An Intervention

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It started with a few simple words.

"No fucking way."

You had been planning your friend's hen party for at least 3 months, buying all the outfits and getting all the party-goers' sizes. You'd planned drinks at yours, then hitting the club for a night of partying. You didn't fully understand the whole deal with hen parties but you embraced it for your friend who went on and on about wanting one for herself. And as the dutiful friend you are, you began to plan and prepare it.

Tonight was the night of the party. The bride-to-be, Marina and her selective few friends came over for drinks, you got a few games going, pin the penis on the hottie, shots pong etc. Everyone was having fun, the music was blaring (curtesy of your boyfriend's sick speakers and his good playlists). You'd got a fake veil for Marina and some pretend bouquets for her friends so it looked like a fake wedding as you played some crappy wedding march music and Marina puckered up to kiss the cardboard cut out of a shirtless model.

Shawn had popped over to check that everything was going well and he'd also left his laptop at yours. You'd been dating Shawn for about a year and a half and you guys only lived a few roads away. He greeted all the girls politely and you could totally tell he was overwhelmed by everyone. Screaming 14 year old fangirls he can do, drunk, flirty 25 year olds, maybe not.

You left him on the karaoke machine singing Womaniser while you changed into your club wear. Usually you dressed in jeans and hoodies so you'd actually gone out and bought this outfit for the club. Surprisingly, you only owned a couple of dresses and they'd been worn too much for tonight, you knew Shawn's fans and the media would tear you apart for wearing the same dress to a club yet again.

So you'd gone to a more expensive shop and bought a cute, if not a little risky dress. With a lace corset that barely covered your nipples and slits that go up to your hip bone, revealing your thighs, you'd felt pretty sexy.

You'd walked out of your bedroom after applying your makeup, putting on some dark purple lipstick and straightening your hair. Upon entering the living room, all the girls had screamed how "fucking hot" you looked. You'd blushed and thanked them. You'd caught Shawn's eye. Oh shit. He was not happy.

Shawn was never one to be possessive about you nor picky about the way you dressed. You knew your outfit was much, MUCH riskier than anything you'd ever worn before but the for the first time, you'd felt sexy. Of course Shawn could make you feel sexy in just about anything, but this wasn't about him making you feel good. It was about your inner confidence.

He'd stalked over, fuming, his eyes dark and angry. You'd physically gulped and all the girls had gone quiet. Shawn had grabbed your arm and pulled you into the hallway.

"There is no way in hell you're going out tonight dressed like that, go and change immediately." You'd gaped at Shawn's tone. He'd never in the history of your relationship used such a tone when speaking to you.

"No Shawn, I wear what I want." You'd stood your ground. You're not a woman to be pushed around, let alone by your boyfriend.

"I refuse to let you out that door in that... that piece of lingerie!" He'd gestured his hands towards your outfit and you'd folded your arms across you chest.

"I don't give a shit what you think. You're not me." You'd stared him straight in the eye.

"Y/N, go and change now."

"Don't fucking tell me what to do. I'm leaving to go and party in this damn dress." You'd begun to raise your voice, you were aware that the music had died down and the living room was pretty quiet.

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