# summary: everyone thinks that being lewis hamilton’s wife is sweet—it is for the most part—but every high has its lows.
# pairings: lewis hamilton x black fem reader
# tags: @barcelonesa, @lewismcqueen, @summersoniccc, @christmasbales, @issfaith, @amori1i, @toutouslilwrld, @literallysza, @jessnotwiththemess, @sailurmewn, @127hydrangeas, @that-90s-girllll, @queenshikongo3, @cocobutterqwueen, @muglermami, @beauty-gurl, @palefacestudentlove, @firstlyferrari, @kinggbl, @vintagesoul-01, @nervousstudentmiracles
# warnings: formula one drama, family feuds, breastfeeding issues, postpartum depression, angst, cursing, adult themes - 18+
# author's note: although this fic shows the "high life" of being a wag - this does not support or glamorize "wag culture"; it does the opposite and sheds light on the not so fun sides of dating/marrying an athlete, especially in f1. if you are triggered by depressive epsiodes and feeling hopeless, please do not read this fic.
yourusername posted on your story 16 hours ago!
IG story comments:
lewisfantillidie: omg these are too cute!! is she here?!!
stillirise: 🍼👶🏾
44forever: 😭 😭 😭
teamlhitalia: Il piccolo Hamilton è qui allora, giusto?
plus44world: looking amazing as always lady hamilton
mission44: so excited to to meet the babes!!
fencer: uncle miles reporting for duty 🫡
⤷ yourusername replied to fencer you’re a bit early unc 😉 she’s still wombside
13thwitness: 🤯 🤯 is it time? holy shit!!
⤷ yourusername replied to 13thwitness almost time
prologic: bro didn’t even text us yet 😔
⤷ yourusername replied to prologic we just made it to the hospital
**********************************************
lewishamilton and 2 others • The Beatle’s “All You Need Is Love”
liked by fencer, f1, scuderiaferrari, yourusername, and others
lewishamilton: We’re so blessed to welcome our third daughter Earthside yesterday morning. The staff at the hospital was amazing! Thank you all for your prayers, kind words, and support! I will take a few days offline to enjoy this moment with my family and see everyone for the final race of the season in Abu Dhabi. Everyone say hello to Love Acacia Cherise Hamilton 💕 ~ her big sisters Leia and Lake are already in love with her! 😉
view all comments….
mercedesamgf1: omg she’s so cute! congrats on another healthy baby girl lewishamilton
⤷ lewishamilton replied to mercedesamgf1 you guys were definitely betting on this…lemme guess Bono won the bet?
⤷ mercedesamgf1 replied to lewishamilton yes he did 🤗
f1: We love Love!! 💕 (get it? 🤭)
⤷ lewishamilton replied to f1 😂😂
roscoelovescoco: i’s a big’s brother’s again’s 🐶
scuderiaferrari: Benvenuto nel mondo Amore!
⤷ lewishamilton replied to scuderiaferrari: Grazie mille 🙏🏽
susiewolff: oh she’s precious!! I need to pop in for a visit for some snuggles 🥰
⤷ lewishamilton replied to susiewolff you’re always welcome 🤗
fencer: MY NIECEE!!!!! BRUV I’M IN TEARS RIGHT NOW 😭 😭
spinzbeatsinc: damn brother can you make a boy? 👦🏾
⤷ hamazinglew replied to spinzbeatsinc I don’t think he can 🤣
⤷ lewisfanforever replied to spinzbeatsinc man had 3 girls in 3 and a half years - he isn’t getting any sons 😂
⤷ user67836 replied to lewisfanforever damn 3 children in 3 and a half years is crazy work! My prayers for his wife and lewishamilton stay off her man!!
dangerusswilson: congrats lewishamilton 🥳
⤷ lewishamilton replied to dangerusswilson my guy im trying to be like you 👀
⤷ dangerusswilson replied to lewishamilton the lord said to be fruitful and multiply and you shall, my G 🙌🏾
⤷ kingjames replied to dangerusswilson hey now don’t give him any ideas 😏
broncos: We can’t wait to meet her!! 😊
⤷ lewishamilton replied to broncos you guys will see her soon
georgerussell63: Congrats Lewis!!!
pierregasly: 🥹🥹🥹
charlesleclerc: lewishamilton please bring pictures next week!
⤷ yukitsunoda replied to charlesleclerc and lots of videos please… lewishamilton
The Dubai skyline glittered like scattered diamonds outside your hospital window.
You shifted carefully in the bed, every movement a reminder of what your body had just accomplished. Love was sleeping in your arms – all six pounds, four ounces of her, impossibly small and perfect. Her dark hair was soft as silk, and when she'd opened her eyes for the first time, they'd been Lewis's exact shade of brown.
"She's beautiful," Lewis whispered from the chair beside your bed. He'd barely left that spot in the thirty-six hours since Love's arrival, as if moving too far might break the spell of this moment.
"She is," you agreed, though your voice came out rougher than expected. Everything felt raw still. Not just physically, but emotionally too. Like you'd been turned inside out and hadn't quite figured out how to exist in your skin again.
This was supposed to be easier by now. Love was your third baby. You knew what to expect, knew the rhythm of newborn life, knew how your body typically bounced back. But something felt different this time. Harder. Like you were swimming through honey while everyone else moved at normal speed.
"The girls are gonna lose their minds when they meet her," Lewis said.
"They're gonna be so gentle with her," you said, trying to inject warmth into your voice. The truth was, the thought of managing three kids under four made your chest tight with something that might have been panic.
Lewis reached over, brushing his thumb across Love's tiny fist. "Can't believe we made something this perfect."
You looked at him – still in yesterday's clothes, stubble shadowing his jaw, eyes soft with wonder – and felt a familiar ache. He was so good at this. So natural. Already planning family adventures, talking about teaching Love to swim, to drive, to be brave and kind and everything good in the world.
Meanwhile, you were wondering if you'd ever feel human again.
"Dr. Mohammad said we can go home tomorrow morning," you said instead of voicing any of that.
"Good. The penthouse is all set up. Got the bassinet by our bed, all her clothes organized by size..." Lewis trailed off, studying your face. "You okay, baby? You look tired."
Tired. That was like calling the ocean damp.
"Just ready to get settled," you said. "Hospital beds aren't exactly comfortable."
Lewis nodded, but his expression remained concerned. You turned back to Love, letting her tiny fingers wrap around yours, and tried to ignore the voice in your head that whispered you weren't doing this right. That a good mother would be glowing with joy instead of feeling like she was drowning.
Your phone buzzed on the bedside table – another flower delivery, another congratulations message, another reminder that the world was watching Lewis Hamilton's perfect family welcome their third perfect daughter.
Perfect.
The word sat heavy in your chest as Love stirred in your arms, making those soft newborn sounds that should have melted your heart completely.
They did. But underneath the love was something else. Something that felt too much like fear.
The Dubai penthouse was a study in understated luxury.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the marina, where yachts bobbed like expensive toys. The nursery Lewis had set up was a dream in soft whites and pale yellows, with a custom mobile that played a melody he'd hummed during your pregnancy.
Your husband had left before dawn for the circuit, kissing you goodbye while you were still half-asleep. Now it was just you and the girls in the sprawling penthouse, watching the world wake up thirty floors below.
"Mummy, when does Daddy's race start?" Leia asked from her spot on the enormous sectional, still in her pajamas and clutching her stuffed elephant.
"Not for a few hours, sweetheart," you said, shifting Love to your other arm as she made those soft newborn sounds that meant she'd be crying soon. "We'll watch it together."
Lake was already planted in front of the massive TV, even though it was just showing the morning news. At two and a half, she didn't understand what Formula 1 was, but she knew it meant seeing Daddy on the big screen.
Love started fussing, that escalating whimper you'd learned meant hungry, tired, uncomfortable, or some combination of all three. You'd been trying to nurse her for the past hour with limited success—your supply was still inconsistent, and she seemed perpetually frustrated by the slow flow.
"She's crying again," Leia observed helpfully.
"I know, baby. Mummy's trying to help her."
But twenty minutes later, Love was still fussing despite your best efforts. The pre-race coverage had started, and Lewis was in the garage, going through his usual routine. He looked focused and calm, but you felt like you were barely keeping your head above water.
The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix then unfolded like poetry on screen.
You sat with Love finally settled in your arms, Leia and Lake curled up on either side of you on the sectional. The girls were surprisingly good at watching races – something about the speed and colors kept them engaged.
"Daddy!" Lake squealed as the camera caught Lewis climbing into his car.
"He looks fast," Leia added seriously, as if speed was something you could see in someone's posture.
Lewis did look good today. The Mercedes was responding well, and you could tell from his radio messages that he was feeling confident. This was his goodbye to the team that had given him six championships. It mattered.
When he crossed the finish line, you felt tears prick your eyes despite your exhaustion. The relief in his voice over the radio was palpable, the joy of his team infectious even through the television.
Then came the donuts. Lewis spinning his car in celebration on the main straight, smoke billowing from the tires, pure euphoria in every rotation. The camera caught him climbing out for the last time as a Mercedes driver, helmet off, that brilliant smile breaking across his face.
You watched him embrace Toto, then Bonon, then his mechanics, then every team member he could find. Watched grown men cry as they hugged the driver who'd brought them so much success. Watched Lewis himself wipe away tears as he soaked in the moment.
"Daddy's happy," Lake observed.
"Very happy," you agreed, bouncing Love gently as she started to stir.
On screen, Lewis was glowing. In his element. Everything he'd worked for condensed into this perfect farewell.
Here in the penthouse, however, you felt like you were watching through glass.
Your phone buzzed constantly with notifications – congratulations messages, news articles, social media tags. You let them pile up, unread.
"When is Daddy coming home?" Leia asked.
"Soon, sweetheart. He has some things to do first, but he'll be back tonight."
Lewis would have media obligations, team celebrations, probably dinner with people from Mercedes. He'd be riding the high of this moment for hours.
You'd be here, trying to figure out why Love wouldn't stop crying and why your body felt like it belonged to someone else.
*************************************
Lewis came home around midnight, tired but still buzzing with emotion.
You met him at the door with Love in your arms – she'd been having one of her difficult evenings, crying on and off despite being fed and changed and rocked.
"How are my girls?" he asked, pulling you into a careful hug, mindful of the baby between you.
"Good," you said automatically. "Leia and Lake fell asleep watching the replay. They were so excited to see you win."
"P5," Lewis corrected gently. "But it felt like a win."
"It was a win. A perfect send-off." You meant it, even though watching his triumph had made the contrast with your own struggle feel sharper.
Lewis studied your face in the dim hallway light. "You look tired, baby."
Tired. There was that word again.
"Love's been fussy," you said instead of listing everything else – the successful feeding attempts that lasted only minutes, the endless cycle of crying and soothing that never quite worked, the way your body still felt foreign and wrong.
"Here, let me take her." Lewis reached for Love, and you handed her over gratefully.
Within minutes, she'd settled against his chest, finally quiet.
"How do you do that?" you asked, sinking onto the couch.
"Fresh hands," Lewis said simply, but you knew it was more than that. He had a natural ease with the babies that you envied.
"She's been like this all day. I can't figure out what she wants."
Lewis settled beside you, Love peaceful in his arms. "Maybe she's just having a hard day. Babies do that sometimes."
You nodded, though part of you wondered if Love could sense your own anxiety, if somehow your inability to relax was making everything harder for both of you.
"How was the race really?" you asked, needing to focus on something positive.
Lewis's face lit up as he described the strategy, the car's performance, and the emotional team meetings afterward. You listened and smiled and asked the right questions, letting his joy wash over you even as you felt separate from it.
This was what you were good at – being Lewis's wife, supporting his dreams, celebrating his victories. It was the other stuff – the daily grind of motherhood, the management of your own needs – that felt impossible lately.
Love stirred in his arms, making soft sounds that would escalate to crying within minutes. Your breasts ached with the persistent reminder that your milk supply still wasn't where it should be.
"I'm so proud of you," you said, because that was true and safe to say.
"Proper send-off," Lewis said softly.
You nodded, glancing over at Love as she began to fuss. "Feeding time?" you asked.
"I'll get it," Lewis said immediately, handing Love to you.
As he disappeared into the kitchen to heat up a bottle, you shifted Love in your arms, studying her perfect face in the soft light. She was beautiful. She was healthy. She was everything you'd hoped for.
So why did you feel like you were failing her already?
London was grey and drizzly when you arrived a week later.
Carmen met you at Heathrow with the biggest smile, immediately reaching for Love while Linda corralled Leia and Lake, who were vibrating with excitement about their new sister.
"Oh, she's gorgeous," Carmen breathed, cradling Love with the expertise of someone who'd raised multiple children. "Looks just like Lewis did as a baby."
"She's got his eyes for sure," you agreed, grateful to have your arms free for a moment as Leia and Lake attached themselves to your legs.
"How are you feeling, love?" Linda asked quietly as you all headed toward the car. "Really?"
"Good," you said automatically. "Tired, but good. Still adjusting."
Carmen gave you a look that was too knowing for comfort, but she just nodded. "That's normal. Take all the time you need."
The house felt different when you walked in. Not bad different – just fuller, somehow. There were flowers everywhere, cards and gifts from friends and family, and a banner that read "Welcome Home Love" in glittery letters.
It should have felt like coming home. Instead, it felt like stepping onto a stage where everyone was expecting a performance you weren't sure you could give.
"Mummy, mummy, we made Love a picture!" Leia announced, waving a crayon drawing that appeared to show a family of stick figures.
"It's beautiful, sweetheart," you said, shifting carefully towards her. The movement was too fast, and you bit back a wince.
"Bath time!" Linda announced cheerfully, herding Leia and Lake toward the stairs. "Let Mummy get settled with baby Love."
As their chatter faded up the stairs, Carmen settled beside you on the couch where you were attempting to nurse Love. Again.
"How's feeding going?" she asked gently.
"It's..." You paused, watching Love fuss at your breast, clearly frustrated by the slow flow. "It's harder this time. I'm not producing as much as I did with the other two."
"That's normal, Y/N. Stress can affect supply. Maybe we could supplement with some formula—"
"No." The word came out sharper than you'd intended. Carmen blinked in surprise.
"It's just," you continued, trying to modulate your tone, "I breastfed the girls exclusively for months. I can do this. I just need to be more consistent with pumping, drink more water, get more rest..."
Carmen's expression was careful. "Of course, love. But there's nothing wrong with formula if you need it. Fed is best, isn't it?"
Something hot and defensive flared in your chest. "I know that. But I don't need it. Love is gaining weight fine. The pediatrician said—"
"Y/N." Carmen's voice was gentle but firm. "I'm not criticizing. I'm just saying it's okay to make things easier on yourself."
The word easier hit wrong. Like she thought you were taking the hard way for no reason. Like you were being stubborn or prideful instead of just trying to be a good mother.
"I'm sorry," you said quickly, the fight leaving you as suddenly as it had come. "I didn't mean to snap. I'm just... it's been a long week."
"You don't have to apologize," Carmen said softly. "You're doing brilliantly. But you don't have to do everything perfectly, you know."
Love had given up on nursing and was starting to cry again. The sound made your chest tighten with familiar anxiety.
"I just need a minute," you said, standing abruptly and passing Love to Carmen. "Just... I'll be right back."
You escaped to the pantry, closing the door behind you with hands that shook slightly. The small space smelled like coffee and spices, familiar and safe in a way that made your throat tight.
This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. Carmen was trying to help, and you were being defensive and ungrateful. You were home, your family was healthy, Lewis was going to live his dream with Ferrari.
Everything was perfect.
So why did you feel like crying all the time?
You grabbed a packet of biscuits from the shelf, tearing it open with more force than necessary. The first biscuit disappeared in three bites, then the second, then a third. You ate mechanically, barely tasting them, just needing something to fill the hollow feeling in your chest.
A knock on the pantry door made you freeze.
"Y/N?" Linda's voice was soft. "Everything alright, love?"
You swallowed the biscuit in your mouth, wiping crumbs from your lips. "Fine! Just grabbing a snack. Be right out."
You shoved the packet back onto the shelf, straightened your clothes, and opened the door with what you hoped was a normal smile.
"Better?" Linda asked, studying your face.
"Much better," you said brightly. "Just needed a sugar hit. Where are the girls?"
"Clean and in pajamas, waiting for a story." Linda's eyes were concerned, but she didn't push. "Want me to take Love so you can tuck them in?"
"That would be lovely, thank you."
You climbed the stairs toward Leia and Lake's chatter, leaving the hollow feeling in the pantry where it belonged. There would be time to deal with whatever this was later.
Right now, you had daughters who needed their mummy to read them a story and tuck them in and be everything they expected you to be.
Lewis's farewell tour took him to Malaysia first, then Germany, then finally to Brackley.
You watched his Instagram stories from the London house, surrounded by the controlled chaos of life with three small children. Lewis in the Malaysian heat, hugging mechanics he'd worked with for years. Lewis in the Stuttgart factory, looking emotional as he packed up his driver's room. Lewis at Brackley, speaking to the team that had become his family.
Each post showed him glowing with gratitude and excitement, ready for the next chapter with Ferrari. The comments were full of love and support, fans celebrating his legacy and wishing him well.
You double-tapped each photo and tried to ignore how distant it all felt.
"Mummy, Love is crying again," Leia informed you from her perch on the couch, where she was coloring very seriously.
Love had been crying on and off all morning. Nothing seemed to soothe her for long – not feeding, not rocking, not the white noise machine Linda had suggested. Dr. Patel had said some babies were just fussier than others, that it wasn't necessarily anything you were doing wrong.
It felt like something you were doing wrong.
"I know, sweetheart," you said, lifting Love from her bouncer and immediately feeling the familiar weight of failure when she continued crying in your arms. "She's just having a cranky day."
"Like Lake yesterday?" Leia asked without looking up from her coloring.
"Something like that."
Lake had had a spectacular meltdown the day before when you'd served her lunch in the wrong bowl. Two hours of tears over a blue bowl instead of a pink one, while Love screamed and you felt your patience stretching thinner and thinner.
"Can we call Daddy?" Lake asked from where she was playing with blocks on the carpet.
"Daddy's working, sweetheart. He'll be home soon."
Soon felt relative when you were running on three hours of sleep and your last proper meal had been whatever you'd managed to grab from the pantry yesterday.
Carmen appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene with practiced eyes. "Want me to take her for a walk? Sometimes fresh air helps."
"I can manage," you said automatically, then caught yourself. "I mean, that's very kind, but she's probably just hungry again."
But when you tried to nurse Love, she latched for barely a minute before pulling away, crying harder. Your supply had been inconsistent all week, despite the supplements Linda had suggested, despite drinking enough water to float a boat.
"Y/N," Carmen said gently. "Maybe just a small bottle? To take the edge off?"
The suggestion hit like a physical blow. "She doesn't need formula."
"It's not about need, love. It's about making things easier—"
"I said no." The words came out harsher than you'd intended, sharp enough that Leia looked up from her coloring with wide eyes.
Carmen's expression shifted to something like concern. "Alright. Of course. You know what's best."
The silence that followed was heavy with things unsaid. Love continued crying in your arms, and you continued bouncing her with increasing desperation, feeling Carmen's worried gaze on your back.
"I just need a minute," you said finally, your voice cracking slightly on the words.
You handed Love to Carmen before you could think too hard about it and walked quickly from the room, ignoring Carmen calling your name softly behind you.
The pantry was becoming a habit.
This time you didn't even bother with the pretense of getting a snack. You just sank onto the floor between shelves of tinned goods and let yourself cry.
Quietly, because the girls were just down the hall. Quietly, because Carmen and Linda were trying to help and didn't deserve to deal with your breakdown. Quietly, because Lewis Hamilton's wife didn't fall apart in pantries over feeding schedules and fussy babies.
Your phone buzzed with a text from Lewis: Missing you girls. How's everyone doing?
You stared at the message for a long time, then typed back: All good here. Love you.
Because what else could you say? That you felt like you were drowning? That you couldn't figure out why this time felt so much harder? That you were hiding in a pantry crying over baby formula like it was a personal failure?
Lewis was living his dream, surrounded by the excitement of his new team, and you were going to tell him his wife couldn't handle what millions of women did every day?
You wiped your eyes, stood up, and straightened your shoulders.
When you opened the pantry door, Carmen was waiting with Love, now quiet in her arms.
"Feeling better?" Carmen asked softly.
"Much," you said, reaching for Love. "Thank you."
Carmen studied your face for a moment longer, then nodded. "I'm going to start dinner. Why don't you rest with the baby for a bit?"
"I should help—"
"You should rest," Carmen said firmly. "Doctor's orders."
You wanted to argue, but Love was finally peaceful in your arms, and the thought of sitting down for even ten minutes felt like a luxury you couldn't refuse.
Lewis came home on a Tuesday night, tired but glowing with excitement about Maranello.
You met him at the door with Love in your arms, Leia and Lake bouncing around his legs like puppies as he hugged you carefully, mindful of the baby between you.
"How are my girls?" he asked, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gently taking Love. "And how's my littlest girl?"
"She's been good today," you said, which was mostly true. "Slept for three hours straight this afternoon."
What you didn't mention was that you'd spent those three hours frantically cleaning the house, responding to emails about Mission 44, and trying to pump milk with increasingly frustrating results.
"Daddy, Daddy, we learned a new song!" Leia announced. "About baby sharks!"
"Oh no," Lewis said with mock horror. "Not the baby shark song."
"Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo," Lake began singing, and Lewis winced dramatically while you laughed despite your exhaustion.
This was good. This was normal. Family chaos and silly songs and Lewis making everything feel lighter just by being here.
"How was Brackley?" you asked later, after the girls were in bed and you were both on the couch, Love finally settled in her bassinet.
"Emotional," Lewis admitted. "Lot of tears. But good tears, you know? Like, grateful tears."
"I saw the photos. Everyone looked so proud."
"They are. I am." He reached for your hand. "Feels like the end of one chapter and the beginning of something incredible."
"Ferrari's lucky to have you."
"Think so?" Lewis turned to study your face. "You've been quiet since I got home. Everything okay?"
The question you'd been dreading. Because everything wasn't okay, but you couldn't figure out how to explain that without sounding ungrateful or dramatic or weak.
"Just tired," you said. "Love's been a bit fussy, and the girls are excited about Lake's birthday coming up."
"Speaking of which," Lewis said, his face lighting up. "I was thinking we could do something special this year. Since it's my birthday too, and Love's here now..."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Zoo party. In LA. Rent out a section, get a cake shaped like a giraffe, let the kids run wild." Lewis was already planning, you could see it in his eyes. "What do you think?"
The thought of managing a party with dozens of kids while dealing with a fussy newborn made your stomach clench with anxiety. But Lewis looked so excited, and Lake would love it.
"Sounds perfect," you said.
Lewis squeezed your hand. "You sure? You look a bit overwhelmed."
"I'm fine," you said automatically. "Just thinking about logistics."
"We'll have plenty of help. My mum, Linda, probably half the crew will want to come celebrate." Lewis leaned over to kiss your cheek. "You don't have to worry about everything, baby. Let other people help."
You nodded, even though the idea of letting other people see you struggle felt impossible. Lewis Hamilton's wife had her shit together. Lewis Hamilton's wife could handle a zoo party and a newborn and two toddlers without breaking a sweat.
Even if that wasn't remotely true.
yourusername posted on your story 16 hours ago!
IG story comments:
lewisfantillidie: 🍼👶🏾
ferraripilots: lewis in daddy mode always gets me 😭 😭 😭
fencer: my nieces!!!
⤷ yourusername replied to fencer 🥺🥺
a few weeks later....
The Los Angeles Zoo was chaos in the best possible way.
Kids ran everywhere, hopped up on sugar and excitement, while parents chased after them with varying degrees of energy. You'd rented out the children's zoo section, complete with petting areas and a private party pavilion decorated in jungle themes.
Lake was in heaven, toddling around in her birthday dress with a crown that kept sliding over her eyes. Leia had appointed herself tour guide, dragging anyone who would listen to see the goats and sheep.
And Love... Love was having one of her difficult days.
She'd been crying on and off since you'd arrived, despite being fed and changed and rocked. Now she was working herself into the kind of red-faced wail that made other parents look over with sympathy and judgment in equal measure.
"Hey, sweetheart," you murmured, bouncing her gently as you stood near the party table. "What's wrong, hmm? What do you need?"
Love's response was to cry harder.
You tried nursing her, but again she latched for barely a minute before pulling away in frustration. Your supply had been particularly low all week, despite everything you'd tried. The pump sat at home like an accusation, producing less and less each day.
"Maybe she's overstimulated?" suggested one of the other mums, whose daughter was Lake's age.
"Maybe," you agreed, though you'd tried taking Love somewhere quiet an hour ago with no success.
Across the party area, you could see Lewis laughing with a group of kids as they fed the goats. He looked relaxed and happy, reverberating with his own big 4-0 magic, fully present in a way you envied. When was the last time you'd felt fully present anywhere?
Love's crying escalated, that particular pitch that made your back teeth ache and your anxiety spike. Other parents were definitely looking now, and you felt heat creep up your neck.
"Come on, baby," you whispered desperately. "Please, just... please stop crying."
But she didn't stop. If anything, she got louder, and you felt your composure starting to crack in the way that meant you were about to cry too.
"Y/N?" Lewis appeared at your elbow, having crossed the party area in quick strides. "Everything okay?"
"She won't stop crying," you said, and your voice came out more shaky than you'd intended. "I've tried everything. She was just fed, she's clean, I don't know what she wants."
"Here," Lewis said, reaching for Love. "Let me try."
You should have been grateful for the help. Instead, something sharp and defensive flared in your chest.
"I've got it," you said, stepping back slightly.
"Baby, you look exhausted. Just let me—"
"I said I've got it." The words came out rougher than you'd meant, loud enough that a few nearby parents glanced over.
Lewis's expression shifted to something like concern. "Y/N, it's okay to need help."
"I don't need help," you said, even as Love's cries reached a new decibel level. "I can handle my own daughter."
But even as you said it, you felt yourself starting to shake. Your chest was tight, your breathing shallow, and Love's crying was drilling into your skull like a physical pain.
Lewis stepped closer, his voice gentler. "Hey. Look at me."
You met his eyes reluctantly, and whatever he saw there made his expression soften completely.
"Take her," you said suddenly, practically shoving Love into his arms. "Just... take her for a minute."
Lewis accepted Love smoothly, immediately shifting into the rocking motion that somehow always worked for him. "Of course. Take a break."
"I can't take a break," you said, but you were already backing away from them. "I have to cut the cake, and the party bags aren't ready, and—"
"Y/N." Lewis's voice was firm but not harsh. "Take a walk. Please, baby."
You opened your mouth to argue, to insist you were fine, but the words stuck in your throat.
"Go get some ice cream," Lewis said, his eyes kind but unyielding. "I've got the girls."
Something in his tone broke through your defenses. Maybe it was the way he said it like it wasn't a request. Maybe it was the fact that Love had already started to quiet in his arms. Maybe it was just that you were so tired you couldn't fight anymore.
"Okay," you whispered. "Just for a few minutes."
"Take your time."
You walked away on unsteady legs, past the party chaos and toward the ice cream cart near the main path. Your hands were shaking as you ordered a vanilla cone, and you had to blink back tears as you paid.
Finding an empty bench, you sank down and pulled out your phone while taking mechanical bites of ice cream you couldn't taste.
The first blog post that came up made your stomach drop.
Lewis Hamilton's Wife Shows Post-Baby Body in L.A.
The photos were candid shots – you holding Love, looking exhausted and overwhelmed. Your body in the flowy dress you'd chosen specifically to hide how soft you still were around the middle. The comments were brutal:
She used to be so fit
Looks like she's given up trying
Third baby really did a number on her
Remember when she was hot?
You scrolled through them like self-harm, each comment landing like a physical blow. This was what people saw when they looked at you – not a mother trying her best, but a woman who'd let herself go. Who wasn't bouncing back fast enough. Who wasn't good enough anymore.
You finished the ice cream cone in three large bites, barely chewing, just needing something to fill the hollow ache in your chest. Then you wiped your mouth, dried your eyes, and stood up.
Time to get back to the party. Time to smile and cut the cake and pretend everything was fine.
Love's one-month checkup fell on a rainy L.A. afternoon.
Dr. Patel was kind and thorough, weighing Love and checking her reflexes while you sat in the chair beside the examination table, trying to look like you had everything under control.
"She's gaining weight beautifully," Dr. Patel said, making notes on her chart. "How are you feeling about feeding?"
"Good," you said automatically. "We're getting into a rhythm."
It wasn't entirely a lie. You and Love had found a routine of sorts, even if it involved more formula supplementation than you'd wanted to admit. Your milk supply had continued to dwindle despite every intervention you'd tried.
"And how are you doing, Y/N?" Dr. Patel asked, setting down her pen and really looking at you. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," you said. "Tired, but that's normal with a newborn."
Dr. Patel nodded, but her expression remained attentive. "Any concerns? Anxiety? Mood changes?"
Something in her tone made you shift uncomfortably in your chair. "Nothing unusual. Just the normal adjustment period."
"Mmm." Dr. Patel was quiet for a moment, studying your face with the kind of attention that made you want to fidget. "Y/N, are you familiar with the term 'baby blues'?"
Your back straightened automatically. "It's just stress. A lot is happening right now – Lewis is starting with Ferrari, we have three kids, it's busy."
"Of course. But sometimes what feels like stress can be something more. Postpartum depression affects many women, especially after multiple pregnancies in a short time." Dr. Patel's voice was gentle but persistent. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"I don't have postpartum depression," you said quickly. "I'm just tired. And adjusting. It's completely normal."
Dr. Patel nodded, but she was reaching into her desk drawer. "I'm going to give you some information, just in case. And the contact for a therapist who specializes in postpartum mental health."
She held out a card with a woman's name and phone number printed in elegant script. You took it reflexively, then immediately wanted to hand it back.
"I don't need this," you said.
"Maybe not. But having the information doesn't hurt." Dr. Patel's smile was understanding. "Y/N, there's no prize for struggling alone. If you were diabetic, you'd take insulin. If you had a broken arm, you'd wear a cast. Mental health is just health."
You nodded and tucked the card into your purse, knowing you'd probably throw it away the moment you got home. Because you didn't have postpartum depression. You had a new baby and two toddlers and a husband starting the biggest career change of his life.
You just needed to try harder.
yourusername posted on your story 10 hours ago!
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Colorado was a winter wonderland.
Snow blanketed the mountains around the house, turning everything soft and pristine. The girls were beside themselves with excitement, having spent the morning building snowmen with Lewis's parents while you caught up on sleep.
For the first time in weeks, you felt something like peace.
"Mummy, look what we made!" Leia called from outside, where she and Lake had constructed what appeared to be a snow family, complete with stick arms and carrot noses.
"It's beautiful, sweetheart," you called back through the window, Love content in your arms for once.
Your milk supply had finally stabilized, helped by the rest and reduced stress. Love had settled into something resembling a routine. You'd even managed to do yoga that morning for the first time since her birth.
Maybe Dr. Patel had been wrong. Maybe it really had just been stress and exhaustion. Maybe you were finally getting your groove back.
"How are you feeling?" Lewis asked, appearing in the kitchen with rosy cheeks and snow in his hair.
"Good," you said, and meant it. "Really good. Like myself again."
Lewis smiled, the kind of smile that crinkled his eyes. "I can see it. You look... lighter."
"I feel lighter. I think I was just overwhelmed with everything happening at once. But we're finding our rhythm."
"Good." Lewis pulled you closer, careful not to disturb Love. "Because I have an idea."
"What kind of idea?"
"Aspen. Just you and me, for the weekend. Mum and Dad can watch the girls, and we can just... reconnect."
The suggestion sent a flutter of anxiety through your chest. "I don't know if I should leave Love. She's still so little."
"She'll be fine with Mum and Linda. They raised kids, remember?" Lewis's voice was gentle but persuasive. "When's the last time we had time just for us?"
You couldn't remember. Between Love's birth and Lewis's farewell tour and the constant demands of daily life, you and Lewis had barely had a proper conversation in weeks, let alone time alone together.
"What about her feeding schedule?" you asked.
"We've got enough pumped milk to last the weekend. And if not, formula won't kill her." Lewis studied your face. "Baby, when's the last time you did something just for you?"
The question hit harder than it should have. You couldn't remember that either.
"Okay," you said finally. "But just one night."
"Two nights," Lewis negotiated. "I already booked us somewhere special."
Despite your lingering anxiety, you felt a smile tug at your lips. "You were pretty confident I'd say yes."
"I was hopeful." Lewis kissed your forehead. "You deserve to be taken care of, Y/N. Let me take care of you."
The words settled something in your chest you hadn't realized was wound tight. When was the last time someone had taken care of you instead of the other way around?
"Okay," you said again, more firmly this time. "Two nights."
Lewis's smile was radiant. "I'm going to spoil you rotten."
"I'm holding you to that."
yourusername and 2 others • Bing Crosby's “Winter Wonderland”
liked by lewishamilton, scuderiaferrari, fencer, f1, britishvogue, and others
The next morning arrived with reluctant goodbyes and detailed instructions.
You stood in the kitchen, Love sleeping peacefully in Carmen's arms, while you rattled off feeding schedules and nap times with the intensity of a military briefing that your retired Army commander father would be proud of.
"And she likes to be swaddled tight for sleep, but not too tight around her hips. And if she gets fussy after eating, sometimes holding her upright for ten minutes helps. Oh, and the white noise machine—"
"Y/N, love," Linda interrupted gently, a knowing smile on her face. "We've done this before, remember? We raised kids of our own."
"I know, I just—" You caught yourself mid-sentence, recognizing the spiral for what it was. "Sorry. I'm being ridiculous."
"You're being a mum," Carmen said warmly, adjusting Love in her arms with practiced ease. "But we've got this. Three kids, including one baby? We could do this in our sleep."
Lewis appeared in the doorway with your weekend bag, looking unfairly handsome in his ski jacket and that easy smile that still made your stomach flutter.
"Ready, beautiful?"
You looked around the kitchen one more time – Leia and Lake happily eating pancakes, Love content in Carmen's arms, Linda already planning activities for the weekend. Everything was under control.
So why did leaving feel like jumping off a cliff?
"I guess," you said, then immediately felt guilty for not sounding more excited.
Lewis must have caught your hesitation because he crossed the kitchen to where you stood, his hands settling on your shoulders.
"We can stay if you want," he said quietly. "If you're not ready."
Part of you wanted to take the out. To say you weren't ready, that Love was too young, that you needed to be here. But Lewis was looking at you with such gentle understanding, and you realized this wasn't just about what you needed – it was about what you both needed.
"No," you said more firmly. "I want to go. I need to go."
"You sure?"
Instead of answering, you kissed him – soft and quick, but real. "I'm sure."
The drive to Aspen was stunning, winding through snow-covered mountains that looked like something from a postcard. Lewis took the Range Rover for the weekend, and you found yourself actually relaxing as the Colorado landscape rolled past the windows.
"Feel that?" Lewis asked as you curved around another mountain bend.
"What?"
"Your shoulders. They're not up around your ears anymore."
You rolled your shoulders experimentally, surprised to realize he was right. "Huh. I didn't even notice."
"You've been carrying tension like that for weeks," Lewis said, reaching over to squeeze your thigh. "I was starting to worry you'd given yourself a permanent crick."
"I've been stressed," you admitted. "About everything. Love, the girls, your Ferrari move, just... everything."
"I know. That's why we're doing this." Lewis's voice was warm. "When's the last time you did something just for you?"
The question hit you harder than it should have. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done anything that wasn't related to the kids or Lewis's career or managing the household. Even the yoga classes you used to love had been sacrificed to make time for everything else.
"I can't remember," you said quietly.
"Exactly. So this weekend is about you. About us. About remembering who we are when we're not just Mummy and Daddy."
The idea was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Who were you when you weren't taking care of someone else? You weren't sure you remembered.
The Aspen resort was a winter fairy tale.
Your suite had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking snow-covered peaks, a fireplace that crackled invitingly, and a bathroom bigger than most bedrooms. Lewis had arranged everything – champagne chilling in ice, rose petals scattered across the bed, candles flickering on every surface.
"This is incredible," you breathed.
"Only the best for my wife," he said, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. "You deserve to be spoiled."
The word 'spoiled' made something tighten in your chest. You weren't used to being spoiled anymore. You were used to doing the spoiling – making sure everyone else was comfortable and happy and taken care of.
"I don't need all this," you said, though you didn't pull away from his embrace.
"I know you don't need it. That's not the point." Lewis pressed a kiss to your temple. "The point is that you deserve it. That you deserve to feel special and beautiful and taken care of. This weekend, I want you to remember what it feels like to be Y/N. Not Love's mum or Leia and Lake's mum or my wife. Just Y/N." His grip tightened around your waist. "Think you can do that?"
The request felt impossible and necessary in equal measure. "I can try."
"That's all I ask."
The dinner reservation was at an intimate restaurant tucked into the mountainside. You found yourself actually tasting your food for the first time in months, engaging in conversation that didn't revolve around feeding schedules or sleep routines.
"So Ferrari wants me in Maranello at the end of the month," Lewis said over dessert. "Full testing program, meeting the team."
"That's exciting," you said, though the thought of him leaving again made your chest tight.
"Come with me. Bring the girls. The kids could practice their Italian." Lewis reached across the table. "I want you there for this."
The logistics felt overwhelming immediately. "Lewis, Love is barely two months old. Traveling with three kids so much..."
"We'd have help. The team would arrange everything." Lewis's voice was gentle but persuasive. "It's a big moment. I want my family there."
You wanted to say yes. Part of you desperately wanted to be there for Lewis's first steps with Ferrari. But the thought of managing three kids in a foreign country while still feeling like you were barely managing at home felt impossible.
"Let me think about it," you said.
Lewis nodded, though you caught the flash of disappointment. "Of course. Whatever you're comfortable with."
But there was pressure, wasn't there? The pressure to be the supportive wife, to make everything work, to say yes to adventures because that's what Lewis Hamilton's wife did.
The conversation moved on, but something had shifted. You could feel Lewis watching you more carefully, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
Back in the suite, Lewis built up the fire while you changed into silk pajamas you'd packed but never wore at home. They felt too delicate for real life, too impractical for the constant demands of motherhood.
"Better?" Lewis asked as you settled on the couch beside him.
"Much." You curled against his side, feeling your shoulders drop for the first time in weeks.
You watched the flames dance in comfortable silence, Lewis's arms around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. This was nice. This was what you'd been missing – just being together without the constant demands of everything else.
"Y/N," Lewis said quietly.
"Mmm?"
"Are you happy?"
The question caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"
"I mean are you happy? Really happy, not just getting through each day." Lewis shifted so he could see your face. "Because lately you seem like you're just... surviving."
The word hit like a physical blow because it was so accurate. You had been surviving – checking off tasks, managing crises, making it through each day. But happiness? That felt like something that happened to other people.
"I'm fine," you said automatically.
"You keep saying that. But I'm starting to wonder if you even remember what fine feels like."
Something cracked in your chest at his words. Because he was right – you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt genuinely okay, let alone happy.
"I love our family," you said instead of answering directly. "I love you, I love the girls."
"I know you do. That's not what I'm asking." Lewis's voice was gentle but persistent. "I'm asking about you. How are you doing?"
The tears came without warning, hot and sudden. "I don't know."
Lewis pulled you closer immediately. "Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?"
"I don't know," you repeated, and your voice broke on the words. "I can't tell the difference anymore between being tired and being sad."
"Oh, baby." Lewis's arms tightened around you. "How long have you been feeling like this?"
"Since Love was born. Maybe before." The words spilled out now that you'd started. "Everyone keeps asking if I'm okay, and I keep saying yes because I should be okay. I have everything. Beautiful family, husband I adore, healthy kids. What do I have to be sad about?"
"You don't need a reason," Lewis said firmly. "Your body's been through massive changes. You're exhausted and overwhelmed. Of course you're having a hard time."
"But I should be better at this by now. This is my third baby."
"Says who?"
The question stopped you short. "Says... everyone? I'm not a first-time mum. I should know what I'm doing."
"Every baby is different. Every recovery is different." Lewis's voice was getting firmer. "You're not superhuman, Y/N."
"Sometimes I feel like I need to be." The admission felt dangerous. "Being your wife comes with expectations. I'm supposed to have it all together."
"Not from me you don't."
"From everyone else. The media, the fans, even our families sometimes." Your voice was shaking now. "They watch everything – how I look, how I parent, how I support you. And I feel like I'm failing at all of it."
"You're not failing at anything."
"I am though. I can barely keep up with the kids. I'm snapping at people who are trying to help. I hide in pantries to cry." The confession slipped out before you could stop it.
Lewis went very still. "You hide in pantries to cry?"
Heat flooded your face. "It's nothing. I just sometimes need a minute alone."
"That's not nothing, Y/N." Lewis's voice was gentle but concerned. "How long has this been going on?"
"It's just stress. New baby stress. It's normal."
"Is it?" Lewis shifted so he could see your face fully. "Baby, look at me."
Reluctantly, you met his eyes. The concern there made your chest tight.
"Don't do that," he said softly.
"Do what?"
"Don't minimize what you just told me. Don't pretend it's fine when you're clearly struggling."
"I'm not struggling." But your voice cracked on the words.
"You're crying in a mountain resort telling me you hide in pantries. That's not normal adjustment." Lewis cupped your face gently. "That sounds like you need help."
"I don't need therapy."
Lewis blinked. "I didn't say therapy."
"Didn't you?" But even as you said it, you realized he hadn't. Your mind had jumped there defensively.
"Although," Lewis continued carefully, "would that be such a terrible thing? If talking to someone helped?"
"I can talk to you."
"And I'm grateful for that. But baby, I'm not objective about this. I love you too much to see clearly sometimes." Lewis's thumb brushed away a tear. "I just want you to be okay. Really okay."
"I am okay," you said weakly.
"Are you?"
The question hung between you, heavy with truth you didn't want to face. Were you okay? You loved your family fiercely, but happiness felt like a luxury you couldn't afford. Joy felt like something that happened to other people.
"I don't know," you whispered finally.
"That's okay. Not knowing is okay." Lewis pulled you closer. "But hiding it isn't helping anyone."
You cried then, months of held-back emotion spilling over. Lewis held you through it, not trying to fix anything, just being there while you fell apart.
"I'm scared," you admitted when the tears slowed.
"Of what?"
"Of admitting I need help. Of people thinking I can't handle being your wife." Your voice was small. "Of you realizing I'm not as strong as you thought."
"Y/N, asking for help doesn't make you weak. It makes you brave." Lewis's voice was firm. "And anyone who thinks less of you for taking care of yourself isn't worth worrying about."
"But what if—"
"What if nothing." Lewis tilted your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. "I fell in love with you because you're real and honest and brave. Not because you're perfect."
The words settled something in your chest that had been wound tight for months.
"I found the card," Lewis said quietly.
Your blood went cold. "What card?"
"The therapist referral. It was in your jacket pocket when I was packing."
Defensive anger flared. "You were going through my pockets?"
"I was packing your things for this trip. I wasn't snooping." Lewis's voice remained calm. "But I found it. How long have you been carrying it around?"
"It doesn't matter. I don't need it."
"Maybe you do. Maybe we both do." Lewis's hands framed your face. "There's nothing wrong with getting help, baby."
"There's nothing wrong with me," you said, but your voice shook.
"I didn't say there was. I said maybe we could use some support figuring this out."
You wanted to argue, to insist you were fine, but sitting here in Lewis's arms with tears still wet on your cheeks, the pretense felt exhausting.
"You think I'm broken," you whispered.
"I think you're a person going through something hard who deserves support." Lewis's voice was soft but sure. "That's not broken. That's human."
"I don't want to be weak."
"Taking care of yourself isn't weak. It's the strongest thing you can do."
You cried again, quieter this time, Lewis holding you steady while your world rearranged itself around this new possibility – that maybe you didn't have to carry everything alone.
"Okay," you said finally.
"Okay?"
"I'll call her."
Lewis's smile was soft with relief. "Good. And in the meantime, we're going to figure out how to get you more support at home."
"I don't know how to let people help differently than I would do things."
"We'll work on that too." Lewis pressed a kiss to your forehead. "One step at a time."
summary ➜ your instagram account is private, until it suddenly isn't.
ynusername
liked by trentarnold66, jobebellingham and 98 others.
ynusername from mykonos, with love.💌
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denisebellingham: give my angel baby a kiss from grandma!🩷 - liked by author
yourbestfriend: tell that man to put a shirt on, nobody's tryna see his ribs💀
↳ judebellingham: you could never just let me live in peace😒
yourcousin: looking that good is illegal in at least seven countries
↳ ynusername: ik, they almost wouldn't let us through customs🫣
aurelientchm: my goddaughter is growing up too fast!!😤
↳ camavinga: there's only one godfather. stop this.
↳ vinijr: yeah and we all know it's me. y/n's just taking too long to announce it officially
↳ rodrygogoes: 🤨
ynusername
liked by brahim, sancho and 77 others.
ynusername find us in a flower field💐🌻🌷🌼🌺
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yourbestfriend: your life is quite literally a pinterest board - liked by author
yourcousin: y/n girl your man's fine af😢
↳ yourcousin2: fr. like, my mouth is watering all of a sudden
↳ ynusername: watch me block both of you😭
tolami_benson: my favourite little family😫💞 - liked by author
yoursister: post some cute shit like this again and i'm reporting your account
↳ ynusername: hating from outside the club is crazy
ynusername
liked by trentarnold66, bukayosaka and 89 others.
ynusername la vie est belle. a week in the south of france🌊☀️🐚🌴🫧
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judebellingham: best week with my best girls❤️ - liked by author
jobebellingham: i see a suspicious lack of my niece's face in these photos
↳ ynusername: she's camera shy (like someone i know👀)
yourbrother: pls keep the pda for private viewing only🤢
nonzinoo10: when's the wedding?
↳ ynusername: let's slow down.
yoursister: okay, we get it. y’all have a cute baby. y’all are in love, and y’all went to france. pls give us a break
↳ camavinga: you wish that was you huh?💀
↳ yoursister: more than u know sksjsj😭😭😭
it wasn't like you meant for any of it to happen.
you'd been careful, fiercely careful even, to keep your life tucked away from all that came with dating jude. he'd made his decision to protect his private life, especially when you two found out you were having a baby, and you were more than fine with that. he always said he didn't want to be one of those guys who treated his family like a public exhibit, and you had always appreciated that about him.
you'd watched enough of his life get dissected online—his every game, every interview, every faint slip of emotion. the press and fans, some more intense than others, had opinions on everything about him. and when your daughter was born, the stakes got higher. both of you were clear about it: no one was going to make your baby girl feel like she owed the world anything.
so your instagram account stayed small and anonymous. a little private bubble where you shared pieces of your life that no one outside your tight-knit circle got to see. soft images of her little fingers wrapped around jude's thumb, her cheeks flushed as she ran around in your back yard, her face lighting up at the museum, where every artefact seemed like the most exciting discovery of her three-year-old life. and your people—your families, jude's teammates, your own friends—would find their way into the comments, joking, saying how she looked more and more like her dad every day.
on other platforms, you never hinted at anything. especially not on twitter. no full names, no tags—just the subtle pictures of toys spread across the floor, or a pair of tiny sneakers next to his, just a few sizes too small. to the rest of the world, you were just a proud mom with a little girl who, based on your twitter captions, had an amazing dad who somehow never made it into your feed.
and it had worked.
for three years, you and jude had managed to stay under the radar. no pap shots, no tabloids digging into your lives, just peace. the kind of peace you never realised you'd treasure this much. until it slipped through your fingers.
it was a friday night. jude had a game the next day, so he'd fallen asleep early, his body draped protectively around you, one arm resting over the spot where your daughter would normally wiggle in between you both sometime in the middle of the night. it was your nightly routine to scroll through instagram before bed, replying to the handful of comments on your posts, maybe resharing an old memory for your close friends.
tonight, you were posting a small video you'd taken at the park that day. it was nothing special, just jude holding your daughter's hand as she walked across the grass, her tiny steps wobbly. you didn't write much for the caption, just something simple like, "my favourite view."
then, you logged off, tossed your phone to the side, and nestled into bed.
but by morning, you could tell something was wrong.
your phone was buzzing nonstop, lighting up in rapid flashes that instantly made your stomach drop. instinctively, you reached for it, feeling jude shift beside you as you did. unlocking it, you were met with an avalanche of notifications: messages, follows, likes—all from accounts you didn't recognise. your private account, the one with less than a hundred followers last night, had thousands of notifications.
you sat up, eyes wide as you scrolled through. every photo was filled with comments from strangers, fans, people you'd never seen before.
ynusername
liked by fedevalverde, gioreyna and 336 842 others.
ynusername two sides of the same coin.🤍
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username: ??
username: i need answers. immediately.
username: a BABY? i'm speechless.
username: who are you and why are there so many photos of jude on your page???
username: i thought i knew everything about him... who is she?? is she HIS??😭
username: this is how i find out he has a family???
username: this feels like a fever dream, no way jude’s been a dad this whole time
it felt like the ground dropped out beneath you.
your fingers shook as you clicked through your account settings, scrambling to make it private again, but it felt pointless—like shutting the door on an already broken window. by the time jude woke up, stretching in that lazy way he did, he glanced over at you with his usual sleepy smile, but the sight of you half in tears froze it on his face.
"hey, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep, but you could see him snap to attention as you tried to explain what happened, words tumbling out so fast you barely made sense.
he listened, brow creased as his hand found yours, steadying it between his palms. "it's okay, baby," he said softly, his voice calm, but you could see the way he swallowed, how he looked down and let out a long breath, processing.
he knew exactly what this meant; you both did. the privacy you'd guarded so fiercely for three years was suddenly slipping away, and it was only a matter of time before the chaos started—the endless questions, the ruthless assumptions.
and sure enough, it began.
you'd gone private again, but it didn't matter; people had reposted screenshots, scrutinising every photo you'd shared. the internet was relentless, obsessed with details you'd never imagined anyone would care about. the comments spilled over with speculation, twitter threads popping up with people wondering who you were, when you and jude had gotten together, if the little girl in your photos was his.
the weight of it was wearing you down, and jude could see it. it was easier for him; he'd grown up under the public eye, knew the feeling of being watched, scrutinised. but for you, it was different—suffocating, heartbreaking, to watch the life you'd built be picked apart and exposed. you felt like you were losing something sacred.
one night, he found you curled up on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your notifications, eyes distant and tired. he settled beside you, quiet at first, just holding you. then, in a soft voice, he broke the silence. "maybe it's time we tell them. officially."
you stared at him, surprised, a bit wary. "are you sure?" you asked, searching his face, because you certainly were not. "i mean, we don't have to, do we? we could just... maybe let it blow over?"
he shook his head slowly, a hint of a sad smile tugging at his lips. "they're already guessing, making up their own stories. and i don't want them turning you or our daughter into some mystery they feel entitled to solve." he paused, his hand gently brushing your cheek before resting on the back of your neck. "they already know pieces, love. if we do it our way, maybe we can control the narrative."
you nodded, because, yeah, he made sense. still, it did little to calm the anxiety swirling in your stomach. the idea of letting the world into this small, perfect life you'd built felt overwhelming. but jude had always been protective, and if he genuinely believed this was the right move, that it was time, maybe he was right.
the next morning, he posted on his own account. just a few pictures of the three of you. he didn't write much, just a simple, "my favourite girls.❤️” and that was it.
it didn't take long for his fans to fill up the comments, reactions as chaotic and intense as you'd expected. but in the middle of it all, there was kindness, too. supportive messages, people cheering on your little family, voices of love rising above the judgment—the love overshadowed the hate.
later that night, jude found you on the couch, your daughter dozing against your shoulder. he sat beside you, his arm curling around you both as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. the world might have been watching now, but here, together, none of that mattered.
all that mattered was the three of you.
──────────────────
judebellingham
liked by virgilvandijk, erling, and 4 275 936 others.
judebellingham my favourite girls.❤️
tagged: ynusername
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username: it should have been me is all i'm saying
username: not the little belligol arms, i CANNOT😭💗
davidbeckham: proper family man now.🤍
username: is anyone else irrationally mad right now or am i just too invested??
↳ username: yeah you definitely need to touch grass
aurelientchm: big love, bro.🤝🏽❤️
username: @ynusername can u fight?
username: everyone is putting in their opinions as if we know this man personally. at the end of the day, we're just fans. he doesn't owe us every detail of his life.🤷🏽♀️
username: do we get to know her name at least??
username: i can't even hate on it. she seems like a good mom, and their kid is adorable
⭐︎synopsis: pov your a chicken shop date (chickenshophostreader!) host and you've got a thing for a fine black man.
⭐︎a/n: my fist fic after years of simping on this man, hope you all like this and as always tell me what you think please!. i like the chicken shop host reader thing do you? lemme know🫶
Damson Idris was looking at the nugget in his hand like it had betrayed him.
“It’s… real enough,” you replied, trying not to grin as you ripped open yet another tiny ketchup packet. “Or at least, it was once. Probably. Somewhere.”
He chuckled, leaning back in the booth, head tilting as he studied you across the table. “You’re evil for this. I came here thinking I was gonna get wings and maybe a milkshake. Instead, I got mystery meat and judgement.”
“Did you think we were going to a real chicken shop?”
“Yes. You’re too good at this deadpan thing. It’s confusing. Disorienting.”
“Disorienting?”
He popped the nugget into his mouth. “Deeply.”
You tried not to laugh but failed, hiding it behind your straw as you slurped your drink. The camera guy shifted slightly in the background, and you glanced at him for the briefest second before returning your attention to Damson. He looked stupidly good today. All cheekbones and curls and a smile that could turn the lights on in a blackout.
“So,” you said, trying to stick to your mental script. “You’re in a film about racing.”
“Formula One,” he nodded, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I did all my own stunts.”
You blinked. “You drove the car?”
He smiled. “No. But I looked very serious while pretending to.”
You gave him a long, unimpressed blink. “Right. So, very method.”
“I tried,” he said, placing his hand on his chest. “I even went to a real track day. I was terrible. Someone’s nan overtook me. On foot.”
You snorted while he grinned at the sound, looking a little too pleased with himself.
“It’s weird,” you said, tapping your fingers on the edge of your tray. “Seeing you go from, like, gang drama to… tight suits and expensive cars.”
“You’ve been watching me, huh?”
You hesitated. “Maybe.”
He smiled wider. “I think that’s cute.”
You took a sip of your drink just to have something to do. “You think everything’s cute.”
“I don’t,” he said, looking you right in the eyes. “Only some things.”
Silence. Thick, awkward, and a little too heavy to blame on the chicken shop atmosphere.
You cleared your throat, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “So… are you single?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that part of the interview or are you just being nosy?”
“Little column A, little column B.”
He licked his bottom lip, eyes flicking to your mouth and back. “Yeah. I’m single.”
“Oh.”
“Why’d you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you weren’t expecting it.”
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You’re a movie star now. I figured you’d have, like, an entire roster of people fighting for your attention.”
“I’d rather have someone who likes mystery chicken and asks invasive questions.”
You smiled, slow and surprised. “You’re smooth.”
“I know,” he said, leaning back again. “But thank you for saying it.”
Another beat of silence. The camera kept rolling. The producer gave you a thumbs up from behind Damson’s shoulder, mouthing gold.
“So,” you said, twirling your straw. “Let’s talk romance. What’s your type?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Funny. Smart. Quick. Deadpan. Maybe hosts internet-famous YouTube shows in a chicken shop.”
You looked away, biting back a smile. “Sounds niche.”
“It is. That’s why I’m struggling.”
He was really doing this. Flirting. On camera. With you.
“Okay,” you said, straightening. “Important question. What would you do if we went on a date and I ordered more food than you?”
He blinked. “Is that a test?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d let you eat off my plate.”
You blinked, surprised. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly. “Even if you didn’t ask. I’d just slide the chips toward you. That’s love.”
You choked on a laugh. “Noted.”
“Next question.”
“Would you ever kiss someone on the first date?”
“Is that another test?”
“Just answer.”
He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Only if I liked them.”
You shifted in your seat. Your heart did a stupid little flutter. It felt weird, having this kind of moment surrounded by ketchup packets and greasy trays and harsh overhead lights. But Damson made it feel… golden. Sweet. Like he wasn’t playing a part.
“I’ve never had someone flirt with me this much on here,” you admitted.
“Maybe they didn’t know what they were missing.”
“That’s smooth too.”
“I told you I’m good.”
“Okay. Final round. You get one last question.”
He leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Be honest. If you weren’t the host, would you go on a real date with me?”
You blinked, caught off guard.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere nice.”
You swallowed, the air suddenly feeling too warm. “Yeah. I think I would.”
His smile went soft then, boyish and almost shy despite all the bravado. “Cool. I’d like that.”
The camera guy gave you a thumbs-up. The shoot was done. Technically.
But Damson didn’t move.
Neither did you.
You sat there, the tray between you cleared of everything except for one final unopened ketchup packet.
“So…” he said. “What do we do now?”
You tilted your head. “Well, I am off the clock.”
He stood, smoothing down his shirt. “Then I guess we don’t need the camera anymore.”
The producer waved at you from the corner. “We’re wrapped.”
Authors Note: Hey lovelies! Here is another Met Gala one-shot with Lewis. I absolutely bombed the exam I did today for a subject, so I think I’ll stick with ranking 2nd in Advanced English…Anyway hope you enjoy. Lots of love xx
Summary: When a rising starlet and Lewis Hamilton share a charged encounter at the Met Gala. One stolen night spirals into a whirlwind of intimacy, headlines, and the possibility of something real behind the glamour.
The Met Gala had always been a spectacle. But this year, it pulsed with something else. Intention.
The theme “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style” was already being heralded as one of the boldest and most meaningful in recent memory.
It wasn’t just fashion. It was reclamation. A symphony of threads and tailoring that spoke of history, joy, diaspora and resistance. Art. Identity. Legacy. This wasn’t a red carpet. It was a runway of remembrance.
And for you, it was your first time attending.
Not your first time being photographed, fame had wrapped itself around you quickly and unapologetically over the last two years.
Your debut album went platinum within months, it’s sound hailed as both sultry and sharp, a new voice shaped from old soul. Then came the film that earned you standing ovations from Cannes to TIFF, your name whispered like a secret the world had just learned to pronounce. You were no stranger to flashbulbs.
But the Met Gala was different. It didn’t care who had a box office hit. It didn’t need a Billboard number one. The Met asked for presence, for interpretation, for myth-making and tonight - you answered.
You arrived alone, by choice.
Your car pulled up to the entrance beneath a wave of glowing cameras, the hum of anticipation already thick in the air. Your stylist gave you one last nod as the door opened, and you stepped out. Planting your heels onto the plush carpet like you were anchoring a story that had waited generations to be told.
The media gasped around you.
You didn’t walk. You glided. Every inch of your obsidian velvet gown caught the light like liquid stone.
It was sculpted, with a high neckline and shoulders sharp enough to cast shadows. The sleeves tapered into long, almost glove like silhouettes and the skirt spilled behind you in organza waves - sheer in certain angles like smoke curling through keyholes. Tiny gold beads were hand sewn into the velvet in patterns that resembled constellations, though only those who knew would recognise them as symbols from African diasporic mythologies. Wisdom. Protection. Transformation.
You were both a woman and a monument. You knew it.
The cameras didn’t stop. They roared. Names were shouted. Flashbulbs erupted like lightning strikes against the buildings facade. You paused mid carpet perfectly and deliberately. You turned your head slightly, and gave them the look. The one they’d put on Vogue’s Instagram within seconds. The one that said, “I’m not here to be seen. I’m here to be remembered.”
And then. you felt it.
Not the flashes, not the crowd. Something else. A shift. Like gravity realigning.
You didn’t see him immediately. You felt him.
It was the kind of awareness that travels through skin before it reaches your eyes. A pull. A hum. Like your name was being whispered in a language you’d never heard, but somehow understood.
And when you turned slow, cautious, like you were afraid it might not be real - he was already watching you.
Lewis Hamilton.
He stood beneath the museum’s lights, mid pose just off centre in a halo of fashion editors and photographers. But he was still. Still in a way that made the rest of the world feel like it was moving too fast.
He wasn’t smiling. But his lips curved like he might. Just for you.
His look was lethal in its elegance. The bespoke cream suit by Wales Bonner hugged his frame like second skin, fluid in cut but firm in posture.
A poetic structure. Gold pins traced the lapel like medals of honor, each representing a Black British. His stack of rings glistened in the light, leaving a spark throughout the room. The chainlink detail around his collarbone caught the light just once as he shifted slightly. Subtle, powerful.
But it was the beret that made him dangerous.
Tucked over his dark braided bun with effortless defiance, it crowned him with quiet authority. He looked like a man who had studied revolution and then tailored it to fit.
And his eyes? They never left you.
For one suspended moment, time held its breath. The sound of voices blurred. The flashes faded to static. There were only two people in the museum’s grand entrance now and one unseen string tying them together across a sea of velvet and marble.
You didn’t look away.
Your chin lifted slightly, just enough to acknowledge him. Just enough to say, “I see you, too.”
His jaw shifted, a slight clench. Not tension, just focus. Like he was memorising you. Like he’d wait through a hundred other introductions just to reach yours.
And then, your cue came.
Your name was called by a nearby handler. The moment still thick with heat shimmered, stretched and finally broke as you walked toward the steps, the hem of your gown dragging galaxies behind you.
You felt his eyes follow.
Even as stylists gathered around him. Even as Anna Wintour herself passed nearby. He watched you ascend the carpet, like you were a prophecy walking into frame.
And for the rest of the night you felt it. Every glance across the exhibit floor. Every quiet step he took in the corner of your eye. The air between you never cooled.
It just waited, patiently for the moment it could ignite.
The rest of the carpet blurred into motion and noise.
You posed, pivoted and smiled on instinct as if your body was moving like a trained rhythm. Your angles memorised from a hundred other carpets.
Yet tonight, every flash of the camera, every shouted question from the press or every click of a stiletto heel beside you felt muffled. Like the world had been draped in velvet too. You floated through the chaos and somewhere beneath it all, his presence still anchored you.
You didn’t have to look to know it, Lewis was still watching.
Across the carpet, he hadn’t moved much. Just a few steps, a brief handshake, the kind of pauses required by social expectation. But even in the blur of celebrity arrivals and camera flashes, the shift in his focus was obvious. Deliberate. Palpable.
"Over here, Lewis!" “Lewis, give us a smile!” “Look left! Look left!”
But he wasn’t really looking at them.
His gaze, unbothered by the frenzy around him kept finding you. Kept staying on you. There was no pretending otherwise.
And social media, as always had clocked it first.
@f1fashiondaily: Is it just us or is Lewis Hamilton absolutely mesmerised by [Y/N] tonight? 👀🔥 #MetGala2025
@celebwatcher: This year's Met Gala couple we didn’t know we needed??? Hamilton hasn’t stopped staring at her 😭
@vogueupdates: The velvet, the gaze, the tension. We’re witnessing something ICONIC unfold between Lewis Hamilton and [Y/N].
You stepped inside the museum with a final camera flash at your back and a steadying breath in your lungs. But his eyes, those warm steady eyes, followed you like a hawk.
Inside, the chaos softened.
Candlelight flickered from golden sconces and low arrangements of wildflowers in jewel tones. The museum air hummed with jazz and murmurs and the exhibit hall glowed with reverence. It felt holy, almost. A sanctum of style and ancestry.
You moved slowly, letting your fingers trail near but not quite touching, a hand embroidered kaftan displayed behind glass.
Everything in the exhibit was curated like poetry. Lewis’s touch as co-chair was everywhere. Each mannequin and spotlighted detail whispering something about roots, revolution and remembering.
You were lingering by a Zoot suit, its lapels embroidered with subtle resistance when you felt him again.
Not a sound. Not a brush of fabric. Just a change in the air behind you, warmth.
“That one was my grandfather’s era,” a voice said low and deep behind you. “He used to say that wearing a sharp suit was like putting on armor.”
You turned slowly.
Lewis Hamilton stood just behind you, close enough that you could see the gold threadwork gleaming along the edge of his collar. Close enough that your breath caught before you could stop it.
He was impossibly composed, yet somehow charged. Electricity in human form.
The soft lighting kissed the sharp cut of his jaw, the smooth cream of his tailored suit. That same gold Ghana pin gleamed on his lapel simple, potent. And his scent - spiced vetiver with something rich underneath, wrapped around you like silk smoke.
“Was he into fashion?” you asked, your voice quiet, but steady.
Lewis tilted his head. “He was into dignity. Suits were part of that. Velvet, especially said it looked like royalty if you wore it right.”
His eyes drifted over your dress, deliberate. A slow, admiring pass from collarbone to train. It wasn’t crude. It was reverent.
“He would’ve loved your gown,” Lewis said. “No question.”
You exhaled a small laugh, part surprise, part delight. “Is that a compliment from you, or from him?”
His grin was instant, slow and confident. “Both. But he’d have said it first.”
Something bloomed between you then, not quite flirtation. Something weightier. Deeper.
You turned back toward the exhibit, but he stayed beside you your steps falling into sync. He pointed out pieces with the casual ease of someone deeply involved but never showy. He told you about the designers, the silent icons and the Black tailors who shaped red carpets without ever stepping on one. His knowledge wasn’t performative, it was passionate.
“I’ve never seen someone wear history so casually,” you murmured, eyes still on a piece.
He looked at you, sharp and sudden.
“You’re doing the same,” he said.
The words wrapped around you with a softness that sank straight to your skin. They weren’t a line. They were recognition.
You tried to respond but found yourself tongue tied in a way you hadn’t been in years. So instead, you just walked. Letting the silence between you say what your words couldn’t.
Occasionally, a flash would break through from the corners of the room, photographers grabbing what they could. A few guests glanced over, murmuring as they passed.
But in the space you and Lewis had created, the rest of the world barely existed.
By the time dinner began and seats were assigned, you found yourselves separated. A table and two clusters of celebrities between you. But he found you across the room. Every time you lifted your head, his eyes were waiting.
It became a silent rhythm; Look. Find. Hold. Release.
Like a game. Or maybe a warning.
By dessert, you’d stopped trying to talk yourself out of it.
Later, as music swelled and guests began to migrate toward private afterparties, rooftop lounges or secret downtown clubs. You drifted toward the museum exit. The cool of the evening air was beginning to pull you back to earth. The night had been more than you expected. More than you were ready to let go of.
And then you heard him again.
“Leaving already?”
You turned, and he was there. Framed in shadow and golden hallway light. Hands tucked into the pockets of his cream trousers, his braided bun slightly tousled now beneath the soft dip of his beret. Jaw sharp. Gaze sharper.
You tilted your head. “Thinking about it.”
His eyes skimmed yours for a long moment, unreadable. Then -
“Come to mine instead.”
Your breath caught, not from surprise but from the calm certainty in his voice. There was no arrogance in the offer. Just the same quiet focus you’d seen in him all night.
“To…?”
He stepped a little closer. Not touching. Just near. “My suite. It’s quiet. No cameras. Better view. Champagne that doesn’t taste like regret.”
You raised a brow. “That your standard pitch to everyone tonight?”
His smirk was lazy as he tilted his head, knowing. “Just you.”
You should’ve said no. Should’ve laughed and shaken your head, disappeared into the waiting black car outside.
But instead, you stared at him.
At the way his eyes held yours like a promise. At the way the air between you had already decided.
Thoughts blurred into pulses, heat coiling low in your stomach, every glance from Lewis replaying like a highlight reel.
Your skin still burned from the way his hand had brushed your lower back exiting the Met. Or from the slow way his eyes had swept over you during dinner, like he hadn’t already memorised every inch.
Now, in the plush darkness of the SUV the silence between you pulsed with thick tension, magnetic and growing louder with every breath. The soft hum of the engine was the only sound until a curve in the road made your knees brush.
Neither of you moved.
He turned his head slightly, eyes catching yours in the shadow. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. There was something loaded in that look. A question. A promise.
When the car pulled into the private entrance of the hotel, it felt like crossing an invisible threshold.
The flashbulbs were gone. The red carpet miles behind you. Here, it was just shadows and soft light and the heavy thud of your heart echoing in your ears.
He held the elevator door with a hand pressed to the metal, letting you step in first. When he followed, the space felt smaller than it should have. Your back was to the mirrored wall, his broad frame taking up too much air. His scent of amber, smoke, something expensive wrapped around you.
Still, no words.
Just that look.
The doors opened with a soft chime.
The penthouse was warm and modern dark wood, creamy walls, floor to ceiling glass revealing a skyline full of flickering lights. Candles flickered along low tables, already lit by some thoughtful assistant. A single jazz record played softly in the background, the needle slipping through honeyed saxophone.
You stood at the window, arms folding in front of you needing a second to breathe. Your reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, gown still clinging to your frame, makeup still pristine. But inside? You felt undone already.
Behind you, you heard the pop of champagne.
Then his voice, low. “Here.”
You turned.
He was holding a glass out to you, the golden liquid catching the candlelight. You took it, fingers brushing, and the contact sent a flutter down your spine.
You sipped.
“I didn’t think you were the afterparty type,” he said, eyes not leaving your face.
“I’m not,” you answered honestly, lips brushing the rim of the glass. “But you’re not a party.”
His smile came slow, like honey spreading across warm toast. A smile with weight, and heat. “I like the way you say that.”
He stepped closer. Two feet between you. Then one.
“Tell me something real,” he said. “Just one honest thing.”
You didn’t even hesitate. “I don’t let people in like this. Not fast. Not ever.”
He nodded, gaze dropping briefly to your lips before lifting again. “Me neither.”
That look held. Lingering. Wanting.
You stepped into him, fingertips grazing the front of his jacket. The fabric was structured, precise, but beneath it was the steady rise and fall of his chest. “You looked” you murmured, fingers brushing the silk lapel, “unreal tonight.”
His hand found your waist. The heat of his palm burned through the velvet. “So did you. From the second I saw you.”
Then quieter, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud “I couldn’t stop watching you all night. You walked in and it was over.”
You didn’t say anything.
You just kissed him.
His lips met yours with a restraint that lasted all of three seconds. Then it gave. Like a dam breaking, like breath being held too long. His hand slid up your back, then into your hair, tilting your head just right. You moaned softly into his mouth, parting your lips, letting him in. The taste of him was warm, rich and darker, something distinctly Lewis.
When he pulled back slightly, your lips barely apart, you whispered, “Do you want me?”
He exhaled roughly. “I’ve wanted you since the second I saw you. Do you know how hard it was not to touch you all night?”
“Then touch me now.”
That was all it took.
He kissed you again, deeper now walking you backward slowly. You felt the edge of the window behind you. Cool glass against the backs of your arms but the rest of you was burning. His hands found the zipper of your gown. “Let me see you,” he said, voice thick.
You nodded.
He undid the dress with excruciating care. The zipper slid down your spine with a hiss. The velvet pooled at your feet. You stood in heels and delicate lingerie, soft blush rising to your cheeks but not from shyness. From power. Because of the way he looked at you.
Like you were the only thing in the world he wanted.
“Fuck,” he whispered, stepping back to take you in.
Then he was on you again, lifting you easily mouth at your throat, hands firm on your thighs. He carried you toward the bed with ease, laying you down onto the plush sheets like he was setting down something precious.
You reached for his jacket. “Your turn.”
He let you undress him piece by piece. Jacket, shirt, chain and belt. Each new inch of skin revealed made you ache. His body was lean and muscled, inked and golden under the candlelight. When you slid your hands down his chest, he made a sound - low, guttural.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured, lips trailing down your stomach, tongue tracing just under the edge of your bra.
His mouth found your breasts first kissing, teasing, worshiping with slow and deliberate attention. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers and the sound you made pulled a dark smile from him.
“More,” you whispered, arching into his touch.
His hand slid between your thighs, stroking you through the fabric of your lace underwear already soaked. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet,” he groaned, “and you’re this wet?”
“For you,” you gasped.
He kissed down, tongue finding your inner thigh teasing you until you whimpered. Then he slid your delicate underwear down with both hands and buried his face between your legs.
You cried out, thighs clenching around him.
He moaned into you, slow firm strokes of his tongue that had your back arching off the bed. He held you in place, one hand anchoring your hips while the other splayed over your stomach as he worked you open. You came against his mouth breathless and gasping, fingers in his braided hair with your hips trembling.
But he wasn’t finished.
He slid up your body again, kissing you deeply letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “I need to be inside you,” he rasped. “Now.”
“Yes. Please, yes.”
He entered you in one smooth aching thrust and you both froze for a second, the stretch, the fullness, the pressure of it all hitting at once. His forehead dropped to yours.
“You feel like heaven,” he murmured.
Then he began to move.
Slow at first. Deep. Intentional. Then faster, harder, matching your rhythm as you met each thrust with your own. Your name left his lips again and again, broken and reverent. His hands never stopped moving gripping your waist, your hip, your breast, your throat, his touch everywhere, like he needed to feel all of you at once.
When you came again, it was loud. Shaking. Almost overwhelmed.
He followed with a groan so deep it felt like it echoed in your chest.
You stayed wrapped around each other, trembling and sweat slick, his breath ragged against your collarbone. One arm held you close. The other stroked down your spine.
After a while, he tilted your chin up.
“That wasn’t just the gala,” he said, voice quieter now, eyes softer. “That was something starting.”
You brushed your thumb along his lower lip. “Feels like we’ve been waiting for this a long time.”
“Maybe we have.”
You curled into him. His arms pulled you closer like he had no plans of letting go.
Outside, the city glittered like a thousand unspoken promises. But inside, wrapped in his warmth was something rare.
It wasn’t the sun that woke you, it was warmth. The kind that wasn’t just under the blankets, but wrapped around you in the form of a body which was strong and still asleep beside you.
You blinked your eyes open to golden light filtering in through the tall windows. The city had softened overnight. No longer glittering with chaos just glowing. Quiet.
You turned your head.
Lewis lay on his side, one arm flung across your waist with his face buried against your shoulder. His braids were slightly tousled, one soft strand falling across his forehead. The sharp, regal lines of his face had softened in sleep. No cameras, no crowd, no mask. Just him.
Your chest swelled with something that almost hurt.
This was the realest he’d ever looked.
You shifted slightly, and his arm tightened around you instinctively, like his body already knew you belonged close.
“Don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “You’re warm.”
You smiled. “You’re clingy.”
“I’ll be clingy as hell if it means waking up to this.”
You turned to face him fully. His eyes opened slowly, warm brown still heavy with sleep but focused. On you.
“Hi,” you said, voice low.
He smiled, lazy and boyish. “Hi.”
A beat of silence passed, stretched by the weight of what last night meant. Neither of you had said it yet, but you both felt the shift. This wasn’t just a fling. This wasn’t a drunken mistake blurred by champagne and candlelight.
This was the start of something. And that realisation made the air feel sacred.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“I did,” you murmured. “Better than I have in a long time.”
“Good.” He traced a finger down your arm, eyes drinking you in like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “You looked unbelievable last night. But now? Like this?” He shook his head with a breathless laugh. “I think I’m in trouble.”
You leaned in, kissing his jaw gently. “You are.”
He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, your body draped across his chest. “I was scared it would feel different in the morning,” he confessed quietly. “Like the night would wear off, and I’d wake up and I don’t know. Panic.”
“Do you?”
“No,” he said. “I feel like I’m exactly where I should be.”
You were quiet for a moment, resting your chin on his chest, eyes on his. “That scares me, too.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “Because I wasn’t looking for this. But now that it’s here, I don’t want to pretend it’s not real.”
His fingers slipped under your chin, tilting your face toward him again. “Then don’t.”
He kissed you slow, morning sweet, lazy in the best way. It was a kiss that didn’t rush. A kiss that said we have time. We have space. We’re not running anymore.
When he pulled back, he smiled. “Stay today.”
“I have meetings - ”
He cut you off with another kiss. “Cancel them.”
You laughed against his mouth. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“I’ll make it worth it.” His hands slid under the sheet, finding your waist. His touch was soft, but promising. “Stay in bed with me a little longer.”
You bit your lip, already melting. “Just a little?”
His lips brushed your throat. “I’ll take what I can get.”
And so you stayed.
Wrapped in sheets and skin, exchanging stories and slow kisses, hands tangling under sunlight and soft murmurs. He told you about the gala the nerves, the weight of the night. You told him about how you almost didn’t go. How you weren’t supposed to fall for anyone.
And how quickly, he changed that.
At some point, he sat up to grab a room service menu, glasses sliding onto his nose. You didn’t think it was possible to fall harder until you saw him reading options aloud like he hadn’t just wrecked you twelve hours earlier.
You lounged across the bed in one of his shirts, watching him with a smile.
“I can feel you staring,” he said without looking up.
“Good,” you replied.
When breakfast arrived, you sat cross legged on the bed, eating pancakes and fruit while he fed you bites off his fork and wiped syrup from your lips with his thumb. At one point, your foot tangled with his under the tray and the shared look between you was all heat again.
“Careful,” he warned with a smirk. “I’m trying to behave.”
“Are you?”
“Trying. You’re making it hard.”
You laughed, and he pulled you into his lap, kissing you again. This time, deeper. Hungrier.
The plates were forgotten. The sheets shifted again.
And the day stretched on not in obligations or headlines, but in moments. In touches. In whispered confessions. In the kind of morning you don’t just remember, you relive in your mind a hundred times after.
Because it wasn’t just the night that changed everything.
It was the morning that proved it wasn’t just a dream.
By the time you stepped out of the penthouse elevator just past noon wearing sunglasses, Lewis’s jacket draped over your shoulders and yesterday’s heels in your hand. It had already begun.
Your phone notifications pinged. Then again. Then again.
A missed call from your manager. Three texts from your stylist. Dozens of notifications lighting up your lock screen like fireworks. You didn’t even need to unlock it before seeing the words
TRENDING #1: Lewis & [Y/N] — Met Gala’s Most Unexpected Couple
“Oh no,” you muttered.
Beside you, Lewis still cool, composed, but scanning his own screen with a growing furrow in his brow just hummed low in his throat. “Well,” he said. “So much for subtle.”
A black SUV waited outside the private entrance. Paparazzi hadn’t spotted you yet, but it felt like only a matter of time. You ducked into the car beside him, silence swelling between you like a held breath.
Inside, your phone kept lighting up. And you couldn’t look away anymore.
Your name was everywhere.
Photos from the Met Gala red carpet. Zoomed in screenshots of Lewis staring at you from across the steps. A slowed down clip of him offering his arm during the exhibit walk through. The shot of him standing too close as you gazed at a velvet zoot suit. Headlines screamed it -
“A New Power Couple? Lewis Hamilton Caught in Candid Moments with [Y/N]”
“Velvet, Stares, and That Kiss: Sources Claim Hamilton Left Gala With Rising Star”
“‘He’s Never Looked at Anyone Like That’ Fans React to Hamilton’s Rumored New Flame”
And then came the more…invasive ones.
A blurry, grainy shot taken from god knows where Lewis’s hand on your lower back, the hem of your dress peeking out as the two of you stepped into the penthouse elevator. Not scandalous. But intimate. Enough to set fire to the speculation.
“Jesus,” you whispered.
Lewis glanced over. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.” You leaned back into the leather seat, heart pounding in your throat. “It’s a lot.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I should’ve warned you.”
“It’s not your fault.” You looked down. “I just I wasn’t ready to be dissected like this.”
He reached over, took your hand in his.
His grip was steady. Grounding.
“They’ll move on in a few days. They always do.”
You swallowed. “Unless we give them something real to keep watching.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Is that what we’re doing? Giving them something real?”
You met his eyes. “Aren’t we?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. We are.”
Your phone buzzed again this time, a DM from someone you hadn’t spoken to in months. The kind of message that only came when people sensed the air shifting around you. Fame had always been a double edged sword. Now, it felt like you were holding both blades.
You turned the screen off and placed it face down.
“I don’t want to be part of a spectacle,” you said quietly.
“You won’t be. Not if we control the story.” He exhaled. “You’re not a fling. This isn’t gossip. If people are going to talk, let them talk about how I respect you. How you own every room you walk into. How I’ve never met anyone like you.”
You looked at him, stunned by the honesty, the weight of it.
“But that means stepping into this with me,” he added. “Even when it gets messy.”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached for his hand again, lacing your fingers with his.
“I’d rather it be messy and honest than perfect and fake.”
He smiled, the tension in his jaw softening.
“Then let them talk.”
The car pulled up to your original hotel downtown - a discreet location, but even from inside the tinted windows, you could see it. A small crowd forming. Photographers with long lenses. Fans holding signs.
You hesitated.
Lewis turned to you. “Want me to walk you in?”
“I think - ” You adjusted your sunglasses, sat up straighter. “I think I want them to see me with you.”
A beat passed. He nodded once.
And when you stepped out, the flashbulbs exploded. Voices shouted your names. Questions flew.
But all you could feel was his hand in yours.
He didn’t let go.
Not when the flashes got too bright. Not when a reporter yelled something about “rumored romance.” Not even when a gust of wind blew your hair wildly around your face, catching your laughter in the chaos.
Because in that moment, standing beside Lewis Hamilton in front of the press, the world watching and spinning madly around you -
⠀⠀⠀MENTOR 〃 lewis hamilton x amala wilson (female driver!oc)
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺ oneshot. fluff/slight angst/hurt/comfort; word count: 4.3K
✧ my masterlist! ✧ requests are open! ✧ more lewis!
amala and lewis' best moments as the ferrari's 2025 duo.
warnings: just soft sweet light hearted fluff, it's supposed to be very chill. not really conected to the reality at all, parents issues, slight swearing. guess that's all.
The first day in Maranello had all the grandeur you’d expect. The sun gleamed off the red of the Ferrari factory, and the hum of engines was constant in the background. It was a scene Lewis Hamilton had lived countless times before, yet today felt different. This was a new chapter, even for him. The legend, the seven-time World Champion, now stepping into the iconic red suit at 40. He was ready to lead.
Amala, on the other hand, felt the weight of her helmet even before the season had begun. Twenty-three years old, fresh from an F2 championship, and walking into a world where everything was bigger, louder, and far more intense than anything she’d known. Ferrari wasn’t just a team; it was a legacy.
Lewis caught sight of her during a team meeting. She sat quietly at the edge of the room, her shoulders squared but her hands gripping her notebook a little too tight. When it was her turn to speak, she kept it short and to the point, her voice steady but soft. Lewis smiled to himself. She reminded him of how he’d felt in his rookie days—focused but slightly unsure where to place himself.
After the meeting, he approached her casually, hands in his pockets. “Hey, Amala,” he said, his voice warm and relaxed. “You handled yourself really well in there. It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”
She blinked, caught off guard by his friendliness. “Oh… thanks. Yeah, it’s definitely… a lot.”
Lewis chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. And hey, if you ever need anything — advice, someone to vent to, whatever — I’m here.”
Amala nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Lewis. That… means a lot.”
“Call me Lew,” he said with a grin. “We’re teammates now, after all.”
001. “see my environment?”
The first race weekend of the season came with all the chaos and nerves Amala expected — and then some more. She finished a respectable P8, scoring points on her debut, while Lewis took P2, narrowly missing out on the win. The team was thrilled, and the paddock buzzed with energy. But as the celebrations roared on, Amala slipped away quietly to her driver’s room. Lewis watched from across the garage, in his dad’s arms shaking him excitedly while the team set the — freshly out the podium trophy for some pictures.
Amala sat on the small sofa, her head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, but the emptiness of the room was a stark contrast to the noise outside. She just needed some time to let it sink in. A lot has changed over the past few moments and that’s a focused one. She never knows when it’s time to celebrate. It’s always just a break until the next fight.
A soft knock on the door made her sit up. Before she could answer, Lewis poked his head in. “Hey, mind if I come in?”
She shook her head, a little startled. “No, uh, come in.”
Lewis stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and studied her for a moment. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” she said quickly, though her voice betrayed her. “Do you… Do you need anything?”
“No, hum… Just checking in. You sure you’re ok? You were great out there today, pretty impressive. Rookie year with that confidence? Lucky you’re my teammate.” His tone was easy, but there was a sincerity in his eyes that made her chest tighten.
She is a quiet one, her presence could be unnoticed in many places. But not inside the car, Lewis is more than right. She’s a statement behind the wheel.
“Thanks,” she said softly, looking down at her hands. “It’s alright, I swear. Just keeping the focus. Haven't won anything yet. Trying to keep it down.”
Lewis nodded, understanding instantly, but obligating himself to disagree. “I get that. But… You gotta celebrate the small things too, you know? It’s good to give yourself the credits. Imagine if we get on a tight fight by the end of the season, and then… Your points from today earn us the championship?”
Amala looked up at him, her expression softening.
“That’d be crazy.” she chuckled a bit, finding fun in the near-the-impossible-possibility. Him making up scenarios just to cheer her up was funny in fact. “But no celebrating before anything like that happens — see my environment?” she looked around the empty room. “I’d rather not get ahead of myself.”
He smiled and pushed off the wall; that might be their longest casual conversation. “How about this — come have dinner with my family tonight. We do get a bit ahead of ourselves but… It’s fun anyways.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—” she started, but he held up a hand.
“No arguments. You’re coming. Besides, my niece would love you. She’s a little obsessed with fast cars.”
Amala couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Alright. Thanks, Lew.”
“Anytime,” he said with a wink before heading for the door. “See you in an hour. Don’t be late.”
002. “maybe we should change that.”
The cafeteria at the track was bustling, but Amala found a quiet corner where she could eat in peace. She had just started on her pasta when a tray plopped down across from her. It’s media day thursday, more staff, less noise. Just the good-old-garage-buzz.
“Mind if I join?” Lewis asked, already sitting down with a grin.
“Uh, sure.” she said, slightly caught off guard.
“Cool. Needed an excuse to get away from all the tech talk. Sometimes I swear they just make up words to mess with me,” he joked, twirling a forkful of food.
Amala chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard some pretty creative terms this week.”
Lewis leaned in conspiratorially. “I personally just nod and say, ‘Ah, yes, the flux capacitor.’ Works every time.”
“You’re kidding.” Amala snorted, laying back on the chair. “You don’t even know what that means, Lewis.”
“Dead serious,” he said, laughing. “And- Yeah, but they don't know that I don’t know. You’ve got a lot to learn with me, rookie.”
As they ate, Lewis kept the conversation light, sharing funny stories from his career and occasionally poking fun at himself. “I once called my engineer ‘mum’ over the radio,” he admitted. “Didn’t live that one down for months.”
Amala laughed so hard she nearly choked. “Stop, you’re making me look ridiculous.”
“Nah.” he said, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “That’s your best look, I don’t see you laughing a lot.”
“Yeah, Sir Lewis Hamilton. I am in a helmet for most of the times you see me.” she squinted her eyes, not even noticing she just built up to exactly what Lewis wanted.
“Right. You are right. Maybe we should change that.”
003. “you make it look so easy.”
The day at the karting track was meant to be a lighthearted PR event for Ferrari,even if it was all news for their second driver. The Ferrari social media team had organized a "friendly" race between her and Lewis, with enough microphones and GoPros strapped to them to make anyone nervous.
“Alright, rookie.” Lewis said, walking up to her with his helmet tucked under his arm. “You ready to lose?”
Amala raised an eyebrow, trying to match his playful tone. “Confident for someone who hasn’t seen me drive a kart yet.”
Lewis grinned. “Fair. But you haven’t seen me drive one either.”
“Pretty sure I’ve seen you drive everything.” she said, rolling her eyes. “You forget you’re old, Sir.”
“Wow! Right at me!” he laughed, nudging her shoulder lightly. “Touché. But that also means I’ve got years of experience with these bad boys. You’re going down.”
They lined up on the track, and as soon as the green flag waved, Amala’s nerves gave way to her competitive instincts. She wasn’t about to let him win without a fight. Lap after lap, she stayed right on his tail, taking every opportunity to challenge him in the corners.
After crossing the finish line — Lewis barely ahead of her — he hopped out of his kart with a victorious cheer. “Still got it!” he said, raising his arms in mock celebration.
Amala unbuckled the seatbelts, shaking her head with a small smile. “You know I let you win, right?”
“Oh, is that what happened?” he teased, walking over to her. Without thinking, he placed a hand on her waist to steady her as she stepped down from the kart. “Don’t worry, next time I’ll go easy on you.”
She froze for a moment at the casual touch, but his hand fell away as quickly as it had landed. It felt natural—friendly, even. She tried not to think too much about it.
After the event wrapped up, they found themselves sitting on a bench near the track, sharing a basket of fries. “So,” Lewis said, dipping a fry into ketchup, “having fun yet?”
Amala nodded. “More than I thought I would. I guess I’m still getting used to… all of this.” She gestured vaguely to the cameras, the team, the whole Ferrari whirlwind.
“I get it,” Lewis said, leaning back. “It’s a lot, especially when you’re new. But you’re handling it like a pro.”
She hesitated before speaking. “You make it look so easy.”
Lewis shrugged. “Trust me, it wasn’t always. My first few years? I had no clue what I was doing half the time. And don’t get me started on the pressure. But it helps when you have people in your corner. Like… I don’t remember a single time I didn’t have my dad, or mom. And now with my sister’s kids… It gets easier to face things.”
Amala glanced at him, her voice soft. “That’s very sweet.” she smiled. “Not for me, though. Mom and dad are all about fighting and- Uh, I can’t even imagine what would have happened if they were around like that.” she scoffed, so comfortable by his side that it felt natural to speak. “That’s why Miss-big-girl right here handles shit alone. It works too, I swear.”
Lewis’s expression shifted, his usual easygoing smile replaced by something more thoughtful. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused, then added, “But you’ve got people now. The team, me… We’re here for you, Amala. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Her chest tightened at his words, but in a good way. “Thanks.” she smiled. “You really are good company- like… for a man of age? You’re doing great.”
He grinned, nudging her shoulder again. “How did you become such a meanie, dear Lord!” it’s a full laugh now. “But alright, since I am man of age… I deserve proper treatment! These fries you’ve ordered?” he takes a small one from the fries, slowly throwing at her. “Disrespectful. I know you couldn’t find any other vegan option. Simply disrespectful.”
Amala laughed, finally feeling at ease. “Noted. Next time, I’ll make sure to get something you approve of, grandpa.”
004. “I really don’t want to mess this up.”
The energy after the double podium was electric. Lewis had taken P1, and Amala secured her first podium with a solid P3. The team flooded the podium with cheers, and the champagne flowed freely as they celebrated under the floodlights.
Lewis, in his element, sprayed champagne at Amala, laughing as she shrieked and tried to dodge. She retaliated, soaking him in return, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t thinking about the cameras or the pressure — just the sheer joy of the moment.
Amala barely had a second to catch her breath before Lewis was grabbing her by the wrist, a wide grin spread across his face. The champagne bottle in his other hand was already half-empty from the chaos of celebration, but that didn’t stop him from tilting it toward her.
“You’re way too dry for someone who just got a podium,” he teased, shaking the bottle again.
“Lewis, don’t you d—”
Too late. The icy spray hit her square in the chest, and she let out a loud squeal, stumbling back as he kept going, grinning like a kid causing trouble. She turned away, trying to shield herself, but he just followed, relentless.
“Alright, alright! You made your point!” she laughed, holding up her hands in surrender.
Lewis just raised an eyebrow, still aiming the bottle at her. “Nah, I don’t think I did.”
Another wave of champagne rained over her, and Amala groaned, wiping at her soaked race suit. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you love it,” he shot back without missing a beat, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
She wanted to shove him, to get back at him somehow, but then it all hit her — the flashing cameras, the roaring cheers, the red sea of Ferrari fans losing their minds, the sight of her name on the podium next to his. She had dreamed of this since she was a kid, since she first understood what Formula 1 was. And now she was here. Really here.
The smile was still stretched across her face, but suddenly, her throat felt tight. Her vision blurred, and before she could even think about wiping away the tears, Lewis saw them. His expression softened instantly, the teasing gone in a heartbeat.
“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “Come here.”
And then she was in his arms — no hesitation, no second-guessing. He wrapped her up in the biggest hug, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing, spinning her in circles as the crowd cheered even louder. She let out a breathless laugh, clinging to his shoulders, tears mixing with the champagne on her face.
“You did it,” Lewis murmured against her hair, holding her tight. “You fucking did it.”
And for the first time, Amala let herself believe it.
After the podium ceremony, the team threw an afterparty, and the champagne continued to flow. Amala stuck close to Lewis, the two of them laughing and joking as the night went on. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but the bubbly made her cheeks flush and her inhibitions loosen.
“You’re a lightweight,” Lewis teased as they sat in a quieter corner of the party.
“Am not,” she argued, though her giggle betrayed her.
Lewis leaned closer, his voice softer now. “I’m serious, though. You were incredible today. You’re even allowed to get that drunk today. I won’t tell anybody.”
Amala looked down at her glass, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, thanks. I feel even more incredible being by your side, you know? No one else in the grid has this privilege, and I do… So… Yes. You are even more incredible.”
Lewis let out a soft chuckle, recognizing his teammate is a bit more tipsy than he thought. She rested her head on his shoulder, taking a breath within the silence.
“Nah… I’m just the man of age.” he kept the funny tone as he reached over, his hand brushing hers and a kiss to her head. “You are incredible by your own merits, but we can talk about it when you’re sober.”
She looked up at him, her heart racing. “Thanks, Lew. For everything.”
He smiled, his hand lingering for just a moment longer. “You don’t have to thank me. I like looking out for you.”
The words hung in the air between them, charged with something unspoken. Amala felt her breath catch as she looked into his eyes, and before she could think, she leaned in.
It started soft, almost hesitant — like they were both testing the waters, caught in the gravity of something neither of them could pull away from. Amala felt the warmth of Lewis' hand cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin, as if reassuring her this was real. She melted into it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his surely expensive shirt, anchoring herself as the world around them faded away.
But then, something shifted. The hesitation dissolved, replaced by something deeper, something neither of them could hold back. Lewis tilted his head, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened — slow, lingering, like they were learning each other in a way they hadn’t before. His lips were warm, coaxing, stealing the breath from her lungs as her heart pounded against her ribs.
When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved far. Lewis' forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the space between them. His eyes fluttered open, dark and searching, like he was still caught somewhere between reality and the weight of the moment.
“We should…” he started, his voice rough, a little unsteady.
But neither of them moved. Neither of them let go. “Yeah,” Amala agreed, though she didn’t move.
He chuckled softly. “You’ve had a bit to drink. Let’s… talk about this tomorrow, yeah?”
Her cheeks burned, but she nodded. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Because I really don’t want to mess this up.”
005. “I’m taking credit for that.”
The Ferrari garage was alive with the usual buzz of preparation, the sound of drills, chatter, and engineers poring over data. Amala, for once, wasn’t hovering over her own station, overthinking setups or tire strategies. She was at the central computer station, scrolling through the playlist for the garage speakers. She’d recently learned that Lewis shared her love for Kendrick Lamar, and she was determined to pick the perfect track.
"Don’t mess this up, rookie," came his familiar, teasing voice behind her.
She turned to see Lewis strolling up, hands in his fireproofs, looking far too smug.
“Don’t worry, old man.” she shot back, trying to play it cool. “I got this.”
As she selected “HUMBLE.”, the bass-heavy opening beat dropped, and the crew collectively nodded in approval. Even Ricky, Lewis’s race engineer, gave her a thumbs-up from across the garage.
Lewis leaned over her shoulder, arms resting lightly on her back as he peeked at the screen. “Solid choice,” he murmured, his voice low near her ear.
Amala stiffened for half a second, caught off guard by the sudden closeness, but when he chuckled and gave her shoulders a playful squeeze, the tension dissolved.
“You’re way too proud of yourself,” she said, shaking her head.
He grinned. “Hey, if you’re finally loosening up in the garage, I’m taking credit for that.”
As the song played on, the crew got into the rhythm, and Ricky even started rapping along to the chorus, earning a collective laugh. Amala found herself laughing too — really laughing — as Lewis joined in, half-singing, half-mocking Ricky’s performance.
“Okay, okay, stop,” she said, holding her sides from laughing too hard. “This is a disaster.”
“Disaster?” Lewis said, pretending to be offended. “This is team bonding, Amala. You should appreciate it.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Sure, Lew. Whatever you say.”
He nudged her again, a playful glint in his eyes. “There it is… You know I love it when you smile like that.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she turned back to the screen, pretending to scroll through more songs. “Thanks… I guess.”
As casual as the moment seemed, the warmth in his voice lingered, and for the first time in weeks, the garage felt like a place she truly belonged.
006. “It’s just me.”
The days go on fast, and this time, it all happened so fast. One moment, Amala was pushing the limits in FP2, trying to get more out of the car ahead of qualifying, and the next, she was careening into the barriers. The impact rattled her, her heart pounding as the car came to a halt.
The radio crackled to life. “Amala, are you okay? Talk to us.”
“I’m… I’m fine,” she managed, though her voice was shaky.
Back in the garage, Lewis’s face tightened as he watched the replay on the monitors. He didn’t hesitate, heading straight for the trackside to check on her.
When he reached her car, she was still sitting inside, her hands gripping the steering wheel. He crouched beside the cockpit, his helmet already off, and tapped gently on the side. “Hey, sweetie,” he said softly. “It’s just me.”
Amala looked at him, her eyes wide and glassy. “I… I messed up.”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “You pushed. That’s what we do. Now let’s get you out of here.”
He helped her with her helmet and balaclava, his touch gentle but steady. “Take your time,” he said, fingers brushing the hair strands out of her sweaty face.
It hit like a tidal wave, it’s her first big crash in a Formula One car, and it wasn’t even a big one. Maybe it is just the scare. “I’m so sorry, Lewis. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind. “Don’t do that. This isn’t on you. The team’s already working on the car, and you’ll be back out there before you know it.” he offered a hand, witch she took in no time.
“But what if—”
“Amala,” he said, cutting her off again. His hands rested on her shoulders, grounding her as soon as she stood. “Look at me. You’re fine. The car will be fine. And tomorrow, you’ll remind everyone why you’re here. Got it?”
She nodded, though her eyes still shimmered with unshed tears.
Just then, someone from the team called out, “Its controlled, you guys. No big damage!”
Lewis smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “See? Told you.”
Her lips twitched into a small smile, and for a brief moment, the chaos around them faded.
As they walked back to the garage, their shoulders brushed, and there was a fleeting moment where their hands almost — almost — met. But neither of them crossed the line, not here, not now.
007. “I’m so proud of you”
It was a matter of time; everyone knew. A bond so strong could only lead the way to the trophy. Both of them.
The FIA Gala was every bit as glamorous as Amala had imagined. She stood at the entrance in a sleek black dress, feeling slightly out of place among the glitz and glamor. But when Lewis appeared at her side, offering his arm, all her nerves melted away.
“You look stunning.” he said, his eyes scanning her with an approving smile.
She laughed softly. “Had to keep up with you..”
Together, they made their way into the ballroom, their arrival causing a ripple of whispers and glances. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the Ferrari duo was close, but tonight, there was no hiding it. Lewis’s hand rested lightly on her back, guiding her through the crowd, and when they stopped to pose for photos, he held her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When it came time to accept their trophies, Amala followed Lewis up the steps, the bright lights of the gala stage shining down on them. The applause was deafening, a mix of cheers from the crowd and the proud faces of their team members watching from below. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest — not in a heavy way, but in a way that made her breath hitch, like she was finally standing inside one of her own dreams.
Lewis was the first to be handed his trophy, the gold gleaming in his hands as he lifted it effortlessly, a wide grin stretched across his face. He turned to her as she was handed her own, and for a second, they just stood there, side by side, both of them holding their awards for securing the Constructors’ Championship — both of them knowing exactly what it took to get here.
Amala glanced up at him, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of it all, and Lewis met her gaze with that knowing, almost teasing smile, like he had seen this moment coming all along. Without thinking, she laughed — giddy, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy. And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she stepped into his space.
Lewis barely hesitated. He wrapped her up in a hug just like he had on every podium throughout the whole year — tight, warm, lifting her slightly off the ground as he swayed them both side to side. The crowd loved it, the cameras flashed, but Amala didn’t care. She buried her face into his shoulder for just a second, soaking it all in.
“I’m so proud of you,” he murmured, just for her.
She closed her eyes, gripping the trophy in one hand and holding onto him with the other. “Right back at you.”
When they finally pulled back, Lewis slung an arm around her shoulders, still grinning. “Alright, champ. Let’s celebrate.”
And as the cheers grew louder, as the night stretched on, Amala let herself believe — fully, completely — that this was just the beginning.
As they stepped off the stage, she turned to him, her voice barely audible over the applause. “We did it.”
He smiled, leaning closer. “No, you did it. This is just the beginning for you, Amala.”
Her heart swelled at his words, and when they returned to their table, she found herself lacing her fingers through his under the tablecloth.
The night ended with them sitting on the balcony, away from the noise of the party. The city lights stretched out before them, and Lewis turned to her, his expression soft. “You know,” he said, “I’ve had a lot of teammates over the years. But none of them… none of them have made me feel the way you do.”
Amala’s breath caught, her fingers tightening around his. “I’ve been on Twitter and I’ve read something about Brocedes so-”
“Don’t.” he laughed, playfully shaking her before leaning in just enough that their foreheads touched. “I mean it. You’re special, Amala. And I’m so damn proud of you.”
She closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. “I’m proud of you too. For everything.”
When their lips met this time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing — 0just the quiet certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.
↳ requests are open!⠀⠀↳ check my AO3!⠀⠀↳ main content's table
Summary: Flight Attendant Y/N meets Captain Harry Styles for the first time and they join the mile high club, sort of.
Pairing: Reader y/n X Captain Harry
Word count: 4,207
A/N: Hey everyone! So sorry I haven’t posted in a while. I’ve been on holiday the last week and that is what inspired me to write this 🥰As always, please feel free to request anything! Hope you enjoy!
One of the things you enjoyed most about being a flight attendant was the thrill of being able to visit new places, if only for a brief period of time.
You had worked for British Airways for 3 years now and soon you would be hoping to step up to Team Leader where you could help train and look after new flight attendants.
You usually only did short-haul flights out of your base which was London Heathrow and flew across Europe; the longest flight being 6 hours. Short hail suited you, you typically flew to 3 or 4 places within a day and by 1 am, you were back in your bed. That’s if all went to plan. For today’s first flight, you were heading to Dusseldorf in Germany, somewhere you regularly flew to.
You parked your car in the staff area of the airport, changed out of your trainers and into your small black court shoes as driving in heels was never comfortable.
You pulled out your small case from the boot of your car which contained a spare uniform because you won’t be caught out again; on a previous flight a passenger spilt their red wine all over you one time and you had no spare shirt to change into, your water, your lunch because aeroplane food was awful and some spare makeup to top up with in between flights.
You smoothed out your navy pencil skirt, so old fashioned you thought, and tied the red, white and blue scarf around your neck ready to enter the airport.
You headed straight for security and through the fast track lane since you were crew. Once past, you headed to the staff area to check which gate you had to go through to get to the aircraft.
Approaching gate 7, you showed the staff your pass and they nodded and let you go.
You headed towards the aircraft, where you saw the First Officer; Andy doing the pre-flight walk-around. You had flown with Andy for the best part of a year and you knew him well. He got into flying after he fancied a change in career from being in the police. You always liked Andy, he was a father to 2 girls who he adored and always made the typical dad jokes which meant it was normally a good flight with him
“Alright wee one, nice to see you” he smiled at you. “Hey, how are you?” You smiled back at him.
“I’m good, ready for 12 hours of pure joy?” He joked and you laughed. “Always” you replied.
“Who’s the Captain today?” You asked, always fearing if it would be one of the older, slightly rude Captains or one more relaxed and friendly.
“New guy, Styles his name is. Seems like a good bloke, think Daniel already has the hots for him” he winked and you laughed.
You relaxed at the mention of Daniel who you had become best friends with after you had both started the job on the same day. You loved working with him as he always seemed to make the flight go in faster.
“Hey! Am I glad to see you today” you said once inside the aircraft.
“Hey!!” He said hugging you “I’ve not been with you on a flight for ages, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do!” he said excitedly. You laughed as he always saw working with you as gossip sessions rather than working.
You headed towards the front portion of the plane where the crew placed their bags and got ready for the flight. You glanced in at the cockpit where you saw the Captain sitting doing the necessary paperwork before departure. Although you could only see the back of him you could tell he was wearing his black double-breasted black jacket with the 4 gold stripes on both the epaulettes and the sleeve of his jacket; showing his ranking as Captain.
He had short, dark brown hair which you could tell had been meticulously styled that morning as not a hair was out of place. You had never worked with this captain before, so you weren’t sure what to expect from him; some captains could be so far up their own, you weren’t allowed to speak to them unless spoken so you kept quiet and put your things away and headed back out to the main cabin to find 2 more girls who you didn’t recognise arriving onto the plane.
“Hi, I’m Emma, Team Leader for today. Nice to meet you” the tall blonde girl who was wearing a minimal amount of makeup but still managed to look flawless said to you.
“Hi nice to meet you, I’m y/n” “Lovely name, I’ll go sit my bag down and we can start the briefing” she smiled.
You noticed the other girl who had since boarded, she looked a little more reserved so you decided to introduce yourself.
“Hi I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you” You smiled at her to help relax her. She looked young and a little unsure, she was maybe 18 or 19 years old so you assumed she hasn’t long qualified as cabin crew. You remember how nervous you were for your first few flights so you decided you wanted to look out for her during the day
“Hey, I’m Holly” she said. “Not long qualified?” You asked kindly.
“This is my 2nd flight” she said and you smiled.
“Don’t worry I remember my first couple of flights, it’s nerve-wracking but you’ll soon get the hang of it. There’s no better way to learn than doing it so if there’s anything you need a hand with today, just let me know. I’m always happy to help” you smiled.
“Come on, I’ll show you where to put your things” You smiled and led her towards the cockpit.
“So you can grab anything you need out of your bag and put it in the fridge if you’ve got a sandwich or anything like that, otherwise you can pop it in here and lock it, we all put our bags in one locker together
“Ahh, I thought I heard some voices. I was just coming to do the briefing” you heard the captain say from behind the cockpit door. You stood up straight and smiled at him coming out.
His eyes fell onto you first and he smiled “Harry Styles, pleasure to meet you” You shook his hand that he had extended for you and took in his beauty. He looked young, maybe 29 or 20. He had green eyes and fair skin which had a slight tan to it, making the dimple on the left side of his face more prominent.
“Y/N, lovely to meet you, Mr Styles”
“Please, call me Harry” he told you and you smiled at how genuine he seemed. Most captains would only allow you to refer to them as Captain and their last name so it was nice to have one who was more relaxed.
“This is our newbie Holly, this is her 2nd ever flight today” you smiled as you introduced the new recruit to him.
“Holly, nice to meet you. I’m Harry, hope you’re settling in well?” He asked kindly as he shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Captain Styles, yes settling in very well thank you” she sheepishly replied. It always was a bit intimidating to speak with a captain, especially ones you didn’t know much about.
“Call me Harry please” he smiled. “Shall we move to the cabin and start the brief?” He asked and you nodded, moving to the front part of where the passenger seats were located.
By this point, everyone was now in the cabin waiting to start the briefing. The captain introduced himself to the remaining crew members before you all took seats at the front of the plane.
“So my name is Emma I’m one of the British Airways Team Leaders and I’ll be working as number 1 for this shift. Today we’ve got Captain Harry Styles and First Officer Andrew Simmons on the flight deck. For cabin crew today we’ve got Daniel, Holly and y/n, I think we’ve already met each other by now yes?” Emma asked as she pointed to everyone during the introductions.
“Great, it’s a Boeing 777 we’re on today, I’ll let Captain Styles and First Officer Andy talk more about that in a bit. There are a total of 6 flights today; Heathrow to Düsseldorf, Düsseldorf to Heathrow, Heathrow to Las Palmas, Las Palmas to Heathrow and then Heathrow to Venice and Venice back to Heathrow. Full flights on all destinations so we need to be on top of our game in the cabin, Daniel can I ask you to be number 2 today? Holly, do you mind being 3 today and y/n as number 4?”
Number 1 meant you were looking after the passengers in the front of the plane, number 2 was in the middle of the plane, number 3 was in the back section of the plane and number 4 was an additional person who helped the rest of the team, including the flight crew.
You nodded in agreement, secretly glad you were given the position of helping to look after the captain and the FO.
“Captain Styles, do you want to run through your information?” She asked and he straightened up in his chair.
“Yeah sure I’ll just introduce myself a little more since I’m a new face to a lot of people. I’m Harry I’ve been a Captain now for 5 years having previously worked for Ryanair before moving here 3 weeks ago. Please call me Harry because Captain sounds old and although I’ve recently hit my 30s, I’m not quite there yet” This gained a few laughs from the crew, including yourself.
So he was attractive and funny? The more he spoke the more you found yourself more and more drawn to him. He was charming. But not in a cocky way, he seemed genuine and the fact he was a Pilot told you he was smart. Very smart. You always did have a thing for intelligence.
“We’ll be cruising around 30,000 feet once up in the air, weather looks good, clear skies with a 30% chance of light showers. The weather in Düsseldorf is 23 degrees which doesn’t concern us as we’ll have a 20-minute turnover before boarding to come back to the UK unfortunately, bet you wish you’d chosen long haul now Holly?” Harry joked at the fact that although travelling throughout Europe, you hardly ever got to even leave the plane.
You all laughed and Holly agreed. Harry continued with the briefing, telling you about the time durations, and quizzing everyone on emergencies, something which was legally required to ensure all crew knew what to do in the event of one.
“Thanks everyone, I think we can start boarding now” Harry smiled and Emma nodded, knowing to start the boarding procedure.
“Y/N can you help Holly if she needs a hand opening the rear door?” Emma asked and you nodded.
You headed towards the rear of the cabin with Holly behind you.
Once everything was set for boarding, you headed towards the middle of the cabin to help passengers find their seats and help with any luggage they had.
Luckily, boarding took 20 minutes and before you knew it, you were doing the safety demonstration for the passengers while the plane reversed out of the airport and to the runway. You could hear Andy’s voice informing the passengers of the information Harry had relayed to you earlier about the weather etc to keep them up to date.
With the safety demonstration over and having checked everyone had their seatbelts on, Emma nodded to you to signal that you could sit down and prepare for the take-off.
“Cabin crew take seats and prepare for take-off” you heard Captain Styles say and you smiled a little at the sound of his voice.
You sat down at the rear of the plane next to Holly and fastened your seatbelt.
“I’ve done hundreds of flights and I never get bored of the take-off or landing” you said to her quietly as you could feel the plane taxing down the runway.
“I’ve done a handful and still get nervous” she said and you squeezed her hand a little to let her know it was okay to be nervous.
He must have gone from 50mph to about 170mph in less than 30 seconds because before you knew it, you were being hauled into the air with such speed that you swear your heart fell out of your arse. A “fuck” could be heard under Holly’s breath and you laughed.
That was a sure sign of a good takeoff. For a plane to take off at such speed it requires a good sustained acceleration which was exactly what Harry did.
So he was attractive, funny, intelligent and good at lifting 150-ton planes off the ground? Was there anything this Pilot wasn’t good at?
As the plane climbed into the air, Andy’s voice could be heard over the intercom “Ladies and Gentleman please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened until the captain has switched off the seatbelt sign. Thank you”
A common command that was often used for eager passengers who would immediately take their seatbelts off as the plane took off the ground.
10 minutes in, the seatbelt sign was switched off and people started to immediately stand up to use the toilets, it always looked like the hunger games you thought.
Because the duration of the flight was only 1 hour and 25 minutes, only the drinks and snack service were required so you and Holly started with that as one of your first tasks, hoping to keep the passengers settled.
Halfway through the service, the alarm which alerted cabin crew to the cockpit was rung and so as the number 4, you left the drinks cart and headed to the cockpit.
You straightened out your skirt and pushed back a few loose strands of hair before knocking and going in.
“Everything alright?” You asked politely squeezing through the small door and inside the cockpit.
“I’m just gonna nip to the loo” Andy said and you nodded, understanding. It was policy that the cockpit operated a “2-person flight deck” which meant 2 people had to be in the cockpit every second the aeroplane was in use.
Andy exited and headed for the toilet.
“Come and sit down” Harry said to you as he glanced over at the seat Andy had been sat in. You moved and sat down in the First Officer’s chair.
“How’s everything out there?” He asked looking over at you. The plane was now set on autopilot meaning it no longer required the captains' manual control, rather a system was being used to control the path of an aircraft.
“Yeah everything’s good, no difficult passengers yet, although what are the chances I’ve jinxed it now” you laugh.
“For the next 5 flights, we’ll have the worst passengers in the history of aviation” he joked and you laughed at his quick white
God, he looked so good sitting there. He had taken off his jacket which revealed a clean crisp white shirt, still showing the 4 gold stripes on his shoulder, but the shirt revealed tattoos. Tattoos which made you feel there was a lot about the Pilot you wanted to find out about.
“Great takeoff by the way” you remarked to him and he smiled lightly.
“Thanks, I’d practised take-off loads in flight school and then just lots of experience I suppose”
The way he spoke was so gentle but also with such passion for his career in his voice.
“What about you, how long have you been in the air for?”
“I’ve been cabin crew for 3 years now, I love it. I was saying to Holly earlier that no matter how many times I fly, I still get the same buzz each time we take off and land”
You watched as his lips turned upwards into a smirk “You’ve not experienced my landing yet, wait until you do”
You laughed at the comment and right on time, Andy came back.
“Fancy swapping jobs for the day?” He joked when he saw you in his chair. You laughed and got up “No thank you, I’d rather not be responsible for 130 passengers” you said and they laughed.
“You guys need anything before I head back out?” You asked them both.
“Could I get a tea if possible please y/n?” Harry asked you politely.
“Of course, how do you take it?”
“Milk and 2 sugars” he told you and you took a mental note of it.
“Nothing for me thanks y/n” Andy said.
You headed back to the cabin, being stopped multiple times by passengers to ask for certain things before making this Captain his tea.
You knocked on the cockpit door and went in.
“Here’s your tea for you” you said handing it to Harry. He smiled and took it off you “Thanks” You headed back to get a Karen in row 21 the G&T she had previously asked for .
“Y/n!” You heard your name being called by the captain from behind the door of the cockpit you had just been in.
You sighed a little, sensing something was wrong and headed back in.
“That’s the best cup of tea anyone has ever made me” he remarked as he smiled at you.
You laughed slightly “I’ll add tea-making skills to my CV then”
“Honestly it’s perfect, I might have to request you on every one of my flights so you can make me the perfect cuppa”
“Right you two, enough with the flirting. Styles we’ve got 25 minutes until landing” Andy jumped in and you and Harry both laughed.
Andy winked at you and you continued with the rest of your tasks.
You arrived in Düsseldorf, with a very smooth landing from Captain Styles at 7:20 am with the next flight at 8 am, giving you a 20-minute turnaround time to get things ready for the next lot of passengers boarding. It was a quick turnaround and before you knew it, you were taking off from Düsseldorf back to London
Landing back at Heathrow at 9:30 am, the next flight was at 10:15 and already there was an issue.
A nervous passenger was starting to feel unwell and wasn’t sure if she would be able to fly to Las Palmas. You and Emma were trying to convince her that the 4-hour and 30-minute trip would be completely safe and she had nothing to worry about.
“I can’t, I can’t fly. What if the plane crashes or falls into the sea? I can’t swim, I will drown and die. I can’t” the passenger who looked no more than 25 said.
“I completely understand your nerves, I can assure you that aeroplanes these days are made to be very very safe and the chances of anything happening are so very slim” you tried to reason with her.
Meanwhile, Emma had instructed Daniel to tell the flight deck what the delay was.
“Hi, I heard we’ve got a nervous flyer?” You heard the same voice who had complimented your tea-making skills say from behind you. The woman nodded.
You looked up to see Harry standing in the cabin, looking to speak with the passenger.
You stepped back and let him crouch down beside her in her seat.
“I’m Harry, I’m the Captain who’ll be taking you over to Palma today. Can I ask your name?” He asked kindly to the passenger.
“It’s Rebecca” she said.
“Okay Rebecca, it’s nice to meet you. So Daniel explained to me that you’re quite nervous when flying?”
“Yeah, I worry the plane will crash or fall into the water”
“Okay I can see why those are concerns, the risk of a crash or the plane failing and falling into the sea is 1 in 11 million. The aircraft is completely safe and in all my years of flying, I’ve never had an emergency on board, well actually I forgot my coffee once which was a real emergency. I’m a real grump without my coffee” he joked and the passenger laughed, as did you at the comment.
“The team are all here to look after you during the flight and if you need anything at all, you can press this button above your head for assistance and they’ll be right over to help you. Does that put your mind at ease a little bit?” He asked still crouched down beside her.
“It does thank you yes captain” Rebecca smiled.
“Good, we’ll be taking off in around 10 minutes so sit back, relax and try and enjoy the flight as much as you can” He smiled and renters back into the cockpit to being the takeoff procedure.
During the flight, the nervous passenger fell asleep halfway through and only woke up when the plane was safely on the ground. Harry came to check on her as she was disembarking and she couldn’t thank him enough for his kindness in calming her down.
“It’s no trouble at all, you have a good holiday now” he told her as she left the aircraft.
So he was attractive, funny, intelligent, good at lifting 150-ton planes off the ground and great at calming people down. If you hadn’t already fallen in love with this man, by the next 3 flights, you definitely will have.
Thankfully, the following 3 flights were uneventful, except for the drunken guy who had spilt his crisps all over another passenger which you had to clean up.
The last flight from Venice back to base at Heathrow was welcomed. Your feet were sore, your makeup had half melted off and you couldn’t wait to get your hair out of the uncomfortable bun you were required to wear all day.
After seeing all the passengers off the plane, you started to clear up.
“What a day, thanks for all your help guys” Harry shouted down the cabin as he locked it up for the night.
“No problem Captain Styles, hope to be working with you again soon” Emma said to him.
“Likewise, you guys head off I’m just going to do a walk around” you heard him say.
“Are you sure?” Emma said. “Yeah sure, thanks again everyone” he said once more.
You, Holly, Emma and Daniel started to get ready to leave when you felt Harry’s arm touch yours slightly.
“You stay” you heard him whisper into your ear subtly as you passed him to get your bag.
You blushed and swallowed hard “You guys go, I need the loo” you said to the rest of them.
“Go in the airport” Daniel said and you hinted at him to go.
“Weak bladder, you go I’ll see you soon” you smiled at them.
“Text me later!” Daniel said and you smiled as they left the aircraft.
“Weak bladder eh?” The captain raised an eyebrow at you when everyone was out of sight.
You laughed “I couldn’t think of anything else”
He laughed and smirked at you “I couldn’t help but think about you today. That shitty landing in Venice was your fault, I couldn’t think of anything else”
“I’ll just add ‘distraction to pilot’ on my CV as well then shall I?” You joked.
“You’re such a distraction to the pilot,” he said quietly as he leaned in closer to you.
He cups your face in his hands and he leans in and slowly kisses you. The kiss soon starts to grow more intense as moans echo through the cabin.
He’s started to groan in your ear and kiss your neck up and down.
He pushes you down into a seat in the front row by your hips and he kneels down in front of you.
His hands go up underneath your skirt and start to pull on your tights to reveal your bare legs.
"Harry we can’t do this here." You say completely out of breath already.
“You’re right, the toilet is better. Does this count as joining the mile high club even if we’re not in the air?” He smirked as he led you, barefoot to the bathroom.
For the next 10 minutes, you and Harry enjoyed each other’s company in the toilet as he moved his hips slowly inside of you, each thrust getting faster and faster.
You felt like you might collapse soon and he knew it too so he decided to stop just before you orgasmed and let you out of the toilet.
You sat down in the front row, completely out of breath, a little disheartened he’d pulled out before you orgasmed.
He appeared from the toilet, zipping up his trousers and putting his belt back on.
“Let’s finish at my house” he said and you happily obliged. It was fair to say that night you never got any sleep, despite how tired you had been after your shift.
Thanks to Harry giving you the most amazing sex you’d ever had, you had never been more grateful to be an Air Hostess as you had been that day for meeting your now boyfriend, Captain Harry Styles.
summary - you and harry enjoy each others company after the wembley tour
word count: 1.5k
pairing: long-term-boyfriend!harry x reader
Wembley was empty now.
There was only the crew cleaning up the masses of boas and rubbish that was all over the floor.
You were on stage, trying to salvage the flowers that fans had thrown on stage for Harry during Grapejuice. You hoped to collect them and press them into a frame so Harry could hang it up in your house. Possibly in his recording studio.
You were kneeling on the floor, collecting the flowers into your Love On Tour tote bag.
“Babe!” Harry called from the side, entering the stadium from the tunnel.
“Hi, baby.” You smiled and waved at him, before returning to your collecting.
“Hi, baby.” You smiled and waved at him, before returning to your collecting.
“What are y’doing? Been looking for you for ages.”
He had changed into shorts, vans and a hoodie now. He looked very cosy and loveable. You loved him in his comfortable clothes, especially because it makes hugging him cosier.
Harry stopped to take out his phone and take a photo of you on the stage, without you knowing. He looked at the photo afterwards, zoomed into you and smiled at how pretty you looked.
He pocketed his phone as he made the rest of the way to you.
“Are you okay?” You asked, worried that he needed you for something.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Was just missing you.” He admitted.
You stopped adding flowers to your bag and watched him walk all the way over to where the archway was in the stage to get through to Johnny’s Place.
You knelt over to him and dangled your face and hands over the edge. Harry reached his hands up and held onto your hands, very careful not to pull you in case you fell.
He smiled when his hands met yours, having missed your touch for the past half an hour.
“Missed you too. Y’look good.” You told him.
“I’m in m’gym clothes, babe!” Harry laughed.
“I know.” You laughed back, squeezing onto his hands.
“Put m’best clothes on for you.”
He let go of your hands then, terrified he might accidentally pull you if he wasn’t concentrating.
“Are you sure you’re okay, though?”
“Yes babe. I’m sure.” Harry smiled at how thorough your concern was. “Gimme a minute.”
Harry shuffled along the floor and ran up some secret stairs to get to you.
You went back to picking through the flowers, to find the best ones for him. There were so many different types of flowers with lots of different colours.
You felt him come up behind you before you heard him. His presence was like a warm, comforting, blanket over you.
“What’re you doing, love?” Harry asked over your shoulder, crouching down.
You turned your head to see him, his face only inches away from yours. You smiled at him, giving him a quick peck before replying.
“Collecting these flowers.”
“Why?” Harry went in for another kiss, because he can’t keep his distance from you. Then he kissed you again because he can’t keep his lips away from yours after just one taste.
“Because I want to make you a gift and you’ll ruin it if you keep asking questions.” You turned your head away from him and secured all the flowers in the bag.
Harry moved behind you as you did so.
“Y/N?” He said softly.
“Yeah?” You turned around, to find Harry with a flower in his hands.
A pretty pink flower that matched your dress. He had snapped the flower from the stalk. He reached the flower up to being your ear, tucking it there so it would stay.
You blushed as he did so, smiling so widely as he loved on you in his own way.
“I love you.” He said.
“Do you?” You pretended like you didn’t already know.
“Yeah. Very much so. Sing all m’songs about you, don’t I?”
“What? Even Love of My Life?” You questioned, turning to sit cross legged on the floor so you could face him. Harry still crouched, probably comfortable from all the pilates. “Where you’re singing about how I was the love of your life?”
“Shut up. You know why I wrote that song.” Harry replied quietly.
You did know.
It was when you and Harry had gone on a break because the distance between you was too much. He wrote the song, sent it to you to ask whether it was okay if he put it on his new album he was creating, only for you to come knocking on his door the next day, teary eyed, demanding an explanation.
You’d talked for hours and hours that night until you decided you had something worth fighting for.
“I do. Sorry, H baby.” You cupped his cheek with your hand and rubbed over his soft skin.
“It’s okay. Only because we’re okay.” He smiled at you.
You lay down then, still a few flowers surrounding you underneath.
Harry then came and lay down beside you, close enough to interlock his hand closest to you with yours. You turned to smile at him, only to realise he was busy admiring the moon high up above Wembley.
The stars were out and shining for him. The moon beaming down on the both of you.
“She’s so pretty.” Harry said, talking about the moon.
“Prettier than me?” You teased.
“Nobody’s prettier than you, love.”
You were silent for a few moments, both of you just admiring the still and silence. It’s hard to believe this place was filled with over ninety thousand people a couple hours ago.
You’d come to realise that Lloyd snapped a photo of the two of you like this and it quickly became your favourite photo with each other. Holding hands, laying amongst the flowers, gazing at the beautiful moon.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.” He squeezed your hand.
“Sometimes, when we’re apart, like you’re in LA and I’m in London, I look up at the moon and remember that it’s looking back down at you too. Like she’s watching over both of us simultaneously. It’s comforting, knowing we’re small enough in this expensive universe to be closer than we realise. Don’t you think?”
Harry didn’t reply and you wondered maybe he just didn’t get it?
You turned to look at him and he was already looking at you, stars now reflecting in his eyes.
“It’s cool if you don’t think that. I mean, like…”
“Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“Marry me.” He smiled so widely.
“Wha–”
“Marry me. Please.” He repeated himself, sitting up to pull something out of his pocket. He pulled out a small, dainty, engagement ring - one that you recognised from Anne’s collection. “Marry me and just be with me. Always. I know marriage doesn’t change who we are or how we love each other, but I just want to make you a little bit more mine. I’m always going to pick you. You are the love of my life. Choose me? Because I choose you.”
You didn’t realise you were crying until Harry was going slightly blurry in your vision
“Yes,” You whispered, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” You shouted more and more loudly.
You sat and reached up up to grab his cheeks for a kiss. He wasn’t ready for it, but quickly found his rhythm against you. He kissed you so lovingly and you gave him all of you in return.
He pulled away, red lipped and slightly breathless.
“Let me put this on you.”
He held you hand shakily and your own hand was shaking. He slipped the perfect ring on and you smiled with so much happiness.
“Harry, it’s gorgeous.”
“Mum gave it to me. She gave it to me the moment we went on a break and I knew that I’d screwed up. She gave it to me, making me promise that I’d work hard to earn you back and marry the one person who I’d ever fully loved.”
“You’ve been carrying it around all this time?” You asked in disbelief.
“Always knew I was going to ask you. It was just a matter of when.”
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!!
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!
y/n is a cupid and harry might be her soulmate. if that's even possible anyway.
wordcount: 3.5k+
——————
"Excuse me? Are you okay?"
(Y/N) froze at the sound of an accented voice, speaking from behind her. She could feel eyes on her back, spying the shimmer covered skin left bare from the draping of the tulle-esque cloud weaved fabric. He wasn't supposed to be able to see her.
"You... You can see me?" When did her voice get so breathless? (Y/N) didn't dare to turn around just yet. Maybe, this man was talking to someone else.
A beat passed.
"Yes?" his tentative response came, sounding more like a question than a definitive statement. "I-I just want to know if you're alright. It's a little cold out, so..."
Was it? (Y/N) didn't really notice things like that any more, temperature and changes in the weather. It all felt the same to her at this point. The goosebumps rising on her skin were a new reaction.
Turning on her heel, her bare feet left a divot in the snow beneath them. That's never happened before. Facing whoever it was that caught her, (Y/N) felt her voice freeze like the air around her she was beginning to become conscious of.
He was pretty. Very pretty.
Split down the middle, his hair fell in brown curls, blonde hairs touching at his temples. She wished she could tell the shade of his eyes, but the way he was backlit by his porch light kept her from seeing that detail. Instead she was left with the impression of a pair of big eyes, squinting to see her to see her through the space. Pillow lips, a pretty shade of pink that was muted through the lack of light were pursed as he looked at her, concern tugging at the corners. Freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and decorated his otherwise clear, slightly tanned skin.
No one had ever been able to see her before, but she figured she was at least a little lucky that the first one who did was someone as pretty as him. But, that might have been the romantic in her talking.
This man responded to her silence by talking a careful step over the threshold of his door, creaking floorboards groaning under his feet as he walked over his porch. A hand lingered on the knob to the door, not allowing it to swing completely shut after him.
"Can I call someone for you? I know Jack's parties get a little out of hand sometimes, so if you need to wait for someone to drive y'home or need to call an Uber, I can help." This man spoke to her as if she were a wounded animal, careful and delicately.
While she'd never really been able to garner a lot of reaction to her appearance given the fact she was supposed to be invisible, she didn't think she looked particularly creatureish. Maybe she wasn't so lucky to be seen by someone as pretty as him.
Her silence stretched on, prompting him to take another step towards her. The door behind him shuttered closed, leaving him out in the cold with her despite the fact she didn't think she could feel it as intensely as he did. "At least let me grab you a jacket, or-or some shoes if you want to walk. I don't know how you've made it this far out anyway, Jack's property is miles down the road," he continued.
Jack, he mentioned again. Was that whoever was in charge of the party she had fluttered through before finding herself out here and seen by this man. She'd done her work there, bringing more than a few couples together before she flittered on her way. Valentine's day was busy enough as is, she couldn't linger longer than needed. Besides, that party was a lot more stressful and wild than she had any interest in hanging out at, even if no one would interact with her. That was where he thought she'd come from?
Clouds had must have filled her head, and by the time they cleared out and she focused once more on the man, he was much closer than she remembered. Despite the stretch of yard still between them, his lessened proximity gave her a startle.
Green. His eyes were green.
She could tell especially what shade colored his irises when he jumped back, eyes widening as his breathing stopped.
It was (Y/N)'s turn to feel concern warp her heart. She couldn't help herself before she took a careful step towards him, reaching a hand out. "Is everything okay? Are you hurt?" Noticing now, he didn't have shoes on either and the ground could be littered with anything that gave him a shock when he walked.
"Th-Those are real?" he breathed out, pointing with a shaky finger. His pretty green eyes weren't even looking at her she realized. He was looking behind her.
Right at the fluffy pair of wings peeking over the slopes of her shoulders, the feathers laying down now that the start he gave to her heart was settling.
While she planned on trying to explain away what he saw (obviously, he'd thought she was in costume, like she'd seen on a few of the participants at Jack's party), especially with the way he'd gone pale and his hand was shaking a lot more than she figured was safe, she didn't get very far before the sound of something skittering away behind her had her jumping in place. Turning to look at the field behind her, a white cottontail could be seen running to the cover of a shrub, prints left in the crunchy snow to account for the crackling sound that scared her in her skin. It was an involuntary response, the way her wings fluttered behind her, feathers raised to ready her for flight in case of emergency.
But that response seemed to be the last straw for her new friend as he dropped to the ground, eyes fluttering closed.
—————
Once getting him safe inside, draped across his couch with a roaring fire alive in the hearth, (Y/N) only felt a little guilty snooping around. When he didn't wake right away, she figured he might need a little bit of a nap, if only to get his blood pressure under control before she would flutter away before he could experience another panic.
In his kitchen sat a plate of untouched food on the counter, a pair of slippers by the back door where he had approached her, and a knocked over glass of water with droplets still dripping down the cabinets to the tiled floor. He dropped everything to help the girl he'd found wandering through his property it seemed. She must have really been an unusual sight for him to have forgone his own shoes.
His home was cozy, she thought fondly, as she wandered down the hallways and traipsed over the stairs. The walls were lined with photos of her friend and two other women who both had similar dimples and sparkling eyes. Others included people who looked nothing like him, but he still held a happy grin on his face. Always his arms were draped around their shoulders, nails painted as he clutched them close in a pose for the camera. Books about fashion, philosophy, and happiness were littered throughout the home, occupying shelves and the space on his nightstand. His shoes were stuffed under the edge of his bed, his most favorite pair appearing to be a set of beat of white tennis shoes, threaded through with baby pink laces. The whole place smelled warm and sweet—lavender and spice, vanilla and cinnamon, and the underlying base of whatever it was she'd smelled when she had to lean him against her side as she lugged him into safety. That part must just be him, then.
Seeing all of this made her feel even more guilty for spooking him so terribly. She hadn't meant to, of course—he wasn't even supposed to see her—but maybe she could have been a little but more aware of her wings when she realized he had spotted her. Hopefully, he would be alright and take her ensuring his safety as her apology.
Cupids had famously tender hearts, so she didn't know what she'd do if he held a grudge against her for this whole accident.
The least she could do was clean up some for him before he woke, she decided. That way, he might be able to convince himself it was nothing but a silly dream he had while waiting for his dinner to be ready.
Fluttering with the tips of her toes dancing across the hardwood of his floor, (Y/N) made it to his kitchen. She made quiet work of cleaning up the cup and water marring his clean floor. The now chipped glass of his cup caught the light from the dining room just perfectly, casting shimmering rainbows across the kitchen. Hopefully he wouldn't notice that too much. Rag in hand, (Y/N) dropped to her hands and knees to mop up the water spilled across the tiles, the hem of her short dress grazing the floor as she worked.
Standing to her feet, damp rag in hand and a clean floor before her, (Y/N) felt the warmth of eyes on her back. Jeez, if this being seen thing was going to start to be a regular thing, she was going to have to be a little bit better about hiding.
Turning on her toes like she'd seen a ceramic ballerina in a music box do once, she braced herself for a repeat of what happened in the yard. Maybe this time she could catch him.
Behind her stood her new friend (no matter how much she searched around his house, she couldn't find anything with his name on it), eyes wide but decidedly much more color in his cheeks.
"I thought you were a dream," was all that fell from his lips, voice graveled and quiet.
(Y/N) watched him, hoping to catch the signs before he'd drop to the floor. "A-Are you going to faint again?"
"I don't think so, but..." he trailed off, eyes never leaving the fluffs of wings over her shoulder. "What are you?"
Twisting the damp rag in her hands, (Y/N) worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She'd never had to explain herself to anyone before. No one other than those like her had ever seen her before.
"Do you know who Cupid is?"
The man seemed to take her in slowly then. She was aware of the heat of his gaze as he skimmed over the breezy dress on her form, the sheen of shimmer that permanently covered her skin, and, of course, the wings pinned to her back. "Like the baby with the arrows?"
A slight smile touched at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips. "Kind of. We're not really babies or have actual arrows, but close enough."
A beat of silence filled the space between them, the plush green of his eyes keeping her attention as he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from her.
"This isn't a joke, is it?" he murmured, finally landing on her face with his eyes softening.
"No," was her simple answer, but (Y/N) had the feeling he wasn't listening.
Looking at this man with pretty green eyes and sleep mussed curls crowning his head, she watched a look come across his face that she'd seen thousands of times before, but never directed at her. The softening of his jaw, the small parting of his lips, something just a hair behind his pupils turning into hearts as he looked at her. She'd seen all of those adjustments happen to those she helped fall in love with their right person; it was true love the first time they looked their beloved in the eyes.
And he was looking at her.
While arrows weren't the preferred method to infect someone with the love bug, there still was a process Cupids had to go through to ensure their target had those butterflies in their stomach and thoughts questioning if love at first sight really was possible. (Y/N)'s favorite was the deliberate touch of her fingertips over their heart to get it racing or purposeful flick of her wrist with a brush through their hair to get love on the brain, but she didn't do either of those things to her friend right? She had been very careful when carting him inside to not touch him too much where it could impair him, but it wasn't even possible for people to fall in love with her anyway.
Cupids weren't meant to be the objects of love, just bring those who were meant to be together. Except for this one story she had heard a long time ago...
"I'm awake, right?" the man said, a dreamy cast over his gaze, "Y'promise this isn't a dream or a joke?"
He thought she was a dream. (Y/N)'s heart stuttered at the thought. She'd never been someone's dream before.
"You're awake, I promise," she smiled, nails digging into the rag as she tried to keep herself from reaching out to brush back the curl that flopped over his forehead. "Are you feeling okay? You fell kind of hard outside."
"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine," he mumbled, shrugging off her questions as he took a careful step towards her, "You're really Cupid?"
"Kind of," she started, "I'm a Cupid, but my name is (Y/N). What's your name?"
"'M Harry," he rushed out, a dimpled smile perching itself on his lips as he allowed his gaze to take her in once more.
The fact he wasn't running for the hills or reaching for a pitchfork or a straitjacket to tie her up in was a miracle in and of itself, (Y/N) thought. She never thought of such a lovely reaction to someone finding her out. No matter how lovely it was, though, it wasn't supposed to happen. No one was ever supposed to see her.
Harry must have picked up on the direction her thoughts had taken as he reached a tentative hand out, soft fingertips brushing the back of her hand that was still worrying her cleaning rag. "Are you okay?"
Swallowing, (Y/N) took a slow step back, her bare feet on the cold tile causing a shiver to rocket up her back. "You're not supposed to be able to see me. I don't know why you can."
"Oh," he sounded, gaze dropping to the floor. "Do you think something's wrong? With me?"
Her heart string were pulled taut at the sound of his voice, dejection an undercurrent to his words. "No, no, there's nothing wrong with you," she rushed out, dropping the rag to take her turn reaching for him with a carful hand. Unlike her, he didn't hesitate to reciprocate her touch as he turned his palm towards her and curl his fingers around hers in a loose hold. Never had (Y/N) actually experienced the butterflies she induced in other people's stomachs or the rollercoaster drop feeling that surged through her veins. Not until now. She swallowed before speaking, forcing her eyes to fixate on their joined hands instead of his eyes so she didn't forget what she was saying. "I've just only ever heard of this happening once before for a Cupid, and I guess I didn't really believe the story until now."
"What was the story?" he asked her, taking another calculated step towards her with his hand shifting to hold her own better, "Was it bad?"
"No," she started, chancing a look up at him where he still looked like the star of a campaign for the validity of love at first sight. God, he really was so gorgeous. "It was about a Cupid, he—uh—he was working and suddenly there was someone who could see him. It turns out the man that could see him was the Cupid's soulmate. No one else in the world was supposed to see him except for this man because that was the only way he was going to fall in love like the Cupid was supposed to help him with."
Harry's gaze never shifted from her as she spoke, only draping itself over her features to catch every flutter of her lashes and molding of her lips around her words. "Soulmate?" he uttered, the only thing falling from his tongue when his eyes refocused on hers. (Y/N) only hummed a conversation in response, her voice a little stuck as she tried to keep from seeing just how many lashes he had bordering his eyes. "Is that what you think I am? Y-Your soulmate."
(Y/N)'s wings fluffed out at the sound of his voice wrapping around the words your soulmate. If not for the fact she could feel the solid ground beneath her feet, she would have suspected she was flying with the way her heart soared.
"Maybe," she peeped, feeling a warmth bubble under her skin when he squeezed at her hand in his, "Do you feel any different?"
Those softened eyes met hers in a heartbeat, tearing away from her lips when he processed her question. "I feel everything," he told her in a rush, the words seemingly coming out before he knew he wanted them to, "Everything good. Is that normal?"
"When someone falls in love, yes," she told him, voice small as if the truth would break everything if she uttered it too loudly.
The L-word sat between them in the silence of his kitchen while she gauged his reaction. (Y/N) watched as he shifted on his feet only to grow closer to her, his fingers lacing between hers in a proper hold, and his pulse thrummed at the base of his throat. He didn't resemble at all the pale man that had dropped to the ground in fright at finding out her wings were real. He looked like a man in love.
"'M falling in love?" he rasped, his voice dropping with the way he'd grown close enough she had to crane her neck to look up at him, "With Cupid?"
"Maybe." She'd correct him later that she was only a Cupid, not the Cupid himself.
"How will I know for sure?" This close, she could make out just how many tiny freckles dotted the strong line of his nose. Her favorite might be the one just off to the side of his mouth, though.
"K-Kissing, usually makes it pretty clear." (Y/N)'s heart jumped to her throat when she uttered the K-word.
He wouldn't actually kiss her, though, right? He didn't even know her, and these things typically took a bit longer than this. But, she guessed, she'd never really heard about what the effects of being in love with the embodiment of love could do to a person.
"Kissing?" Harry mused under his breath, as if she weren't to hear him despite the proximity. The hand that had been hanging limply by his side carefully reached out and cupped the curve of her waist over the cloud-light dress that curled around her form. While it covered what it needed, (Y/N) could clearly feel the ridges and lines of his palm through the fabric, warm and soft as she tried not to hug him closer. Instead, (Y/N) settled with a gentle hand on his chest. She wondered if he could feel her warmth through his shirt.
When Harry dipped his head down, his exhale sweeping across her skin, (Y/N) held her own breath. As much as she wanted to catalogue just what shade of pink his lips were tinted, how many lashes were fluttered around his eyes, and the gradient of the blonde hairs on his temples into the deep chocolate of his curls, there was no where else she could look but at his eyes. A spring day right in the middle of winter, that was the only description she could think of for the shade of his irises. The perfect green stems to blooming roses, wrapped up and gifted to a lover on Valentine's Day.
"Kissing," she confirmed, answering the question she wasn't even sure he knew he was asking.
That seemed to be all he needed to hear before he nudged his nose against hers, eyes fluttering closed. He paused a breath away from her lips, giving her an out if she wanted to step out of his hold. When she didn't make any more to push him away or back out of the warmth of his hold, Harry surged forward and closed the gap between their lips.
(Y/N) had never been kissed before, but she had a feeling this was how it was supposed to be done. His lips were soft, softer than she could think of any rose petal ever being. He was careful as he slotted their lips together, lingering in an affectionate kiss against her top lip. It was innocent and slow, nothing like the kissing she'd seen at Jack's party a property over. This felt more akin to the kind of kiss she'd peeked on at weddings, or private moments between lovers who knew there was no one else out there but the one in their arms.
True love's kiss.
Harry pulled away first, (Y/N) stopping herself from following after him as if she was the one that ended to confirm she was in love with Cupid. He didn't immediately open his eyes once he gained the space, leaving (Y/N) to gaze up at his lidded eyes with pretty pink lips parted to let out an airy sigh.
"Are you okay?" she broached after a beat, Harry's eyes still shuttered.
A slow smile took over his mouth. Dimples thumbed themselves deep into his cheeks, the skin growing pink with a blush bubbling to the surface. He blinked his eyes open only for his smile to widen when he found hers.
"I think I'm in love."
—————
ahhh! this is super different for me!! ive never written something and posted same day along with no editing shfushfuhs an most of the time I don't really write my y/ns as the supernatural/fun characters so lots of nw things for me on this one!!! anyway im SO sorry for any mistakes nad thank you sm for reading! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!
Her Royal Highness Princess YN, daughter to Prince Charles and late Princess Diana, Prince and Princess of Wales, younger sister to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, and Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, and granddaughter to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and His Royal Highness Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh would’ve never thought to meet Harry Styles by accident—by literally running into him. And Harry Styles would’ve never thought to meet the Princess of England again after that seemingly fateful afternoon.
faceclaim: Saoirse Ronan
author’s note: If you see any mistakes I made—especially royal title wise—please send an ask (anon asks are enabled!). I seriously love and appreciate your help with that <3
series masterlist » prologue
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sunflowerbutterfly Sometimes I really hate my job—especially if I have to change out of my comfy pullover and fluffy slippers into a dress, a coat, and some high heels.
Seriously, who invented high heels? Hey Alexa, who invented high heels? … ah, so ancient Iran, aka Persia, is to blame. Great. I will condemn those for centuries dead people happily while I suffer during every step I take this afternoon. Burn in hell, ancient Persian torturer.
Liked by MacMark, murderbane, gingerprince, and 4 others | 6 comments
MacMark You only have to find the shoe.
↳ sunflowerbutterfly It‘s easy for you to say because you can walk in every shoe, Meg 💀
↳ MacMark Well… That is true, but everyone has their pair of shoe 👀
↳ sunflowerbutterfly Then my pair is obviously and most definitely my Nike sneaker or Converse
liked by MacMark
murderbane Rebell against the norms! Wear sneaker!
liked by sunflowerbutterfly
↳ gingerprince Not sure if Granny—or the monarchy as such—would love that suggestion, Meredith.
↳ murderbane Fuck the system!
liked by gingerprince and MacMark
↳ sunflowerbutterfly I know again why Granny won’t let you come to Buckingham for another lunch.
↳ murderbane Oh, come on, YNN! That flying sandwich was fun!
↳ gingerprince Wait, you are the one responsible for the Salmon Sandwich Incident???
↳ sunflowerbutterfly Please, don’t call it that, brother dearest.
↳ murderbane I am! And he definitely can call it that. It’s the truth and nothing but the truth.
liked by gingerprince
gingerprince High heels are way out of my league, but they look uncomfortable. Pack a pair of more comfier shoes as second choice?
↳ sunflowerbutterfly No shit, Sherlock 🙄
↳ gingerprince I am sorry that I don’t know more about the secrets of a lady 👀
↳ sunflowerbutterfly I know again why William is my favorite brother.
↳ gingerprince He is not and we both know it 👀
↳ sunflowerbutterfly Keep on dreaming 😙
↳ gingerprince I love you too, dear sister ❤️
instylemagazine Princess YN is now arriving at Strand Campus of King’s College London in a fitted navy blue mid-calf coat by Gucci and black velvet high heels by Jimmy Choo. She is wearing her signature golden butterfly pin—an heirloom of her mother, late Princess Diana.
Liked by yourfan1, yourfan2, royalistsbitch, annetwist, and 4,327 others | 1,441 comments
dianaforever The pin 🥺
↳ ynismyqueen She once told a reporter that she always wears it to official appearances because it helps her with her anxiety - it’s like her mom is with her 🥺
↳ dianaforever Oh gosh, that’s so sweet but so sad at the same time 😭❤️
yourfan1 Princess YN is a style icon.
yourfan2 Damn, she looks stunning.
↳ yourfan3 True!!!! Though the hat was kinda over the top, but I know for sure that she doesn’t want to wear those but has to
↳ yourfan2 Everyone is wearing those ridiculous hats, so she has to. She will probably rip it off as soon as she is back in the car 😅
royalistsbitch I’m on my knees again. This coat is gorgeous 😮💨 But the price 😩
yn_andharryshipper She is wearing Gucci, he is wearing Gucci, I want them to meet, but it will stay a dream, I know it.
hsfan1 Harry’s mom liked this post 🥺❤️
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She could feel the looming shadows of her two Royal Protection Officers right at her back. Aaron and Egil—the first broad, dark, and Scottish, the latter tall, blonde, bearded, and Swedish—shielded her body from the screams of reporters and blinding lights of their clicking cameras while the princess climbed into the back of the waiting SUV. Inside the cozily warm vehicle, YN ripped off the obnoxious hat she was supposed to wear and threw it without a second glance onto the seat next to her. Meanwhile, her feet kicked off the high heels, and with a strangled groan, the blonde pulled them up one after the other and massaged her soles with closed eyes.
The left front door got opened as Egil climbed into the car; Bernard—her favorite driver—already sat behind the wheel and looked through the rear mirror back at the princess. She smiled at the sight of his kind and twinkling eyes. “To Starbucks, Your Highness?” He asked while Egil buckled up. YN nodded. “That would be great, thank you, Bernard. But could we grab a cup at the one in Notting Hill? Near Holland Park? I’m most definitely not in the mood for a crowd.”—Which would form in front of the Starbucks near the river on the other Thames bank opposite Westminster because most tourists frequented this shop. The driver hummed and used the blinker. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Sighing, YN leaned back in her seat but pushed back upward as Egil reached between his feet, clad in shining black Oxford shoes, and conjured a shoebox. He turned in his car seat to hand it over to the princess. “Your sneaker,” the blonde giant smiled, and YN grinned happily. “I thought I forgot them back at Kensington!” She exclaimed and grabbed the box with her current favorite Converse shoes—one in lavender and the other one in a sunflower yellow. Ever since the reporters had seen the princess wearing the odd color combination, every single pair was sold out in the UK and other parts of the world. The internet had been full of posts spotting the same two Converse shoes the princess regularly wore in paparazzi shots.
“Your lady in waiting had handed me the box right before we left, Your Highness, together with this,” the Protection Officer told her while YN had already put on the left shoe. Chuckling, she accepted the book carefully wrapped in soft tissue paper. She knew which book it contained, so she quickly continued putting on the more comfortable shoes before leaning back and unwrapping the book. The first edition of Pride and Prejudice was her entire pride and joy. YN knew it was kind of posh to carry this particular edition around instead of a cheaper paperback edition, but she only would read in it during the ride and maybe in the line while she waited for her coffee. No one would suspect it for a first edition, only if one had better knowledge about books than the majority of the population.
“Thanks, Egil,” she smiled, and the Swedish giant only nodded softly. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Your Highness.” And with that, he turned back and left the princess reading in silence.
;
Arriving at the comparably empty Starbucks, YN unbuckled while her door had already got opened by Aaron, who had sat in the car following them with two other Protection Officers. Egil slid off his seat and stationed himself between the opened door and the sidewalk, eyes wandering over the few people strolling down the street. She pushed her finger between the pages before climbing out of the SUV and straightened her coat before pushing a blonde curl behind her ear. The book was opened again in her hands because YN knew how this always went: she would leave the car with Aaron and Egil but would have to wait a few more moments until one of the other officers—Matthew was on duty today—had exited the place in question to give them the all-clear.
The happily moving bell announced Matt’s return, and he nodded to the other two officers. “All clear, only a few customers,” he told them, and YN moved without thought; book still opened and nose buried inside it. Aaron jumped forward to open the door, Egil right at her back, and Matt shielded her side from potential harm before he returned to the second car. “Thanks, A,” the princess mumbled, mind deep inside the world of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.
“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.” The words left her lips in a whisper and sighing, her finger stroked over the words, always feeling the wonder over literature as soon as she opened particular books. Pride and Prejudice was one of them.
And maybe it was because she read about the devastatingly romantic endeavors of fictional characters who had a much better functioning love life than the Princess of England ever had. Maybe it was because she always had such bad luck in love and interpersonal relationships ever since growing old enough to have the serious kind of it.
But the universe let her run into a solid chest, her precious book tumbling out of her hands and down to the wooden floor where it laid cover-up.
Suddenly, hectic erupted around her, and Aaron and Egil jumped into action while YN still recovered from the sudden stop. Strong hands were gently wrapped around her upper arms to safe her from following her book to the ground, and the fingers of her right hand had buried themselves into the soft fabric of a pullover out of sheer panic and surprise.
Aaron stepped around and stretched out his hands in order to remove the intruder from the princess while Egil tried to maneuver himself between them and the woman. Blinking multiple times, YN shook off the daze; her eyes wandering over an orange and white striped slip-over, a white and brown plaid shirt underneath until they moved to a handsome face with sharp features, a soft beard shadow covering his chin, cheeks, and the skin over his soft looking upper lip. Sea foam green eyes stared wide and in shock down at her, seemingly still taking in the person he had run into, but YN finally was back in reality as Aaron put his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“I need to ask you to step back, sir,” he spoke up in his most scaring officer voice, and as if the brunette only had noticed the presence of the two looming shadows in immaculate black suits now, his wide eyes moved from her face to the towering Scot. After he didn’t follow the order, Aaron grabbed his shoulder and stared him down with a glare as cold as the North Pole. “I said, I need you to step back, sir,” he stressed his request further, the threat lingering in his tone. Egil cleared his throat to get noticed too, and her collision partner almost paled, his hands slowly letting go off her upper arms, but only after he had made sure with another glance she was steady enough.
“Sorry,” he spoke and raised both hands before he took a step back but bent down to get the book from the floor. He looked up to her as he grabbed the old binding, and Harry still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that the Princess of England had run right into his arms. He still wasn’t sure if all of this really happened or if this was a trick of his tired brain. But the grab of one of the suit wearers on his shoulder had been unpleasant enough to make him think that this really is happening to him.
YN stared down at him with just as wide eyes as he paused in his movements and couldn’t comprehend her current reality. Harry Styles crouched in front of her, in a Starbucks store, after she had successfully run him over. Her heart skipped several beats before it started beating in her throat. This wasn’t something usual, not even for the Princess of England.
“Here,” Harry Styles spoke softly after he had raised back to his towering height and held her book in his ring-clad fingers. “Thank you,” she breathlessly whispered but threw her two shadows a warning look. “Everything is fine, Aaron. Egil.” The men nodded shortly but held their gazes settled on the singer, not daring letting him out of their protective sight. YN looked back to the man in front of her, a unsure smile tucking at the corner of her mouth. “I am sorry for that.” It came out almost embarrassed because he obviously didn’t do anything resembling treason or murder. He only had saved her from the embarrassment of meeting the floor with her butt, just like the book had done in her place.
The man with the fluffiest curls she had ever seen only smiled and waved one of his hands lazily. “It’s alright,” he promised before suddenly something seemingly came to his mind. “Your Highness.” And with that, Harry Styles attempted to bow before her, but YN couldn’t have any of that. Gently, she pressed her unoccupied hand and the fist holding her book against his shoulders and shook her head at his confused expression. “Please, don’t do this. I should bow before you.” The princess chuckled. “I mean, I did it often enough in my rooms as a teenager, right in front of a poster of One Direction.” A hand shot up to her mouth and covered it so nothing more embarrassing knowledge would leave it.
And Harry? He stood absolutely stunned there before a soft grin spread over his face—which made him even more handsome in her still unbelieving eyes. But YN didn’t let him utter a single word before pointing over to the staring baristas behind the counter. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if their mouths gaped at the sight of the world’s most famous singer and the Princess of England in their shop. “Would you like to have a coffee? A tea? Something cold? A hot chocolate? After the inconvenience of me running you practically over, it’s the least I can do.” YN was rambling, she knew it but just couldn’t stop.
He made her nervous—as if she wasn’t a grown woman anymore and instead turned back into the insecure teenage girl she used to be (well, even today, she wasn’t the self-confidence in person).
Harry tried to shake his head, but a voice in there screamed to accept the offer to live a few more minutes in her presence. This was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of moment, so he should stretch it as long as possible—not because he wanted the paparazzi to know, but because his former teenager self would kill him if he would run away now. So all he did was slowly nod and instantly patted his shoulder internally because he got to see the most radiant smile he probably had ever witnessed.
Grinning, YN pressed Pride and Prejudice against her chest and suppressed a heavy but blissed sigh at the sight of his growing smile. If she had thought he was irresistible on-screen, she now knew that this assumption was utter bollocks. Harry Styles was even more captivating in reality, face-to-face, and YN almost dreaded the day when he would be in a happy relationship with cats, a wife, and a bunch of kids because it meant she had to bury her crush definitively.
Turning to her protection squad, as she loved to call them, the princess nodded to a table at the halfway point between counter and door. “Why don’t you sit over there until we’re finished? You don’t have to stand around,” the blonde suggested and pointed to a table with a pair of chairs closer to the counter. “You will have the best view of me and the door. Black coffee and a Caramel Frappuccino?” They nodded hesitantly, still not used to the princess's kindness even after years in her service.
As the two went to their assigned table, YN turned back to Harry and smiled up at him. “What would Harry Styles like to have?”
;
pagesix Rumors are getting loud that Harry Styles and Princess YN met at a Starbucks in Notting Hill, London, UK. Several sources claimed to have seen the singer-songwriter and Princess of England together near Holland Park, where she bought him a coffee before talking for hours. Sources say the two celebrities left together after getting another coffee.
Liked by hsfan1, hsfan2, yourfan1, yn_andharryshipper, and 3,287 others | 960 comments
hsfan1 EXCUSE ME???? 😱
1direction4ever She always was a 1D fan, if I remember correctly, so this would be just ✨chefskiss✨
hsfan2 SCREAMING RIGHT NOW
↳ yourfan1 SAME???? I literally can’t breathe.
hsfan3 If that’s true… Save me.
yourfan2 This would be a dream come true for YN 🥺
yn_andharryshipper Please stop pushing my expectations.
hsfan4 I SAW THEM 😱😮💨
liked by hsfan1, yourfan2, hsfan3, and 77 others
;
“I still can’t believe I ran into the Princess of England,” Harry laughed softly while walking next to the woman in question, steaming hot coffee in hand. YN grinned up to him, an equally steaming to-go cup in hand while contemplating how she had ended up running into Harry Styles, sharing a table at Starbucks, and now strolling through Holland Park next to him with a second coffee in hand.
This day was definitely something entirely else.
“Believe me. I would have never believed if someone had told me this morning I would meet Harry Styles because I run into him,” the blonde returned and shook her head in utter wonder. The singer gently nudged her to the side. “It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one a tad bashful, just so you know.” YN looked up at him while sipping her sweetened coffee and nodded in agreement. “It takes off the awkward edge of the situation, does it not?”
Harry hummed before turning around for the third time ever since they had left Starbucks to stroll through Holland Park just around the corner. “And they’re at your back every time you leave Kensington or Buckingham?” He dared to ask, and the blonde princess looked over her shoulder as well, where Aaron, Egil, and Matthew walked at a respectful distance but kept their eyes either on her very person or on her surroundings. Even Harry was eyed cautiously from time to time. “Every minute of every day I spend outside Kensington. I am sorry if they make you uncomfortable. And again, sorry for their treatment earlier—they are kind of… quick in their actions when it comes to me.” It still seriously bothered her as soon as she remembered the harsh grip Aaron had used on the man next to her, even though it had been her fault, to begin with.
But Harry only shrugged it off before pushing one hand into the pocket of his coat. “I really don’t mind, and the situation earlier is already forgotten. Really,” he told her with empathy as his eyes had witnessed the unconvincingly furrowed blonde brows. “I only imagine it to be… constricting. I have the freedom to walk around without security when I’m not on my way to shows or interviews and all the stuff, but you…” The princess clearly could see and hear the sympathy of the singer, but she only shrugged with a small smile. “I am used to it—it had always been this way. I can’t remember a moment outside the palace where I didn’t have them trailing behind me. Even during my studies at Oxford.” Now, Harry looked back again. “So… The dark brooding shadow and the light, bright giant always sat behind you in a sea of young adults? Let me guess.” He grinned now, and YN felt her heart beating even faster than it already did. She just had to laugh. “Yes, if you guessed that they had a lot of female admirers trailing behind them, then you are totally right,” the princess chuckled, the memories still very vivid in her mind. The man grinned as well and softly grabbed her hand to steady her as YN kind of stumbled over a bump on the stone path, and both felt their hearts flutter.
“Sometimes I’m too clumsy for this world,” she mumbled behind her coffee cup, and Harry chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, it never shows,” he winked. YN felt the blood rising into her cheeks and hid them in the collar of her coat. “I am glad to hear that. Imagine what Granny would say if she knew that the entire Commonwealth gossiped over their clumsy princess.” She always knew how to change topics involving compliments into a joke. Her family didn’t like that very much. But Harry seemingly caught up to it, judging by the knowing expression settling on his devilishly handsome face. “What does she say about the gossip throughout the country that their princess is a sworn Harry Styles fan?” YN let her head fall back while a laugh escaped her. “She took it surprisingly good. Well, she isn’t a huge fan of me talking to god knows what interviewers, magazines, and newspapers, but she knows my opinion about it and how rarely I change my mind if someone tries to change it—especially if the someone is part of my family. So, naturally, she wasn’t a fan of the entire world knowing the contents of my playlists. But my music preferences never bothered her, and I think she even enjoys some of your songs, but don’t ever mention that to her.” Smirking, YN softly shrugged to end her small monologue. Sometimes she really couldn’t shut her bloody mouth.
Harry laughed under his breath while maneuvering her around the fountain and behind the line of trees to escape a small group of young adults. “I will keep that in mind in case I’ll ever meet the Queen of England. But after today? I won’t say never ever again.” They rounded some sadly-looking bushes—winter should be cursed and banned from her island—before he increased his steps to stop right in front of her. Cocking a blonde brow, YN looked up to him, unsure what this meant. “I think I would’ve known if you ever went to one of my shows.” She hummed, interested in what this would lead to. But now, Harry looked nervous, as if he hadn’t thought this through, but he proceeded anyway after a deep breath. “Would you like to come to one? I could arrange that you won’t be bothered by anyone, save you a spot backstage, block an entire row for you, whatever you want. I just…”
The brunette fell silent, the panic evident in his eyes, and YN just had to think how thoughtful and… lovely he was. “I just thought you’d might like to come, ‘s all,” the singer ended in a lower tone than before, seemingly trying to find a hole in which he could vanish. But YN smiled warmly up to him, and the sight alone eased his rising anxiety tremendously. “Funny thing you mention that. My brothers and papa gifted me a ticket for the London show in your upcoming tour, so… yeah. It will finally happen.” But then, a thought occurred in her mind, and her bright eyes widened. “Could I come to your Fine Line listening?”
Now, he stared down at her with just as wide eyes as she did and felt himself nodding violently. “Yes! Of course! That… that would be great, actually. It’s supposed to be something small and… intimate, so this would be perfect. I… Give me a sec.” With that, he rounded YN with a mission in mind and stepped up to her protection squad. She couldn’t exactly hear what they talked about, but Harry returned with a piece of paper and a pen. He started to scribble something on the white surface as he stopped in front of her and smiled as he handed it over. YN took it, of course, and examined the number and the ‘Harry’ written in pretty handwriting. “You are aware of the fact that I possess and carry around a phone in my pockets?” The princess asked with a smile tucking at her lips, but Harry only shrugged. “I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to seem rude in assuming anything.” Her heart fluttered again at his thoughtfulness.
This man simply was a literal angel.
“It’s my private number. You can call or text me whenever you want. The details for the listening event aren’t wrapped up yet, so if you have dates in mind—let me know, yeah? I’d love to have you there because… I don’t know. You are just easy to talk to, and I think you’d enjoy this little get-together with some people to listen to me rambling about my writing and recording process, and me singing, of course, and that sounds so narcissistic, and I’m sorry for that, and…-“
YN stepped closer to him and tapped his lips gently with the white card to make him stop. “You do not have to worry about how you sound because I know you are not a narcissist. You just love what you’re doing. And I would love to see you in your element and talk to your lovely fans because Harries are the best kind of company.” He sighed deeply before taking a deep breath. “Okay.” She smiled up at him. “Okay,” she repeated and took a glance at her watch. “Fuck.” She surprised them both with her small outburst. “I totally forgot the time, but this was probably the best afternoon I had in a very long time.” Harry took her emptied cup out of her hand and threw them both in the bin next to the sadly-looking bush. “I will never forget the story about the Salmon Sandwich Incident,” the brunette told her with a serious look before breaking out into a chuckle, to which she followed close. “Dito with the Cheeto ice cream story.” Another laughing fit caught the pair before YN slowly held out her hand, which Harry gladly accepted.
They stood there for a rather long time, just shaking hands and staring into each other’s eyes, taking in the sight of one another while stressing the moment into infinity. “I have to go,” YN whispered, and Harry nodded. “I know.” But still, he didn’t let go of her hand, nor let she go of his. “I really want to see you again,” he all of a sudden almost burst out even though his brain had told him to keep this wish a secret. But after nearly three hours in her company, Harry couldn’t let her just go without letting her know what he thought. Surprise settled on her face. “You do?” The surprise was even evident in her voice. “Yes, I do. And not just at events or shows, or on the television.” Her breath hitched in her throat, and the princess swallowed dryly and tried to suck enough oxygen into her lungs to answer him properly.
“I’d love that.”
;
vanityfair Today’s guest is singer-songwriter Harry Styles! We had the pleasure to talk about the process behind his new studio album Fine Line, how life has treated the 26-year-old in the past months, and to which realizations he came during the promotion of his new album.
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vanityfair “I recently had the most interesting and… and most mind-opening conversation in a very long time. You see, even though there are millions of celebrities out there in the world, there are… I don’t know, differences between some and others. I, for example, can cross the street and get my groceries without security officers behind my back, while others can’t do ordinary things like that—think about it for a second, and you are made painfully aware of the freedom and… and independence you hold. I can’t say it in other words, but I felt privileged when realizing it. Society has to keep that in mind before throwing assumptions through the room because even celebrities are only human.”
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↳ hsfan1 I’m so sure that he talks about YN if the rumors are true 🥺
↳ yourfan1 that’s definitely about YN, can’t change my mind.
hsfan2 He looked so handsome in that slip-over 😮💨
harrystylesforever He speaks the truth.
harrystylesfanpage Handsome, thoughtful, a literal angel. One could not ask for more in a man.
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yourfan2 I wish the universe would grant me the sight of YN and Harry together in a happy relationship, but I know that that’s not possible because of Royal Protocol or some shit.
↳ royalistsbitch It is possible, but imagine the situation YN is in after her second brother married a “commoner”. She probably has the pressure to marry another royal because her Grandma wants it that way 😩
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;
Returning to Buckingham had been unpleasant. Not because she disliked the palace—she kind of loved it, actually—but because she knew how her Grandma would react after she most definitely had read the articles and assumptions wildly thrown around. Her Granny never really believed what the tabloids wrote, but she still asked every single time her face appeared in one of these ever since that… incident with Lewis Cornwall, son of Nicholas Cornwall, Duke of Hastings and her father’s—former—closest friend. YN knew that she only deeply cared for her youngest granddaughter and always wanted to know her side of the stories circulating through the world before finally going down the drain because something new sparked the tabloids’ interest.
God bless the short attention span of those, the princess thought cynical.
“Her Majesty awaits you in the blue salon,” Harold, one of the many butlers, told her after the blonde had left the car, only two days after her fateful meeting with Harry Styles. With a soft sigh, YN walked up the many stairs, put carpeted hallways behind her, and crossed employees with a gentle smile on her lips and a nod of her head before finally arriving in front of the blue salon. Taking a last deep breath, the princess entered the grand room with the blue wallpapers through the wide-open French doors; her eyes immediately fell onto the white-haired woman sitting on one of the armchairs, signature purse on the coffee table right next to her. A few years back, it had its spot next to her feet, but now, with even more years on her life scale, the Queen opted to have it on elevated places so she didn’t need to bend down anymore.
“Ah, there you are,” the Queen of England greeted her granddaughter, and YN walked over to her, bent down, and pressed a loving kiss to her wrinkled cheek. “Excuse me, Granny. I just got your message and tried to get here as fast as possible,” she explained, but the older woman only dismissed her excuse with a slight raise of her hand. “Nonsense, darling. Only because I scream for attention does not mean you have to rush away from whatever appointment you had to get to your old Grandma.”
Chuckling, YN situated herself on the armchair opposite her and mumbled a silent “Thank you” as Hugh came with the tea. Taking the saucer with the cup of tea on it in hand, she softly stirred through the perfectly brewed Earl Grey with a hint of lemon and a teaspoon of sugar inside. She sometimes preferred milk to lighten the taste a bit, but with her Granny, she always drank it the most British way.
“Am I allowed to take a sip and get a bite of that sandwich, or do you want to get straight to the point?” YN asked with a smile tucking at her lips, and the Queen showed one of her rare grins, specially reserved for her grandchildren and her husband. “I thought I would let you taste the new recipe for the tomato cream first,” Elizabeth returned, and the princess laughed softly before putting down the saucer and the cup and folding her hands in her lap. “No, you can jump straight to the point.”
The Queen sipped on her tea herself before morphing her expression into something resembling seriousness. YN leaned back in the armchair, crossing her legs and elbows resting on the armrests. “I never object your tendencies to wander and stroll around the city, nor do I object your fondness of talking to… interesting magazines like a common celebrity. I fully understand that you belong to a different generation, which handles things differently. But what I have to object to is your contact with said common celebrities.” Cocking a blonde brow, YN waited for her to continue. “A singer, YN,” she almost spat it out as if his profession was something bordering scandalous. All the princess could do was shrug her shoulders. “I don’t see what is so wrong about being a singer for a living, especially if one is a worldwide known and praised artist. He is British, English even, Granny.”
Elizabeth didn’t laugh about it. Instead, her forehead furrowed tremendously, white eyebrows knitted. “This is not something to jest about, YN Diana.” Oh, they had reached the second name dropping. Sighing, YN put both feet on the ground and leaned forward, forearms resting on her knees, confusion visible on her face. “I don’t understand the fuzz about all of it, Grandma. You never objected to my friendship with Meredith or Archie, even after he had given up every single title and started his acting career. Why the sudden change?” The Queen eyed her intently. “Meredith and Archibald are proper associations for a princess.” Now she had lost her entirely. “And Harry Styles is not? The most thoughtful and loveliest man ever in existence is not a proper acquaintance?” Her Grandmother sighed deeply. “You don’t know him, YN, and… look how he dresses. This is certainly not an adequate connection for a princess. You have to think about this family, YN, about your title and position. You are not a commoner, so you cannot behave like one, not if you do not want to end like your…-“
The princess raised jerkily to both feet and let the Queen herself grow silent. “Do not dare to end that sentence how you intended to end it,” she whispered with a strained voice, anger boiling in her body, eyes resting unmoving on the older woman in front of her.
Gladly, Jameson just entered with a bow but stopped at the sight of the standing princess. “I am sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t know you were here. I will return when…-“ But YN shook her head. “No, it’s alright, Jameson. I was on my way out anyway,” she told him with as much grace as she could muster because she felt like screaming and leaving this place running. She spared another glance at her Granny before curtsying just as she had been drilled all her life. “Grandmother,” was all the princess said before leaving the blue salon to return to Kensington, back into the safety of her home.
;
First of all, thank you so freaking much for the AMAZING and mindblowing support on the first chapter of this little series. I’m already thinking about adding more chapters to it because I’m so in love with it. Let me know if you’d like that or if I should add little blurbs here and there! And now, thanks for reading this second chapter. Hope y’all liked it <3
Her Royal Highness Princess YN, daughter to Prince Charles and late Princess Diana, Prince and Princess of Wales, younger sister to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, and Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, and granddaughter to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and His Royal Highness Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh would’ve never thought to meet Harry Styles by accident—by literally running into him. And Harry Styles would’ve never thought to meet the Princess of England again after that seemingly fateful afternoon.
faceclaim: Saoirse Ronan
author’s note: I’m really super excited for this one, but please bear with me if I don’t get the titles right. I’m still putting more knowledge into my head about it! This work is pure fiction and entirely self-indulgent on my behalf.
series masterlist
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theroyalfamily Happy 27th Birthday Princess YN! 🎂
📸 Chris Jackson (chrisjacksongetty) and the Duke of Sussex, earlier this month.
Liked by ynismyqueen, yourfan1, hsfan1, royalistsbitch, mrsamclaflin, gemmastyles, and 986,351 others | 334,009 comments
hsfan1 It’s Her Highness’s birthday AND Fine Line got released today - this is the best day of my life. Happy Birthday!
ynismyqueen HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY QUEEN
yourfan1 Happy Birthday, Your Highness!
yourfan2 She looks SO stunning! Happy Birthday, YN!
yourfan3 How is it possible that she looks so much like her mother 🥺 Happy Birthday, princess ❤️
↳ dianaforever right? I thought the same, especially while I looked through the older pictures and the more recent ones. Diana’s genes really said “Excuse me, that’s my spot” while creating this angel of a woman 🥺
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↳ yourfan3 Totally 🥹
hsfan2 Fine Line release, Gemma liked this post, what a day. Now I’m waiting for Harry to like this one too, so my shipper-brain can go into a frenzy 💀
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mrsamclaflin I wish you a very Happy Birthday, Your Royal Highness 🎂
↳ everyonesfan And there he is! Like always: on time ❤️
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↳ mrsamclaflin Of course!
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royalistsbitch Can you marry me, my princess? 🥺😮💨 HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
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The morning of her birthday was always a hectic matter. One could easily mistake this particular day for the birthday of the Queen herself, but in reality, it was only the result of a family who deeply adores the youngest child of Prince Charles and Princess Diana. But the royal protocol was still in place—not even the Princess of England could change that on her special day. That’s why her entire day was strictly and thoroughly planned, except for a few hours in the morning after her Lady of the Bedchamber had woken the princess to begin the day. Her Mistress of the Robes had already hung the several cautiously put-together outfits at the beautifully crafted screen separating the space in front of the closet from the rest of the dressing room. One look at them, and the princess sighed deeply after crawling out under the thick blankets dominating the comfortable bed. The outfits were nice, of course, but the meaning behind two out of the three meant official duties because, after twenty-six years inside this family, she knew how to figure out her day at the sight of clothing pieces. At least one piece each was in her favorite color, even though the entire attire reminded her of her Granny.
Another sigh left the princess, but the one present thought—I want to go back to bed—vanished at the prospect of a beautiful winter day with blue sky, fluffy, sheep-like clouds, and the sun shining down on busy London. Leaning against the wall next to the grand windows stretching from almost the floor up to two-thirds of the high ceiling, YN looked out of it, straight onto the usually beautiful garden, but now all she saw was bare trees and brown grass. Her face immediately showed the displeasure at the sight. She loved Kensington, she really did, but the winter-y gloom made everything dull and unpleasant. Even though she was born in December, YN most definitely wasn’t a winter child—she preferred spring and summer over anything else.
The soft knock at the French door leading into her apartment let YN turn around with a grin. “Come in!” Her voice traveled towards the waiting party of three men in front of her humble home, and after one of the doors got opened, a head with tousled red hair peeked inside. As soon as his eyes fell onto the youngest Mountbatten-Windsor of the trio, his lips stretched into a wide grin. “There she is! Our birthday girl,” he exclaimed and pushed the door wide open to reveal a smiling William and an as bright as his sons smiling Charles.
Harry looked at the other two expectantly after his father had closed the door, and moving his arms in a counting manner, the younger prince started to count. “And one, two, three…” Suddenly the three men began to sing.
“Happy Birthday to You
Happy Birthday to You
Happy Birthday Dear YN
Happy Birthday to You!”
Grinning and chuckling, YN clapped excitedly, face beaming with utmost joy. She jumped into her eldest brother’s arms and hugged him close as he kissed her head softly. “Happy Birthday, sunshine,” he wished her, and the woman kissed his cheek. “Thank you, old man,” she returned with a grin while William only rolled his eyes.
Harry grinned as brightly and wide as she did, passing the cupcake with the already lit candle and an envelope with a massive bow to William before hugging her close and lifting her off the ground, her feet dangling under her dark blue robe in the air. “Happy Birthday, jellybean.” YN pressed her lips to his bearded cheek and grinned even wider. “Did you plan this little get-together?” The middle child of them nodded proudly. “You can bet on it. Dear Willy over there tried to talk me out of it because he thought you’d be sleeping in. I told him it would be bollocks because you, dear sister, never stop working.” William scoffed, and they both turned to him. “Excuse me and my assumptions that someone would let her sleep in on her special day.” Charles laughed softly behind his hand before opening his arms and wrapping his youngest child into a loving hug. “You know how it goes, boys,” he told the two princes and gently kissed YN's forehead. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” he wished her and kissed her forehead another time. “Thank you, papa,” YN spoke silently and nuzzled into the warm embrace.
Ever since returning from Oxford, the father-daughter duo had spent less time than usual together because they had been both busier than normal. With her degrees in Politics and International Relations and Literature—the latter had been her choice of study—she suddenly had sort of acquired a new status within the Royal Family. She had tended to her charitable work but had also spent more time with the reception of political figures and had pushed herself into a new field of charities: political education among the students in their country. And Charles had attended his appointments and public functions as Prince of Wales.
It was good to feel his hug again. It had always been one the safest places on earth for the princess.
William cleared his throat to continue with the program in the form of cake and presents. Well, a cupcake and one present. The rest would have to wait until YN’s duties were fulfilled and the entire family would come together. The planned dinner would be the grandest in a long time.
“So, we put our heads together for this present, and it was the only thing we could come up with because everything else was already stolen by the rest of the lot—and Harry over there can call himself lucky for coming up with at least one idea,” William explained while holding the envelope up, but Harry swatted his hand and took the plate with the cupcake in his own hands. “Will you let her at least blow the candle and wish for something before you jump directly to the next point on the list? Thank you very much. And thanks for the hit. Welcome to the Sleep Deprivation Society, my ass.” Shaking his head in exaggeration—William only laughed under his breath while Charles threw his two sons' scolding looks— the redhead held the cupcake right in front of her face, the purple and white swirled candle still with a flame on top of it. “Go on, jellybean,” he smiled down at the blonde woman, and YN closed her eyes before blowing the candle out, and the men started to clap.
Smiling, she opened them again and clapped both hands. “You were saying something about this envelope, Will?” Excitement was clearly visible in her bright eyes and the eldest chuckled before passing it to her. “It’s from all three of us.” Nodding, she grinned at every man in their small round. “Thank you,” she already said, and Harry rolled his eyes. “Open it first before thanking us,” he teased her, and with a breathless bit to her lower lip, YN opened the envelope with much more force than needed and let the paper slowly fall to the carpet under her bare feet.
Her eyes widened as soon as they realized what she held in her hands, and with a squeal, the princess started to jump up and down. “It is… it is…” She couldn’t bring the sentence to an end, too overwhelmed and excited to utter a coherent one. The brothers and the father exchanged proud looks before turning back to the still-squealing princess. “You really got me a ticket for Harry Styles?!” YN still couldn’t believe it even though she held the paper in her very own hands.
Charles softly stroked her blonde hair. “Your grandfather told me something fundamental, and that was to let you live your life. I know you miss your studies dearly, the life you had in Oxford, the freedom. That is why I will try to give this back to you, even if it’s only for a couple of hours or days at a time.” With nothing but wonder, YN stared up at her father, not knowing where all of this was coming from so suddenly. But she hadn’t to ask at the same time because she knew her grandpapa and how he wanted for every single one of them to gain a small amount of freedom back, but especially for her—the baby of the family.
It was freedom in moderation, of course, but YN had learned over the years that this was the best she could get. So she embraced the little independence she could acquire between the Royal Protocol and her family, the public eye, and her duties because she never wanted to end like her beloved mother.
Her arms wrapped around the older man and held him close. “Thank you, papa,” she whispered into the soft cotton of his vest and felt his hand stroking her back. “Not for this, sweetheart. Not for wanting a piece of normality in your life.”
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vogue_uk We had the utmost honor to interview Her Royal Highness, Princess YN. We talked about the life of a “modern” princess, how life in Buckingham Palace has shaped her and her interests, and we even tickled out the answer to our question about which of her Christmas presents she loved the most—and which member of the Royal Family had gifted it.
Click the link in our bio to see|read the full interview with Princess YN!
PS: The Princess of England is funnier than most people.
Liked by hsfan1, yourfan1, ynismyqueen, royalistsbitch, gemmastyles, and 879,774 others | 258,691 comments
vogue_uk “I will probably shock the world in its very foundations with this answer, but my most loved present this year was by far the Fine Line vinyl Will [His Royal Highness, Prince William] gifted me—the gorgeous limited edition, you know which one, don’t you? The stunning black and white? Yes, exactly this one. Now everyone probably will ask themselves, ‘Why didn’t she buy it herself on the release day?’ Well, for that, you have to understand our family traditions: We swore an oath never to buy the things we like to have about which we already have talked in the past, so no one will feel the embarrassment of a mediocre excited face on Christmas Morning because one already got it themself. It’s the most horrendous feeling in existence—well, during Christmas and birthdays, at least.”
ynandharryshipper The princess probably woke up the morning of the interview and thought to herself, “I wanna see this internet burn,” and then casually proceeded with her plan😮💨
↳ yourfan1 Totally 😂
hsfan1 Did YN, the Princess of England, seriously tell the world that she loves Harry Styles??????? I never expected to admire and love one of the Royals, but here we go.
ynismyqueen “The album has run on repeat ever since Christmas Morning. Granny [Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II] told Grandpapa [His Royal Highness, Prince Philip] to find her some earplugs. Not because she dislikes Mr. Styles’ voice, but because she rather prefers not to have to throw the turntable out of Balmoral—she doesn’t like to hear things in a loop. She is very happy now that I’ve returned to Kensington [Palace], and I am happy that I can hear Fine Line now on full volume.” - She is such a mood :D
↳ hsfan2 Damn, this woman really said I am a Harrie and proud of it! 😩
royalistsbitch Can we quickly talk about how bloody authentic she is??? She is definitely the most down-to-earth royal of the lot 😍
↳ yourfan2 +1! Directly followed by Kate!
liked by royalistsbitch
dailymail Harry Styles is back in the UK!
Singer-songwriter Harry Styles is back in London after recording—and releasing—his new album Fine Line in his Californian home. Styles interacted with his fans on his way to the BBC Radio 1 studio for an interview about his new album and plans for upcoming events and tours.
Liked by hsfan1, hsfan2, hsfan3, ynismyqueen, sunflowerbutterfly, and 5,613 others | 1,994 comments
hsfan1 There will be a listening WITH HIM IN THE SAME ROOM?! Where do I get that ticket????? 😭
↳ hsfan2 it’s a strictly limited amount because it’s supposed to be something more private and home-y feeling. That’s why I don’t believe I will be a lucky one, but hey, I will keep my eyes open 👀
↳ hsfan1 Oooooh, okay. Maybe it’s only for selected people, then? We’ll see!
ynismyqueen I am SO sure that YN is sucking those new pictures up like oxygen 😮💨
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↳ hsfan3 I’m sure of it! He looks damn handsome (as always) and so cuddle-able ❤️
yn_and_harryshipper He looks exceptionally good today 😩 And the plaid coat??? The princess will love this 🥺
;
The ringing of her phone securely tucked onto the docking station to charge ripped YN out of her hard-working mind, and her fingers’ movements faltered atop the keyboard. With an “Alexa, please stop the music”—she was polite even to a plastic thing that could talk to her—she paused at Sunflower, Vol. 6 and picked up her phone to accept the call of her best friend.
“To what do I owe the honor of your call, Mylady?” YN greeted Meredith Brisbane, her former dorm companion in Oxford and study mate in her Literature major, with a more nasally voice than ever. The princess knew that she sounded like a character straight out of a Jane Austen novel naturally, but well, she couldn’t do much about her upbringing now.
Better to embrace and sometimes overact it a bit.
But Meredith only laughed at the other end of the call because she was definitely used to it by now. “Well, I wanted to hear if my best friend is still alive and not already drowned in work—.” At that, YN scoffed softly, eyes settling on her calendar, which was full of post-its and scribbles, and she knew with certainty that her assistant had even more events and appointments where her presence was required. Meredith hummed in understanding. “I know that sound; you don’t have to say more. And then I wanted to ask if you checked the Gram already.” The princess was now intrigued at the second question and rummaged through the stuff on her desk to find the case with her AirPods. After finding them, she popped them in and held the phone between both hands to log into her secret Instagram account faster.
It sucked that the members of the Royal Family weren’t allowed to have public and known social media accounts because she really wanted to share certain aspects with the public to finally lift the myth and stop the assumptions made by others. But after one argument over dinner with her Granny, followed by a rebuke from her and one from Camilla, she never spoke of it again in their presence. Even the staff of the official Royal Family social media accounts had a word with her over tea. Ever since YN kept her mouth shut about this particular topic and enjoyed the freedom of her little secret Instagram account with the incredible follower number of 11 people.
“What am looking fo-… nevermind!”
With wide eyes, YN stared at her feed full of a smiling Harry Styles in a blue and yellow plaid coat, sunglasses in fluffy brown locks, and the signature pearl necklace around his neck. Reading the several headlines, she knew that he was back in the UK, in London. They shared a time zone and city again, and the princess grinned like an imbecile at her screen.
Meredith’s chuckle echoed through the AirPods. “I saw them plop up one after the next and had to tell you. My friend Daniel—I told you about him, right?” YN hummed softly before she perked up. “The one working for BBC Radio?” Her best friend agreed. “Yep! He wrote me a few minutes ago that there will be a small listening event for Fine Line? Limited number of tickets, super small, one can have a conversation with him if one is lucky enough, the whole thing.” Now, YN shot up from her chair in front of the desk and stared straight out of the window, eyes even wider. “Do you know how they will get sold?” Crossing her fingers, YN hoped Mer would’ve all the answers to her biggest dream. But the sigh was answer enough. “Nope, sorry, sweets. But I will keep my eyes open and send you the link as soon as I stumble over it, ‘promise.”
And YN knew that Meredith would always keep her promises, so she sat down again and sighed deeply. “He looks so good. How is that even possible?” Propping her chin on one of her hands, the other hand still held onto the smartphone, and her thumb scrolled through every single newly released picture of Harry bloody Styles.
Plaid suits him, the princess thought with a small smile before focusing on the call again.
“I’m asking that same question every time I see a picture of you, sweets. Is it genetics? God-given? Magic? Witchcraft? Tell me all your secrets.” YN could hear the grin of her best friend through the phone. Shrugging, she leaned back in her chair. “It’s a talent,” the blonde spoke dramatically, and the two women started to laugh until their stomachs hurt.
“But seriously,” YN started again after wiping the tears from under her eyes. “He looks better every year. Though I miss the long hair One Direction era.” Those lush brown locks were a sight to behold, and she still had a poster with long-haired Harry somewhere hidden in her closet. She heard Meredith type on her laptop before she Aaaaah-d in realization. “Now I know what you mean. And yes, I have to agree. Those long hair really suited him. Maybe he would let it grow back if the Princess of England asked him personally? In a letter, maybe? With one of those fancy wax seals?” YN would like to tell her best friend that her family did not use wax seals since the last century, but she knew better. One look in the upper drawer to her left would prove her words wrong. “I don’t think he answers to desperate pleas of desperate princesses who had an unhealthy obsession with his former boy group as a teenager.” No, she didn’t suspect Harry Styles for someone who bends easily to other wills. He would never have gotten this far and been as successful as he was at such a young age if it had been different.
“Well, it’s worth a try. But hey, YNN?” The princess hummed in question while liking every single picture on her run through her feed. “Don’t work too much, yeah? I have the feeling I’m the one responsible for keeping your habits in check, and I can practically see the smoke emitting from your overworked brain till the other end of London.” YN could hear the worry in her friend’s voice, so she smiled softly. Meredith really let her feel loved and cherished without demanding the impossible. “Will do, pumpkin. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”
While waiting for an answer, the princess started to save every document she worked on today to call it a day and maybe hide in the library to reread Pride and Prejudice. She could use some romantic fairytale and a brooding Mr. Darcy—because her life most definitely wasn’t a romantic fairytale. “I know, sweets. And I love you too. We should grab dinner sometime. How about Thursday?” Grinning, YN closed her laptop and logged out of Instagram on her phone. “Sounds great. I’m open for anything as long as it’s nothing resembling seafood or some artistic bollocks I am supposed to only stare at but not eat it.” She knew that Mer grinned widely at this moment. “Please, I never take you to those fancy restaurants where you should preferably make a reservation in the last century. Nah-ah, we’re going to widen your culinary horizon of peasant food further. How about Burger King?”
;
dailymail Princess YN was spotted today with friend Meredith Brisbane in the City of London, London!
Liked by gemmastyles, yourfan1, yourfan2, royalistsbitch and 11,980 others | 5,452 comments
yourfan1 YN rocks that jacket
royalistsbitch Damn, not sure if I want to be that jacket or her best friend.
↳ ynismyqueen Having the same trouble over here.
yourfan2 I WASNT SURE IF I REALLY SAW HER BUT IT WAS REALLY HER THEN
↳ ynismyqueen YOU SAW HER????!!!
↳ yourfan2 I did! I was in the same bookshop as she and Meredith! And she had a huge stack of novels in her arms (with a lot of good titles, if I may say so) 😍
yourfan3 She gets more beautiful every day 🥹
↳ yourfan4 truuuuuuue 😮💨
↳ yourfan5 She is like the epitome of princess-ness ❤️
gemmastyles I am unsure if I want to be that jacket or if I want to have that jacket.
↳ hsfan1 GEMMA IS HERE!
;
“I am not sure if I want to be that jacket or if I want to have that jacket.” Gemma Styles spoke up, her phone in hands, while she sat on the couch at her mother’s house. She could hear commotion in the adjacent kitchen before her mother came into the living room, a dish towel thrown over her right shoulder. “What did you say, darling?” Anne asked and stopped behind the couch to see what her daughter had seen on her phone. Gemma pointed to the screen where Instagram was opened, and the Princess of England, wearing an oversized jeans jacket with colorful shoulders, was seen. Anne hummed and eyed the picture intently. “It suits her very well,” she decided, and Gemma nodded. “It really does! She is so effortlessly beautiful, just as Harry is. This is unfair.” Gemma sighed, and her mother chuckled. “Don’t be so harsh to yourself, love. You are just as beautiful as she is.”
The reassuring sound was interrupted by an entering Harry.
“Gemma is as beautiful as who? Me?” He grinned, and his sister rolled her eyes at his antics. “Very funny, Harold,” Gemma returned and threw a pillow in his vague direction, which he caught mid-air. “But for your information, I meant her.” And with that, his sister almost shoved the phone in his face after he had plopped down onto the couch next to the brunette. Harry got a hold of it before it fell him on the nose and stared at the familiar feed of Instagram with an even more familiar face.
His teenage crush was suddenly right in front of him again.
It was a strange feeling to see that face again after his time oversea, where news about the Royal Family was as scarce as rain in Death Valley. Well, he never was a huge fan of gossip, but her face always stood out—not because of negative headlines, quite the opposite, except that one time he could remember vividly because the entire country had been in shock.
Shaking his head, Harry tried to push those thoughts away because he was painfully aware of the stares his sister and mother gave him. Everyone in his family knew about that silly little crush of his.
“Yeah, she is gorgeous, you are gorgeous, everyone is gorgeous,” he mumbled, thoughts still not back on track. Gemma grinned at that. “Does someone still has a crush?” She almost sang the last word, and Harry nudged his laughing sister in the side until she fell to the side and landed on the decorative couch pillows. “Stop it, G. ‘S not funny.” He was almost embarrassed.
He was a worldwide known and successful 25-years old singer; he was a grown man. He shouldn’t have crushes on princesses or actresses or actors or princes. It was stupid.
His mom softly caressed his fluffy hair before bending down and pressing a kiss on his head. “It’s totally fine to have crushes, love, even if one is a grown adult.” It was as if she could read his mind, but she was his mother, after all; the one human he told everything that happened in his life. Scoffing, he slouched in the soft furniture and shrugged. “Still, I don’t know what you mean,” he tried to escape this topic by turning the tv on—but there her face was plastered over the news because, unlike the other years before, the New Year’s charity gala where she would be the main speaker was supposed to get broadcasted.
He really couldn’t escape his heavily—but foolishly—beating heart.
;
I am so excited for this small series and hope you liked the prologue! As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated :3
this took me ages so never underestimate instagram concept writers, i hope you like it and don't forget to leave feedback cause i'm soooo prouddd! <3 ( harry's masterlist ; since forever p1, since forever p2 )
AUGUST 16:
A couple of months ago, the wife and photographer of the superstar Harry Styles declared on her social media that she would take some time without taking photos of her husband in the middle of his concerts (but she would continue with the ones from behind it). But that wasn't all, Y/N Y/L/N Styles (28) was stopped seeing so often by fans, now enjoying the shows on the side of the stage so as not to draw too much attention, and sometimes not even showing up.
This raised suspicions of a possible breakup and divorce between the couple, since it's rare that they aren't seen together or interacting, since they have been doing it since Styles (he) was part of One Direction.
They both keep talking about each other, and she keeps posting photos of him she took on her photography account, but we think it's just a game to keep the world from talking about their divorce.
So, ladies, get ready because it looks like Harry Styles is finally single for the first time since we've known him!
ltupdates: LOUIS AND Y/N TODAY AT THE ITALY AIRPORT!!!!!!
louisfan1: SHE'S GONNA BE THERE FOR HIS LAST CONCERT.
louisfan2: I WANT A BESTIE LIKE Y/N.
louisfan3: crying.
louisfan4: Why does she have to be everywhere.
louisfan5: LOUISY/N SUPREMACY.
louisfan6: this makes sense after that e!news article.
louisfan7: @/louisfan6 Do you really believe a word they say? lol
liked by 2,3k accounts
ltourupdates: Louis at tonight's show looking for Y/N and talking about her!!
"My best friend Y/N's here tonight! she's been putting up with me for years if you know what I mean... I just wanted to say a massive thank you to her for being here tonight, everyone please make some noise for Y/N Y/L/N!"
louisfan1: he loves her so much <3
louisfan2: i want this friendship pls 😭
louisfan3: Y/N PLEASE MAKE THAT 1D REUNION HAPPEN.
louisfan4: the fact that she SCREAMED the bigger than me lyrics... same sis.
louisfan5: @/louisfan4 she's one of us.
YESTERDAY:
liked by 2k accounts
wownews: Harry Styles and wife and personal photographer Y/N Y/L/N Styles seen together at Venice for the Venice Film Festival.
harryfan1: WE FINALLY SEE THEM TOGETHER AGAIN.
harryfan2: @/harryfan1 IK RIGHT? WITH Y/N'S BREAK WE NO LONGER SEE HER IN CONCERTS :(
harryfan3: @/harryfan1 @/harryfan2 Does anyone know what's the reason for her break?
harryfan1: @/harryfan2 @/harryfan3 Nop !
harryfan4: HER STYLE 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩
harryfan5: omg the baggy clothes are back 💓
harryfan6: People died.
harryfan7: SHE'S GOING TO THE FESTIVAL W HIM????????!!!!!!
harryfan8: @/harryfan7 she's not! probably staying in the hotel 😕
harryfan7: @/harryfan8 the last time yn didn't walk a red carpet with harry was the dunkirk one because anne went with him, this must be serious...
TODAY:
liked by 1k accounts
ynandharryupdates: Y/N and Saturn on her instagram story confirming rumors that she won't be attending the Don't Worry Darling red carpet!
harryfan1: this is so sad i was expecting content from my fav couple 🥺
harryfan2: i love saturn he's da best
harryfan3: I need to know the reason behind this asap
harryfan4: she's probably tired bc of all this days out partying with louis 🤣
harryfan5: GUYS HARRY JUST ARRIVED THE FESTIVAL GO CHECK TWITTER!!!!
harryfan6: @/harryfan5 whAT
liked by 3k accounts
hsupdates: Harry talking about Y/N today at the Venice Film Festival:
"Well, uh, my wife is not coming because she just wanted to take a break from all the cameras and I think it's totally fine. I'm the one who has to live with it, not her. But, yeah, she's probably watching this while taking care of our baby– Hi love!"
harryfan1: I LOVE HOW THEY SAY THAT SATURN IS THEIR BABY!!! WKLWKTLKKWKSJS
harryfan2: BABY SATURN 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
harryfan3: what if they're talking about A baby..?
harryfan4: @/harryfan3 don't joke like that girl.
harryfan5: I LOVE THEM FUCK E!NEWS AND ANYONE WHO REALLY THOUGHT THAT THEY BROKE UP THEY'RE LITERALLY MORE IN LOVE THAN EVER AND HAVE A BABY KITTY NAMED SATURN BECAUSE OF TAYLOR SWIFT'S SONG !
harryfan6: @/harryfan5 u ok
harryfan5: @/harryfan6 NO
harryfan7: Can we please talk about Olivia's face when he started talking about Y/N 💀💀💀💀
HOURS LATER...
AND, FINALLY:
liked by 7k accounts
harrymybeloved: HARRY AND Y/N AT THE PREMIERE OF DON'T WORRY DARLING!!!!!!!! SHE'S PREGNANT 😭😭😭😭😭😭 HARRY'S GONNA BE A DAD!
harryfan1: I CANNOT EXPLAIN THE SHOUT THAT CAME OUT OF ME
harryfan2: I'M FUCMIGMR CRYING
harryfan3: LOOK AT THAT LITTLE BUMP OMG 🥺
harryfan4: we've lost him.
harryfan5: @/harryfan4 he was never ours.
harryfan6: DILF & MILF.
harryfan7: AND SHE HAD THE AUDACITY TO PRETEND SHE WASN'T COMING ????????? I LOVE HER BYE.
harryfan8: 4/5 ONE DIRECTION BOYS ARE FATHERS.
harryfan9: PLEASE GUYS YOU HAVE TO WATCH THE RED CARPET VIDEOS HARRY CAN'T KEEP HIS HANDS OFF OF HER AND HE'S SO SMILEY
harryfan10: BEST. SURPRISE. EVER.
harryfan11: SO HE WASN'T TALKING ABOUT SATURN WHEN HE SAID "OUR BABY" ????????
liked by 2k accounts
harrysupdates: "We thought we had to be honest and we needed to get it off our chests. We couldn't take it anymore, we're having a baby! Doesn't that sound amazing? I still can't believe it, she chose me, you know?" — Harry talking about Y/N and their baby today at the Don't Worry Darling premiere ❤️ (he was also looking at her while speaking).
harryfan1: he loves her as much as the first day...
harryfan2: Now this, this is real love.
harryfan3: OH TO BE CARRYING HARRY STYLES CHILD.
harryfan4: still shaking
harryfan5: ok but florence touching her belly??? i love them <3
harryfan6: I WANT TO REINCARNATE AS THAT BABY.
harryfan7: 2022 is their year.
AFTER THE PREMIERE...
liked by annetwist, louist91, and 7M other people
harrystyles: BABY STYLES. JANUARY 2023.
harryfan1: SHE'S ALMOST FIVE MONTHS 💔💔💔
yourinstagram: WHY DO YOU ANNOUNCE THEM AS IF THEY WERE A SINGLE HARRY.
harrystyles: @/yourinstagram I don't know about a single, but I'm going to write a whole album about them, that's for sure.
harryfan2: @/harrystyles @/yourinstagram MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS.
harryfan3: He's gonna be the best dad ever :(
louist91: Finally the world sees my godson/daughter!!!! Love you lads!
harryfan4: @/louist91 LOUIS IS THE GRANDFATHER KSKLENPEIEKYMEKT STOP THIS MADNESS
annetwist: My babies are having a baby 🥰❤️
zayn: I don't know about the rest but I'm the grandfather of that baby 😆
harryfan5: Y/N HARRY IS A DILF THANKS TO YOU.
yourinstagram: @/harryfan6 always a pleasure 😌
gemmastyles: I'm crying, my little bro is not so little anymore.
niallhoran: The secret's out! 💖
taylorswift: PREPARING THE SEWING NEEDLES!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
harryfan6: @/taylorswift OMFG TAYLOR
harryfan7: @/taylorswift Y/N'S GONNA FREAK OUT.
yourinstagram: @/taylorswift LOVE YOU FOREVER 🤍 PROMISE YOU MY CHILD WILL HAVE THE BEST MUSIC TASTE EVER.
harry_lambert: 🐇❤️
yourinstagram: baby daddy, we love you so much ❤️🩹
harryfan8: September 5 2022 you will be remembered as the best day ever.
florencepugh: milf material.
harrystyles: @/yourinstagram Stoooop, you're making me blush. I love you both so much. Xxx.
━━━━━━━
remember when i said that everything would be a secret and y/n wouldn't assist to the red carpet? well, i lied 😌 tbh this was an unexpected thought but i love how everything turned out, except that i wanted to put more photos but the limit of the app didn't let me so there will probably be a second part.
please leave feedback, see you in the cheating!harry one shot :)
Maybe a imagine where reader is dating dad-Harry and he has a child but they’re not a fan of reader so it causes some issues :( but a nice happy ending :)
sure!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So, Kaya, how was school today?”
“Why? It’s not like you actually care.”
“Kaya! Be polite.”
Resting your hand over Harry’s beneath the table, you rubbed your thumb soothingly over his skin. You knew he wasn’t pleased with his daughter’s behavior, but you could handle her. As a high school teacher, you handled worse on the daily.
“I do,” you said, looking Kaya in the eye. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
Kaya continued to glare at you from across the table, but you just stared back. She’d been like this for weeks, and you’d let her rude and flippant comments roll off you with ease, not once complaining to Harry. You understood her frustration when you were first introduced, you were Harry’s first real girlfriend since his wife passed away a few years ago, nothing about the situation was easy. But Harry meant a lot to you, so you stuck it out, hoping things would ease over time. They did with Harry’s youngest daughter Vianna, but Kaya only seemed to dig her heels in with you the longer you stuck around.
“It was fine,” she finally said, going back to pushing her dinner around on her plate.
Well that was a first. Normally Kaya would just pretend you didn’t exist if you tried to ask her anything remotely personal. It was barely anything, but it gave you a sliver of hope.
“And you, Vi? How was your day?”
Vianna was much more eager to share, and you were pretty sure that was part of the reason Kaya disliked you so much. But you weren’t going to stop getting to know her and Kaya. You hadn’t told him yet, but you were in love with Harry, something you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He made you so happy, so you were determined to at least get Kaya to tolerate you.
Dinner ended without much fanfare, which was a win in your book. Harry walked you to the front door once Vianna was tucked in bed and Kaya was doing her homework upstairs. He held your hands in both of his, swinging them back and forth in the space between you.
“I’m sorry about her. She’s been in therapy since her mum died, but—”
“H, it’s okay. I get it,” you said. “To her, I’m replacing her mom, it’s a normal feeling.”
Nodding, he pulled you in for a hug. “Promise you won’t quit on me?”
He sounded so scared that Kaya would scare you off. From the conversations you had, Harry didn’t date much, and hadn’t had a girlfriend since his wife. That notion was a little intimidating, but he had been very open and honest about he was feeling. And you had no qualms about him talking about her, she meant a lot to him and always would, you would be a horrible person if you tried to make him, or the girls forget that.
You didn’t want to quit on him, but you didn’t want to come between him and his family, either. Kaya and Vianna were his entire world, and that was something that would never change, nor would you want it too.
So things were good. You decided early on that honesty was the best policy, and it had worked so far. Finding time where Harry was genuinely alone could sometimes be challenging, but both of you were always up for it.
But he was looking at you with those dreamy green eyes of his, and you would do just about anything when he looked at you the way he was now.
Taking his chin between your fingers, you leaned in and kissed him. “Promise.”
When you became a teacher, never did you ever think that your boyfriend’s daughter would be sitting at a desk in front of you, but there she was.
She was in eighth grade, but her school was doing a field trip so the students could get an idea of what being in high school was like. When your principal asked if you could use your free period to talk, you didn’t think much of it, but now Kaya was glaring at you from the back of the classroom, and you were having a hard time giving the small speech you prepared.
Thankfully, you got through it with only minimal judgement from the class. “Any questions?”
A couple kids asked you about how much harder high school was and if it was hard to get from building to building. You answered honestly, glad to have a distraction from Kaya’s glaring or giggling with her friends. She hadn’t said anything yet, and you were thankful for that.
But your relief came too soon because as you were just about to let them go to their next activity, Kaya asked, “What’s your policy on dating students’ parents?”
The class erupted into giggles, which you were sure was exactly the reaction Kaya wanted. Your face flushed, but you tried not to express anymore embarrassment than that.
When the laughter finally died down, you looked at Kaya. “Why don’t you stay after class and we can discuss your concerns in private?”
Your tone didn’t leave anything up for debate, so she stayed behind while the rest of the class was dismissed.
“So, Miss Styles, what was that about?”
Kaya shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “It’s a genuine concern.”
Sighing, you walked over to the desk she was sitting at and leaned on the one across from it. “Listen, I understand you don’t like me, and that’s completely fine, but this is my place of work, and I won’t be disrespected like that here. If you have a problem, you come to me and talk to me about it, but not like that. And not here.”
“I could tell your teachers you were misbehaving,” you shrugged, trying not to match her energy. “But I’m not going to, and I’m not going to tell your dad. I just need you to know that in here? You can’t talk to me that way. Anywhere else is fair game.”
“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? You’re not my mom,” she spat. There was so much anger inside her, you weren’t really sure what to do, you weren’t really sure what you could do.
“Whatever,” Kaya grumbled.
That was as good as it was gonna get, you supposed, so you stood up and held the door open for her. “Have a good day, Miss Styles.”
She ignored you as she shouldered her backpack, only muttering under her breath as she was passing by you. “You were wrong by the way. I don’t not like you. I hate you.”
She left without so much as a glance in your direction, leaving you to feel like you’d been punched in the gut.
“Hey, babe. I’ve missed you.”
You let Harry kiss your cheek and take your hand, leading you down the street towards the pizza parlor you frequented. Because of your busy schedules, dates had to be quick, easy, and ready to go at a moment’s notice, and pizza was often the meal of choice.
Harry told you about his day, and you listened, but it was different now. One half of you was present with him, but the other half kept replaying Kaya’s words over and over again. I hate you. That was how she felt. It had been a week since Kaya said that to you, and you hadn’t been able to get over it. How could you?
You and Harry ordered slices of pizza, and you insisted on paying for it. He was constantly spoiling you, and you tried to do what you could on a teacher’s salary to dote on him. You sent him flowers and bought him little hair clips and baked for him when you had the time. You were very crafty, so any gestures were typically homemade, but he loved all your little gifts and the ways you expressed how much you liked him. You were pretty sure you were in love with him, but that would remain a secret for now.
“So, my mum is coming to visit for a few days next week, and it might be too soon, but I’d love for you to meet her,” Harry said around a bite of pizza.
“What?” you asked, your blood going cold.
“You can say no,” Harry said, mistaking your reaction for nervousness. “I’d love it if you said yes, but you can say no. I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple months and we’re taking things slow, but I really feel like you—”
“Harry, stop,” you said, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.
Harry frowned, his hand resting on your arm. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t think I can do this,” you said, but barely. You spoke silently, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t heard you. But he did, he definitely did.
“What? Meet my mum? If it’s too soon, it’s fine, I understand —”
“It’s not just your mom, it’s us, it’s everything.”
You couldn’t believe you were doing this. After waiting your whole life for the right person to come into your life, Harry did. But you couldn’t keep seeing him knowing that his daughter hated you. You thought that over time, Kaya would come to like you, but it was clear she wouldn’t change her opinion about you. You just hoped that when the right woman did come along, Kaya would be comfortable around her.
Realization seemed to hit Harry like a truck when he saw the expression on your face. “No, you—you promised you wouldn’t—”
“I’m sorry,” you said around a sob. You were vaguely aware of the fact that this was happening in a public place, but there was no stopping this trainwreck now.
“Is it the girls? Is it Kaya? I know she can be difficult—”
“It’s not, H, it’s me,” you said, even if Kaya was the reason for this. You didn’t want there to be any problems between them. “I’m just...not where you’re at. I’m sorry.”
You tried to walk away, not wanting to look at him with tears in his eyes, tears that you caused. It was breaking your heart to do this to him, and to yourself, but you had to step away. You didn’t want to get to a point where he had to make a choice, he shouldn’t have to make that choice between you and his family.
Before you could leave, Harry gripped your arm. “Please, Y/n, we can work something out. Is it because I’m busy? Is it someone else? Please, I just want to make this work.”
“You can’t,” you said, slipping your hand out of his when he loosened his grip. “I’m sorry.”
He called out to you, but you ignored it, knowing if you turned back, you would take back everything you said, and you couldn’t.
So you picked up the pace of your footsteps, each one away from Harry like a stab to the heart.
Life was hell without Harry in it, but that didn’t mean it stopped. You still had to work, you still had to get up every morning, you still had to exist.
Heartbreak was something you were familiar with, but this was different. Tears welled in your eyes whenever you thought about him, you couldn’t go to the same places you used to go anymore, and the world seemed a lot grayer, like Harry held all the sunshine and had taken it away from you when you broke up with him.
You missed the girls too. Little Vianna and her curious mind, and Kaya too. She may have hated you, but you saw a lot of yourself in her. You’d started to feel like something resembling a family, and now that had been ripped from you entirely.
A whole month had gone by, and not once did you speak to Harry. He called and texted you constantly the first week, and then nothing the second, and then after that he stopped, only leaving one drunk voicemail.
“I miss you. I shouldn’t, but I do. You promised not to quit, and then you did, you quit on us, on me. But even after all that, I still miss you. I would forgive you in a heartbeat if you just came back, came home. Come home, Y/n. I lo—”
And that was where it ended. Hearing him so upset only broke your heart even more, but you listened to that voicemail every night, torturing yourself over what would never be.
You were in your classroom, the last bell having rung a few minutes ago. You had tests to grade, but you couldn’t find it in you to do anything but sit and stare blankly at the empty desks, occasionally replaying the voicemail again.
Tears were starting to fall when you heard a soft knock on the door. Startled, you wiped your cheeks and stood to open it, hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt.
“Kaya? Vianna?”
She was on the other side of your door, box braids covering the straps of her backpack. Kaya was the last person you expected to see, and not just because she didn’t go to your school.
“Can we come in? It’s urgent.”
“Uh...sure,” you said, not really sure what to do. You let them in, but not before Vianna surged forward and wrapped her arms around you. Unable to help yourself, you hugged her back, missing her as much as you missed Harry.
Kaya handed Vianna her phone when they came inside, setting her up with a game so you could talk.
“Kaya, does your dad know you’re here?” you asked. Her and Vianna’s school was a block away from yours, but Harry was usually the one to pick them up. He would be worried sick.
“Yeah, he thinks Vi and I went to a friend’s house,” she said.
Sighing, you said, “You shouldn’t lie to your dad, Kaya—”
“We need to talk about him. My dad.”
You were surprised by Kaya’s outburst, but you didn’t really know what to say. “What about him?”
“He’s miserable,” she said, worrying the hem of her skirt between her fingers. “He gets up late, he barely writes, he hardly smiles anymore, and he didn’t do pancake breakfast last weekend.”
It hurt to know how much you hurt him, but you didn’t really know what Kaya wanted you to do about it. “Kaya, I’m not sure what you want me to do—”
“It’s because you broke up with him, isn’t it? That’s why he’s been so sad?”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” you said, not really answering her question. You really didn’t need to hear how much you hurt Harry, you were already torturing yourself as it was.
Kaya chewed on her bottom lip, her knuckles fiercely wrapped around the straps of her backpack. “I know you broke up with him because of me.”
“No, that’s not it, Kaya,” you said, trying to spare the young girl’s feelings. “Things just didn’t work out. It happens sometimes.”
She shook her head. “I said I hated you, and you broke up with him a week later. That’s not a coincidence.”
You weren’t really sure what Kaya wanted you to say. That she was wrong? That she was right? None of this would make any difference, you and Harry were broken up. That was all there was to it.
“Why are you here, Kaya? Do you need a ride home?” you asked. She just kept looking at you with the same unreadable expression, and it was making you uneasy.
“I want you to get back together with my dad,” she said, so fast that it all sounded like one word.
She what? Last time you spoke to Kaya, she told you she hated you, and now she wanted you to be with Harry again? “It’s not that simple, Kaya.”
“I was wrong about you, though! I haven’t seen him that happy since—since my mom. And—And I was angry at that at first, but now he’s sad again, and I feel like it’s my fault,” she said, choking up as she explained.
You knew that her mother was most likely the source of her disdain towards you, but hearing her say it out loud made you want to reach out and hug her. Kaya was so young, and she didn’t deserve to go through what she did at such a young age. And you tried so hard not to tread on any toes or make it seem like you were trying to replace her mom when you were with Harry, because you weren’t. You liked Harry, you even loved him, but you knew his late wife would always hold a special place in his heart, and you would never try to change that.
“It’s not your fault, Kaya,” you said gently. A few tears were tracking down her face, and you hesitantly rested your hand on your shoulder to squeeze it affectionately. “Things just didn’t work out. I’m sorry that your dad is upset, but it won’t last forever. Just give him lots of love, he loves your hugs and kisses. And you too, Vi.”
Kaya didn’t protest anymore, leaving when you opened the door for her with Vianna’s hand in hers.
The truth was you’d love nothing more than to be with Harry again, but you knew you’d thoroughly burned that bridge. Harry might have been upset, but you were sure he was angry with you too. You broke up with him with little to no explanation and hadn’t spoken to him since. There was no way he would forgive you after this.
Still, your heart went out to the two young girls in front of you.
“If you need anything, text me, okay? But no more lying to your dad about where you are,” you said, scribbling your phone number on a scrap of paper and handing it to Kaya. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Thank you,” she said, pocketing your number. “And no. My friend’s mom is waiting for me out front.”
You held the door open for the girls again, making sure Kaya was telling the truth and watching her get into a minivan with a girl you recognized from two weeks ago.
You’d been trying really hard not to let your heartbreak show at work, but seeing the girls and hearing how horrible you made Harry feel was soul-crushing. It made you question whether you should’ve broken up with him, but in the moment it felt like the right decision. Kaya and her feelings should come before yours every time, and to be honest you were saving yourself from feeling worse when things with Kaya came to a head and he would have to break up with you.
It’s easier this way, you told yourself. Harry would move on and so would you. Kaya would come around to the idea of her dad dating and you would be...well, you didn’t know what you would be, but at the moment you were just hoping for okay.
You’d gotten a text from her at the end of the school day saying there was some kind of emergency. She didn’t specify, so you rushed over to Harry’s house to be on the safe side.
You hadn’t been back to the house in weeks, but the drive over was muscle memory. Your heart clenched as you let yourself inside, seeing all the pictures of Kaya and Vianna since they were babies. He loved his girls so much, it was one of the things that endeared you to him the most.
The house was empty, which made your heart race. Kaya had been texting you about “emergencies” the last couple weeks, and every time you picked up the phone and called her, it was just a question about homework or asking if she could come by your classroom to redo her braids.
It felt weird to be hanging out with your ex’s kids, especially since one of them played a part in your break up. But every time you saw Kaya’s 911 text and tried to ignore it, you worried that the one time you didn’t answer her would be the one time it was an actual emergency. You thought about telling Harry, and then you tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t answer your calls or reply to your texts. Not that you blamed him, but you were now stuck in a sticky situation.
“Kaya?”
There was still no answer, but as you wandered further into the house, you saw that the glass doors to the backyard were open. Curiously, you wandered outside, eyes widening when you saw what was in front of you.
One of the patio tables had been dragged into the middle of the large lawn with a tablecloth, two candles, and a small vase of flowers were set on top. Little lights dotted the grass too, and upon further inspection, you saw that they were fake candles. Romantic, instrumental music was playing from a speaker somewhere, and you could smell something delicious on the cool breeze.
“What on earth?” you muttered as you came closer to the table. No one was around, it was just you.
“I think we’ve been parent trapped.”
Startled, you turned around to see Harry standing behind you, eyes surveying the decorated table in front of you. He didn't look at you once, but that only gave you the opportunity to look him over.
He was sporting a five o'clock shadow, something he never had when you were dating. He was a little paler, and there were circles under your eyes, but they didn't look as prominent as yours. But he looked cozy too in an old hoodie and newsboy cap over his unruly hair. It was his usual work attire, Harry always wanted to be comfortable while writing.
You didn't know what to say to him. He obviously didn't know you were coming over, and Kaya was clearly trying to get the two of you to make up. She hadn't said anything about Harry to you since she started texting you about emergencies, and you thought she'd let it go, but clearly you were wrong.
"Harry, I—I didn't plan this, I swear—"
"I know you didn't, Y/n, it's fine," Harry said, his voice void of emotion. "We watched The Parent Trap a couple nights ago and Kaya must've gotten this idea in her head."
Hearing his voice made your heart skip a beat, but it killed you to hear him so guarded too. You did this. You made him this frosty towards you.
"She shouldn't have done that. I'm really sorry, Harry. I'll just, um, I'll just go," you said, inching back towards the glass doors.
"You can't!"
Kaya, her friend, and Vianna came running outside to stop you. She looked visibly distressed at the idea of you leaving, but Vi just looked happy to be there, waving to you before running up to Harry to be held. He picked her up immediately, kissing her smiling cheeks.
"Kaya, you can't keep doing this," you said.
"But it's my fault you're not together anymore. I know you said it wasn't, but I know it is, and I know you broke up and you both say you're fine, but you're not. Dad definitely isn't. Look at him!"
You did look at him. Harry was frowning, but you were pretty sure it was because he was being set up and not because of your break up. Kaya was right about you, though. You were miserable. You kept waiting for the moment where you were finally over him, but it hadn't happened yet. You weren't together for very long, but Harry—and Kaya and Vianna—made a lasting impact on you.
"Kaya, what happened had nothing to do with—"
"But it did, Dad. It had everything to do with me. I was so mean to Y/n, and I told her I hated her, and then she broke up with you, and you've been miserable ever since, and I feel terrible!"
She was crying, and Harry quickly went over to console her. Her friend stood there awkwardly, clearly not expecting all of this drama. You weren't expecting it either, to be honest.
"Can you at least just talk? We bought you dinner," Kaya said once Harry was able to calm her down. They'd been mumbling to each other, too quiet for you to hear, but you finally could towards the end of their conversation.
"Yeah? With who's money?" he asked, tapping Kaya's nose with his knuckle.
"I used my allowance," you heard Kaya grumble into Harry's side. He was holding her tight with one arm, while the other held Vi.
It was quite picturesque, and you resisted the urge to take your phone out and capture the moment. It was so clear that Harry loved his daughters and wanted nothing but the absolute best for them, and you weren't sure you were what was best.
You debated whether you should just leave now and save yourself the embarrassment of Harry telling you to go. You began to inch towards the door, but as your hand brushed the door knob, your name was called.
"Where are you going?" Kaya asked, running over to you.
"There's no emergency, Kaya. I'm going home."
"But—But I set all this up for you and Dad. I thought if you just sat down and talked you could fix everything," she said, reaching out to hold your hand. "Can't you just stay for a little?"
You shook your head. "I don't think he wants me here, Kaya—"
"You can stay, Y/n."
Harry was looking at you, looking at where yours and Kaya's hands were joined, more specifically. You didn't think he'd been listening, seeing as he'd hardly paid you much attention, but there he was, saying it was okay if you stayed.
Well that didn't take long. You'd been sitting awkwardly for about five minutes, a box of untouched pizza between the two of you. Kaya said she bought dinner, but what that really meant was cheese pizza and plastic cups decorated with ballerinas and ballet slippers filled with grape juice. It wasn't over the top or fancy, but the effort would've made you smile if Harry hadn't been so stoic since you sat down.
You figured you would try and ease your way into this difficult conversation, but apparently Harry wanted to jump right in, and you supposed that was fair.
Not looking at him, you watched your fingers idly pick at the tablecloth. "I would never want to come between you and your daughters, Harry."
"But if you'd just told me what happened, I could've talked to her. I could've—"
"And drive a wedge between you and Kaya? Make her hate me even more?" you asked with a shake of your head. "Those are your girls, H. That's your family, and I'd never come between you and them."
"But you were—You could've been—I just wish you'd told me," he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I spent so much time agonizing over why you just called it quits out of the blue. I couldn't wrap my head around it. Things were so good, and I—For the first time in a long time, I was truly happy with someone that wasn't my wife."
"I'm sorry," you said, still not looking at him. Harry sounded defeated enough as it was, you didn't need to see the look on his face to match.
"I mean, I don't blame you for wanting to end things now that I know. Kaya can be harsh sometimes. Even with me."
You shrugged. "She has a right to be. I don't know what I would do if I was in her shoes. Grief manifests differently in everyone."
"I suppose you're right," he said, and then there was silence for a while.
You didn't know what else to say, and it appeared that Harry didn't either. You weren't sure if that was the end of the conversation or the end of the road or what, but now that you were here, you didn't want to go. You'd hardly looked at him all night, but being this close to Harry again settled a part of you that had been driving you crazy the last few weeks. He felt like home, something you weren't sure you should divulge given the tense atmosphere.
"Kaya told me she's been coming to you with stuff," Harry said randomly. "Doing her and Vi's hair, helping her with her schoolwork, things like that."
For the first time in what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, you looked up at him. He didn't look angry or sad, he didn't really have any expression on his face. "I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't answer any of my calls or texts."
"I—I'm not mad. I'm actually quite relieved," he said. "I have a hard time doing their hair sometimes. Her mother taught me how before she died, but I hadn't quite mastered it yet, and even after staying up late watching videos and asking people for help, I still can't manage to get it, so thank you."
The thank you came as a surprise, but you would take that over bitterness any day. "You're welcome. I can give you a couple of pointers if you'd like."
"I would actually, if that's okay."
"Of course."
You thought Harry would leave it at that, but he surprised you by getting out of his seat and rounding the table so he could crouch down next to you. "Actually, it's not okay. Kaya's right, I have been miserable without you. I'd been so confused and so hurt, but I understand now that you were trying to put me and the girls first. That—That means a lot to me."
"She thought I was replacing her mother, Harry, and I would never try to—"
"I know, I know," he said, resting his hand over yours when he heard your voice catch. "And I think Kaya knows that too. She's been acting strange since we'd broken up, and now I suppose I know why."
"I was miserable too," you said. You felt like you had to say it, had to let him know that your decision hurt him just as much if not more. You made yourself walk away from someone truly great, and it was torture. "Being with you was the happiest I'd been in a long time, and I knew I was in—" you stopped yourself, knowing that that kind of confession was much too soon. "It wasn't easy for me either, is all I'm trying to say."
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for Kaya's behavior," he said. There was a knowing glint in his eye that told you he knew what you'd been about to say, but he let it go for now.
You didn't know what to say now, what to do. You and Harry made up, but there were no future plans. You were about to ask what exactly happened now, when he spoke up first.
"So, I guess we should finish our date then, huh?"
Your eyes flicked to his, wide with surprise. "You—"
"I can't promise you easy, nothing ever is, and certainly not in this house," Harry said. He took your hand and brought your knuckles to his mouth, his lips brushing across them gently. "But I think we deserve a second chance, don't you?"
His words made you want to cry. You often dreamed about Harry taking you back, about a happy ending with him. He wasn't guaranteeing it, but he was promising welcoming you back into his arms, and that was really what mattered.
Unable to say anything, you surged out of your chair and hugged Harry hard. He meant so much to you, and that notion only seemed to grow with time. If this was a second chance, you were going to take it.
Harry squeezed you back just as hard, his hair tickling your nose as you rested your face in the crook of his neck. Neither of you moved, more than content to be in each other's space again.
"We have an audience," Harry said eventually. He was looking over your shoulder and into the house, where the girls were most likely watching this exchange.
"That sounds about right."
When Harry finally stood up, he helped you back into your seat, kissing your cheek and not your lips because he knew his daughters were watching. "So, shall we continue our date?"
You shook your head. "No."
"No?" Harry asked, incredulous. "Are you rejecting me again? Because I don't think I can handle that."
You shook your head, hiding your smile with your hand. "No, I think we should continue our date another time and invite the girls to dinner. It's only fair seeing as they worked so hard on it."
Harry threw his head back and laughed. It was one of his full-bellied ones that had him covering his face with his hands. Nothing you said was particularly funny, but you understood how he felt. It was the first time you felt this happy in weeks, and sometimes you just had to let it out.
"I like the way you think, love. Wait right here."
Harry left the table to go get the girls, and you watched as Kaya hung on his arm while little Vianna clung to his leg and Kaya's friend jumped around. Seeing them like that made your heart race. They all looked so happy, and their smiles never dimmed once when they came and joined you around the table.
Vianna sat on your lap while Harry pulled up a few more chairs around the table. She touched your face curiously, complimenting the subtle shimmer on your eyes and the little shells pinned in your hair. You complimented her in kind, noting her beautiful brown skin and eyes, your heart warming at her big smile.
When everyone was finally ready to sit down and eat cold pizza, you helped Harry to pass out plates topped with slices. You met his eye once, smiling when he winked at you. It felt so natural, so perfect, and you ended up feeling thankful for Kaya's meddling, otherwise you would still be alone and moping around your house.
Turning to her, you asked, "So, Kaya, how was your day?"
And you listened as she smiled and broke down every detail.
summary: preschool teacher!harry x special education teacher!yn; y/n and harry met while working together at a preschool, y/n is engaged but her fiancé has been distancing himself from y/n, making her spend more time with harry, wishing she was marrying him instead
warnings: bits of angst, mention of miscarriage, cheating, drinking, swearing, death
word count: 3.1k
people usually say london is gloomy and grey, to y/n autumn and winters in london are the prettiest seasons she’s ever lived, today is october 10th, it’s a saturday, y/n likes to take her saturdays to prepare her classes for the week but the cold weather has gotten her in a big slump, her bullet journal remains untouched, her class paperwork remains just as she left it the night before, a mess and unorganised and most importantly, she’s still in her care bear matching purple pyjamas, drinking her coffee staring at the window out of her paddington flat. today is a particularly wet day, the street is almost creating a river with the amount of rain it poured the entire night, y/n is very observant, she’s now staring at these two girls smoking a cigarette right outside a mobile company store, “amor, estás mirando el vácio de nuevo” (love you’re staring at nothing again), tony whispers right in her ear, “oh perdona! i was just looking at the people”, she yawns and sips on her coffee again, followed by a kiss in her fiancé’s lips.
y/n has lived in london for about 6 years now and tony for 10 years but they only moved in together 3 years ago as y/n finished her masters and about a year ago y/n’s younger sister joey moved in as well. the loss of their mum really took a toll on both of them and y/n felt the need to keep joey close to her as she is only 20 and y/n is 24, their age gap isn’t insane but as joey says, “y/n pays the bills and i sit pretty”, they’re the best of friends and have very similar personalities even though they are completely differently physically. joey has dropped out of university and got a job at waterstones, she absolutely adores it, she reads a lot, gets an employee’s discount and people ask her for her own opinion on certain books and what she would recommend. as for tony he works for as y/n says the enemy, he’s a software engineer at facebook and is pushing 30 during the summer.
y/n is turning 24 on the 24th of october, has a degree in education and a masters in special education, growing up y/n was never diagnosed with adhd or emotional disturbance, making her poor parents be called every single week to school because y/n didn’t behave like teachers expected her too, into her teens things only got worse, making y/n resent school, her parents and even the stuff she has always liked which led to her parents looking for help once again, even then doctors didn’t really want to believe a shy teen like y/n had adhd or any chemical imbalance. eventually y/n and her parents travelled to london to talk to an specialist, after a few tests and a few times asking y/n questions that seemed so simple, they confirmed what y/n and her parents had been 17 years waiting for. life after being diagnosed and finding medication that worked and having less reasons to burst into flames, things really got better, getting into education, having her first sexual experience, getting tattoos, getting a nose ring, not worrying about her weight, actually meeting people she loved and making friends.. things slowly felt right for our y/n, until last year, y/n’s mum was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that took her faster than anyone in y/n’s family would expect, it’s something y/n still is yet to digest, sometimes she still rings her mum to mention something that happened to her, being followed by a “this number is no longer in service” automatic voice, remembering her of everything leading to an hour or two of grief hitting her like a train.
her first year of working as a teacher was weird, she shared her classroom with harry, a guy teaching his second set of students, he has just said goodbye to kids he had spent the last 3 years with and was constantly shedding a tear or two during the first month of classes, eventually they got closer due to all the kid snot they gave cleaned and time spent organising certain classes that they could do together, harry felt so comfortable around y/n he even started falling asleep during nap time as well. in many ways harry has been y/n’s best friend during the last year, harry always felt like he was never in a place of disrespecting her engagement ring but his heartbeat quickly changes around y/n, his palms sweaty and he’s almost slurring words when he’s close to her but even then he promised himself he wouldn’t be the person to break off an engagement, especially after y/n and tony going through a miscarriage last august, he has never seen y/n so out of herself and without the big homely smile she always carries on her lips, he chooses to stay forever doomed in the friendzone and loving her in ways no one will ever find out. they also soon found out y/n and tony are super close with harry’s best friend, niall, creating a little outing group that welcomed joey with open arms when she moved to london with y/n.
harry’s heart broke anytime his eyes caught the good side of y/n and tony, he can’t help but wish them to break up, even if he thinks it unconsciously, he can feel his heart slow down when they kiss or when y/n runs to tony’s arms after winning one mini golf round, he has never loved anyone like this, like he has gotten his life on track and he can’t even share his love for her to the world, he however shared all this love one very drunken night, niall and harry had way too many tequila shots for niall’s birthday in september and his heart couldn’t handle keeping his deepest secret inside anymore, the one time harry didn’t slur or filtered his thoughts, niall listened thinking it was a silly crush, his heart broke too seeing his best friend complete infatuated with a girl that was planning her wedding and worst of all, had just lost a kid that wasn’t planned but wanted. they never spoke of that night ever again, niall keeps his best friend’s secret even more secret, he even tried setting harry up with multiple people, he got along with one guy so well, niall even had a sparkle of hope that quickly burned down when harry knocked at his door, crying over loving someone he couldn’t have.
niall suggested harry changing classes, harry quickly dismissed that idea, not only for the kids but for him, even though his heart felt like breaking, the more time he spent with y/n the more healed he felt, she’s a healer, not only to him but to a class filled with children that cry and miss their mums and y/n always has a kind word to say and a tight hug to give, he couldn’t bring himself to let that go, to let her go, maybe one day, just not today.
back to y/n’s day, she’s opening the drapes in joey’s bedroom, “nooooo y/n please it’s my day off” a tired joey groans, y/n rolls her eyes at her little sister that has their father’s laziness, “c’mon jo! you promise we’d get brunch at that new australian brunch place on your day off!!” the eldest says pulling the covers, making joey push y/n, “Y/N STOOOOOOP! wait…food.. okay!” joey sits in bed, looking at her older sister with teary eyes, y/n doesn’t have to say anything, just embrace joey and stay silent for a minute, a greater pain shared yet none of the two have spoken about their feelings about it, they just knew they understood whatever was going on in their hearts. “i love you joey poo poo”, “not joey poo poo!”.
y/n and joey left the house, y/n and joey are polar opposites when it comes to outfits, y/n is wearing a light pink longsleeve with 3 little buttons and a darker pink long skirt with multiple flowers in orange, white and red, beige ankle boots and a catching cardigan she knit herself, as for joey, she’s in all black, black turtleneck, black mom jeans, black dr martens and a huge black coat that once belonged to their father in the 1990’s. their parents used to say they’re always on the opposite side of the subject but that’s not entirely true, they have their differences but they’re overall, usually… at times in agreement, both of them hate tea, read way too many books for their own good and can’t function without a cup of coffee. so brunch goes smoothly, until joey starts with her more than known discourse against tony, they’ve never gotten along and deep down joey is just hoping he leaves y/n’s life so she can set her sister up with harry, “why couldn’t he come with us, huh? like whatever facebook needs is more important than taking your fiancée out for brunch?” joey speaks in an awful loud tone, making y/n sigh and gesture her to volume down a bit, “joey… he has to work! i would never be mad at him for working” y/n says cutting her pancake up, “you’re never mad at him! like i know you’re supposed to get married but he’s a real pain in the ass” joey’s tone is quieter this time, she worries hence saying these things to her sister, she understands he was there when their mum passed and understands y/n needing him after the miscarriage but she won’t understand how her best friend could possibly be in love with a dudebro. “joey. i know you don’t like him but please try and get to know him before the wedding, please?” y/n’s eyes are always kind but this time there was worry in them, worry that without her sister’s support and her mother not there she would simply not be able to do it. “fine. but he better get me all the books i want.”
monday
harry sees her, in black boyfriend jeans and a flowy white longsleeve with a vest with large brown and beige squares and white trainers, she’s holding some papers and attentively reading on her laptop, he can’t help but love these little moments alone with her, even if they don’t say much to each other before the swarm of kids walks in. “hey y/n. how was your weekend?”, harry gives her a shy smile awaiting her response, "hi harry! oh it was okay, i tried that aussie brunch place u told me about last week! i had pancakes and eggs benedict, thank you for recommending it to me", harry's stomach fills up with butterflies to her taking his suggestion, he can't help but ask, "did you go with tony?", y/n sees his question as harmless as they usually all hang out together, "no! joey had a day off so we went together and then we went to waterstones, i've had the unhoneymooners on my to read list for so long i just had to buy it!" she's very enthusiastic about the books she's currently reading, harry, joey and her even read the same book at times and then proceed to have really loud discussions in y/n's kitchen while drinking red wine. "yeah you've been telling me about that book since last year y/n, i might get it so we can talk about it!" y/n brushed off the feelings she had for harry, she nodded and got her nose back in her laptop, working on a worksheet about the story she would read later today, "llama llama misses mama".
at 8:50 kids start running into the classroom and the day goes on smoothly actually, they haven’t had accidents or sobbing moments of “i miss my mummy” so as lunch time approaches y/n and harry take it easy as the swarm of kids follow the path to the cafeteria, they usually eat lunch together inside the classroom, y/n always thinks of harry when it comes to lunch, last night she made a veggie quiche and stored two containers, last year, they knew each other for about two weeks when y/n shared her beetroot risotto with him, ever since if they don't share they at least try each other's meals, literally like their preschoolers do. "i don't know how you make quiches taste this good, y/n" harry says stuffing his face, "breathe harry, i have more quiche if you want!" y/n giggles to the sight in front of her, heart sinking a little bit thinking of her sister's words, in fact tony is never excited to eat her food or even cares if y/n tries a new recipe, ever since the miscarriage it's like she doesn't know the person she is supposed to get married to. harry noticed the smile on her face fading away and the fork gently put next to the stainless steel container, "are you okay?" harry asks, placing his hand closer to y/n's, "oh um.. it's nothing har, it's okay", "i know you y/n.", "i'm just.. worried tony doesn't love me anymore.". i could tell you these are the words harry wants to hear, in fact he dreamed of her saying it's over between her and tony but he couldn't even have a happy thought in his mind about it, seeing y/n like that just hurt in ways he never thought his heart could possibly hurt. "what are you talking about? he proposed to you.. i'm sure you don't propose to someone you don't love", "sorry.. it's just.. a rough patch i guess", harry moved his hand again, this time brushing his fingers through her arm, "i know i'm not your go to love expertise guy but talk to tony? he's your fiancé after all..", y/n rested her head on harry's shoulder, "adulting is hard", "do you think that's why we're pre school teachers?", "could be".
harry enjoyed y/n's sort of need of reassurance and closed his eyes, just sitting in silence as he held y/n in his arms, neither of them noticed the little girl walking into class with a cute pink dress and pig tails, a loud gasp coming from her making y/n and harry immediately sit down properly, "u two marry?" the little girl, macy, asks still with a shocked face and walking towards them, harry choked up trying to find words for the little girl, y/n quickly replies, "well macy, friends hug too you know?" but macy wasn't buying it, repeating that harry and y/n were actually married, they didn’t want to laugh in front of the little girl but definitely laughed over it later after classes ended.
once harry got home, he sat on the sofa and turned on his tv, he couldn’t focus on what was on, in reality he couldn’t stop thinking about what y/n had said just a few hours ago, he deep down knew tony was no good, a real asshole and he was willing to prove that to y/n, he just didn’t know how to do it without hurting her, which is the last thing he would ever want to do. he unlocked his phone and opened a groupchat he has with niall and joey, one that joey created to talk shit about tony without y/n’s stern looks or “c’mon joey give him a chance” over and over again.
harry
so.. joey don’t tell y/n i told you this
she said she thinks tony doesn’t love her anymore
she was an absolute wreck today
joey
WHAT
THAT ASSHOLE
niall
what??? what happened?
harry
she didn’t tell me what had happened
she just said she thought he didn’t love her anymore
it absolutely broke my heart
joey
PLANNING HIS DEATH RN DO NOT HMU
niall
jo. don’t go to jail please
joey
well. i want to kill him.
harry
count me in on the plan
joey knocks on y/n’s bedroom, tony is still at work so she thinks this is the perfect opportunity to get something out of y/n, as she opens the door y/n is with her chunky headphones, the laptop screen had an article on music and children in the autistic spectrum, as well as a word document of y/n’s little notes on the book she’s reading. joey taps on y/n’s shoulder, “jesus christ joey!” y/n jumps in her seat, “are you okay?” she asks, removing her headphones and placing them on top of her notebooks. “i could ask you that… you always want to watch ted lasso with me when you get home and you’ve barely said anything to me today… did i do something wrong?” joey’s words are truthful, as much as she thinks she didn’t do anything, she can’t help but wonder if her never liking tony made her sister not trust her. “joey no! sit down for me, please?”, joey does, “look..i’m just having a hard day, i can’t help but think tony is going to break up with me sooner than later, i don’t know what changed.”
but this writer can tell you what changed, the night y/n lost her baby, tony was there, every second of the hard moment both of them were living, they mourned together, tony felt the pain of losing a child with y/n, but after that day he couldn’t look at y/n the same, he started sleeping with other women and spending time “in the office” when in reality… the office was flats of girls just right outside of london. in reality nothing had really changed to tony, and joey was right, he is not worth of y/n, he had texted and been with other people the entire time he has been dating y/n but that day something truly shifted and he went ahead with physical cheating. this writer can also tell you, he never broke up with y/n because he knows he has a house, clean clothes and food and he’s selfish like that. for whatever’s worth, because this is a story of love, there’s no way that he ends up winning.
“oh my god y/n… why would you keep this to just yourself?”
“i don’t know”
“do u want us to find a new apartment?”
“i don’t want to run away”
“then talk to him”
“what if he hates me for losing our baby”
“y/n…”
“he could”
“if he does he’s even worse than i had thought”
here are the character's instagrams!
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a sweet creature @shesogoldenn - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
