mean–” the sentence barely made its way out of your mouth before you were overcome with a fit of nervous giggles once more. This is absurd. “You’re not being serious, you can’t be. Right?”

Silence.

Oh.

So that’s when the panic set in, your fingers clutching the armrest on either side of you until your knuckles were white. “Holy fucking–”

“Language,” he scolded with no particular bite and you couldn’t help but scoff,

“Language? Seriously, language. That’s all you have to say. You’ve just told me there’s some kind of bounty on my head and that I need a bodyguard– like, a person to follow me around, twenty four-seven, and carrying a gun or some shit– but all you can think to say to me is fucking language?!” Your breath came out in quick pants, jumping to your feet as you paced the office.

This must be a joke, you thought incredulously. You can’t have some stranger following you around. You had a business to run, croissants to sell, debt to pay off! Who could possibly–

And somehow it got worse.

He walked in and the two of your gazes connecting immediately, like magnets (though this time in a completely different context with your own Father as a member of the audience). You could see, from your place by the window, how his irises grew imperceptibly wider for barely a second as the recognition set in.

“No. No, no, no,” you blurted out immediately, mouth still wide from shock and suddenly you questioned whether your rapid heartbeat was a surprise or something close to a heart attack. Oddly, you’d have preferred the latter.

“Sweetheart,” he had pulled out the big guns now, “this is James Potter.”

“Dad—” you tried and failed to interrupt.

“Don’t worry about the logistics, I’ve sorted it all out. I’ve already rented the apartment next to yours so that he’s nearby at all times. He’ll need to be hired as an employee at your bakery– you know, for appearances sake— but don’t worry about the cost, i’ve got it covered.” Your mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish out of water.

“And most importantly, he is not to leave your side. Ever.” He said it with ease like he hadn’t just informed you that your one night stand had turned into your shadow for the foreseeable future.

James had yet to say anything, his face a facade you wished you could slap off in that moment. Instead, he stood stalk still, arms poised behind him like some sycophantic robot ready to do whatever your Father pleased.

“He can’t be my bodyguard, Dad,” you urged, rushing to his desk, palms slamming down in front of him.

His response was a raised brow (you shared that in common). “And why’s that?”

It’s like you could hear James’ heart skip a beat, probably because yours had as well. You couldn’t tell him the real reason– that’d be a death wish, for the pair of you, if there ever was one.

“It’s just– he’s too big!” James didn’t smile, not outwardly, but you could see it in his eyes when you glanced his way. “I mean, he’s scary or whatever. He won’t fit in with the decor and it’ll scare away the customers,” you reasoned.

He finally spoke and it was then that you truly did consider walking over and slapping him across his stupid, gorgeous face. “What customers?”

You scoffed, whipping your head towards him. “Oh, screw you!”

James looked as if he were going to bite back, mouth poised for a reaponse, but your Dad cut in to save the two of you from outting yourselves.

“That’s enough. This isn’t up for discussion. James is your bodyguard and you’ll have no say in the matter.”

You deflated immediately, collapsing into the same chair you’d sat in, clueless, earlier.

So much for one night.

comment & reblog :)) if u have any ideas for the next chapters do lmk!!! woo!!

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter smut #marauders fanfiction #bodyguard!james potter #bodyguard!james #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #james potter x you #marauders era

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kat-xox · 4 months

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you know what james potter needs?

more blood.

#GIMME BLOODY JAMES POTTER #RN #GIVE HIM TO ME #i have never needed anything more in my life #give me james with an axe #give me james with a gun #bodyguard james #vampire james #give me all the bloody james #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #harry potter #jegulus #james potter #james fleamont potter #jfp

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doodlinggoat · 10 months

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so I was watching some movies and the brainrot struck me

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #jean vicquemare #my love hate relationship with hands continues #screenshot redraw original under the cut #Jean f!$@ me vicquemare just wants to go home gentlemen #coatgoat draws #original: hitman's wife's bodyguard

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goodnight-fraublucher · 8 months

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The Wizarding World's pop princess Pansy P hires former top Auror Harry Potter as her head of security. Initially reluctant to take the job Potter eventually can't resist the spitfire that is one Pansy Parkinson.

#hansy #harry potter #pansy parkinson #hp art #pop princess #bodyguard #illustration #traditional art #traditional drawing #colored pencil

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bookwhoreeeeeeeeeee · 4 months

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I need a bodyguard Jegulus au like right fucking now man, y’all got any recs?

#marauders #marauders era #peter pettigrew #sirius black #the marauders #drarry #bodyguard au #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #harry potter #marauders headcanon #marauders fanfiction

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slut-for-artists · 7 months

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eľan and 404 Harry

YALL DO NOT UNDERSTAND

@freedomfireflies and @moonchildstyles

Theyre 2 of my favorite authors like????

BRUH U GOT BODYGUARD HARRY WHO WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR THIS WOMAN AND IM BLUSHING, KICKING MY FEET IN THE AIR, SQUEALING, LIKE BRO THIS MAN HAS ME SIMPING

And THEN, we have 404 Nerdyrry? THIS MAN IS SO FUCKING SASSY AND MEAN BUT HES SO ADORABLE AND THIS MAN CAN *FUCK*. LIKE HOLY SHIT SIR???? U HAVE GLASSES AND UR SO CUTE AND ADORABLE BUT UR A SASSY LITTLE BITCH???? omfg I'm just such a simp for 404 harry

These authors are literally the best and fuck anyone who says otherwise <333

#harry styles #harry styles smut #404 harry #bodyguard harry #freedomfireflies #moonchildstyles

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1d1195 · 9 months

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Protection I

Okay I did the quickest of Google searches to get some of this info, please don't hold it against me. I have no idea what I’m doing as usual.

Hope you enjoy, I'm looking forward to writing more of it.

5.2k words

“Y’could’ve jus’ asked,” he called from behind her. “S’dangerous t’walk alone this late at night.”

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see it. “No one is going to try and kidnap me for political purposes on a Wednesday night while I get a drink with friends,” she told him.

“Love, s’not what I meant,” he said gently.

Harry was ready.

He ironed a white button-down shirt and paired it with a blue tie. He put on a grey suitcoat over it to match the slacks he picked out along with black dress shoes that he had long since broken in. In fact, he thought he could probably run a marathon in them if necessary.

He looked over his freshly shaven face, rubbing his jaw with a face lotion his sister got him for his birthday last year. He used the mirror to fix a few astray pieces of hair that refused to sit neatly but not perfectly flat on his head. Part of him wished he didn’t volunteer to do this because his stomach was flipping with anxiety. Sure, he was used to this. Used to the nerves and the first day jitters. It was a good job and was hopefully going to be a great way to see the country. While his English accent made him stick out a bit, it also helped him blend a bit into the background; no one would think that Harry was a special agent there to protect a family member of the US cabinet.

Plus, he was doing Niall a huge favor. Niall was the one that got Harry a job with the Diplomatic Security Service in the first place, so he owed it to Niall to at least try. Make his friend look good and not ruin his reputation. One of Niall’s favorite coworkers was the one that trained Harry to be an agent for the DSS, since Niall wasn’t one. But Niall was the one that had heard horror stories of the girl that wreaked havoc on many of the agents put in place to protect her. Going toe to toe with her meant a more...fulfilling job...after a couple months. At least that’s what Niall had heard and shared with Harry.

“I don’t know what her issue is Harry. But you’re all but DSS’s last hope,” he said. Niall didn’t have to take a round against her. He wasn’t an agent in the protection division. He sat behind a desk going over paperwork. Frequently the paperwork assigning and reassigning the girl’s security detail. But he knew Harry needed a job and he was happy to recommend him. He vouched for him, but Niall was certain the agency would have taken someone off the street and thrown them in the ring at this stage in the game.

Harry was on the younger side. Close to her age, so he had been told in the interview. Maybe that would help. He seemed unfazed. It was just a job. She was just a girl. They had to protect her. But through all he heard, it didn’t sound like they really wanted to protect her all that much anymore.

How much trouble could a twenty-four-year-old graduate biochemistry student get up to?

Niall wished him luck as Harry was debriefed once more about his job. Keep an eye on her, run checks on people she interacts with, make sure she doesn’t die. “Her father is Secretary of State,” they reminded Harry.

Harry nodded. “Got it.”

He took the address that was sent to him into his phone’s GPS and followed the directions to the apartment complex in the small, undercover black SUV issued to him. There was bulletproof glass protecting him from the outside world and tinted windows hiding him through the glass. His mum messaged him.

Good luck, honey bun!

He smirked. Harry may have been twenty-nine, but his Mum’s messages made him feel like a little kid. He adored her, all the way across the pond recognizing what time it was so she could make sure to send him a good luck text as she always had; first day of university, first real job, or even just a trip to the dentist (Harry hated the dentist).

The little apartment complex was inconspicuous. There wasn’t anything special about it, just a brick building with several floors—it couldn’t have been more than 8 apartments. A buzzer door and buttons along the side. The code was sent to him to let himself in.

It’s just a girl. He reminded himself.

Harry took the stairs to the top and fourth floor. It gave him time to calm his nerves and plan his approach based on the way he heard the tales from coworkers. Maybe he would try and befriend her? Harry was down to be friends with her if she wanted. Or maybe that was a bad idea. Maybe he should just try and out-stubborn her. Harry and Gemma used to have contests about who could hold their breath longest when they were young. Harry wasn’t against passing out in the name of winning.

The final steps to her apartment were silent. The current agent at the door looked at Harry with relief. He saluted him, muttered good luck, and hurried back down. Surprised by the immediate departure, Harry gently knocked on the door. The man didn’t even confirm that Harry was his relief. “DSS,” he said quietly to the door.

It took a moment, but at once the door was out of the way. She was shorter than Harry—which arguably wasn’t hard to do with his six-foot frame. Her hair was pulled back by a clip at the back of her head, some strands falling from it to frame her round face. She had a freckle on her brow line and Harry found it unbelievably cute and surprised himself that it was one of the first things he noticed. The space between her eyebrows was pinched together and Harry wanted to smooth it out because even though she was going to be a pain in his ass, she was adorable. Her eyes scanned him quickly and he hoped despite the stories he had heard that she would at least appreciate his professionalism. Her lips were pressed together—not hard, just...resting against one another. Harry was quick to realize it was the least professional thing he could think of: staring at her mouth.

Mum always re-quoted that the eyes were windows to the soul. It was always the first thing Harry noted when he pursued a girl. He loved the idea of gazing into her eyes and trying to find out more about her just through her irises. Maybe if he looked into hers, he would understand why a short little thing like her could scare an entire division of special agents with varying degrees of combat training or intelligence operations.

Her lips pursed into a mocking smile, and she spoke. “Oh, I get it. Send someone young so I relate to them. Someone that will understand my attitude,” she rolled her eyes. Harry raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. Not even a hello. No introduction. Feisty. Right away.

“I’m sorry?”

“Daddy dearest only sent you here because the last seven agents couldn’t handle the paperwork that I made them do. I escape a lot.”

Harry sighed. “Thought y’were gonna be easy,” it was a fib. He knew she was going to be difficult but maybe if he played the part she wouldn’t be as tough on him.

“Nope,” she said petulantly, like that was going to piss Harry off. He assumed it worked on the others that came before him.

Harry could play the petulant game. He was the younger sibling after all. He nodded. “Got it. Well. M’name is Harry. I won’t bother you. I’ll be here if you’d like t’get t’know me. Or when y’leave,” he pulled the door shut and stood beside it. Hands behind his back, listening to the silence inside the door.

“Is this a joke?” She asked through the wood after a full minute. He didn’t respond. The door opened.

“Going somewhere?” Harry asked without looking at her. He could see her in his peripheral.

“No,” she looked at Harry curiously. “You’re not going to...try?” She wondered.

“Try what?” He asked innocently staring at the wall opposite her door.

She shook her head and sighed. “Uh... I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly, uncomfortableness rang in her voice. Harry turned to her, honestly a bit surprised at how readily she apologized. Didn’t seem like something that would be in her repertoire. “Do you want to come in?” She asked. See? Harry thought. She could be perfectly reasonable. “I have seats... you don’t have to stand out here the whole time,” she murmured.

“Thanks, love,” he said politely and followed her through the doorway. He dropped his bag into a seat closest to the door. It just had the department issued computer inside it.

The space was homey. Again, he was surprised by the contrast of the stories he heard versus the sunny outward appearance. He expected rage which he wasn’t sure how that would translate exactly into interior design, but he thought it would be messy. The only hint of a mess was a spot on the coffee table littered with papers and notebooks and a laptop. The grey sofa was also covered with papers and a plain black backpack.

He did not anticipate it being a pretty place. It could rival a florist shop. There were prints of flowers hung on a white mat with black frames at regular spaced intervals. Vinelike garlands decorated with an array of pink flowers of all sorts draped along the slate blue (nearly grey) painted walls near the top of each of the three walls making up the big room—almost like a bordered edge. The fourth wall was the back of the kitchen and contained various appliances leaving no room for flowers, but Harry thought she probably tried when she moved in anyway.

The whole room was open: the sitting room, the dining area, and the kitchen. There were two loveseat sofas, one a modern grey facing the TV. The other perpendicular to the grey one; a solid navy blue that sat in front of three windows. Each window had a sheer grey curtain that matched the sofa, draped with more vines of flowers across all three windows of course. Between the TV and the grey sofa was a grey coffee table and besides the papers and notebooks, there was of course a little vase with pink sunflowers. A large bookshelf was to the left of her TV stand.

In the back corner beside the door was a round dining table and four mismatched dining chairs where Harry had dropped his bag. Another little vase sat in the middle of the table with more pink flowers. The kitchen smelled yummy. Like bacon. That was as much as he could see from the entryway. There was a short little hall but hidden behind a wall he couldn’t see around but assumed a bedroom and a bathroom were around there.

“S’a very nice place,” he murmured.

She was still staring at him as if he just said he liked to eat handfuls of dirt and drink from the river. “Thank you,” she said kindly after a beat of silence. Like she thought maybe it was a trick. “I...I don’t really have any plans tonight. I’ll be studying for an exam I have tomorrow...you could honestly probably leave if you wanted to,”

He thought she sounded genuine but given all the stories, he wasn’t sure. “I’d rather stay put. I can go back in the hall if that would make you more comfortable,” he suggested. “But may I see the rest of the place or would y’rather I wait till later? When you’re less busy?” He asked.

She blinked almost surprised. Harry imagined she wasn’t used to privacy but since he wanted her to like him, he thought respecting her boundaries was going to be the easiest way to do it. Most of her previous details were older. They probably had children of their own around her age or younger and thought treating her like one of their own and bossing her around would be easy. In all the meetings Harry attended and interviews and explanations of the girl before him not once did they seem to note she was an adult.

“Oh...uh...yeah,” she mumbled and gestured for him to walk down the hall. He was right: a bedroom and a bathroom, but he was surprised to find a second bedroom. It didn’t seem like the space was big enough from the outside. She opened all the doors. “This one’s the spare,” she said and showed him the room with nothing but a bed and small three drawer dresser and a chair that looked like it belonged in a college dorm in the corner. There was a door leading to a closet (he assumed). Compared to the main room, it was lackluster given there wasn’t a single flower in the room.

Along the same wall was the bathroom. The room was the same slate grey as the sitting room. The shower curtain was white, with a pattern of pink flowers. The fuzzy bathmat and hand towels matched the pink flowers. A little flowerpot was placed on a shelf hanging above the toilet, but Harry could have predicted at this point that pink flowers would be in the little pot. A chic gold brushed mirror that doubled as a medicine cabinet hung over the sink with the same gold brushed faucet fixtures. A linen closet opposite the light switch right as you walked in, no door to it so he could see her well-stocked array of bathroom necessities, extra towels, and cleaning supplies.

“My room,” she shrugged and pushed the door open. Another bookshelf was draped with green vines. Fascinating. She liked to read a lot, it seemed. A long dresser was beneath the window along the back wall. A nightstand with a biochemistry textbook and a copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was closest to the door near the top of her bed. A weird pair of books for late night reading, he thought. Harry would have to pick the non-textbook one up at the bookstore later. Find another way to relate to her. This room was painted a light blue—so light it was almost white. More vines and flowers. Her bed was made neatly. This time slate-blue-almost-grey color again. Once more pink flowers.

“Are y’a botanist?” He asked, turning back for the main room. He didn’t want to spend a lot of time staring at her room and make her uncomfortable.

She smirked, closing the door following behind him. “Just love color and flowers,” she shrugged. “The grey makes it pop,” she explained. “But I wanted a little bluer for my bedroom. Didn’t want it to seem all dreary.” It was the furthest from dreary.

“S’lovely.”

“Well thanks,” she repeated, just as graciously as before.

She sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. “You can make yourself at home, there’s some drinks in the fridge—non-alcoholic of course, since you’re on the job, but I wouldn’t tell anyway,” she murmured and began scribbling on her papers almost instantly.

Harry felt deeply surprised. He pulled his laptop out and checked the emails. The internal messaging system alerted him that Niall had sent a message. How is she?

Fine. He responded.

Harry’s phone vibrated in his pocket immediately. It was Niall. “FINE?” He asked in shock.

Harry shrugged. “Yes.”

Niall released a breath through his lips in surprise. “I can’t believe it. Usually she has people begging for reassignment after five minutes.”

Harry looked over at the girl working at the coffee table. He looked back at his laptop. “Don’t know,” he murmured.

“You can tell whoever you’re talking to that I’m not the bitch everyone makes me out to be if you’re fucking nice to me,” she grumbled.

Harry smirked. “I like her,” he said loud enough for her to hear. But she didn’t pause at all. Nor did she stray from her position or what she was doing to notice Harry’s kind comment.

She left Harry in the main room. He would stay until midnight when some woman would take over the detail. She didn’t hate the woman. She at least allowed her privacy when she wanted it. But she was surprised how much she liked Harry and they’d hardly interacted beyond an exchange of pleasantries. Him leaving in a couple hours seemed unfair.

Harry already had her phone number and he told her he would send her a message, so she had his in case of an emergency. “Not sure what emergency exists in my bedroom,” she muttered. He smirked and shrugged.

“Protocol, love,” he said. So he was one of those. She thought.

She liked his accent. Honestly, she liked everything about Harry. He was gorgeous. It was shocking. There was a moment where she forgot she was supposed to be agitated by her security detail when he introduced himself. It was almost instinctive that her hand wanted to reach out and play with his brown locks that curved every which way around his head. His eyes were this piercing green that she felt the desire to repaint her room the same emerald color. She nearly had to crane her neck to see all six feet of him. And in a simple suit, he was just...beautiful.

But then he pulled the door shut not taking her shit for even a second. Her brain felt out of sorts as she tried to reconcile the attitude, she wanted to have against the one she felt. Not once did someone just back off her. Maybe having someone closer to her age was the trick. But she didn’t want a security detail. Right?

Harry was so utterly polite, complimenting her place, respecting her boundaries as much as possible given his position. Ugh. He was ruining all the hard work she had put in to be a bitch toward DSS.

Fortunately, her phone vibrated as she closed the door to her bedroom. It was a friend from one of her classes telling her they were having a round of drinks before their final exam in the morning. She didn’t want to go. It was ten o’clock and her brain was exhausted from the marathon studying all afternoon and evening with her only breaks introducing herself to Harry and when she ordered them pizza.

Harry insisted on paying. Another weird notion from him. She never really ordered food for her security details, but she always did offer, and she always paid. Her mother taught her to have manners and be polite, even if she was mad—it would make her more amicable. However, she thought a lot of her previous agents assumed she was trying to poison them when she ordered them food. Harry didn’t talk much to her while they ate. He asked her what she was studying and if she felt confident about the exam.

She worked her ass off to be successful in her classes. She was one of the top students, she knew it. But everyone else saw it as the Secretary of State’s doing, not her own. But yes, she was confident about the exam.

But now it was 10:04 and she wanted to be included. She didn’t want to come off as “Daddy’s little princess” and the goody-two-shoes she was accustomed to being. Biting her lip, she pressed her ear to her door. She couldn’t hear Harry at all. Harry seemed cooler than her other details, she could probably just ask him to take her and hang back as far as humanly possible. He told her he was going to read the files on the people she surrounded herself with while she went to sleep.

He would be back first thing in the morning for a full day of watching her every movement. She quietly changed into an easy, comfy outfit. Jeans, t-shirt, her most comfortable broken-in Keds. She glanced at the mirror on the back of her closet and put on a couple dabs of concealer around her eyes and a few swipes of mascara. It was one round of drinks; she would be back before Harry left his post and she wouldn’t even have to worry about locking up her apartment. She shoved her ID and her credit card into the back of her phone case and then put it in her back pocket.

Carefully, she opened the window pausing around the part that always groaned in the humidity from the outside August air. She quietly pulled the screen in and laid it on her bed. With cat-like soft feet, she got out onto the platform of the fire escape. Closing the window behind her, once more minding the swelled portion. She made her way down the fire escape. The walk to the bar was less than half a mile.

As she turned the corner of the building to walk along the streetlamp-lit roads she was pushed suddenly and almost violently against the building. She nearly lost her footing, but the person kept her upright and was surprisingly gentle with her before she slammed into the bricks. Her lungs inhaled, ready to let out a scream, but a hand was covering her mouth at the same time causing her heart rate to skyrocket. “Seriously?” Harry’s accent cut through her terrified mind.

The terror seeped out of her mind as anger coursed through her. Maybe the close in age thing wasn’t going to be a good plan after all. If this was one of her other agents, they wouldn’t have known she was gone until she had finished her drink and was walking back home. She shoved his hand from her mouth, and she glared at him. Her body was shaking with her fight or flight response and a lot rage. “What?” She snapped and started marching down the road.

“Y’could’ve jus’ asked,” he called from behind her. “S’dangerous t’walk alone this late at night.”

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see it. “No one is going to try and kidnap me for political purposes on a Wednesday night while I get a drink with friends,” she told him.

“Love, s’not what I meant,” he said gently. The kindness in his tone made her attitude waver again. But she was mad that he caught her. That never happened. She didn’t want to be sneakier. She thought she might actually like Harry. He even said he liked her to whoever he was on the phone with—that made her heart warm despite how she pretended not to hear. If Harry liked her, it would be much harder to maintain the isolated, bitchy attitude she gave all the other security agents.

“What’s there to worry about? Someone shoving me against a building and covering my mouth?” She grumbled.

“I didn’t want t’scare you; I was jus’ trying t’show you that someone could’ve snuck up,” he was keeping his distance from her, but she listened intently for the practically soundless footsteps. The only reason she could hear him was because it rained and made the little scratchy pebbles and dirt crunch under his feet ever so slightly.

“By scaring me,” she stated, still not looking at him.

He sighed. “M’sorry. I thought...” he trailed off. She didn’t make him finish his sentence. She thought too—he knew the stories of her, but he thought he would be different. They walked probably two tenths of a mile in silence. “M’sorry, love,” he repeated. “S’my first day. Didn’t want you t’get hurt.”

She sighed. He did sound remorseful. And she still kind of liked him. Mostly because as tragic as it sounded, he seemed to be more worried about her safety as a female walking dark streets and not a political official’s daughter. “It’s alright,” she mumbled. “I should have just asked,” she agreed a bit begrudgingly. “Just figured it was one drink and I’d be home before you left.”

He didn’t say anything. She stopped in her tracks. She could see the sign for the bar where her friends were down the long street before her. She turned to Harry. He looked relieved.

They gazed at each other a moment. Harry would be a worth adversary, she thought to herself. It was like he heard her thoughts because his next words almost tried to refute the idea. “I don’t like t’do paperwork,” he told her those pretty green eyes focused on her intently. He was serious. His jaw flexed tightly.

She smirked. “No promises.”

She spotted Harry at the end of the stairway, leaning against the wall as she exited the building where she had taken her exam. He had to be sweating in the suit slacks and button down—even if the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His left arm had several tattoos lining his arm while the right only had one or two. He wasn’t wearing a tie today nor a suit coat—she wanted to tell him she didn’t really give a shit what he wore, but he seemed the professional type. Being the middle of August, it was hot as could be. He didn’t seem to care, glancing every which way through a pair of black sunglasses. She couldn’t see his eyes and she suddenly realized she missed seeing the green even though she’d only gotten one good look at them.

Unfortunately, in all her ogling she missed the last two steps sending her straight into someone in front of her and she fell to the ground on the hot sidewalk, scraping her knee like a child. Fortunately, as a biochem major, she had to wear pants whenever setting foot in the lab so the yoga pants she wore—while hot for a summer day—probably saved her just a bit from a worse cut. It did cause a few tears in the fabric and her knee would surely bruise.

Harry started to rush over but the guy she bumped into helped her back to standing. “You okay there?” He asked.

Harry stood back a few feet as the guy helped. “Uh...yeah. Sorry, I missed the last step,” she said with a slight awkward laugh. She brushed the dirt from her hands that were also scraped as well as the length of her forearm since she was allowed to wear short sleeves (especially since it was exam day).

“Oh hey! You’re—” As soon as she realized he recognized her she closed her eyes and sighed.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Sorry,” she hurried off, limping slightly as she realized she really smacked her knee and the way it scraped definitely made it sore to bend. She didn’t want to be recognized. She wanted to be herself and not have this political precursor follow her everywhere.

They were making their way back toward the SUV Harry had parked nearby when he had dropped her off this morning so she wouldn’t be late. Good luck he had called out when she closed the door behind her. “Are y’alright?” Harry’s accent was a few paces behind her. She felt embarrassed so she didn’t turn around. She nodded.

“Yeah. Just a scrape. Want to go home and take a nap in the AC.”

“Can’t argue with y’there,” he chuckled.

She smirked; glad he couldn’t see her. “You don’t have to wear a suit all the time,” she told him. “It’s a thousand degrees out. You’ll die of a heat stroke before you can protect me.”

He seemed to ignore her joke, but she was still a bit genuinely concerned he would overheat. “How was your exam?” He asked.

She turned finally and looked at him. He stopped short, still a few steps behind her. They probably looked odd beneath the shaded trees. Both dressed not for a summer day. Harry looked threatening, surprisingly. He didn’t when she saw him in her apartment or even when he walked her home at eleven last night. He looked like a regular guy even if he was overdressed in a half suit. She noted the gun in its holster on his hip and she wondered how good of a shot he was. Not because she thought he would be bad or because she thought he would ever need to shoot it in her presence but because she was genuinely curious about him. She still had her backpack on of course. Her knee bent slightly with a tear in her pants. Quite the pair.

His glasses were still covering his eyes, hiding probably the most assured way to understand what he was thinking. But despite all she thought about the DSS, Harry was nice. Even if it had only been the inside of 24 hours.

It was shame she was a bitch to her security detail.

“Uh...easy,” she said. “A lot of my friends complain about studying and it sucks, but obviously it was worth it,” she shrugged. “I only struggled with one long response question, and I knew that I would going into it,” she explained.

“S’good, m’happy for you,” a little smile twinged at his lips and he sounded so genuine. It surprised her. Like he was really taking an interest in her.

But then she remembered this was his job and he probably couldn’t give two shits about her or exam. She tilted her head and scanned the man before her as if that negative thought would reveal itself. Of course, it didn’t. The glasses were hiding his true emotions. She would have to figure out Harry later. It was too hot, even in the shade.

Silently she turned on her heel looking at the air-conditioned oasis of that SUV. Harry opened the door for her, something she was not used to before closing her neatly and safely inside. Once Harry opened his door she asked her question. “Can we get coffee?” She asked.

“Coffee?”

“My treat,” she smirked.

“I thought you wanted a nap?”

“Yeah, but I have to work later and if you drink coffee before a nap, the coffee will kick in right when you wake up.”

He tilted his head at her before he pulled into the road. “Didn’t know y’have a job.”

“It’s remote,” she shrugged.

“Oh.”

“So coffee?”

“If that’s what you want, love.”

Harry drove in silence to the closest coffee shop he could find, and she got out of the car quickly before stopping at the driver’s window. “Can I get you anything?” She asked kindly.

“Uh...an iced tea would be nice,” he said curiously.

She was not the bitch everyone made her out to be. “Sure,” she said and rushed inside. Harry kept the window rolled down and could see her perfectly through the window. It took no more than ten minutes, and she was back at the car handing him iced tea through his open window before she got into the car. Harry wasn’t really sure what to make of her. But he was sure that he liked her. She was funny. In her own sort of way. He watched her sip her drink as she settled back into the car.

It would be fun.

Protecting her.

“I could send you a picture if you’d like to stare at me longer,” she blinked in excess at him. Fluttering her pretty eyelashes as her quick witted tone pierced his thoughts.

Right?

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

Protection tag list: @youcouldstartacult

Please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :) If you would like for me to start a taglist for this series, please let me know as well!

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