WET DREAMS. | hs one-shots

1949.

Newspaper head, Mr. Harry Styles, wants to meet with journalist writer, Mrs. Rebecca Layne, in his office to discuss her thoughts on her writing.

CW: dom/sub kink, misogyny/feminist themes, humiliation kink, choking, exhibitionism kink

word count: 7.04k

Rebecca had always heard his name around the office. The murmurs, the whispers, the signs of fright that mimicked off their faces when they heard he'd be coming in. There were always signs that he was in the building; people would shuffle in and out of his office, higher up executives would stand by the door to be ushered inside for meetings.

There was just never an opportunity to lay an eye on him. She wondered if he kept it that way for a reason. There didn't seem to be any yearning for him to facilitate with staff– not that there was any time, as the phones were always blaring out in the hallways, the desks messed with papers and other files that could be used for meaningless columns a few weeks from now.

She wondered if he made the final calls on what went in and out of the paper. The stories that she had been writing had been a bit boundary pushing, a bit liberal in terms of the treatment of women in America.

A few of her friends had told her that she was 'doing well' and 'not to worry'. But in the eyes of the institution, she felt that there was a lingering motive over top of her. Surely, there were people who read her pieces and were excited about the changes that she had seen– maybe the stance that she took. It was empowering, it was sexy, it was allowing women to finally have a voice in the world around them.

Now that the war was over, the men had the power. Not that they did not even while away at war, but women stepped up to the plate.

They were wives, mothers, workers, activists.

Rebecca's place sat next to the window, across from a woman named Betty who had three children at home waiting for her, a doting husband, and of course, the family dog. She lived the perfect blue-collar life, and she adored it. Rebecca couldn't say that it was the life that she wanted, but it was the life that was expected of her.

Betty was always kind to share her opinions with Rebecca, a bit shy in telling her truths. There were instances where Rebecca would ask Betty about her love life, where the passion led from, and Betty would just quietly answer 'that's a bit much, don't you think, Becky?'

And maybe it was– maybe she was the one who was spitting words that were far too liberal for the conservatorism that thrived in this culture of keeping quiet and behind closed doors.

A man approached her desk, one that she didn't fully recognize as they all mostly looked the same. The sleek hair, the off-gray suit and tie with a clip attached. She raised her eyebrows at his place next to her desk, possibly a bit too close if she was being honest.

"Can I help you?" She queried, rolling her cherry-red lips into her mouth to smooth out the lipstick that she had applied in the restroom a few minutes before.

The man spoke, clearly and without stumbles, "Mrs. Layne, Mr. Styles would like to meet with you in his office now."

Rebecca's eyes moved towards Betty's who were looking directly at her from across the table tops. Her lips were open ajar, gaze hovering towards the man who spoke.

"I-I'm sorry, you must be mistaken," Her words muttered through her cherry-red stained smile, a polite one at that, "Mr. Styles doesn't do meetings one-on-one– surely not one with me, of all people."

The man sighed, giving Rebecca a coaxing smize, "You've been requested, miss. I'm just the messenger."

A mumble of voices started, Betty's eyes moved towards the door that led into the office of the man requesting her. It was never opened enough for anyone to be able to peek inside, but everyone figured that the secrets that lay within were just due to keeping curious minds wandering.