iMAGINE Y/N HIDING HER RACY UNDERWEAR IN HORCHATA'S BAG/LUGGAGE HAGSJKDGS
She’d sneak it into his carry-on, snickering quietly as she gives him a final hug before he departs the apartment. This will guarantee an embarrassing situation at the airport when the bag goes to be searched. A tad evil, perhaps, but the perfect payback for that time he’d made her wear vibrating underwear to the New York premiere of Dunkirk. A panty for a panty seems fair enough to her.
Harry isn’t aware that it’s in one of the outer pockets of the worn leather duffel, rushing freely through the crowd of people with the bag bouncing against his side. Jeff will kill him if he misses his plane.
His heeled boots echo against the bright white shimmering floor of the building, quick steps causing a mild pain to flare at the palm of his feet. He’s digging into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out his slightly crumpled ticket and tucking it between his lips as he grips the thick strap of his suitcase with one hand, pushing his three-day messy curls out of his eyes with the other.
He’d been in such a rush this morning, a shower had been out of the question.
Harry finally arrives at the gate, checking in with the lady at the counter and swinging his hefty satchel onto the metal crate to be weighed. Everything checks out and he sprints off towards the metal detector, leaving the polite woman behind with a tired smile and a quick, breathy, “thank you.”
He keeps glancing at his watch, eyes wild and panicked as he picks up his pace and at this point in time is when he contemplates never wearing heeled boots ever again. It feels like there’s nails digging into his feet but he can’t afford to slow down.
When he finally reaches the large rectangular arch, he slumps his bag onto the faux marble counter, huffing out a tight sigh. A small, relieved laugh belts out of his cracked lips, the quick walking having winded him more than he’d like to admit.
As his carry-on thuds onto the sleek surface, he sees a flash of bright, sparkly red tinge his peripheral vision, shimmering just out of the corner of his eye.
Harry turns his head completely, stretching his neck upwards to peek over the side of his bag.
He really wishes he hadn’t.
There, on the floor, lays a pair of glittery lace panties with the word “Styles” embroidered across the back of the cherry-colored material. He recognizes the article of clothing as Y/N’s, the custom-made lingerie having been an anniversary gift he’d picked up in a small boutique back in France.
Harry stands there, staring at the sheer red fabric as it lays crumpled on the ground, standing out clear as day against the white tiles of the floor. His cheeks simmer with the same raspberry tint as the undergarment.
He slowly bends down, snatching the panties and looking up sheepishly, meeting the judgey stare of the short elderly woman in charge of sifting through his belongings.
“It’s not mine, it’s my girlfriend’s.” Harry confesses with a nervous chuckle, giving her a teeny embarrassed smile and feeling like his eyeballs are about to melt right out of his skull.
The lady nods her head slowly and dismissively, the grey bun atop her head bouncing to the rhythm of her movements. She simply goes about her business once again, sorting through his things with leisure as her rough voice urges him to pass through the metal detector.
Harry stands there for a second, looking at the material in his palm utterly dumbfounded, not knowing what to do with the underwear. He ends up tucking it into his back pocket, blushing even darker as more people cast him odd glances, small ears glowing bright pink.
His lanky figure slides through the machine with no problem, everything checking out perfectly fine. He hurriedly grabs his luggage, thanking the worker and slugging the sack over his broad shoulder once again. Harry takes off towards the loading area, his blue silk, Japanese-blossom-patterned shirt flapping behind his torso as he makes haste. He can feel the old lady’s disapproving gaze burning down his spine until he rounds the corner.
Y/N is so going to pay for this.