they hate each other and there's just one bed - part 1
A/N: So good god agentrry is finally here. Don't worry my loves this is just part 1. I had a a lot more written but word erased like 2k words I think ugh I'm sad. enjoy this anyways
Pairing: Agent!Harry Styles x Agent!Reader (female)
Word count: around 3.6k
TW: none much just swearing lots and lots of swearing, pretend wives and husbands mentions of killing trash acting jealous harry and one bed
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Harry wants to kill her. Might just do it today.
“Stop glaring at each other, for god’s sake! This is supposed to be a pretty simple thing. Please don’t end up fucking killing each other before the mission is over.” Nick stated, raising a single eyebrow in a very matter of fact and totally Nick manner.
Nick Jamison was the captain of the Special Forces unit of SWAT, kept securely in the shadows (a bit like S.H.I.E.L.D. if you ask me, just much smaller), of which both Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles were part. They worked seamlessly together except for one bump on the road.
Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles hate each other.
Plain and simple right there.
The reason, you ask? A plethora of reasons. Y/N thinks Harry’s “way too motherfucking cocky” and that he should “get his stupid curly head out of his British ass.” She thinks all his niceness is just for show, and that he’s a total fake.
Harry Styles has the same things to say. According to him, “who the fuck does she think she is? Running around like she’s a goddamn saint.”
Nick’s hot take on the matter: “those two morons didn’t develop past their primary school phase where you push and pull the person you like because you don’t know how to deal with feelings. Plain and simple right there.”
I guess you know understand that even though they’ll work exceptionally together, they won’t willingly do it but they’re great together, so they have to you know.
This brings us here.
There was a slippery drug cartel that needed to be busted, but the unit had been struggling with getting the owner for months, and now finally, there was a way in.
“Dominic Vasquez is an eel. Snaky, slippery, and awfully hard to catch. We’ve been trying to find a suitable opening for a long time and finally have one.” Nick briefs Harry and Y/N, who is sulking in their seats.
“What opening? Please just spit this shit out, Nicky. I don’t really have the patience for your dramatics right now.” An annoyed Y/N remarks for the first time after entering the meeting room. As usual, both had been called in, not informed they would be doing a mission together, and the complaints and whining had begun. All they had done after acknowledging (scowling) each other was roll their eyes while glaring at each other through their director’s words.
A slight noise of agreement comes from the other agent in the room. Nick heaves a heavy sigh as he gestures vaguely at his prize pupils. “Look, you two, it’s paining me to breathe in all this sexual tension. Get a lid on it or go fuck it out. Please don’t drag me in it. Let me fucking finish.”
Their attention has been successfully piqued, all their pissiness vanishing as irritation and slight embarrassment settle on their features.
After an eye rollTM, the director gives all the information to the agents, who’re now listening as promptly as they’re ignoring each other. “His annual gala is next week, and that’s really the only opening. You are supposed to be new members, so you’ll be informed of that soon. You both will go in a day prior, get settled in. The whole thing is held at his mansion in Milan. You must find his office, grab evidence, and get out while being under the pretence of visitors. Simple.”
Harry is the one who speaks up this time, a sceptical eyebrow raises to accompany his words. “Why do I have a feeling there’s more to this?”
Nick sighs again like it’s hurting him to just breathe. “You’re going in as a married couple, Mr Andrew Jackson and Mrs Amelia Jackson.”
Y/N and Harry erupt in groans and protests of “why does this always happen” and “why do you always do this” in reference to the fact that they’d been in a few assignments previously where the both of them had to play a couple.
(Nick won’t say this out loud ever, but he thinks they’d make a damn great couple, so he keeps trying to push them together invisibly. Besides, they have great chemistry, so it really makes everything more believable.)
“Stop whining and get to it, Jesus Christ.”
. . .
. .
. .
“Can you shift your fucking elbow?” Harry grunts in anger at his companion. Without looking up from the magazine in her hands, Y/N raises a single eyebrow at him, making absolutely no move to adjust her position.
Scoffing at the reply he received, or the lack thereof, the man shoves her elbow off the hand rest prompting an eye rollTM and an irritated groan from the agent beside him.
Surprisingly, Y/N doesn’t push him back because she’s too tired to deal with his shit at 6 in the fucking morning. Besides, it’s bloody December, so she just agitatedly pulls in her arms and continues to skim through the pages.
The next 2 hours or so are filled with glaring, under-the-breath grumbling and all sorts of gestures to annoy the other, but they thankfully make it out of the plane and to the hotel in one piece.
Harry shamelessly winks at the receptionist who’d just asked what name the room was under as Y/N rolls her eyesTM. “Jackson. Andrew Jackson sweetheart.” The girl blushes and giggles, quickly retrieving the key card.
“Jesus at least pretend like you have a wife,” Y/N mutters to her man-whore of a partner once they get inside the elevator. Harry’s lips tilt up in response, that infamous smug smirk coming out to play as he taunts her. “Why wifey, not getting enough attention, hmm? Jealousy isn’t that good of a look on you, sweetheart.”
“Please you’re too self-involved. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep it in your pants long enough to not fuck up my mission.” She scowls. Harry has the decency (or gall, whatever you will) to look offended at the comment. “Our mission and oh please miss goody to-shoes you know as well as I do that, I’m clearly the more responsible one out of the both of us. I’m not stupid enough to jeopardise our mission just because I wanted to get my dick wet.”
Y/N retorts just as the elevator doors open. “Aren’t you though, dear?” With his mouth gaping and the doors closing, he realises she just snatched the key card out of his hand.
The brunette hastily moves to catch up with her while she opens the door. Nick had actually booked them a suite and “it has two big beds, I swear!” However, the suite in question was slightly different from what was promised.
One single, king-sized bed stares back at them from the centre of the luxuriously decorated room.
Y/N breaks the silence. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
A deep groan emits from Harry as he rubs his eyes annoyedly.
“Screw you I’m taking the bed.” Before she could even think of saying something, Harry deposits himself on the bed, all gangly limbs as he sighs in satisfaction. She clenches her teeth and marches over to the bed, glaring at him with her arms crossed. He turns and grins up at her infuriatingly, “Can I help you with something, wifey?”
She shifts gears and gives him a saccharine smile. “Yes actually. How about you cuddle me to sleep, dear?” Harry’s brow furrows in mild disgust and he doesn’t even get a word out before Y/N is beside him with her arms wrapped around his lean body, fully flopping on top of him. He flails around like her touch burned him and knocks her over to the other side of the bed where she snickers at him. With a swift kick, Harry’s on the floor and Y/N has spread out starfish on the sheets.
He climbs back up to try to take control of the bed again, but Y/N just won’t let that happen. They wrestle each other and she’s just about to punch Harry when the doorbell rings. Her hand freezes a few inches away from his scowling face, both of them scrambling to fix their rumpled clothing. She stumbles off where she’d planted herself on his abdomen and opens the door while Harry shifts around to make it seem like he was just relaxing on the mattress.
The bellboy is standing in the hallway, holding their bags as he smiles at her maybe a little too amicably. “Hey yeah you can put them in here.” Y/N leads him inside the room. He puts down the suitcases and glances up to find an intimidatingly handsome man lounging on the bed, watching him with narrowed jade eyes.
Without taking his gaze off the boy, Harry calls to Y/N who was turning on the electric kettle at the side of the room. “Baby, can you come here for a second, please?”
“Yes, honey?” Y/N replies as she comes to stand at his side. She should get a fucking Oscar for how great she played along right there. Her ‘husband’s hand comes up to rest on her thigh as he lazily smiles at her. “Tip the boy darling, then can we please take a nap, hmm?”
With her back turned to the steward, she raises her eyebrows at his antics, quickly moving to retrieve her temporary husband’s wallet. “Sure honey.”
Harry’s scowling at the bellboy as he leaves.
“If you need anything mam, I’ve been Aaron. Don’t hesitate to call, I’ll be right here.” Y/N quickly shoos him away rolling her eyesTM at his attempt of shooting his shot. Harry is still scowling. “I’ve been Aaron. Don’t hesitate to call, mam.” He mocks in a high-pitched accented voice.
“Look who’s jealous now, dear. You seriously felt threatened by a bellboy, Styles? That’s how weak your ego is?” The agent scorns the notion, switching the subject smoothly.
“Fuck that. Grab a chair, we’re running over the plan.”
.
. .
. .
.
Y/N is just about ready to stab him with the fork in her hand.
“If you don’t stop smirking and start acting like a goddamn husband, I swear to god I will rip out your carotid,” Harry smirks, of course, he does.
“Gonna use your teeth, sweetheart? Never would have taken you to be that kinky.”
He should be thankful the waiter arrives right that moment or he would have ended up one major artery down.
The waiter looks at Y/N, completely disregarding the man with her as he asks for her order. “Good afternoon mam. What will you be having today?” He very sweetly asks to which she gives him a tight but polite smile. She can just barely hear Harry mumble under his breath, “Definitely none of your bullshit.”
“I think I’ll just go with the mushroom risotto. Thank you.” Harry clears his throat, finally gaining the waiter’s attention. The guy has the nerve to look irritated at Harry’s intervention, which piques the agent further.
“If you’d be willing to pay attention to me, I would like a cheese ravioli, thank you.” Upon receiving death eyes from the man, the waiter quickly nods and runs but not before flashing a smile at Y/N.
An eyebrow is already raised when she fully turns in her partner’s direction. “Seriously, Styles? Again?” He rolls his eyesTM, scoffing at her insinuation and yet again opting to ignore her remark.
“Shut up. Give me your hand.” She grouses at the sheer duality of the statement, lips curling in annoyance.
“What? Why would I ever do that?”
“Shutting up or giving me your hand?” Harry mutters with a boyish grin. The dimples alone make it seem like he was just flirting playfully. “Come on, wifey. Pay your husband some attention.”
It clicks to Y/N suddenly that they’re supposed to play pretend and she’d somewhat lost track of the notion. She huffs quietly and slips a hand into his ringed one, watching as he brings it up to his lips.
A strange shock goes through her as Harry’s jade eyes meet hers and his lips softly brush over her knuckles like he was glad to be allowed this close. He laces their fingers together, giving her a moony smile, she would’ve swooned over him if he wasn’t a douche. She returns it with just as much sentiment.
“I have never wanted to end your existence more.” “Trust me I feel the same.”
.
. .
. . .
.
Fortunately, the waiter made it out alive.
Harry is not a violent person generally but after today Harry swears, he has never longed to put a bullet in someone’s head more.
During the one hour or so, Y/N and Harry spent at the restaurant, that damn waiter kept making passes at Y/N while ignoring Harry’s presence at the table. So much so that he made her uncomfortable. Now Harry may hate her guts but that does not mean he’ll sit and watch a moron try to objectify his companion. Moreso make her uncomfortable as she sat with her husband?
So, when he interrupted their sweet moment to present their meals and make a comment about how the madam looked much more ravishing than the food, it’s safe to say Harry may have lost it a teensy bit.
I’m not saying Harry got up under the stance of gonna run to the loo real quick and whispered in the waiter’s ear to dare and make one more remark on my wife, or that he’ll gut you like the fish on that table. I’m not saying that he sat and glared at the terrified man with satisfaction or smirked when Y/N told him to keep it in check. I’m also not saying he replied I’m your husband baby it’s my job.
But then again, I’m also not saying he didn’t.
“Jesus Harry, that poor guy was petrified. Did you really have to?” Y/N gets out in a fit of laughter as they get in the hotel elevator. Harry titters along with her, shaking his head and announcing in an overly posh British accent. “I’m your husband baby, it’s my job!”
She collapses into giggles again but for some reason this time, Harry stands and stares with something akin to fondness at her glee. She wipes under her eyes, raising a questioning brow at his gaze. “What? ‘ve I got something on my face?”
“No, nothing.”
.
.
. .
. .
.
“Fuck you, Styles.”
“You wish, Y/L/N.”
She huffs and stomps and smushes his face into the pillow in her hands in a failed attempt at asphyxiation. He chortles.
“Let me take the bed, Styles, don’t be a dick come on.” Y/N tries one more time, but the man just turns, sighs, and goes spread eagle on the mattress.
After lunch, they discussed their plan some more and went around Dominic Vasquez’s mansion to scout out the area. Nick had given them a blueprint of the property so that they could mark down possible exit routes and things like that. That is what they’d spent the rest of the day doing but now it’s 11 and they really need to sleep.
Upon receiving zero replies from the man spread on the bed, Y/N sighs heavily. She was stubborn as fuck sure but then again, she wasn’t gonna keep fighting and risk having him blow up uselessly.
Turning off the lights, she tiredly crawls onto the stiff couch. Harry’s already snoring, and she can’t even get comfortable.
She tosses and turns as the clock tick’s midnight, but sleep is a fever dream. She chucks her pillow onto the carpet, quickly following after it. The floor might be a better option than the couch.
.
. .
. .
.
It’s been 1876 seconds and Harry snores 4 times every minute and it’s been 30. The floor is hurting her back.
Y/N gives up on sleep altogether, getting up and turning on the one lamp placed on the oak table in the room. A warm buttery light surrounds that corner of the room. She looks over her shoulder to see if it disturbed Harry but he was still snoring.
He looked almost adorable like this. Messy curls strewn over his forehead, chest rising with soft subdued breaths. His features were relaxed, free of that furrow he gets in his brows when he’s ticked off.
Her lips quirk up the tiniest bit but she doesn’t indulge in it any further. Y/N gently pulls out the chair with a sigh, plopping down on it and flipping open the case files. Might as well work.
“Y/L/N. Y/L/N wake up! Wake up, Jesus.” Y/N can just make out a deep, accented voice mumbling and a hand shaking her shoulder gently. “Y/L/N come on you idiot.”
She rises slowly, groaning out a sigh. She tips her head back to find Harry standing above her, sleep smeared over his face.
“Why the fuck are you sleeping on the table?” She learns that Harry’s voice becomes much deeper and raspier when he wakes up and she doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge.
“I-I was sleeping on the couch first but then I tried the floor cause the couch was very stiff but then like the ground was stiffer so I tried to do some work and I think I might’ve fallen asleep? What time is it?”
“Oh yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s around 1:17 something. You can-you can uh come sleep on the bed. It’s large enough for like 3 people and we both need sleep so you can take one side, I guess.”
Y/N raises her eyebrow. “You’re sure? You know what, I’m not even gonna question it. Get outta the way, motherfucker.”
Harry mutters something along the lines of why did I let her sleep in my bed but does nothing as she wriggles under the unmade side of the bed. Y/N’s eyes are already drooping as he gets under the covers on his side.
“Stay on your fucking side, Y/L/N. I mean it please.”
She hums out an unintelligible response.
Harry doesn’t remember when he fell back to sleep but the last thing, he did remember that night was his partner’s arm extending away from her face where it had been previously and landing next to his, their pinkies now wrapped together.
. .
. .
. .
.
He feels warm. It’s not the fuck I’m burning it’s too much kind of warmth but rather the toasty welcomed kind. The one where you’re curled up under a blanket watching a movie with your cat at your feet, a fire cackling gently by the side, sweet candles burning, and an even sweeter girl in your arms.
Harry’s emerald eyes blink open heavily. There’s a weight in his arms and it’s 4 am. The weight shifts. It also sighs and cuddles closer to Harry. He finds the weight is actually a person. The person is Y/N and it’s pleasant.
Harry falls back to sleep.
. .
. . . .
. .
.
She feels warm. It’s not the ah it’s burning kind of warmth but rather the welcomed toasty kind. The one where you’re snuggled up under the covers watching a movie with your cat at your feet and there’s a fire cackling gently by the side, sweet candles burning and an even sweeter boy, holding you in his arms.
Y/N’s eyes blink open heavily. There’s a weight on top of her and it’s 8 am. The weight shifts. It also sighs and snuggles tighter around Y/N. She finds the weight is actually a person. The person is Harry and it’s very unpleasant.
Y/N squawks and throws him down.
“What in the Jesus Christ-” Harry gapes from the floor, having been woken up suddenly. He looks up and there she is holding her pillow like a weapon. Is she serious?
“Why the fuck were you cuddling me?”
“Why the fuck would I cuddle you?”
“I do not fucking know! You were the one on top of me!”
“You were the one on my side!”
“Well, someone crossed over!”
“You did!”
“Oh no, you were the one who started it!”
“Shut your bitch ass up, you started it, Styles!”
“Oh, please Y/L/N, you are the last person I would want to snuggle with. I may be a touchy person but I’m not that desperate-”
“Oh, you’re a man-whore so you better jus-”
Someone’s phone rings.
It’s Nick.
There’s silence.
Then there’s scrambling.
Y/N snatches up the phone and answers it.
“Hey yeah hi. Good morning, Nick, how’re you doing this fine morning?” She awkwardly asks her director and Harry just crouches on the floor, his head in his hands.
“Y/N what did you do? It’s not even 9 yet. Why are you answering Styles’ phone? Did you two finally fuck it out or like-”
“Nick! Please. What do you want?”
Harry leans against the bed like he’s in pain (might as well be) because he can very well listen to the conversation going on, on the phone.
Nick heaves a sigh on the other side. “I just wanted to ask you two how it’s going and inform you from where you’d be collecting your clothes for tonight.”
They straighten up and look at each other. Down to business.
“There’s this cute boutique downtown, owned by a sweet lady called Juliana. Now, she is doing me a big favour by entertaining your asses-”
“Oh, now come on that’s not fai-”
“Shut up Y/L/N and let me finish. Have no manners I swear to god.”
Before Y/N can open her mouth to complain some more (she always whines like this but Nick never says anything, not to her) Harry snatches his cell back and clears his throat.
“Now movin on. You’ll go to her no late than noon and take your pick from whatever options she has. Don’t bother her too much.”
“You sweet for her, Nicky?” Harry snickers, sneaking a look at Y/N who’s doing the same.
“Sure like you are for that wife of yours, huh Styles?”
Nick ends Harry and the call.
