Chapter Text
They arrive at Harry's mansion soon enough, and Kokichi follows his new owner up the dozen steps leading to the front door, heavy suitcase clunking and clattering behind him like a fat clown on a tricycle.
It's totally unlike what Kokichi thought it would look like; a white, box-like, minimalist number, surrounded by an acre of hedges, but at least it's classy. Nothing like his real home with his mommy; he's only been away from home for an hour but he already misses the sexy brickwork and his nest of blankets. On second thought, it kind of reminds him of the psych ward from the outside. White walls make Kokichi think crazy things...
Harry leads him into his prison where two peculiar public figures greet them. Kokichi gasps! Stephen Hawking and Hatsune Miku! What are they doing here?! He thought they were dead - the news had reported them missing long ago...
Miku takes his luggage from him with a friendly smile, but she daren't speak. Stephen just kind of sits there in his wheelchair.
"These are just my housekeepers," Harry scoffs, running his fingers through his silky shit-colored locks. "Don't pay them any mind. As long as you obey me, they'll be at your service."
"Did you kidnap them too?" Kokichi interjects.
Harry shoots him a disdainful glance. "No? Obviously, I bought them. Contrary to popular belief, Stephen Hawking was pretty cheap. Only $20 million. Miku is a whole other story. Lol."
Kokichi glimpses over at them one final time with an expression of pity before he's ushered upstairs and down a long hallway, stopping at the endmost door.
He pushes open the door and leads his hostage inside. "Here's ya new room! What d'ya fink?"
The first and only word that comes to mind when Kokichi lays eyes on his new prison cell is effete. Who the hell does Harry think he is?
The quilt is adorned with frivolous frills - not to say he doesn't appreciate a little frill from time to time, but even this was enough to make him feel physically ill from exposure to women. There's a huge closet against the wall, a grand vanity with a glistening mirror, and pink heart-shaped pillows on the human-sized window ledge.
There's a portion of the wall covered in old polaroids, most with faces scribbles out in black sharpie. It doesn't seem like Harry's doing, but what does Kokichi know?
A balcony overlooks the hedge maze below as far as the eye can see. Begonias and roses blossom all around like a bad case of herpes as if they'll be distracting enough to stop Kokichi from finding a way to freedom.
"It's ok," he says, not giving Harry the satisfaction of seeing him awestruck. No way is he gonna give his captor an ego boost! He wants to go back home to his mommy and play Roblox.
"Used to be Taylor Swift's room, but no one has touched it in a long time."
Explains the dreadful decor. Still, he does not give a fuck. Does he think Kokichi looks like a swiftie? "Ok."
He doesn't even notice Miku enter the room before she starts sorting through his belongings, but instead of giving Kokichi an opportunity to raise any concerns, Harry starts fiddling noisily with some papers beside him, clearing his throat.
"Before we take this any furva, I'm gonna need ya to sign this contract." Harry holds out a document reading Harry Styles's Evil Plan For World Domination. Classy. He does like the occasional devious bastard, and he's always daydreamed of world domination.
Kokichi skims over it.
Harry Styles's Evil Plan For Total World Domination
Step 1: Acquire a gay male assistant.
Step 2: Make him attend photoshoots, tours, and interviews.
Step 3: Introduce him officially to the fans as my QUEER male assistant.
Step 4: Act gay on stage and on sets. This includes but is not limited to mild flirting; gentle touches; staring into each other's eyes; compromising or awkward positions; occasional seductive glances, and so forth.
Step 5: KISS for female validation. If women can do it for men, why can't we?
Step 6: Announce the relationship. Watch the fujoshis go ballistic.
Step 7: Profit.
NO MORE QUEERBAIT ALLEGATIONS.
SALES THROUGH THE ROOF.
IN EXCHANGE: gay male assistant will live a life of luxury and I will personally assure him he gets everything he ever desires.
Kokichi supposes it's straightforward. Kinda cringe, but it's an evil plan; it's gonna be. All villains have cringe motivations, he guesses. Like that one bitch in Deceit. Nishishi.
"If, however, the contract is broken," Harry continues, "I will tell the world you broke my heart, and teens will call you slurs they can't reclaim and DOX YOU on Twitter for the rest of your days. You will be thrown onto the streets without a single penny to your name. You'll be a stain on society! Not even Kirumi will take you back."
"So you're saying I either participate in your queerbaiting scam to fool thousands of women across the world into giving you money for being an LGBTQIA+ ally, or I'm as good as homeless?" Kokichi summarises, chewing the inside of his cheek. He likes the way his sharp teeth dig into his flesh, in a twisted sort of way.
Harry hands him a pen. "Yeah. Do you agree to my terms?"
Kokichi takes it, chewing on the end and enjoying the mild look of disgust in his irises. "Depends. Is this a hostage situation? Am I bound to you for life?"
"Literally giving you a choice between working with me or against me, luv."
Okay, fair... "Will I get all the Panta I want?"
"That can be arranged, innit,"
He nods cautiously. "Can I have my phone back?"
"I'll consider it."
Kokichi tilts his head. He wonders how far he can push his limits. "Am I allowed a boyfriend outside of the agreement?"
"Absolutely not. That would ruin everything!" Harry exclaims.
Kokichi puffs his cheeks out. No boyfriend? He really does belong to Harry!
Harry taps the form with a furrowed brow. "I'm star'in' to get impatient. Are you wiv me or not?"
Kokichi already knows he doesn't exactly have a choice...but a life of fame and riches does sound appealing. And maybe he'll find a secret romance on the outside...if he's not damned to eternity with Harry Edward Styles (28 years old).
He scribbles down his name at the bottom of the form, and Harry snatches it away with a flourish before he can change his mind.
"Cheers, mate," Harry Styles grins from ear to ear, his ugly mug contorting as he does so.
"Uh, yeah, you're welcome," Kokichi mutters. His stomach growls. "What's for breakfast?"
"Once you're all unpacked and settled in, you can ask Miku or Stephen to make you something and they'll bring it right up!" says Harry. "Oh, by the way, you've got a shoot after lunch."
Um...He literally just signed the contract. Why so soon? Kokichi's brows furrow. "Already?"
Harry Styles smirks. That nefarious bastard!! "Erm...yeah! I'm a busy man, innit. I already told ya I needed an assistant. For queerbaiting purposes or otherwise."
"But I've never had my picture taken before!" he wails.
"You will get over it." Stephen Hawking reassures him. When and HOW did he get here?
Harry beats him viciously with the contract form. "YOU AIN'T ALLOWED TO TALK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. DON'T SHOW ME UP IN FRONT OF MY GAY BOY OR I'M GONNA TELL THE WORLD YOU WASH MY PANTIES."
Abusing his staff! Good golly, Harry Styles is such a lovely man! Kokichi briefly wonders what crippled him first - Harry or the amyotrophic lateral sclerosis - but he reckons he'll give it much more thought later when he's laying in Taylor Swift's bed and grieving his lost freedom.
"NOOOO! NOOOOOOO!" In the blink of an eye, Kokichi drops to his knees to roll across the floor as he flails in misery, begging to be spared such a ghastly fate. "I DON'T LIKE CAMERAS!"
"Miku," Harry turns to his maid, "go drag him into the bath. He needs to be well-polished for Vogue. Chop chop."
"Dare mo oshiete kurenai de, sekai wa sakasa ni mawaridasu!" she giggles, grabbing Kokichi by the ankle and dragging him away towards his en suite, the hostage screaming all the while.
-
Harry escorts Kokichi to the studio to make sure he doesn't try to do a runner. Vogue CEO Anna Wintour greets them at the door, a spring in her step as she goes to give him a fangirling kiss on the cheek.
She turns to Kokichi, wrinkles and all. "And who might...this be?" She sounds like his presence might make her ill and he detests her condescending tone.
"This is the model I've been talking about over the phone. He's doing the shoot today." Harry beams, slapping Kokichi's shoulder.
"You kinda look like an ancient Madeleine McCann," Kokichi offers. Harry's smile drops as he moves to shove Kokichi behind him.
"Ignore him. It's the autism."
Somewhere in Kokichi's mind, he knows Harry has suddenly given himself the genius idea of neurodivergent-baiting his fans, too. A queer AND autistic ally, woah. What a genuine and not-at-all sinister guy. Kokichi grits his teeth.
"Is this your first shoot?" she pries, leading Kokichi to the photo stylists. He can only dread what sort of vulgar outfit they're gonna force him into, considering he's joined at the hip with Harry Styles.
Before Kokichi can answer truthfully, Harry chimes in with a coy grin. "He has some experience. Don't worry. He's perfect for the shoot."
Anna Wintour bites back a grimace but doesn't express her doubts. "I still want to get some shots of you, regardless. How about we steal you away while...Kokichi is getting ready?"
Harry takes a moment to glance back at Kokichi, studying him. There's no chance he'll escape, not with all eyes on him. That's satisfying enough. "Sure love, sounds wicked."
And then Kokichi is being led away from the only person here he sort of kind of knows.
There's only one person in wardrobe. It's another goddamn old wench! Kokichi's starting to get tired of old people and their curtainy smell.
Before he can make a world-shattering remark, she turns around and Kokichi's jaw hits the ground with a kerplunk! He can't believe his eyes! "Vivienne Westwood! I love your work, girlqueen!"
"Hi, thank you. You're here with Harry?" she says, all smiles.
He nods begrudgingly. "Yeah. What do you want me to wear?" Might as well get it over and done with.
"Hehe, I'm gonna turn this pussyflop into a pussyboss..." Vivienne mumbles to herself as she sifts through a rail of extravagant clothing; replica gala outfits and coquettish streetwear.
She briefly pauses on what seems to be Lady Gaga's iconic meat dress before humming a chuckle to herself and continuing. But what she settles on shocks Kokichi to the core.
Eventually, Kokichi edges onto the set, a white screen room. He holds the gaze of every single man and woman in there, all the more mortifying knowing everyone is looking at the monstrosity of an outfit he's been forced into.
He looks like a child who has dressed themself for the first time. Not once in his life has he ever remotely desired to fit his body into provocative booty shorts, but here he stands like a default Danganronpa sprite trying not to clench his cheeks to protect his asshole from the chill of the studio. Even worse is the crop top he's wearing. The shoulders are bulky and padded like he's encased in football gear, and there's a horrible slogan plastered across his breastbone.
'GAY & HERE TO SLAY' it says. Gay and here to fucking slay. The only thing he's gonna slay is Harry if he thinks he's gonna get away with humiliating him like this. He wishes he could drop dead.
"Alright! Show us what you can do!" Anna says, lounging back in her chair.
But honestly, Kokichi just kind of stands there all stiff and unmoving. He's not used to the attention being all on him and it's daunting, so many faces and bright lights and a huge camera glaring right at him. Not to mention this outfit sucks. It's his official debut to the public and he looks like an asshat.
Anna Wintour groans. "Okay, what's the problem? Harry, I thought you said this boy had experience?"
"Yeah, yeah, he does. Dunno what his problem is." Harry glowers daggers at his hostage, motioning with his head as if to say 'what the fuck?'
"Ugh, fine," Anna sits up, hands gripping her knees. "Let's start with the classic three-quarters pose. You know how to do that, yes?"
Kokichi half-nods, but goes with it, turning slightly to the side like he actually knows what three-quarters pose means. He doesn't. He has never heard of those words in his entire life.
"Okay," Anna says. He's still impossibly stiff, but she can fix it. "Chin forwards, shoulders back, fingers loose. Strengthen your posture! We want dynamic! Flexible! Fierce! Keep your body fluid."
Fluid is a word that makes Kokichi cringe for some unfathomable reason, so instead, he pretends to be water like he's floating effortlessly in a pool or some freak zero-gravity void. He's just a little lotus flower drifting gently across a lagoon... And somehow that works. Kokichi follows the instructions, hoping he's giving red scare shoegaze esoteric waifish stick-n-poke NYC nepotism baby.
In reality, he's only giving femboy bad bunny arca Reddit fleabag. Not serving. Not at all.
"Waist open, Kokichi. Alright. Much better. Look at the camera!" she suggests as the shoot goes on. "Good! Keep those poses alive and moving!"
"He's a natural," Harry mumbles, hand on his hip with white boy swagger.
Anna Wintour hums back. "Seems he is."
Harry Styles watches with an evil glint in his eyes. "I knew he was born for the spotlight."
And then she throws herself back into directing this mess of a shoot. "On the floor! Against the wall! How about a dramatic lean?"
Orders are barked at him relentlessly, but Kokichi is a little grateful for the guidance. He's starting to get the hang of it, even if he's slow in his movements and sloppy with his posing.
"Now, hands on your hips. Cinch your waist with your hands. We're going for a flamboyant, feminine-esque slay-the-house-down boots vibe. Give us a pout, tilt your head up."
"Slayyy!" Harry cheers while he sips at a venti mocha (single, ristretto, sub blonde espresso, three pumps mocha, non-fat, steamed, upside-down, no whip.) "Actually, how about we get some shots in together, Anna?"
They get a few more poses out of Kokichi before Harry joins him on set. He smirks down at his captive. "Don't forget the plan. Just go with it," he whispers.
Kokichi has no idea what the hell he means before he gently grabs him by the waist and drapes him back over his arm. He holds in a yelp, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, and scrambles to grab onto Harry, fingertips burying themselves in the warm fabric on his shoulders. If only he didn't bite his nails...he might've been able to claw at him like a feral beast.
Anna tuts. "You're too awkward, Kokichi. Loosen your grip on him and fix your face. Maybe put your arm around his shoulder. No, the other arm, we can't see you."
"Follow my lead," Harry reassures him.
"I don't know what your lead is!!!" Kokichi whisper-shouts back.
Then Kokichi feels a hand ghosting his chin. Harry grips him softly, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. Kokichi forces himself to relax in his hold and stare back into benign eyes, delivering the most sultry expression he can muster as the camera clicks and flashes.
It's not even romantic in the slightest. He's fully aware that anyone else in his position would've swooned and squealed and treasured the moment for life. He, however, would rather die than stay a moment more in such a degrading position...but the promise of making bank to earn his mother's love back is the only thing spurring him on to reciprocate the faux affection.
And it's near damn convincing! Kokichi has never been a submissive partner, despite his size and twink-like physique, but he likes to tell himself that big things come in small packages and that one day he'll find a boyfriend that will let him hit.
It takes a while for the shoot to end and by the time Anna Wintour finally shuts her yap, Kokichi is exhausted. His feet hurt from standing and his arms are tired from holding ridiculous positions. He knows damn well Tyra Banks would humiliate his queer ass if she saw such a disaster. Somehow he's pretty into that thought.
On the way home, Harry buys Kokichi a celebratory bottle of Panta and a McDonald's happy meal to keep him occupied. All the complaining and whining that he's tired and his everything hurts was more than enough for Harry to give in and shut him up. He can't whinge with his mouth full.
Funnily enough, as soon as they arrive back at the mansion, Kokichi sprints inside and up to the safety of his room, body ache be damned. He spends the rest of the afternoon holed up in his new room hiding in his newly assembled blanket fortress plotting and scheming his revenge until he's collected for supper.
-
"How did my mom get your number?" Kokichi suddenly asks at dinner. His fork is lodged deep into a piece of wagyu beef that he can't quite cut.
"I put an ad in the paper asking for gay men to be thrifted to me for a good price," he chuckles. "I'm shocked it actually worked. But Kirumi and I go way back."
"Thrifted? Like...recycled?" Kokichi furrows his brows through a mouthful of uncut beef.
"Of course not. Think of it like...rehoming you," Harry hums. "You know, your mom and I went to school together."
"Yeah? What school did you go to?" he asks in hopes of catching him out on his bullshit lie.
Harry beams, cutting his toast with a knife and fork. "Hopes Peak Academy, obviously."
Yeah, right. "What were you? The Ultimate Flop?"
Shade. (Not a Deceit reference.) Kokichi smothers a smile when he sees Harry's face drop. "Actually, I was the principal."
No chance. Bro is what they call 'delulu' in the business. Bro needs to take his meds. "WTF how old even are you?"
"Hehe...Hehehe... The praise and love from fujoshis have kept me young for decades..."
Oh. Well, that makes sense.
That prompts his next question. "Will I ever get to see my mom again?"
Even though she literally SOLD HIM to this actual psychopath and shattered his little clown heart into millions of teeny tiny fractals that not even years of therapy will help soothe the bereavement, Kokichi misses his mommy. There hasn't been a single day in his life where he hasn't seen her. Who else will tuck him into bed at night? Certainly not Miku. He hopes she misses him and will take him back once he's famous enough... Perhaps his net worth will be more important to her than his queerness.
"Hmm," Harry really gives this one thought. The gears in his head are turning and everyone can hear them clunking and struggling from the lack of brain grease. "Nah, probably not. I will, though. I've been banging your mother."
Tears spring to his eyes. "No... This can't be... My mom isn't a whore, she wouldn't serve up her seafood platter for...for something like you!!!"
Harry laughs evilly, rubbing his hands together like a true supervillain. All he needs is a cat on his lap to deviously pet. "That's right! I fucked your mother! And now you belong to ME!" He turns to Miku, leaving Kokichi in despair. "BTW, is the private jet for tomorrow ready?"
Miku gives him a thumbs up from her position at the door.
"Wicked. Tomorrow we're invited to be backup dancers in Rupaul's upcoming song Tuquila," he triumphs through a mouthful of beans on toast. "And by we, I mean you. I'm one of the guest judges. You better know how to shake that ass."
That ass, meaning Kokichi's boney chicken cutlets. Though what it lacks in meat, he can surely make up for in Asian boy swagger.
Stephen Hawking supplies, "Tuquila is a play on words of the drag term tuck and the alcoholic drink tequila."
"Yeah, no shit." Harry scoffs. "Anyway, we gotta hit the studio for 10, awright, luv?"
Kokichi hopes he dies in his sleep.